“Let us hope that his injuries won’t be serious. Old Bob is solid as a rock. What did I tell you about him? I have made his confess, the old sinner! He was trying to steal Prince Galitch’s skull which he believed to be more ancient than his own. Just the jealousy of one savant toward another. We shall all laugh at him when he is cured!” At that moment the door of the Square Tower opened and Walter, Old Bob’s faithful servant, appeared. His face was pale and he seemed very nervous. “Oh, Miss Edith!” he cried out. “He is covered with blood! He doesn’t want anything to be said about it, but he must be saved----” Edith had already rushed into the Square Tower. As to us we dared not utter a word. Soon the young woman returned. “Oh!” she sobbed. “It is frightful. His whole breast is torn open!” I started to offer her the support of my arm, for, strangely enough M. Arthur Rance had withdrawn to some distance and was walking upon the boulevard, whistling and with his hands behind his back. I tried to comfort and to soothe Mme. Edith, but neither M. nor Mme. Darzac uttered a word. * * * * * Rouletabille reached the castle about an hour after these events. I watched for his return from the highest part of the western boulevard and as soon as I saw his form appearing in the distance I hurried to meet him. He cut short my demands for an explanation and asked me immediately if I had made a good catch, but I was not at all deceived by the expression of his countenance, and wishing to reply to him in his own style of banter, I replied: “Oh, yes: a very good catch. I fished up Old Bob.” He started violently. I shrugged my shoulders, for I believed that he was counterfeiting surprise, and I went on: “Oh, go on! You knew very well what kind of fish I should find when you sent your message!” He fixed an astonished glance on me. “You certainly must be unaware of the purport of your words, my dear Sainclair, or else you would have spared me the trouble of protesting against such an accusation.” “What accusation?” I cried. “That of having left Old Bob in the Grotto of Romeo and Juliet, knowing that he might be dying there.” “Oh, nonsense!” I cried. “Old Bob is far from dying. He has a sprained foot and a broken collar bone, and his story of his misfortune is perfectly plain and straightforward. He declares that he was trying to steal Prince Galitch’s skull.” “What a funny idea!” exclaimed Rouletabille, bursting out laughing. He leaned toward me and looked full into my eyes. “Do you believe that story? And--and that is all? No other injuries?” “Yes,” I replied. “There is another injury, but the doctors declare that it is not at all serious. He has a wound in the breast.” “A wound in the breast!” repeated Rouletabille, touching my hand, nervously. “And how was this wound made?”