He had not finished speaking when he felt himself seized round the throat and dragged backward. Someone hiding in the shrubbery, near the little door, had caught him by the head. He saw a hand raised, armed with a knife with a gleaming blade. The hand fell; the point of the knife caught him right in the throat.
At the same moment Altenheim sprang upon him to finish him off; and they rolled over into the flower-borders. It was a matter of twenty or thirty seconds at most. Powerful and experienced wrestler as he was, Altenheim yielded almost immediately, uttering a cry of pain. Sernine rose and ran to the little door, which had just closed upon a dark form. It was too late. He heard the key turn in the lock. He was unable to open it.
“Ah, you scoundrel!” he said. “The day on which I catch you will be the day on which I shed my first blood! That I swear to God! …”
He went back, stooped and picked up the pieces of the knife, which had broken as it struck him.
Altenheim was beginning to move. Sernine asked:
“Well, baron, feeling better? You didn’t know that blow, eh? It’s what I call the direct blow in the solar plexus; that is to say, it snuffs out your vital sun like a candle. It’s clean, quick, painless … and infallible. Whereas a blow with a dagger … ? Pooh! A man has only to wear a little steel-wove gorget, as I do, and he can set the whole world at defiance, especially your little pal in black, seeing that he always strikes at the throat, the silly monster! … Here, look at his favorite plaything … smashed to atoms!”
He offered him his hand:
“Come, get up, baron. You shall dine with me. And do please remember the secret of my superiority: an undaunted soul in an unassailable body.”
He went back to the club rooms, reserved a table for two, sat down on a sofa, and while waiting for dinner, soliloquized, under his breath:
“It’s certainly an amusing game, but it’s becoming dangerous. I must get it over … otherwise those beggars will send me to Paradise earlier than I want to go. The nuisance is that I can’t do anything before I find old Steinweg, for, when all is said, old Steinweg is the only interesting factor in the whole business; and my one reason for sticking to the baron is that I keep on hoping to pick up some clue or other. What the devil have they done with him? Altenheim is in daily communication with him: that is beyond a doubt; it is equally beyond a doubt that he is doing his utmost to drag out of him what he knows about the Kesselbach scheme. But where does he see him? Where has he got him shut up? With friends? In his own house, at 29, Villa Dupont?”
He reflected for some time, then lit a cigarette, took three puffs at it and threw it away. This was evidently a signal, for two young men came and sat down beside him. He did not seem to know them, but he conversed with them by stealth. It was the brothers Doudeville, got up that day like men of fashion.
“What is it, governor?”
“Take six of our men, go to 29, Villa Dupont and make your way in.”
“The devil! How?”
“In the name of the law. Are you not detective-inspectors? A search. …”
“But we haven’t the right. …”
“Take it.”
“And the servants? If they resist?”
“There are only four of them.”
“If they call out?”
“They won’t call out.”
“If Altenheim returns?”
“He won’t return before ten o’clock. I’ll see to it. That gives you two hours and a half, which is more than you require to explore the house from top to bottom. If you find old Steinweg, come and tell me.”
Baron Altenheim came up. Sernine went to meet him:
“Let’s have some dinner, shall we? That little incident in the garden has made me feel hungry. By the way, my dear baron, I have a few bits of advice to give you. …”
They sat down to table.
After dinner, Sernine suggested a game of billiards. Altenheim accepted. When the game was over, they went to the baccarat-room. The croupier was just shouting:
“There are fifty louis in the bank. Any bids?”
“A hundred louis,” said Altenheim.
Sernine looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. The Doudevilles had not returned. The search, therefore, had been fruitless.
“Banco,” he said.
Altenheim sat down and dealt the cards:
“I give.”
“No.”
“Seven.”
“Six. I lose,” said Sernine. “Shall I double the stakes?”
“Very well,” said the baron.
He dealt out the cards.
“Eight,” said Sernine.
“Nine,” said the baron, laying his cards down.
Sernine turned on his heels, muttering:
“That costs me three hundred louis, but I don’t mind; it fixes him here.”
Ten minutes later his motor set him down in front of 29, Villa Dupont; and he found the Doudevilles and their men collected in the hall:
“Have you hunted out the old boy?”
“No.”
“Dash it! But he must be somewhere or other. Where are the four servants?”
“Over there, in the pantry, tied up, with the cook as well.”
“Good. I would as soon they did not see me. Go all you others. Jean, stay outside and keep watch: Jacques, show me over the house.”
He quickly ran through the cellar, the ground floor, the first and second floors and the attic. He practically stopped nowhere, knowing that he would not discover in a few minutes what his men had not been able to discover in three hours. But he carefully noted the shape and the arrangement of the rooms, and looked for some little detail which would put him on the scent.
When he had finished, he returned to a bedroom which Doudeville had told him was Altenheim’s, and examined it attentively:
“This will do,” he said, raising a curtain that concealed a dark closet, full of clothes. “From
