“Go to 18, Rue de la Barre, at Dieppe, which is the address of a certain Mme. Verdier. It was for this woman, whom he got to know two years ago, and to supply her constant need of money that Daval turned thief.” So everything was cleared up. The tragedy rose out of the darkness and gradually appeared in its true light. “Let us go on,” said M. Filluel after the count had withdrawn. “Upon my word,” said Beautrelet, gaily, “I have said almost all that I had to say.” “But the runaway, the wounded man?” “As to that, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, you know as much as I do. You have followed his tracks in the grass by the cloisters—you have—” “Yes, yes, I know. But, since then, his friends have removed him and what I want is a clue or two as regards that inn—” Isidore Beautrelet burst out laughing: “The inn! The inn does not exist! It’s an invention, a trick to put the police on the wrong scent, an ingenious trick, too, for it seems to have succeeded.” “But Dr. Delattre declares—” “Ah, that’s just it!” cried Beautrelet, in a tone of conviction. “It is just because Dr. Delattre declares that we mustn’t believe him. Why, Dr. Delattre refused to give any but the vaguest details concerning his adventure! He refused to say anything that might compromise his patient’s safety!—And suddenly he calls attention to an inn!—You may be sure that he talked about that inn because he was told to. You may be sure that the whole story which he dished up to us was dictated to him under the threat of terrible reprisals. The doctor has a wife. The doctor has a daughter. He is too fond of them to disobey people of whose formidable power he has seen proofs. And that is why he has assisted your efforts by supplying the most precise clues.” “So precise that the inn is nowhere to be found.” “So precise that you have never ceased looking for it, in the face of all probability, and that your eyes have been turned away from the only spot where the man can be, the mysterious spot which he has not left, which he has been unable to leave ever since the moment when, wounded by Mlle. de Saint-Véran, he succeeded in dragging himself to it, like a beast to its lair.” “But where, confound it all?—In what corner of Hades—?” “In the ruins of the old abbey.” “But there are no ruins left!—A few bits of wall!—A few broken columns!” “That’s where he’s gone to earth. Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction!” shouted Beautrelet. “That’s where you will have to look for him! It’s there and nowhere else that you will find Arsène Lupin!” “Arsène Lupin!” yelled M. Filleul, springing to his feet. There was a rather solemn pause, amid which the syllables of the famous name seemed to prolong their sound. Was it possible that the vanquished and yet invisible adversary, whom they had been hunting in vain for several days, could really be Arsène Lupin? Arsène Lupin, caught in a trap, arrested, meant immediate promotion, fortune, glory to any examining magistrate!