It was not a brilliant one. The boldness and violence of their enemies had been manifested with too few precautions, for the utmost excesses were to be dreaded at their hands in case the struggle were continued. Now, at this moment, they appeared to be on the point of triumph. They had just obtained possession of the scientific treasure, the commercial application of which would assure them an enormous fortune. How exultant they must feel, accordingly! But then, on the other hand, how disconcerted they would be on attempting to utilize the stolen formula! As Marcel had said, to obtain the explosive in its full power, and with its special destructive qualities, a particular manipulation, a twist of the hand, so to speak, discovered by General de Trémont, was necessary. They might try to apply the formula; but if they did not know how to handle the different doses, their hopes would fail of realization. Now the thief-assassin, who had found his way into the laboratory, had carried off the precious document, but would it not remain utterly worthless, like the golden crown in the legend, which changed into a dry leaf? Uncle Graff was meditating on all this as he walked by Marcel’s side. He said nothing to the young man. What was the use? It was also certain that the villains, bent as they were on obtaining the secret, had already killed two men and set fire to the works to accomplish their object. Granting that they had once more failed, would they not recommence the struggle, and purchase victory at the cost of no matter what sacrifices? Under these conditions there was no drawing back; they must risk much to try and check an offensive return, and not hesitate in case the unknown beauty were an accomplice in the crimes already committed; it must be their object to keep her in view, question her, and if need be, deliver her into the hands of justice in order to try and throw light on this dark and dangerous affair. They reached the wood, and, the house being no more than a hundred yards distant, Baudoin, who had waited for them, said— “I will go all round the garden, and bear off in the direction of the wood, so that, if any one tries to escape, I may be able to cut off his retreat.” “No,” said Marcel. “Let us remain together.” Just at that moment an old woman appeared before them, dragging a faggot of decayed wood. She smiled with her toothless mouth, and, stopping to take breath, said— “Is it the young lady of the villa you want to see? If so—” “Well?” said Marcel. “You will not find her here. An hour ago she went away in a cab with all her luggage, in the direction of Sainte-Savine. Cacheu, of the Lion d’Or, drove the cab himself.” “Gone?” exclaimed Marcel, stupefied. “So it seems,” said Uncle Graff. “The _coup_ is effected.” “Impossible!” “Poor young man! His walks with the young lady were very agreeable,” muttered the old woman.