“Not at all. You remember the story of the coronet, the story of the Duc de Charmerac?”[7] [7] _Arsène Lupin_, play in four acts, by Maurice Leblanc and Francis de Croisset. “Yes.” “You remember Victoire, Lupin’s old foster-mother, the one whom my good friend Ganimard allowed to escape in a sham prison-van?” “Yes.” “I have found Victoire’s traces. She lives on a farm, not far from National Road No. 25. National Road No. 25 is the road from the Havre to Lille. Through Victoire I shall easily get at Lupin.” “It will take long.” “No matter! I have dropped all my cases. This is the only one I care about. Between Lupin and me, it’s a fight—a fight to the death.” He spoke these words with a sort of ferocity that betrayed all his bitterness at the humiliations which he had undergone, all his fierce hatred of the great enemy who had tricked him so cruelly. “Go away, now,” he whispered, “we are observed. It’s dangerous. But mark my words: on the day when Lupin and I meet face to face, it will be—it will be tragic.” Beautrelet felt quite reassured on leaving Shears: he need not fear that the Englishman would gain on him. And here was one more proof which this chance interview had brought him: the road from the Havre to Lille passes through Dieppe! It is the great seaside road of the Caux country, the coast road commanding the Channel cliffs! And it was on a farm near this road that Victoire was installed, Victoire, that is to say, Lupin, for one did not move without the other, the master without the blindly devoted servant. “I’m burning! I’m burning!” he repeated to himself. “Whenever circumstances bring me a new element of information, it confirms my supposition. On the one hand, I have the absolute certainty of the banks of the Seine; on the other, the certainty of the National Road. The two means of communication meet at the Havre, the town of Francis I., the town of the secret. The boundaries are contracting. The Caux country is not large; and, even so, I have only the western portion of the Caux country to search.” He set to work with renewed stubbornness: “Anything that Lupin has found,” he kept on saying to himself, “there is no reason for my not finding.” Certainly, Lupin had some great advantage over him, perhaps a thorough acquaintance with the country, a precise knowledge of the local legends, or less than that, a memory: invaluable advantages these, for he, Beautrelet, knew nothing, was totally ignorant of the country, which he had first visited at the time of the Ambrumésy burglary and then only rapidly, without lingering.