Don Luis smiled.

“Good,” he said.  “Things are taking shape,”

“Do you think so, Chief?”

“I do.  And who gave you the letter?”

“Ah, we’ve been lucky for once, Chief!  The policeman to whom it was handed happened to live at Les Ternes, next door to the bearer of the letter.  He knows the fellow well.  It was a stroke of luck, wasn’t it?”

Don Luis sprang from his seat, radiant with delight.

“What do you mean?  Out with it!  You know who it is?”

“The chap’s an indoor servant employed at a nursing-home in the Avenue des Ternes.”

“Let’s go there.  We’ve no time to lose.”

“Splendid, Chief!  You’re yourself again.”

“Well, of course!  As long as there was nothing to do I was waiting for this evening and resting, for I can see that the fight will be tremendous.  But, as the enemy has blundered at last, as he’s given me a trail to go upon, there’s no need to wait, and I’ll get ahead of him.  Have at the tiger, Mazeroux!”

* * * * *

It was one o’clock in the afternoon when Don Luis and Mazeroux arrived at the nursing-home in the Avenue des Ternes.  A manservant opened the door.  Mazeroux nudged Don Luis.  The man was doubtless the bearer of the letter.  And, in reply to the sergeant’s questions, he made no difficulty about saying that he had been to the police office that morning.

“By whose orders?” asked Mazeroux.

“The mother superior’s.”

“The mother superior?”

“Yes, the home includes a private hospital, which is managed by nuns.”

“Could we speak to the superior?”

“Certainly, but not now:  she has gone out.”

“When will she be in?”

“Oh, she may be back at any time!”

The man showed them into the waiting-room, where they spent over an hour. 
They were greatly puzzled.  What did the intervention of that nun mean? 
What part was she playing in the case?

People came in and were taken to the patients whom they had called to see.  Others went out.  There were also sisters moving silently to and fro and nurses dressed in their long white overalls belted at the waist.

“We’re not doing any good here, Chief,” whispered Mazeroux.

“What’s your hurry?  Is your sweetheart waiting for you?”

“We’re wasting our time.”

“I’m not wasting mine.  The meeting at the Prefect’s is not till five.”

“What did you say?  You’re joking, Chief!  You surely don’t intend to go to it.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?  Well, the warrant—­”

“The warrant?  A scrap of paper!”

“A scrap of paper which will become a serious matter if you force the police to act.  Your presence will be looked upon as a provocation—­”

“And my absence as a confession.  A gentleman who comes into a hundred millions does not lie low on the day of the windfall.  So I must attend that meeting, lest I should forfeit my claim.  And attend it I will.”