Wilson handed him a sheet of paper, which he read by the light of his lantern. It was as follows:
“Wilson, come at once to avenue Henri-Martin. The house is empty. Inspect the whole place and make an exact plan. Then return to hotel.—Herlock Sholmes.”
“I was measuring the rooms,” said Wilson, “when I saw a shadow in the garden. I had only one idea——”
“That was to seize the shadow.... The idea was excellent.... But remember this, Wilson, whenever you receive a letter from me, be sure it is my handwriting and not a forgery.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Wilson, as the truth dawned on him, “then the letter wasn’t from you?”
“No.”
“Who sent it, then?”
“Arsène Lupin.”
“Why? For what purpose?” asked Wilson.
“I don’t know, and that’s what worries me. I don’t understand why he took the trouble to disturb you. Of course, if he had sent me on such a foolish errand I wouldn’t be surprised; but what was his object in disturbing you?”