"No. Arsène Lupin would know I was coming and I don't wish him to. This time, Wilson, we must play a cautious game."
That afternoon, the two friends stepped on board the boat at Dover. They had a capital crossing. In the express from Calais to Paris, Shears indulged in three hours of the soundest sleep, while Wilson kept a good watch at the door of the compartment and meditated with a wandering eye.
Shears woke up feeling happy and well. The prospect of a new duel with Arsène Lupin delighted him; and he rubbed his hands with the contented air of a man preparing to taste untold joys.
"At last," exclaimed Wilson, "we shall feel that we're alive!"
And he rubbed his hands with the same contented air.
At the station, Shears took the rugs, and, followed by Wilson carrying the bags—each his burden!—handed the tickets to the collector and walked gaily into the street.
"A fine day, Wilson.... Sunshine!... Paris is dressed in her best to receive us."
"What a crowd!"
"So much the better, Wilson: we stand less chance of being noticed. No one will recognize us in the midst of such a multitude."