“But his friends were able to take him away afterward?”
“When? Your men have never left the ruins. And where could they have moved him to? At most, a few hundred yards away, for one doesn’t let a dying man travel—and then you would have found him. No, I tell you, he is there. His friends would never have removed him from the safest of hiding-places. It was there that they brought the doctor, while the gendarmes were running to the fire like children.”
“But how is he living? How will he keep alive? To keep alive you need food and drink.”
“I can’t say. I don’t know. But he is there, I will swear it. He is there, because he can’t help being there. I am as sure of it as if I saw as if I touched him. He is there.”
With his finger outstretched toward the ruins, he traced in the air a little circle which became smaller and smaller until it was only a point. And that point his two companions sought desperately, both leaning into space, both moved by the same faith in Beautrelet and quivering with the ardent conviction which he had forced upon them. Yes, Arsène Lupin was there. In theory and in fact, he was there: neither of them was now able to doubt it.
And there was something impressive and tragic in knowing that the famous adventurer was lying in some dark shelter, below the ground, helpless, feverish and exhausted.
“And if he dies?” asked M. Filleul, in a low voice.
“If he dies,” said Beautrelet, “and if his accomplices are sure of it, then see to the safety of Mlle. de Saint-Véran. Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, for the vengeance will be terrible.”
A few minutes later and in spite of the entreaties of M. Filleul, who would gladly have made further use of this fascinating auxiliary, Isidore Beautrelet, whose holidays ended that day, went off by the Dieppe Road. He stepped from the train in Paris at five o’clock and, at eight o’clock, returned to the Lycée Janson together with his schoolfellows.
Ganimard, after a minute, but utterly useless exploration of the ruins of Ambrumésy, returned to Paris by the fast night-train. On reaching his apartment in the Rue Pergolese, he found an express letter awaiting him: