"Here's a few sandwiches for you, captain," he said. "We've an arduous night before us. I'm very sorry that you didn't get a sleep, as I did. Let's be off, and this time I shall drive. We'll knock some pace out of her! Come and sit beside me, captain." They both stepped into the car; the chauffeur took his seat behind them. But they had hardly started when Patrice exclaimed: "Hi! What are you up to? Not this way! We're going back to Mantes or Paris!" "That's what I mean to do," said Luis, with a chuckle. "Eh, what? Paris?" "Well, of course!" "Oh, look here, this is a bit too thick! Didn't I tell you that the two bargees . . . ?" "Those bargees of yours are humbugs." "They declared that the cargo . . ." "Cargo? No go!" "But the _Chamois_ . . ." "_Chamois_? Sham was! I tell you once more, we're done, captain, done brown! Old Siméon is a wonderful old hand! He's a match worth meeting. He gives you a run for your money. He laid a trap in which I've been fairly caught. It's a magnificent joke, but there's moderation in all things. We've been fooled enough to last us the rest of our lives. Let's be serious now." "But . . ." "Aren't you satisfied yet, captain? After the _Belle Hélène_ do you want to attack the _Chamois_? As you please. You can get out at Mantes: Only, I warn you, Siméon is in Paris, with three or four hours' start of us." Patrice gave a shudder. Siméon in Paris! In Paris, where Coralie was alone and unprotected! He made no further protest; and Don Luis ran on: "Oh, the rascal! How well he played his hand! _The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin_ were a master stroke. Knowing of my arrival, he said to himself, 'Arsène Lupin is a dangerous fellow, capable of disentangling the affair and putting both me and the bags of gold in his pocket. To get rid of him, there's only one thing to be done: I must act in such a way as to make him rush along the real track at so fast a rate of speed that he does not perceive the moment when the real track becomes a false track.' That was clever of him, wasn't it? And so we have the Franklin book, held out as a bait; the page opening of itself, at the right place; my inevitable easy discovery of the conduit system; the clue of Ariadne most obligingly offered. I follow up the clue like a trusting child, led by Siméon's own hand, from the cellar down to Berthou's Wharf. So far all's well. But, from that moment, take care! There's nobody at Berthou's Wharf. On the other hand, there's a barge alongside, which means a chance of making enquiries, which means the certainty that I shall make enquiries. And I make enquiries. And, having made enquiries, I am done for." "But then that man . . . ?"