from the table. The guard
entered. It was the hour for exercise.

"I was waiting for you, my dear boy," exclaimed Lupin, in his accustomed
good humor.

They went out together. As soon as they had disappeared at a turn in the
corridor, two men entered the cell and commenced a minute examination
of it. One was Inspector Dieuzy; the other was Inspector Folenfant. They
wished to verify their suspicion that Arsene Lupin was in communication
with his accomplices outside of the prison. On the preceding evening,
the `Grand Journal' had published these lines addressed to its court
reporter:

"Monsieur:

"In a recent article you referred to me in most unjustifiable
terms. Some days before the opening of my trial I will call you to
account. Arsene Lupin."

The handwriting was certainly that of Arsene Lupin. Consequently, he
sent letters; and, no doubt, received letters. It was certain that he
was preparing for that escape thus arrogantly announced by him.

The situation had become intolerable. Acting in conjunction with the
examining judge, the chief of the Surete, Mon. Dudouis, had visited the
prison and instructed the gaoler in regard to the precautions necessary
to insure Lupin's safety. At the same time, he sent the two men to
examine the prisoner's cell. They raised every stone, ransacked the bed,
did everything customary in such a case, but they discovered nothing,
and were about to abandon their investigation when the guard entered
hastily and said:

"The drawer.... look in the table-drawer. When I entered just now he was
closing it."

They opened the drawer, and Dieuzy exclaimed:

"Ah! we have him this time."

Folenfant stopped him.

"Wait a moment. The chief will want to make an inventory."

"This is a very choice cigar."

"Leave it there, and notify the chief."

Two minutes later Mon. Dudouis examined the contents of the drawer.
First he discovered a bundle of newspaper clippings relating to Arsene
Lupin taken from the `Argus de la Presse,' then a tobacco-box, a pipe,
some paper called "onion-peel," and two books. He read the titles of the
books. One was an English edition of Carlyle's "Hero-worship"; the other
was a charming elzevir, in modern binding, the "Manual of Epictetus," a
German translation published at Leyden in 1634. On examining the books,
he found that all the pages were underlined and annotated. Were they
prepared as a code for correspondence, or did they simply express the
studious ch