"He must have known the snare we were preparing for him and did not turn up at the hospital exit, so we must naturally conclude he is still inside the gates, hidden in some remote corner, or underground. However, the first thing to do is to protect the girl, Josephine. By the by, she saw nothing, I suppose?" "She declares she did not see Loupart come in, but she asserts with a sort of perverse pride that it was certainly Loupart who fired at her because he had threatened to do so." A knock at the door was followed by the timid entrance of the doorkeeper. "Is that you, Charles? Come in," cried the director. "What do you want?" "It's about the signature, sir. There is blood on my book." In a moment Juve leaped from his chair and tore the register out of the porter's hands. "Blood!" Feverishly he turned the pages until he came to the writing. Without waiting for de Maufil's permission, he dismissed the porter. "Very good, I'll see you presently." Scarcely had the door shut, when Juve pointed to the page. "Look! Doctor Chaleck's signature! And just below it this mark of blood! What do you say to that, sir?" "But it's sheer madness. Chaleck cannot be guilty!" "Why not?" "Because he is known to me. He was recommended to me seven months ago by an old comrade of mine. Chaleck is a man of brains, a foreign physician, a Belgian. He comes here specially to study intermittent fevers. M. Juve, I tell you he has nothing whatever to do with this affair." Juve picked up his hat and stick. He was restless and uneasy; the directors' outburst had not greatly impressed him. "Doctor Chaleck could not explain how his finger came to be hurt and he did not inform us of the fact." "A mere coincidence." "Possibly, but it is a terrible coincidence for that man," replied Juve. On leaving the director's room, the distinguished detective could not refrain from rubbing his hands. "This time I have him!" he muttered. He went rapidly down the stairs, crossed the great courtyard of the hospital, and proceeded to knock at the porter's lodge. "Tell me, my friend, precisely how Doctor Chaleck's leaving the hospital came about?" The worthy man with much detail, for he now felt very proud of having played a part in the affair, related how Doctor Chaleck came to the gate, sent him after a cab while signing his name, then made off, after having, no doubt by an oversight, closed the register. "Very good! Thank you," was Juve's comment, bestowing a liberal tip on the man. This time he was leaving Lâriboisière for good. "Very characteristic, that piece of impudence," he reflected; "very like Doctor Chaleck that device of shutting the register he had just stained with blood in order to give himself time to make off!" On reaching the Boulevard Magenta he hailed a cab. "Rue Montmartre. Stop at the _Capital_ office. You know it?"