“Very good. Your escape, this morning, was well planned. I congratulate you.”
I arose. He fumbled in his pocket, drew out a large knife and tried to strike me with it.
“Imbecile!” I exclaimed.
With one hand, I parried the attack; with the other, I gave him a sharp blow on the carotid artery. He fell—stunned!
In my pocketbook, I recovered my papers and bank-notes. Out of curiosity, I took his. Upon an envelope, addressed to him, I read his name: Pierre Onfrey. It startled me. Pierre Onfrey, the assassin of the rue Lafontaine at Auteuil! Pierre Onfrey, he who had cut the throats of Madame Delbois and her two daughters. I leaned over him. Yes, those were the features which, in the compartment, had evoked in me the memory of a face I could not then recall.
But time was passing. I placed in an envelope two bank-notes of one hundred francs each, with a card bearing these words: “Arsène Lupin to his worthy colleagues Honoré Massol and Gaston Delivet, as a slight token of his gratitude.” I placed it in a prominent spot in the room, where they would be sure to find it. Beside it, I placed Madame Renaud’s handbag. Why could I not return it to the lady who had befriended me? I must confess that I had taken from it everything that possessed any interest or value, leaving there only a shell comb, a stick of rouge Dorin for the lips, and an empty purse. But, you know, business is business. And then, really, her husband is engaged in such a dishonorable vocation!
The man was becoming conscious. What was I to do? I was unable to save him or condemn him. So I took his revolver and fired a shot in the air.
“My two acolytes will come and attend to his case,” I said to myself, as I hastened away by the road through the ravine. Twenty minutes later, I was seated in my automobile.
At four o’clock, I telegraphed to my friends at Rouen that an unexpected event would prevent me from making my promised visit. Between ourselves, considering what my friends must now know, my visit is postponed indefinitely. A cruel disillusion for them!
At six o’clock I was in Paris. The evening newspapers informed me that Pierre Onfrey had been captured at last.