Therefore someone had the hands of Dollon. The fingerprints of all the persons present were known to me – therefore someone had a method by which he changed his own fingerprints into those of Dollon... How was it done? It must be a removable method or means... why, of course, it could only be by a pair of gloves that the trick was done... of course, it must be by means of a pair of gloves made with the skin of Jacques Dollon’s hands!... I noticed that Nanteuil kept his hands obstinately behind his back. I guessed that it was he who had played the part of Dollon tonight, so I managed to prevent him removing those Dollon gloves, that I might take their imprint before your eyes – the rest can be guessed, can it not?... The imprint taken, profiting by the confusion, Nanteuil slipped off the glove which, as you see, was no thicker than a cigarette when rolled up... To throw it aside was risky: he pushed it up his sleeve while pretending to arrange his cuff, and at the same time to put ink on his ungloved hand and so hide his trick!

“I saw it all... Monsieur Havard, it is not only the false Jacques Dollon I denounce – for Juve and I fully realised that he was also the elusive Fantômas! Here is his black cloak with hooded mask, which is the irrefutable proof: besides which, he himself declared he was Fantômas.

“Monsieur Havard, all you have to do now is seize this man: Juve and I will hand him over to you!” It was a thrilling moment! Juve and Fandor, in this hour of decisive victory, mutely embraced. Monsieur Havard advanced with raised hand towards Nanteuil, who retreated.

“Fantômas,” he commenced, “in the name of the law I arr...” The word was strangled in his throat! .

As Havard advanced another step, Nanteuil suddenly sprang backwards, and his hand fell on the moulding of a wooden panel... At the same moment, Havard, as if hampered by some invisible obstacle, collapsed on the floor!

Juve and Fandor were about to rush to his aid, but as Fandor, in his turn, was also hurled flat on the floor, Juve yelled: “Good lord!... We are caught!... He escapes!” Whilst the detective made a frantic effort to move a step – he seemed somehow nailed to the floor – Fantômas, quick as lightning, leaped over the prone body of Monsieur Havard, reached the door, and clashed it shut behind him!

They heard a triumphant burst of laughter...

Fantômas was escaping!

“This is sorcery!” shouted the chief of the detective force, in a voice hoarse with rage.

“Take your boots off!... Take your boots off!” yelled Juve, who, with bare feet, was rushing through the house, revolver in hand, hoping to catch up with the delinquent banker-assassin.