The man …”

“Call him by his name, Arsène Lupin.”

“Arsène Lupin must have telephoned.”

“Capital! We will examine the person of the hotel who has charge of the branch exchange communicating with the outside. And, afterward, did you hear him go out, too?”

“He came in to see if we were still bound; and, a quarter of an hour later, he went away, closing the hall-door after him.”

“Yes, as soon as his crime was committed. Good … Good … It all fits in … And, after that?”

“After that, we heard nothing more … The night passed … I fell asleep from exhaustion … So did Edwards … And it was not until this morning …”

“Yes, I know … There, it’s not going badly … it all fits in …”

And, marking off the stages of his investigation, in a tone as though he were enumerating so many victories over the stranger, he muttered thoughtfully:

“The accomplice … the telephone … the time of the murder … the sounds that were heard … Good … Very good … We have still to establish the motive of the crime … In this case, as we have Lupin to deal with, the motive is obvious. M. Lenormand, have you noticed the least sign of anything being broken open?”

“No.”

“Then the robbery must have been effected upon the person of the victim himself. Has his pocket-book been found?”

“I left it in the pocket of his jacket,” said Gourel.

They all went into the sitting-room, where M. Formerie discovered that the pocket-book contained nothing but visiting-cards and papers establishing the murdered man’s identity.

“That’s odd. Mr. Chapman, can you tell us if Mr. Kesselbach had any money on him?”

“Yes. On the previous day—that is, on Monday, the day before yesterday—we went to the Crédit Lyonnais, where Mr. Kesselbach hired a safe …”

“A safe at the Crédit Lyonnais? Good … We must look into that.”

“And, before we left, Mr. Kesselbach opened an account and drew out five or six thousand francs in bank-notes.”

“Excellent … that tells us just what we want to know.”

Chapman continued:

“There is another point, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. Mr. Kesselbach, who for some days had been very uneasy in his mind—I have told you the reason: a scheme to which he attached the utmost importance—Mr. Kesselbach seemed particularly anxious about two things. There was, first, a little ebony box, which he put away safely at the Crédit Lyonnais; and, next, a little black morocco note-case, in which he kept a few papers.”

“And where is that?”

“Before Lupin’s arrival, he put it, in my presence, into that travelling-bag.”

M. Formerie took the bag and felt about in it. The note-case was not there. He rubbed his hands:

“Ah, everything fits in! … We know the culprit, the conditions and the motive of the crime. This case won’t take long. Are we quite agreed upon everything, M. Lenormand?”

“Upon not one single thing.”

There was a moment of stupefaction. The commissary of police had arrived: and, behind him, in spite of the constables keeping the door, a troop of journalists, and the hotel staff had forced their way in and were standing in the entrance-lobby.

Notorious though the old fellow was for his bluntness—a bluntness which was not without a certain discourtesy and which had already procured him an occasional reprimand in high quarters—the abruptness of this reply took every one aback. And M. Formerie in particular appeared utterly nonplussed:

“Still,” he said, “I can see nothing that isn’t quite simple. Lupin is the thief …”

“Why did he commit the murder?” M. Lenormand flung at him.

“In order to commit the theft.”

“I beg your pardon; the witnesses’ story proves that the theft took place before the murder. Mr. Kesselbach was first bound and gagged, then robbed.