nced."

"Then--?"

"Well, I don't understand--unless--but no."

"What?"

"Georges--my son--this morning--Georges was playing with the book."

She ran out headlong, accompanied by Beautrelet, Massiban and the
baron. The child was not in his room. They hunted in every direction.
At last, they found him playing behind the castle. But those three
people seemed so excited and called him so peremptorily to account that
he began to yell aloud.

Everybody ran about to right and left. The servants were questioned. It
was an indescribable tumult. And Beautrelet received the awful
impression that the truth was ebbing away from him, like water
trickling through his fingers.

He made an effort to recover himself, took Mme. de Villemon's arm, and,
followed by the baron and Massiban, led her back to the drawing room
and said:

"The book is incomplete. Very well. There are two pages torn out; but
you read them, did you not, madame?"

"Yes."

"You know what they contained?"

"Yes."

"Could you repeat it to us?"

"Certainly. I read the book with a great deal of curiosity, but those
two pages struck me in particular because the revelations were so very
interesting."

"Well, then, speak madame, speak, I implore you! Those revelations are
of exceptional importance. Speak, I beg of you: minutes lost are never
recovered. The Hollow Needle--"

"Oh, it's quite simple. The Hollow Needle means--"

At that moment, a footman entered the room:

"A letter for madame."

"Oh, but the postman has passed!"

"A boy brought it."

Mme. de Villemon opened the letter, read it, and put her hand to her
heart, turning suddenly livid and terrified, ready to faint.

The paper had slipped to the floor. Beautrelet picked it up and,
without troubling to apologize, read:

Not a word! If you say a word, your son will
never wake again.

"My son--my son!" she stammered, too weak even to go to the assistance
of the threatened child.

Beautrelet reassured her:

"It is not serious--it's a joke. Come, who could be interested?"

"Unless," suggested Massiban, "it was Arsene Lupin."

Beautrelet made him a sign to hold his tongue. He knew quite well, of
course, that the enemy was there, once more, watchful and determined;
and that was just why he wanted to tear from Mme. de Villemon the
decisive words, so long awaited, and to tear them from her on the spot,
that very moment:

"I beseech you, madame, compose yourself. We are all here.