“Of course! How could any one suspect Valméras of being Lupin, when Valméras was Beautrelet’s friend and after Valméras had snatched from Lupin’s clutches the girl whom Lupin loved? And how charming it was! Such delightful memories! The expedition to Crozant! The bouquets we found! My pretended love letter to Raymonde! And, later, the precautions which I, Valméras, had to take against myself, Lupin, before my marriage! And the night of your great banquet, Beautrelet, when you fainted in my arms! Oh, what memories!” There was a pause. Beautrelet watched Raymonde. She had listened to Lupin without saying a word and looked at him with eyes in which he read love, passion and something else besides, something which the lad could not define, a sort of anxious embarrassment and a vague sadness. But Lupin turned his eyes upon her and she gave him an affectionate smile. Their hands met over the table. “What do you say to the way I have arranged my little home, Beautrelet?” cried Lupin. “There’s a style about it, isn’t there? I don’t pretend that it’s as comfortable as it might be. And yet, some have been quite satisfied with it; and not the least of mankind, either!—Look at the list of distinguished people who have owned the Needle in their time and who thought it an honor to leave a mark of their sojourn.” On the walls, one below the other, were carved the following names: JULIUS CÆSAR CHARLEMAGNE ROLLO WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR RICHARD CŒUR-DE-LEON LOUIS XI. FRANCIS I. HENRY IV. LOUIS XIV. ARSÈNE LUPIN “Whose name will figure after ours?” he continued. “Alas, the list is closed! From Cæsar to Lupin—and there it ends. Soon the nameless mob will come to visit the strange citadel. And to think that, but for Lupin, all this would have remained for ever unknown to men! Ah Beautrelet, what a feeling of pride was mine on the day when I first set foot on this abandoned soil. To have found the lost secret and become its master, its sole master! To inherit such an inheritance! To live in the Needle, after all those kings!—” He was interrupted by a gesture of his wife’s. She seemed greatly agitated. “There is a noise,” she said. “Underneath us.—You can hear it.” “It’s the lapping of the water,” said Lupin. “No, indeed it’s not. I know the sound of the waves. This is something different.” “What would you have it be, darling?” said Lupin, smiling. “I invited no one to lunch except Beautrelet.” And, addressing the servant, “Charolais, did you lock the staircase doors behind the gentleman?” “Yes, sir, and fastened the bolts.” Lupin rose: “Come, Raymonde, don’t shake like that. Why, you’re quite pale!” He spoke a few words to her in an undertone, as also to the servant, drew back the curtain and sent them both out of the room. The noise below grew more distinct. It was a series of dull blows, repeated at intervals. Beautrelet thought: “Ganimard has lost patience and is breaking down the doors.”