“I arrest you.”
“Don’t let that worry you! In the name of the law, of which he is a well-deserving pillar, Ganimard, the celebrated Parisian detective, arrests the wicked Arsène Lupin. An historic event, of which you will appreciate the true importance.... And it is the second time that it has happened. Bravo, Ganimard, you are sure of advancement in your chosen profession!”
And he held out his wrists for the hand-cuffs. Ganimard adjusted them in a most solemn manner. The numerous policemen, despite their customary presumption and the bitterness of their feelings toward Lupin, conducted themselves with becoming modesty, astonished at being permitted to gaze upon that mysterious and intangible creature.
“My poor Lupin,” sighed our hero, “what would your aristocratic friends say if they should see you in this humiliating position?”
He pulled his wrists apart with all his strength. The veins in his forehead expanded. The links of the chain cut into his flesh. The chain fell off—broken.
“Another, comrades, that one was useless.”
They placed two on him this time.
“Quite right,” he said. “You cannot be too careful.”
Then, counting the detectives and policemen, he said:
“How many are you, my friends? Twenty-five? Thirty? That’s too many. I can’t do anything. Ah! if there had been only fifteen!”