was the reply.
“And you have searched the house thoroughly?”
“Every one of the rooms, for days at a time, while he was visiting his constituency.”
“Still… still…” And he added, “Has he no servant at present?”
“No, he is looking for one. He has his meals out and the portress keeps the house as best she can. The woman is devoted to us…”
Prasville persisted in his investigations for nearly an hour and a half, shifting and fingering all the knick-knacks, but taking care to put everything back exactly where he found it. At nine o’clock, however, the two detectives who had followed Daubrecq burst into the study:
“He’s coming back!”
“On foot?”
“Yes.”
“Have we time?”
“Oh, dear, yes!”
Prasville and the men from the police-office withdrew, without undue haste, after taking a last glance round the room to make sure that there was nothing to betray their visit.
The position was becoming critical for Lupin. He ran the risk of knocking up against Daubrecq, if he went away, or of not being able to get out, if he remained. But, on ascertaining that the dining-room windows afforded a direct means of exit to the square, he resolved to stay. Besides, the opportunity of obtaining a close view of Daubrecq was too good to refuse; and, as Daubrecq had been out to dinner, there was not much chance of his entering the dining-room.
Lupin, therefore, waited, holding himself ready to hide behind a velvet curtain that could be drawn across the glazed partition in case of need.
He heard the sound of doors opening and shutting. Some one walked into the study and switched on the light. He recognized Daubrecq.
The deputy was a stout, thickset, bull-necked man, very nearly bald, with a fringe of gray whiskers round his chin and wearing a pair of black eye-glasses under his spectacles, for his eyes were weak and strained. Lupin noticed the powerful features, the square chin, the prominent cheek-bones. The hands were brawny and covered with hair, the legs bowed; and he walked with a stoop, bearing first on one hip and then on the other, which gave him something of the gait of a gorilla. But the face was topped by an enormous, lined forehead, indented with hollows and dotted with bumps.
There was something bestial, something savage, something repulsive about the man’s whole personality. Lupin remembered that, in the Chamber of Deputies, Daubrecq was nicknamed “The Wild Man of the Woods” and that he was so labelled not only because he stood aloof and hardly ever mixed with his fellow-members, but also because of his appearance, his behaviour, his peculiar gait and his remarkable muscular development.
He sat down to his desk, took a meerschaum pipe from his pocket, selected a packet of caporal among several packets of tobacco which lay drying in a bowl, tore open the wrapper, filled his pipe and lit it. Then he began to write letters.
Presently he ceased his work and sat thinking, with his attention fixed on a spot on his desk.
He lifted a little stamp-box and examined it. Next, he verified the position of different articles which Prasville had touched and replaced; and he searched them with his eyes, felt them with his hands, bending over them as though certain signs, known to himself alone, were able to tell him what he wished to know.
Lastly, he grasped the knob on an electric bell-push and rang. The portress appeared a minute later.
He asked:
“They’ve been, haven’t they?”
And, when the woman hesitated about replying, he insisted:
“Come, come, Clemence, did you open this stampbox?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, I fastened the lid down with a little strip of gummed paper. The strip has been broken.”
“But I assure you,…” the woman began.
“Why tell lies,” he said, “considering that I myself instructed you to lend yourself to those visits?”
“The fact is…”
“The fact is that you want to keep on good terms with both sides… Very well!” He handed her a fifty-franc note and repeated, “Have they been?”
“Yes.”
“The same men as in the spring?”
“Yes, all five of them… with another one, who ordered them about.”
“A tall, dark man?”
“Yes.”
Lupin saw Daubrecq’s mouth hardening; and Daubrecq continued:
“Is that all?”
“There was one more, who came after they did and joined them… and then, just now, two more, the pair who usually keep watch outside the house.”
“Did they remain in the study?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And they went away when I came back? A few minutes before, perhaps?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will do.”
The woman left the room. Daubrecq returned to his letter-writing. Then, stretching out his arm, he made some marks on a white writing-tablet, at the end of his desk, and rested it against the desk, as though he wished to keep it in sight. The marks were figures; and Lupin was able to read the following subtraction-sum:
“9 – 8 = 1”
And Daubrecq, speaking between his teeth, thoughtfully uttered the syllables:
“Eight from nine leaves one… There’s not a doubt about that,” he added, aloud. He wrote one more letter, a very short one, and addressed the envelope with an inscription which Lupin was able to decipher when the letter was placed beside the writing-tablet:
“To Monsieur Prasville, Secretary-general of the Prefecture of Police.”
Then he rang the bell again:
“Clemence,” he said, to the portress, “did you go to school as a child?”
“Yes, sir, of course I did.”
“And were you taught arithmetic?”
“Why, sir…”
“Well, you’re not very good at subtraction.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you don’t know that nine minus eight equals one. And that, you see, is a fact of the highest importance. Life becomes impossible if you are ignorant of that fundamental truth.”
He rose, as he spoke, and walked round the room, with his hands behind his back, swaying upon his hips. He did so once more.
