"Then who was?"
"I must beg Your Imperial Majesty to treat my answer as secret and confidential. The real culprit was Mrs. Kesselbach."
"Kesselbach's own wife?"
"Yes, Sire. She is dead now. It was she who made or caused to be made the copies which are in your possession. She kept the real letters."
"But where are they?" exclaimed the Emperor. "That is the important thing! They must be recovered at all costs! I attach the greatest value to those letters. . . ."
"Here they are, Sire."
The Emperor had a moment of stupefaction. He looked at Lupin, looked at the letters, then at Lupin again and pocketed the bundle without examining it.
Clearly, this man was puzzling him once more. Where did this scoundrel spring from who, possessing so terrible a weapon, handed it over like that, generously, unconditionally? It would have been so easy for him to keep the letters and to make such use of them as he pleased! No, he had given his promise and he was keeping his word.
And the Emperor thought of all the astounding things which that man had done.