“And now, to our post.” 

 He had chosen for himself a small room located in the thick outer wall, between the two principal doors, and which, in former years, had been the watchman’s quarters. A peep-hole opened upon the bridge; another on the court. In one corner, there was an opening to a tunnel. 

 “I believe you told me, Monsieur le Baron, that this tunnel is the only subterranean entrance to the castle and that it has been closed up for time immemorial?” 

 “Yes.” 

 “Then, unless there is some other entrance, known only to Arsène Lupin, we are quite safe.” 

 He placed three chairs together, stretched himself upon them, lighted his pipe and sighed: 

 “Really, Monsieur le Baron, I feel ashamed to accept your money for such a sinecure as this. I will tell the story to my friend Lupin. He will enjoy it immensely.” 

 The baron did not laugh. He was anxiously listening, but heard nothing save the beating of his own heart. From time to time, he leaned over the tunnel and cast a fearful eye into its depths. He heard the clock strike eleven, twelve, one. 

 Suddenly, he seized Ganimard’s arm. The latter leaped up, awakened from his sleep. 

 “Do you hear?” asked the baron, in a whisper. 

 “Yes.” 

 “What is it?” 

 “I was snoring, I suppose.” 

 “No, no, listen.” 

 “Ah! yes, it is the horn of an automobile.” 

 “Well?” 

 “Well! it is very improbable that Lupin would use an automobile like a battering-ram to demolish your castle. Come, Monsieur le Baron, return to your post. I am going to sleep. Good-night.” 

 That was the only alarm. Ganimard resumed his interrupted slumbers, and the baron heard nothing except the regular snoring of his companion. At break of day, they left the room. The castle 

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