“You blackguard! You blackguard!”
He half-saw Daubrecq, in the dark, ridding himself of his rope, and heard him whisper:
“You’re a bit of a fool, you know!... You bring me a letter from my Rousselot cousins, in which I recognize the writing of the elder, Adelaide, but which that sly puss of an Adelaide, suspecting something and meaning to put me on my guard, if necessary, took care to sign with the name of the younger sister, Euphrasie Rousselot. You see, I tumbled to it! So, with a little reflection . . . you are Master Arsène Lupin, are you not? Clarisse’s protector, Gilbert’s saviour.... Poor Lupin, I fear you’re in a bad way.... I don’t use the knife often; but, when I do, I use it with a vengeance.”
He bent over the wounded man and felt in his pockets:
“Give me your revolver, can’t you? You see, your friends will know at once that it is not their governor; and they will try to secure me.... And, as I have not much strength left, a bullet or two.... Good-bye, Lupin. We shall meet in the next world, eh? Book me a nice flat, with all the latest conveniences.
“Good-bye, Lupin. And my best thanks. For really I don’t know what I should have done without you. By Jove, d’Albufex was hitting me hard! It’ll be a joke to meet the beggar again!”
Daubrecq had completed his preparations. He whistled once more. A reply came from the boat.
“Here I am,” he said.
With a last effort, Lupin put out his arm to stop him. But his hand touched nothing but space. He tried to call out, to warn his accomplices: his voice choked in his throat.
He felt a terrible numbness creep over his whole being. His temples buzzed.