Such are the facts; and I learned the sequel to them, one day, when Arsène Lupin was in a confidential mood. He was pacing to and fro in my room, with a nervous step and a feverish eye that were unusual to him.
“After all,” I said to him, “it was your most successful venture.”
Without making a direct reply, he said:
“There are some impenetrable secrets connected with that affair; some obscure points that escape my comprehension. For instance: What caused their flight? Why did they not take advantage of the help I unconsciously gave them? It would have been so simple to say: ‘The hundred millions were in the safe. They are no longer there, because they have been stolen.’”
“They lost their nerve.”
“Yes, that is it—they lost their nerve...On the other hand, it is true—-”
“What is true?”
“Oh! nothing.”
What was the meaning of Lupin’s reticence? It was quite obvious that he had not told me everything; there was something he was loath to tell. His conduct puzzled me. It must indeed be a very serious matter to cause such a man as Arsène Lupin even a momentary hesitation. I threw out a few questions at random.