“A motor boat,” said Lupin, completing Beautrelet’s observations. “This knocks you all of a heap, eh, Isidore, old chap?—You don’t understand.—Still, you have only to think.—As the water before your eyes is no other than the water of the sea, which filters into this excavation each high tide, the result is that I have a safe little private roadstead all to myself.” “But it’s closed,” Beautrelet protested. “No one can get in or out.” “Yes, I can,” said Lupin; “and I’m going to prove it to you.” He began by handing Raymonde in. Then he came back to fetch Beautrelet. The lad hesitated. “Are you afraid?” asked Lupin. “What of?” “Of being sunk by the torpedo-boat.” “No.” “Then you’re considering whether it’s not your duty to stay with Ganimard, law and order, society and morality, instead of going off with Lupin, shame, infamy and disgrace.” “Exactly.” “Unfortunately, my boy, you have no choice. For the moment, they must believe the two of us dead—and leave me the peace to which a prospective honest man is entitled. Later on, when I have given you your liberty, you can talk as much as you please—I shall have nothing more to fear.” By the way in which Lupin clutched his arm, Beautrelet felt that all resistance was useless. Besides, why resist? Had he not discovered and handed over the Hollow Needle? What did he care about the rest? Had he not the right to humor the irresistible sympathy with which, in spite of everything, this man inspired him? The feeling was so clear in him that he was half inclined to say to Lupin: “Look here, you’re running another, a more serious danger; Holmlock Shears is on your track.” “Come along!” said Lupin, before Isidore had made up his mind to speak. He obeyed and let Lupin lead him to the boat, the shape of which struck him as peculiar and its appearance quite unexpected. Once on deck, they went down a little steep staircase, or rather a ladder hooked on to a trap door, which closed above their heads. At the foot of the ladder, brightly lit by a lamp, was a very small saloon, where Raymonde was waiting for them and where the three had just room to sit down. Lupin took the mouthpiece of a speaking tube from a hook and gave the order: “Let her go, Charolais!” Isidore had the unpleasant sensation which one feels when going down in a lift: the sensation of the ground vanishing beneath you, the impression of emptiness, space. This time, it was the water retreating; and space opened out, slowly. “We’re sinking, eh?” grinned Lupin. “Don’t be afraid—we’ve only to pass from the upper cave where we were to another little cave, situated right at the bottom and half open to the sea, which can be entered at low tide. All the shellfish-catchers know it. Ah, ten seconds’ wait! We’re going through the passage and it’s very narrow, just the size of the submarine.”