“Four; the concierge and his wife will watch at all hazards. I don’t set much value on them _before_—but the concierge may be useful after—if there’s to be any killing!” “Then you think there may be?” “If _he_ wishes it.” “Why haven’t you brought in Daddy Jacques?—Have you made no use of him to-day?” “No,” replied Rouletabille sharply. I kept silence for awhile, then, anxious to know his thoughts, I asked him point blank: “Why not tell Arthur Rance?—He may be of great assistance to us?” “Oh!” said Rouletabille crossly, “then you want to let everybody into Mademoiselle Stangerson’s secrets?—Come, let us go to dinner; it is time. This evening we dine in Frédéric Larsan’s room,—at least, if he is not on the heels of Darzac. He sticks to him like a leech. But, anyhow, if he is not there now, I am quite sure he will be, to-night! He’s the one I am going to knock over!” At this moment we heard a noise in the room near us. “It must be he,” said Rouletabille. “I forgot to ask you,” I said, “if we are to make any allusion to to-night’s business when we are with this policeman. I take it we are not. Is that so?” “Evidently. We are going to operate alone, on our own personal account.” “So that all the glory will be ours?” Rouletabille laughed. We dined with Frédéric Larsan in his room. He told us he had just come in and invited us to be seated at table. We ate our dinner in the best of humours, and I had no difficulty in appreciating the feelings of certainty which both Rouletabille and Larsan felt. Rouletabille told the great Fred that I had come on a chance visit, and that he had asked me to stay and help him in the heavy batch of writing he had to get through for the “Epoque.” I was going back to Paris, he said, by the eleven o’clock train, taking his “copy,” which took a story form, recounting the principal episodes in the mysteries of the Glandier. Larsan smiled at the explanation like a man who was not fooled and politely refrains from making the slightest remark on matters which did not concern him. With infinite precautions as to the words they used, and even as to the tones of their voices, Larsan and Rouletabille discussed, for a long time, Mr. Arthur Rance’s appearance at the château, and his past in America, about which they expressed a desire to know more, at any rate, so far as his relations with the Stangersons. At one time, Larsan, who appeared to me to be unwell, said, with an effort: “I think, Monsieur Rouletabille, that we’ve not much more to do at the Glandier, and that we sha’n’t sleep here many more nights.” “I think so, too, Monsieur Fred.” “Then you think the conclusion of the matter has been reached?” “I think, indeed, that we have nothing more to find out,” replied Rouletabille. “Have you found your criminal?” asked Larsan. “Have you?” “Yes.” “So have I,” said Rouletabille. “Can it be the same man?”