Fandor was already on his feet. Less inured than Juve to the sight of death, he felt an instinctive longing to get back to the light of day, to be gone from this noisome cellar that had been turned into a sepulchre.
“And now, Juve,” he asked, “now, by your showing, what is best to do?”
Juve had likewise risen. Casting a last look at the corpse:
“Sleep in peace,” he murmured, “sleep in peace, you shall be avenged!”
Then, turning to Fandor: “Now?” cried Juve in his clear, ringing voice, “now? Now, it is only left us for one time more to risk our lives! We must make all speed—you can guess to whose house, I imagine? and with what object?... My lad, the hour is come at last when Fantômas is to settle up accounts with us!”
Fandor involuntarily turned pale. Oh! that decisive moment Juve announced, with what anxiety he had been waiting for it all these long months! that moment they were now to know! What a joyful triumph they would both enjoy to grip Fantômas by the collar, the ever elusive Fantômas! The journalist could hardly credit the reality; he asked:
“Juve! Juve! then we are going to arrest him, him the never-to-be-captured?”
Juve shrugged his shoulders, smiling, almost unmoved.
“Yes,” he replied, “we are going to arrest Fantômas! But can you guess, Fandor, where we are going to arrest him?”
“Not I!”