"A safe at the Crédit Lyonnais? Good. . . . We must look into that." "And, before we left, Mr. Kesselbach opened an account and drew out five or six thousand francs in bank-notes." "Excellent . . . that tells us just what we want to know." Chapman continued: "There is another point, Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction. Mr. Kesselbach, who for some days had been very uneasy in his mind--I have told you the reason: a scheme to which he attached the utmost importance--Mr. Kesselbach seemed particularly anxious about two things. There was, first, a little ebony box, which he put away safely at the Crédit Lyonnais; and, next, a little black morocco note-case, in which he kept a few papers." "And where is that?" "Before Lupin's arrival, he put it, in my presence, into that travelling-bag." M. Formerie took the bag and felt about in it. The note-case was not there. He rubbed his hands: "Ah, everything fits in! . . . We know the culprit, the conditions and the motive of the crime. This case won't take long. Are we quite agreed upon everything, M. Lenormand?" "Upon not one single thing." There was a moment of stupefaction. The commissary of police had arrived: and, behind him, in spite of the constables keeping the door, a troop of journalists, and the hotel staff had forced their way in and were standing in the entrance-lobby. Notorious though the old fellow was for his bluntness--a bluntness which was not without a certain discourtesy and which had already procured him an occasional reprimand in high quarters--the abruptness of this reply took every one aback. And M. Formerie in particular appeared utterly nonplussed: "Still," he said, "I can see nothing that isn't quite simple. Lupin is the thief. . . ." "Why did he commit the murder?" M. Lenormand flung at him. "In order to commit the theft." "I beg your pardon; the witnesses' story proves that the theft took place before the murder. Mr. Kesselbach was first bound and gagged, then robbed. Why should Lupin, who has never resorted to murder, choose this time to kill a man whom he had rendered helpless and whom he had already robbed?" The examining-magistrate stroked his long, fair whiskers, with the gesture customary to him when a question seemed incapable of solution. He replied in a thoughtful tone: "There are several answers to that. . . ." "What are they?" "It depends . . . it depends upon a number of facts as yet unknown. . . . And, moreover, the objection applies only to the nature of the motives. We are agreed as to the remainder." "No." This time, again, the denial was flat, blunt, almost impolite; so much so that the magistrate was absolutely nonplussed, dared not even raise a protest, and remained abashed in the presence of this strange collaborator. At last he said: "We all have our theories. I should like to know yours." "I have none."