ess,
the baron visited the office of the `Reveil,' situated on the quai.
There he found the writer of the article who, approaching the window,
exclaimed:

"Ganimard? Why, you are sure to see him somewhere on the quai with his
fishing-pole. I met him there and chanced to read his name engraved on
his rod. Ah, there he is now, under the trees."

"That little man, wearing a straw hat?"

"Exactly. He is a gruff fellow, with little to say."

Five minutes later, the baron approached the celebrated Ganimard,
introduced himself, and sought to commence a conversation, but that
was a failure. Then he broached the real object of his interview,
and briefly stated his case. The other listened, motionless, with his
attention riveted on his fishing-rod. When the baron had finished his
story, the fisherman turned, with an air of profound pity, and said:

"Monsieur, it is not customary for thieves to warn people they are about
to rob. Arsene Lupin, especially, would not commit such a folly."

"But---"

"Monsieur, if I had the least doubt, believe me, the pleasure of
again capturing Arsene Lupin would place me at your disposal. But,
unfortunately, that young man is already under lock and key."

"He may have escaped."

"No one ever escaped from the Sante."

"But, he---"

"He, no more than any other."

"Yet---"

"Well, if he escapes, so much the better. I will catch him again.
Meanwhile, you go home and sleep soundly. That will do for the present.
You frighten the fish."

The conversation was ended. The baron returned to the castle, reassured
to some extent by Ganimard's indifference. He examined the bolts,
watched the servants, and, during the next forty-eight hours, he became
almost persuaded that his fears were groundless. Certainly, as Ganimard
had said, thieves do not warn people they are about to rob.

The fateful day was close at hand. It was now the twenty-sixth of
September and nothing had happened. But at three o'clock the bell rang.
A boy brought this telegram:

"No goods at Batignolles station. Prepare everything for tomorrow night.
Arsene."

This telegram threw the baron into such a state of excitement that he
even considered the advisability of yielding to Lupin's demands.

However, he hastened to Caudebec. Ganimard was fishing at the same
place, seated on a campstool. Without a word, he handed him the
telegram.

"Well, what of it?" said the detective.

"What of it? But it is tomorrow."

"What is