“Yes, it is I, Maxime.”
The drama had commenced and was progressing with tragic precision. Lupin, the irrepressible and nonchalant Lupin, did not attempt to conceal his anxiety, and he strained every nerve in a desire to hear or, at least, to divine the purport of the conversation. And Sholmes continued, in reply to the mysterious voice:
“Hello!... Hello!... Yes, everything has been moved, and I am just ready to leave here and meet you as we agreed.... Where?... Where you are now.... Don’t believe that he is here yet!...”
Sholmes stopped, seeking for words. It was clear that he was trying to question the girl without betraying himself, and that he was ignorant of her whereabouts. Moreover, Ganimard’s presence seemed to embarrass him.... Ah! if some miracle would only interrupt that cursed conversation! Lupin prayed for it with all his strength, with all the intensity of his incited nerves! After a momentary pause, Sholmes continued:
“Hello!... Hello!... Do you hear me?... I can’t hear you very well.... Can scarcely make out what you say.... Are you listening? Well, I think you had better return home.... No danger now.... But he is in England! I have received a telegram from Southampton announcing his arrival.”
The sarcasm of those words! Sholmes uttered them with an inexpressible comfort. And he added:
“Very well, don’t lose any time. I will meet you there.”
He hung up the receiver.
“Monsieur Ganimard, can you furnish me with three men?”
“For the blonde Lady, eh?”