“M. Nicole, 25, Place de Clichy. I am staying at a friend’s flat, which he has lent me during his absence.”
The interview was at an end. M. Nicole thanked the secretary-general, with a very low bow, and walked out, accompanied by Mme. Mergy:
“That’s an excellent piece of work,” he said, outside, rubbing his hands. “I can march into the police-office whenever I like, and set the whole lot to work.”
Mme. Mergy, who was less hopefully inclined, said:
“Alas, will you be in time? What terrifies me is the thought that the list may be destroyed.”
“Goodness gracious me, by whom? By Daubrecq?”
“No, but by the marquis, when he gets hold of it.”
“He hasn’t got it yet! Daubrecq will resist long enough, at any rate, for us to reach him. Just think! Prasville is at my orders!”
“Suppose he discovers who you are? The least inquiry will prove that there is no such person as M. Nicole.”
“But it will not prove that M. Nicole is the same person as Arsène Lupin. Besides, make yourself easy. Prasville is not only beneath contempt as a detective: he has but one aim in life, which is to destroy his old enemy, Daubrecq. To achieve that aim, all means are equally good; and he will not waste time in verifying the identity of a M. Nicole who promises him Daubrecq. Not to mention that I was brought by you and that, when all is said, my little gifts did dazzle him to some extent. So let us go ahead boldly.”