"America Hotel, Paris."
For a long time Juve, with bent brows, read and reread these words. They could only have been brought here by Lady Beltham herself while Juve was away getting his ticket. What did this mysterious address portend?
If Lady Beltham believed she was communicating with Fantômas, she certainly would have no need to write to him; she would know well enough where to find him.
Furthermore, why didn't she simply walk through the several intervening cars and talk to him? What could be the motive powerful enough to prevent the mistress rejoining her lover? Upon second thoughts Juve doubted the hypothesis that Lady Beltham had intended to instigate the release of Fantômas. Might she not have become weary of the yoke which joined her to this monster and be really repentant of her crimes? It would not be the first time she had tasted remorse—and, instead of saving Fantômas, was aware that Juve had been set at liberty.
"Yes," echoed Juve, "this second hypothesis is evidently the right one and Lady Beltham has ranged herself upon the side of law."
The detective, with a defiant glance at the deepening evening shadows, proclaimed grandiloquently:
"So be it, Lady Beltham, it shall not be said that a gallant man repays you with ingratitude, and if you care to have it so we will say in unison:
"Between us three, Fantômas!"
The train thundered through the night. It was only at seven in the morning that the suburbs of Paris showed through an uncertain fog.