"If any one had got into this enclosure, Sire, it would be known by this time. . . . We've been hunting in every direction for three hours."
"Still, I didn't make the coffee, I assure you. . . . And, unless you did. . . ."
"Oh, Sire!"
"Well, then, hunt about . . . search. . . . You have two hundred men at your disposal; and the out-houses are not so large as all that! For, after all, the ruffian is prowling round here, round these buildings . . . near the kitchen . . . somewhere or other! Go and bustle about!"
The fat Waldemar bustled about all night, conscientiously, because it was the master's order, but without conviction, because it was impossible for a stranger to hide among ruins which were so well-watched. And, as a matter of fact, the event proved that he was right: the investigations were fruitless; and no one was able to discover the mysterious hand that had prepared the narcotic drink.
Lupin spent the night lifeless on his bed. In the morning, the doctor, who had not left his side, told a messenger of the Emperor's that he was still asleep.
At nine o'clock, however, he made his first movement, a sort of effort to wake up.
Later on, he stammered:
"What time is it?"
"Twenty-five to ten."