The Minister seemed to be living in a nightmare; he thought he was dreaming, perhaps going demented, and it was in a weak voice he answered: “But it’s a joke, all this, eh, Mr. Bob? It is not Fantômas ’phoning to you, come now!” The detective shrugged: “Not Fantômas?” he said. “Then who is it?... who do you think it is?” “Fantômas would never tell you beforehand he was going to commit a crime at this restaurant in the Bois.” “Pooh! if he’s sure, once more, of not being arrested?” “No matter that! it would be too audacious; come, now, Mr. Bob, you won’t go?” “Oh, yes! I shall, sir! I shall be there.” The Minister was thinking; suddenly he went on: “Well, if you go, by all I hold most sacred, I will go too! Yes, I will go! it shall never be said ...” Tom Bob turned to M. Havard: “And you, my dear colleague, will you come? You seem pensive for the moment?” M. Havard indeed—from Tom Bob’s answers he had quite well gathered, or at any rate guessed, what Fantômas probably said—was thinking deeply. “Oh!” he declared at last, “yes, I shall certainly go; but it will be without over much belief in the thing.” “Why so?” “Because ... because it was a practical joker telephoned you.” “A practical joker? No, I don’t think that.” “I do!” declared M. Havard, who was getting annoyed, “yes, a practical joker! a practical joker, I repeat, for, look you, there is one thing you are forgetting, that we are all forgetting at present, a fact that is certain, indisputable ...” “To wit?” “Why, that Fantômas is in prison, that Fantômas is in the _Santé_, and that consequently he could not have done murder yesterday, he cannot be telephoning to you now, it will be impossible for him to be at the _Azaïs_ to-morrow!” The Minister, who for the last few minutes had been getting more and more impatient, laid his hand on M. Havard’s shoulder. “Listen to me!” he said, “all this is very bewildering, so bewildering in fact, that we are forgetting our logic. There is one step we must take instantly. Monsieur Havard, in coming to see your colleague, to see Mr. Tom Bob, we have made a blunder; it is elsewhere we must go now. By the Lord, we shall soon see if Juve is wounded, we shall soon find out whether he telephoned this morning, whether he can go this evening!” Before the great man had done speaking, M. Havard had clapped on his hat again and slipped on his top-coat. “You are right, Monsieur le Ministre,” he declared, “let us go there at once.” CHAPTER XIX THE PRISONER OF THE SANTÉ