"On the other hand, according to your depositions, Noël Dorgeroux intended to have a second amphitheatre built in his garden and to use the back of the same wall as a screen. That's so, is it not?" "Yes." "Well, this is the particular which I want you to give me. Have you noticed whether the back of the wall forms the same angle with its lower part?" "Yes, I've noticed that." "In that case," said Benjamin Prévotelle, with a note of increasing triumph in his voice, "the evidence is complete. Noël Dorgeroux and I are agreed. The pictures do not come from the wall itself. The cause lies elsewhere. I will prove it; and, if M. Massignac would show a little willingness to help . . ." "Théodore Massignac was kidnapped this evening," I remarked. "Kidnapped? What do you mean?" I repeated: "Yes, kidnapped; and I presume that the amphitheatre will be closed until further notice." "But this is terrible, it's awful!" gasped Benjamin Prévotelle. "Why, in that case they couldn't verify my theory! There would never be any more pictures! No, look here, it's impossible. Just think, I don't know the indispensable formula! Nobody does, except Massignac. Oh, no, it is absolutely necessary . . . Hullo, hullo! Don't cut me off, mademoiselle! . . . One moment more, monsieur. I'll tell you the whole truth about the pictures. Three or four words will be enough. . . . Hullo, hullo! . . ." Benjamin Prévotelle's voice suddenly died away. I was clearly aware of the insuperable distance that separated him from me at the very moment when I was about to learn the miraculous truth which he in his turn laid claim to have discovered. I waited anxiously. A few minutes passed. Twice the telephone-bell rang without my receiving any call. I decided to go away and had reached the bottom of the stairs when I was summoned back in a hurry. Some one was asking for me on the wire. "Some one!" I said, going upstairs again. "But it must be the same person." And I at once took up the receiver: "Are you there? Is that M. Prévotelle?" At first I heard only my name, uttered in a very faint, indistinct voice, a woman's voice: "Victorien. . . . Victorien. . . ." "Hullo!" I cried, very excitedly, though I did not yet understand. "Hullo! . . . Yes, it's I, Victorien Beaugrand. I happened to be at the telephone. . . . Hullo! . . . Who is it speaking?" For a few seconds the voice sounded nearer and then seemed to fall away. After that came perfect silence. But I had caught these few words: "Help, Victorien! . . . My father's life is in danger: help! . . . Come to the Blue Lion at Bougival. . . ." I stood dumbfounded. I had recognised Bérangère's voice: "Bérangère," I muttered, "calling on me for help. . . ." Without even pausing to think, I rushed to the station.