“Rot! You think so, do you?”
“I swear it.”
“What Prasville and all his men, what Clarisse Mergy, what nobody has been able to do, you think that you will do!”
“I shall!”
“And why? By favour of what saint will you succeed where everybody else has failed? There must be a reason?”
“There is.”
“What is it?”
“My name is Arsène Lupin.”
He had let go of Daubrecq, but held him for a time under the dominion of his authoritative glance and will. At last, Daubrecq drew himself up, gave him a couple of sharp taps on the shoulder and, with the same calm, the same intense obstinacy, said:
“And my name’s Daubrecq. My whole life has been one desperate battle, one long series of catastrophes and routs in which I spent all my energies until victory came: complete, decisive, crushing, irrevocable victory. I have against me the police, the government, France, the world. What difference do you expect it to make to me if I have M. Arsène Lupin against me into the bargain? I will go further: the more numerous and skilful my enemies, the more cautiously I am obliged to play. And that is why, my dear sir, instead of having you arrested, as I might have done—yes, as I might have done and very easily—I let you remain at large and beg charitably to remind you that you must quit in less than three minutes.”