“Yes, sir,” said Bonavent. “Did you recognize them?” said Guerchard. “No,” said Bonavent; “they must have been new men. They told me they came from the Santé.” “You silly fool!” said Guerchard through his teeth. “A fine lot of sense you’ve got.” “Why, what’s the matter?” said Bonavent. “We’re done, done in the eye!” roared Guerchard. “It’s a stroke—a stroke—” “Of Lupin’s!” interposed the Duke softly. “But I don’t understand,” said Bonavent. “You don’t understand, you idiot!” cried Guerchard. “You’ve sent Victoire away in a sham prison-van—a prison-van belonging to Lupin. Oh, that scoundrel! He always has something up his sleeve.” “He certainly shows foresight,” said the Duke. “It was very clever of him to foresee the arrest of Victoire and provide against it.” “Yes, but where is the leakage? Where is the leakage?” cried Guerchard, fuming. “How did he learn that the doctor said that she would recover her wits at ten o’clock? Here I’ve had a guard at the door all day; I’ve imprisoned the household; all the provisions have been received directly by a man of mine; and here he is, ready to pick up Victoire the very moment she gives herself away! Where is the leakage?” He turned on Bonavent, and went on: “It’s no use your standing there with your mouth open, looking like a fool. Go upstairs to the servants’ quarters and search Victoire’s room again. That fool of an inspector may have missed something, just as he missed Victoire herself. Get on! Be smart!” Bonavent went off briskly. Guerchard paced up and down the room, scowling. “Really, I’m beginning to agree with you, M. Guerchard, that this Lupin is a remarkable man,” said the Duke. “That prison-van is extraordinarily neat.” “I’ll prison-van him!” cried Guerchard. “But what fools I have to work with. If I could get hold of people of ordinary intelligence it would be impossible to play such a trick as that.” “I don’t know about that,” said the Duke thoughtfully. “I think it would have required an uncommon fool to discover that trick.” “What on earth do you mean? Why?” said Guerchard. “Because it’s so wonderfully simple,” said the Duke. “And at the same time it’s such infernal cheek.” “There’s something in that,” said Guerchard grumpily. “But then, I’m always saying to my men, ‘Suspect everything; suspect everybody; suspect, suspect, suspect.’ I tell you, your Grace, that there is only one motto for the successful detective, and that is that one word, ‘suspect.’” “It can’t be a very comfortable business, then,” said the Duke. “But I suppose it has its charms.” “Oh, one gets used to the disagreeable part,” said Guerchard. The telephone bell rang; and he rose and went to it. He put the receiver to his ear and said, “Yes; it’s I—Chief-Inspector Guerchard.” He turned and said to the Duke, “It’s the gardener at Charmerace, your Grace.” “Is it?” said the Duke indifferently.