"It still is so."
After all he had been through, Fandor was in a state of high tension. He caught Juve's hand and beat it with angry impatience.
"Don't quibble, Juve!... It is too deadly serious!... What do you really mean?... We know that de Naarboveck is Fantômas, but you swore to me that it is impossible to arrest Naarboveck. You still assert this: nevertheless, you now declare that we are going to arrest Fantômas! What the deuce do you mean?... I've had more than enough of your ironical mockery, old man!"
Juve took out his watch and, with finger on the dial, said:
"Look! It is half past ten. We shall reach de Naarboveck's about a quarter past eleven. It would be impossible for me to arrest him just then; but at a quarter to twelve, midnight at latest, it will be quite easy for me to put my hand on the collar of de Naarboveck—Fantômas! I shall not bungle it!"
"Juve! You and your mysteries are maddening!"
"My dear Fandor, do pardon me for not being more explicit. I told you Naarboveck was out of reach as far as arresting him goes. I also told you that we were going to arrest Fantômas. It is exact; because all that is subordinate to a will—a will I happen to have at my command for the moment, but also a will which may raise some preventing obstacle at the last moment, and so stop me from capturing the bandit straight away, enabling the monster to brazen it out in perfect safety."
"Whose will, Juve?"
"My lad, do not question me further! I cannot say more."
Fandor desisted: Juve's sincerity was obvious.