`And what might you think?' asked Moncharmin, crimson with rage.

`I might think that, as you hadn't left me by a foot's breadth and as, by your own wish, you were the only one to approach me, like last time, I might think that, if that twenty-thousand francs was no longer in my pocket, it stood a very good chance of being in yours!'

Moncharmin leaped up at the suggestion.

`Oh!' he shouted. `A safety-pin!'

`What do you want a safety-pin for?'

`To fasten you up with!...A safety-pin!...A safety-pin!'

`You want to fasten me with a safety-pin?'

`Yes, to fasten you to the twenty-thousand francs! Then, whether it's here, or on the drive from here to your place, or at your place, you will feel the hand that pulls at your pocket and you will see if it's mine! Oh, so you're suspecting me now, are you? A safety-pin!'

And that was the moment when Moncharmin opened the door on the passage and shouted:

`A safety-pin!...somebody give me a safety-pin!'

And we also know how, at the same moment, Rémy, who had no safety-pin, was received by Moncharmin, while a boy procured the pin so eagerly longed for. And what happened was this: Moncharmin first locked the door again. Then he knelt down behind Richard's back.

`I hope,' he said, `that the notes are still there?'

`So do I,' said Richard.

`The real ones?' asked Moncharmin, resolved not to be `had' this time.

`Look for yourself,' said Richard. `I refuse to touch them.'

Moncharmin took the envelope from Richard's pocket and drew out the bank-notes with a trembling hand, for, this time, in order frequently to make sure of the presence of the notes, he had not sealed the envelope nor even fastened it. He felt reassured on finding that they were all there and quite genuine. He put them back in the tail-pocket and pinned them with great care. Then he sat down behind Richard's coat-tails and kept his eyes fixed on them, while Richard, sitting at his writing-table, did not stir.

`A little patience, Richard,' said Moncharmin. `We have only a few minutes to wait....The clock will soon strike twelve. Last time, we left at the last stroke of twelve.'

`Oh, I shall have all the patience necessary!'

The time passed, slow, heavy, mysterious, stifling. Richard tried to laugh.

`I shall end by believing in the omnipotence of the ghost,' he said. `Just now, don't you find something uncomfortable, disquieting, alarming in the atmosphere of this room?'

`You're quite right,' said Moncharmin, who was really impressed.

`The ghost!' continued Richard, in a low voice, as though fearing lest he should be overheard by invisible ears. `The ghost! Suppose, all the same, it were a ghost who puts the magic envelopes on the table ... who talks in Box Five...who killed Joseph Buquet... who unhooked the chandelier...and who robs us!