“I don’t know,” replied Prasville, after an imperceptible hesitation.
“But you know the name under which Arsène Lupin passed?”
“Yes. M. Nicole, a private tutor, master of arts and so on. Here is his card.”
As Prasville finished speaking, an office-messenger came to tell the prefect of police that he was wanted immediately at the Élysée. The prime minister was there already.
“I’m coming,” he said. And he added, between his teeth, “It’s to decide upon Gilbert’s fate.”
Prasville ventured:
“Do you think they will pardon him, monsieur le préfet?”
“Never! After last night’s affair, it would make a most deplorable impression. Gilbert must pay his debt to-morrow morning.”
The messenger had, at the same time, handed Prasville a visiting-card. Prasville now looked at it, gave a start and muttered:
“Well, I’m hanged! What a nerve!”