"No, she won't go home for a few days, until the storm has blown over ... and I am able to look after her more thoroughly.... But you must hurry, Dubreuil. It will take a long time to ship all the cases and you will be wanted on the wharf."
"You're sure we are not being watched?"
"Whom by? I was never afraid of any one but Shears."
Dubreuil went away. Félix Davey took a last walk round the flat, picked up a torn letter or two and then, seeing a piece of chalk, he took it, drew a large circle on the dark wall-paper of the dining room, and wrote, after the style of a commemorative tablet:
ARSÈNE LUPIN,
GENTLEMAN BURGLAR,
LIVED HERE
FOR 5 YEARS
AT THE COMMENCEMENT
OF
THE TWENTIETH CENTURY
This little joke seemed to cause him a lively satisfaction. He whistled gaily as he looked at it and cried:
"Now that I have put myself right with the historians of the future generations, let's be off! Hurry up, Maître Holmlock Shears! In three minutes I shall have left my lair, and your defeat will be absolute.... Two minutes more! You're keeping me waiting, maître!... One minute more! Aren't you coming? Very well, I proclaim your downfall and my apotheosis.... With which last words I proceed to make myself scarce. Farewell, O Kingdom of Arsène Lupin! I shall not look upon you again. Farewell, ye five-and-fifty rooms of the six flats over which I reigned! Farewell, austere and humble dwelling!"
A bell cut short his lyrical effusion, a short, shrill, strident bell, twice interrupted, twice resumed and then ceasing. It was the alarm-bell.
What could it mean? Some unexpected danger? Ganimard? Surely not!...
He was on the point of making for his study and escaping. But first he turned to the window. There was no one in the street. Was the enemy already in the house, then? He listened and seemed to distinguish confused sounds. Without further hesitation he ran to his study and, as he crossed the threshold, heard the sound of a latchkey fumbling at the lock of the hall-door.