He looked round the office with alert eyes, which took in
everything, and said, in a brisk, incisive voice: "I am the Duke of
Charmerace. I am here on behalf of M. Gournay-Martin. Last evening
he received a letter from Arsene Lupin saying he was going to break
into his Paris house this very morning."

At the name of Arsene Lupin the inspector sprang from his chair, the
policemen from their bench. On the instant they were wide awake,
attentive, full of zeal.

"The letter, your Grace!" said the inspector briskly.

The Duke pulled off his glove, drew the letter from the breast-
pocket of his under-coat, and handed it to the inspector.

The inspector glanced through it, and said. "Yes, I know the
handwriting well." Then he read it carefully, and added, "Yes, yes:
it's his usual letter."

"There's no time to be lost," said the Duke quickly. "I ought to
have been here hours ago-hours. I had a break-down. I'm afraid I'm
too late as it is."

"Come along, your Grace-come along, you" said the inspector briskly.

The four of them hurried out of the office and down the steps of the
police-station. In the roadway stood a long grey racing-car, caked
with muds--grey mud, brown mud, red mud--from end to end. It looked
as if it had brought samples of the soil of France from many