Evidently the ruffian knew the secret of the strongbox. Was it not he, in fact, who had advised Lady Beltham to purchase it? Fantômas opened the safe, drew out its contents in handfuls, stuffed his pockets full of gold and notes. For a moment he was disturbed in this twice infamous robbery by the creak of an opening door; he looked round, startled and confused, but he could see nothing, the door had been reclosed. And Fantômas, never knowing that his last act of brigandage had so profoundly shocked his mistress that she had fallen fainting to the floor in the next room, went on with his thievery. With infinite precautions, five minutes afterward, the thief was creeping surreptitiously down the back stairs; gaining the deserted offices, he found an open window, and leapt into the garden behind the house. He had his good reasons for not leaving by the front gates. Cowardly, like a traitor, like a wild beast pursued by the hunters, like a criminal hiding after a dastardly deed, he glided into the deep shade of the pleached alley, muffling his footsteps, revolver in hand, ready to resist the first attack, confident of escaping the most ingeniously laid trap. Then he halted for a second. The hot sun of this summer afternoon pierced the heavy overhanging foliage and threw on the ground a hundred black, dancing shadows that patterned the mossy carpet and dazzled the eyes. But the robber’s keen ear had caught a suspicious sound and he stopped to listen. Was someone spying on him? Instinctively he told himself: “Juve, since yesterday a free man, and by a miracle escaped from the hands of my confederates, is perhaps at my heels?” Then came a cry of rage! Suddenly, emerging from the bushes, a man had sprung at his throat. The man was Juve! Fantômas fired, without a tremble of the outstretched arm, at point blank range. But the ball never reached its aim; piercing the thick roof of greenery above, it lost itself in the sky. For at the same instant he had caught sight of Juve and taken aim at his heart, Fantômas was attacked in the rear. A formidable blow across the loins upset his balance and the villain measured his length on the ground. Boiling with rage, he pressed the trigger and shot off at random the four remaining charges—quite without effect. The bullets struck no one; ploughing up the soil, they raised a thick cloud of dust, and that was all. Juve had leapt upon his assailant instantly; kneeling on the man’s chest, he held him down, both hands gripping his throat. Looking up, Fantômas could see his face, and Fandor’s beside it. He was done for! his two implacable enemies had him in their power.