chair-rungs, floor-boards, mouldings, mirror- and picture-frames, clocks,
plinths, curtain-borders, telephone-holders and electric fittings:
everything that an ingenious imagination could have selected as a
hiding-place was overhauled.

And they also watched the deputy's least actions, his most unconscious
movements, the expression of his face, the books which he read and the
letters which he wrote.

It was easy enough. He seemed to live his life in the light of day. No
door was ever shut. He received no visits. And his existence worked
with mechanical regularity. He went to the Chamber in the afternoon,
to the club in the evening.

"Still," said Lupin, "there must be something that's not orthodox behind
all this."

"There's nothing of the sort," moaned Victoire. "You're wasting your
time and we shall be bowled out."

The presence of the detectives and their habit of walking up and down
outside the windows drove her mad. She refused to admit that they were
there for any other purpose than to trap her, Victoire. And, each time
that she went shopping, she was quite surprised that one of those men
did not lay his hand upon her shoulder.

One day she returned all upset. Her basket of provisions was shaking
on her arm.

"What's the matter, my dear Victoire?" said Lupin. "You're looking