They reached the gate. Wilson, who was in front, took hold of one of the bars and pulled it:
"Hullo!" he said. "Did you shut it?"
"Certainly not: I left the gate ajar."
"But ..."
Shears pulled in his turn and then frantically flung himself upon the lock. An oath escaped him:
"Damn it all! It's locked!... The gate's locked!"
He shook the gate with all his might, but, soon realizing the hopelessness of his exertions, let his arms fall to his sides in discouragement and jerked out:
"I understand the whole thing now: it's his doing! He foresaw that I should get out at Creil and he laid a pretty little trap for me, in case I should come to start my inquiry to-night. In addition, he had the kindness to send you to keep me company in my captivity. All this to make me lose a day and also, no doubt, to show me that I would do much better to mind my own business...."
"That is to say that we are his prisoners."
"You speak like a book. Holmlock Shears and Wilson are the prisoners of Arsène Lupin. The adventure is beginning splendidly.... But no, no, I refuse to believe...."