“I think, I am sure that your tenant is none other than Arsène Lupin.”
The story amused Louis Valméras. He knew all the adventures of Arsène Lupin and the varying fortunes of his struggle with Beautrelet. He rubbed his hands:
“Ha, the Château de l’Aiguille will become famous!—I’m sure I don’t mind, for, as a matter of fact, now that my mother no longer lives in it, I have always thought that I would get rid of it at the first opportunity. After this, I shall soon find a purchaser. Only—”
“Only what?”
“I will ask you to act with the most extreme prudence and not to inform the police until you are quite sure. Can you picture the situation, supposing my tenant were not Arsène Lupin?”
Beautrelet set forth his plan. He would go alone at night; he would climb the walls; he would sleep in the park— Louis Valméras stopped him at once:
“You will not climb walls of that height so easily. If you do, you will be received by two huge sheep-dogs which belonged to my mother and which I left behind at the castle.”
“Pooh! A dose of poison—”
“Much obliged. But suppose you escaped them. What then? How would you get into the castle? The doors are massive, the windows barred. And, even then, once you were inside, who would guide you? There are eighty rooms.”
“Yes, but that room with two windows, on the second story—”