Ah, if life ever brought Jérôme Fandor and this master of atrocity face to face, there would ensue a struggle of every hour, day, and moment – a struggle of the most terrible nature, a struggle in which man was pitted against man, a struggle without pity, without mercy – a fight to the death! Fantômas would assuredly defend himself with all the immense and elusive powers at his command Jérôme Fandor would pursue him with heart and soul, with his very life itself! It was not only to satisfy his sense of duty at the promptings of honour that the journalist would take action: he would have as guide for his acts, and to animate his will, the passion of hate, and the hope of avenging his friend Juve, fallen a victim to the mysterious blows of Fantômas.

In his article for La Capitale Fandor did not directly mention the possible participation of Fantômas in the crime of the rue Norvins. When it was finished he returned to his modest little flat on the fifth floor in the rue Bergère. He was about to enter the lobby, when he noticed a piece of paper, which must have been slipped under his door. He stooped and picked up an envelope.

“Why, it is a letter – and there is no name and no stamp on it.”

Entering his study, he seated himself at his table and prepared to begin work. Then he thought of the letter, which he had carelessly thrown on the mantelpiece. He tore it open, and drew out a sheet of letter paper.

“Whatever is this?” he cried. His astonishment was natural enough, for the message was oddly put together. To prevent his handwriting being recognised, Fandor’s correspondent had cut letters out of a newspaper, and had stuck them together in the desired order. The two or three lines of printed matter were as follows

Jérôme Fandor, pay attention, great attention! The affair on which you are concentrating all your powers is worthy of all possible interest, but may have terribly dangerous consequences.

Of course, there was no signature.

Evidently the warning referred to the Dollon case.

“Why,” exclaimed Fandor, “this is simply an invitation not to busy myself hunting for the guilty persons...

Who has sent this invitation and warning? Surely the sender is the assassin, to whose interest it is that the inquiry into the rue Norvins murder should be dropped!... It must be Jacques Dollon!... But how could Dollon know my address? How could he have found time between his flight from the Dépôt and the present minute to put this message of printed letters together, and take it to the rue Bergère... And that at the risk of encountering someone who could recognise him, and might have him arrested afresh? Had he accomplices?” Fandor was puzzled, agitated:

“But I am mad!... mad! It cannot be Dollon!...