er my direction, a regular series of
searches with a view..."

"To what?"

"To discovering the precious object of which I spoke to you."

"What's that?"

"A crystal stopper."

"A crystal stopper... Saints above! A nice business! And, if we don't
find your confounded stopper, what then?"

Lupin took her gently by the arm and, in a serious voice:

"If we don't find it, Gilbert, young Gilbert whom you know and love,
will stand every chance of losing his head; and so will Vaucheray."

"Vaucheray I don't mind... a dirty rascal like him! But Gilbert..."

"Have you seen the papers this evening? Things are looking worse than
ever. Vaucheray, as might be expected, accuses Gilbert of stabbing the
valet; and it so happens that the knife which Vaucheray used belonged
to Gilbert. That came out this morning. Whereupon Gilbert, who is
intelligent in his way, but easily frightened, blithered and launched
forth into stories and lies which will end in his undoing. That's how
the matter stands. Will you help me?"

Thenceforth, for several days, Lupin moulded his existence upon
Daubrecq's, beginning his investigations the moment the deputy left the
house. He pursued them methodically, dividing each room into sections
which he did not abandon until he had been through the tiniest nooks and
corners and, so to speak, exhausted every possible device.

Victoire searched also. And nothing was forgotten. Table-legs,
chair-rungs, floor-boards, mouldings, mirror- and picture-frames,
clocks, plinths, curtain-borders, telephone-holders and electric
fittings: everything that an ingenious imagination could have selected
as a hiding-place was overhauled.

And they also watched the deputy's least actions, his most unconscious
movements, the expression of his face, the books which he read and the
letters which he wrote.

It was easy enough. He seemed to live his life in the light of day. No
door was ever shut. He received no visits. And his existence worked with
mechanical regularity. He went to the Chamber in the afternoon, to the
club in the evening.

"Still," said Lupin, "there must be something that's not orthodox behind
all this."

"There's nothing of the sort," moaned Victoire. "You're wasting your
time and we shall be bowled out."

The presence of the detectives and their habit of walking up and down
outside the windows drove her mad. She refused to admit that they were
there for any other purpose than to trap her, Victoire. An