But, when he flung the shapeless little body into a furze bush, he saw on the spikes in the bush a hair, a long, fair hair; and all his depression returned at the memory of Florence.

He knelt in front of the ruined grotto.  Then, breaking two sticks of wood, he placed the pieces in the form of a cross under one of the stones.

As he was bending over, a little looking-glass slipped from his waistcoat pocket and, striking a pebble, broke.  This sign of ill luck made a great impression on him, He cast a suspicious look around him and, shivering with nervousness, as though he felt threatened by the invisible powers, he muttered: 

“I’m afraid—­I’m afraid.  Let’s go away—­”

His watch now marked half-past four.  He took his jacket from the shrub on which he had hung it, slipped his arms into the sleeves, and put his hand in the right-hand outside pocket, where he had placed the pocket-book containing his papers: 

“Hullo!” he said, in great surprise.  “I was sure I had—­”

He felt in the left outside pocket, then in the handkerchief-pocket, then, with feverish excitement, in both the inside pockets.  The pocket-book was not there.  And, to his extreme amazement, all the other things which he was absolutely certain that he had left in the pockets of his jacket were gone:  his cigarette-case, his box of matches, his notebook.

He was flabbergasted.  His features became distorted.  He spluttered incomprehensible words, while the most terrible thought took hold of his mind so forcibly as to become a reality:  there was some one within the precincts of the Old Castle.

There was some one within the precincts of the Old Castle!  And this some one was now hiding near the ruins, in the ruins perhaps!  And this some one had seen him!  And this some one had witnessed the death of Arsene Lupin and the death of Florence Levasseur!  And this some one, taking advantage of his heedlessness and knowing from his words that the papers existed, had searched his jacket and rifled the pockets!

His eyes expressed the alarm of a man accustomed to work in the darkness unperceived, and who suddenly becomes aware that another’s eyes have surprised him at his hateful task and that he is being watched in every movement for the first time in his life.

Whence did that look come that troubled him as the daylight troubles a bird of the night?  Was it an intruder hiding there by accident, or an enemy bent upon his destruction?  Was it an accomplice of Arsene Lupin, a friend of Florence, one of the police?  And was this adversary satisfied with his stolen booty, or was he preparing to attack him?

The cripple dared not stir.  He was there, exposed to assault, on open ground, with nothing to protect him against the blows that might come before he even knew where the adversary was.

At last, however, the imminence of the danger gave him back some of his strength.  Still motionless, he inspected his surroundings with an attention so keen that it seemed as if no detail could escape him.  He would have sighted the most indistinct shape among the stones of the ruined pile, or in the bushes, or behind the tall laurel screen.