"No. The gold is in the garden or in the house in the Rue Raynouard. We saw it being taken in every day for a week. It has not been taken out since. We kept watch every night. The bags are there." "No clue either to Essarès' murderer?" "No, none." "Are you quite sure?" "Why should I tell a lie?" "Suppose it was yourself? Or one of your friends?" "We thought that you would suspect us. Fortunately, we happen to have an alibi." "Easy to prove?" "Impossible to upset." "We'll look into it. So you have nothing more to reveal?" "No. But I have an idea . . . or rather a question which you will answer or not, as you please. Who betrayed us? Your reply may throw some useful light, for one person only knew of our weekly meetings here from four to five o'clock, one person only, Essarès Bey; and he himself often came here to confer with us. Essarès is dead. Then who gave us away?" "Old Siméon." Bournef started with astonishment: "What! Siméon? Siméon Diodokis?" "Yes. Siméon Diodokis, Essarès Bey's secretary." "He? Oh, I'll make him pay for this, the blackguard! But no, it's impossible." "What makes you say that it's impossible?'" "Why, because . . ." He stopped and thought for some time, no doubt to convince himself that there was no harm in speaking. Then he finished his sentence: "Because old Siméon was on our side." "What's that you say?" exclaimed Patrice, whose turn it was to be surprised. "I say and I swear that Siméon Diodokis was on our side. He was our man. It was he who kept us informed of Essarès Bey's shady tricks. It was he who rang us up at nine o'clock in the evening to tell us that Essarès had lit the furnace of the old hothouses and that the signal of the sparks was going to work. It was he who opened the door to us, pretending to resist, of course, and allowed us to tie him up in the porter's lodge. It was he, lastly, who paid and dismissed the men-servants." "But why? Why this treachery? For the sake of money?" "No, from hatred. He bore Essarès Bey a hatred that often gave us the shudders." "What prompted it?" "I don't know. Siméon keeps his own counsel. But it dated a long way back." "Did he know where the gold was hidden?" asked M. Masseron. "No. And it was not for want of hunting to find out. He never knew how the bags got out the cellar, which was only a temporary hiding-place." "And yet they used to leave the grounds. If so, how are we to know that the same thing didn't happen this time?" "This time we were keeping watch the whole way round outside, a thing which Siméon could not do by himself." Patrice now put the question: "Can you tell us nothing more about him?" "No, I can't. Wait, though; there was one rather curious thing. On the afternoon of the great day, I received a letter in which Siméon gave me certain particulars. In the same envelope was another letter, which had evidently got there by some incredible mistake, for it appeared to be highly important."