“Find her.”
Sholmes pulled his cap down over his forehead and walked rapidly away, like a man who is accustomed to go as soon as his business is finished.
“Bon voyage, monsieur,” cried Lupin, “and, believe me, I shall never forget the friendly way in which our little business affairs have been arranged. My regards to Monsieur Wilson.”
Not receiving any reply, Lupin added, sneeringly:
“That is what is called ‘taking British leave.’ Ah! their insular dignity lacks the flower of courtesy by which we are distinguished. Consider for a moment, Ganimard, what a charming exit a Frenchman would have made under similar circumstances! With what exquisite courtesy he would have masked his triumph!... But, God bless me, Ganimard, what are you doing? Making a search? Come, what’s the use? There is nothing left—not even a scrap of paper. I assure you my archives are in a safe place.”
“I am not so sure of that,” replied Ganimard. “I must search everything.”
Lupin submitted to the operation. Held by two detectives and surrounded by the others, he patiently endured the proceedings for twenty minutes, then he said:
“Hurry up, Ganimard, and finish!”
“You are in a hurry.”
“Of course I am. An important appointment.”