"I should very much like to know what connection you establish between this incident and the tragedy. Five locked doors separate us from the room in which Mr. Kesselbach was murdered." M. Lenormand did not condescend to reply. Time passed. Gustave did not return. "Where does he sleep?" asked the chief detective. "On the sixth floor," answered the manager. "The room is on the Rue de Judée side: above this, therefore. It's curious that he's not back yet." "Would you have the kindness to send some one to see?" The manager went himself, accompanied by Chapman. A few minutes after, he returned alone, running, with every mark of consternation on his face. "Well?" "Dead!" "Murdered?" "Yes." "Oh, by thunder, how clever these scoundrels are!" roared M. Lenormand, "Off with you, Gourel, and have the doors of the hotel locked. . . . Watch every outlet. . . . And you, Mr. Manager, please take us to Gustave Beudot's room." The manager led the way. But as they left the room, M. Lenormand stooped and picked up a tiny little round piece of paper, on which his eyes had already fixed themselves. It was a label surrounded with a blue border and marked with the number 813. He put it in his pocket, on chance, and joined the others. . . . * * * * * A small wound in the back, between the shoulder-blades. . . . "Exactly the same wound as Mr. Kesselbach's," declared the doctor. "Yes," said M. Lenormand, "it was the same hand that struck the blow and the same weapon was used." Judging by the position of the body, the man had been surprised when on his knees before the bed, feeling under the mattress for the cigarette-case which he had hidden there. His arm was still caught between the mattress and the bed, but the cigarette-case was not to be found. "That cigarette-case must have been devilish compromising!" timidly suggested M. Formerie, who no longer dared put forward any definite opinion. "Well, of course!" said the chief detective. "At any rate, we know the initials: an L and an M. And with that, together with what Mr. Chapman appears to know, we shall easily learn. . . ." M. Lenormand gave a start: "Chapman! But where is he?" They looked in the passage among the groups of people crowded together. Chapman was not there. "Mr. Chapman came with me," said the manager. "Yes, yes, I know, but he did not come back with you." "No, I left him with the corpse." "You left him! . . . Alone?" "I said to him, 'Stay here . . . don't move.'" "And was there no one about? Did you see no one?" "In the passage? No." "But in the other attics? . . . Or else, look here, round that corner: was there no one hiding there?"