"He will return," thought Fandor: "And then it is all up with me! Courage to face the worst!"
The door of the studio had barely closed on Trokoff and his dupes when Fandor heard a breathless murmur at his ear.
"Quick! Quick! Fandor! Trokoff, you have guessed it, is Vagualame! Is Fantômas!... Cost what it may we must get the mastery of him!"
Fandor could not turn his head, but he felt his bonds were being loosened.... A minute or two and he was free! He took a staggering step or two: his limbs were stiff and numb.... Close to him, watching his first difficult movements with an expression of ardent sympathy, our journalist perceived—Naarboveck....
"You," said he.
"I!... Fandor, I will explain!... Hold! Here is a revolver!... Ah! the bandits!... They took me too! Me also they have condemned to death! But I managed to escape!... Look out! He returns! We will fall upon Trokoff!... We will avenge ourselves!"
A heavy step was heard on the stairs; someone was mounting hurriedly.... Trokoff was about to reappear....
Fandor grasped the revolver de Naarboveck had just handed to him. He bounded to the door, ready to leap on the entering man.
De Naarboveck was ambushed on the side opposite to Fandor.
Suddenly Fandor shouted: