Lupin went to his own room, pressed the spring of his lantern and began to make a minute inspection. "It's as I thought," he said presently. "Some one came here to-night, while I was watching beneath the window. And, if he came, I know what he came for. . . . I was certainly right: things are getting warm. . . . The first time, I was spared. This time, I may be sure of my little stab."
For prudence's sake, he took a blanket, chose a lonely spot in the park and spent the night under the stars.
Octave was back by ten o'clock in the morning:
"It's all right, governor. The telegram has been sent."
"Good. And is Louis de Malreich still in prison?"
"Yes. Doudeville passed his cell at the Santé last night as the warder was coming out. They talked together. Malreich is just the same, it appears: silent as the grave. He is waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"The fatal hour of course. They are saying, at headquarters, that the execution will take place on the day after to-morrow."
"That's all right, that's all right," said Lupin. "And one thing is quite plain: he has not escaped."
He ceased to understand or even to look for the explanation of the riddle, so clearly did he feel that the whole truth would soon be revealed to him. He had only to prepare his plan, for the enemy to fall into the trap.