“Be quiet,” he said. “The past is far away.” “It was a year ago,” I observed. “It was ten years ago,” he declared. “Arsène Lupin’s years count for ten times as much as another man’s.” I did not insist and, changing the conversation: “How did you get in?” “Why, how do you think? Through the door, of course. Then, as I saw nobody, I walked across the drawing room and out by the balcony, and here I am.” “Yes, but the key of the door—?” “There are no doors for me, as you know. I wanted your flat and I came in.” “It is at your disposal. Am I to leave you?” “Oh, not at all! You won’t be in the way. In fact, I can promise you an interesting evening.” “Are you expecting some one?” “Yes. I have given him an appointment here at ten o’clock.” He took out his watch. “It is ten now. If the telegram reached him, he ought to be here soon.” The front-door bell rang. “What did I tell you? No, don’t trouble to get up: I’ll go.” With whom on earth could he have made an appointment? And what sort of scene was I about to assist at: dramatic or comic? For Lupin himself to consider it worthy of interest, the situation must be somewhat exceptional. He returned in a moment and stood back to make way for a young man, tall and thin and very pale in the face. Without a word and with a certain solemnity about his movements that made me feel ill at ease. Lupin switched on all the electric lamps, one after the other, till the room was flooded with light. Then the two men looked at each other, exchanged profound and penetrating glances, as if, with all the effort of their gleaming eyes, they were trying to pierce into each other’s souls. It was an impressive sight to see them thus, grave and silent. But who could the newcomer be? I was on the point of guessing the truth, through his resemblance to a photograph which had recently appeared in the papers, when Lupin turned to me: “My dear chap, let me introduce M. Isidore Beautrelet.” And, addressing the young man, he continued, “I have to thank you, M. Beautrelet, first, for being good enough, on receipt of a letter from me, to postpone your revelations until after this interview and, secondly, for granting me this interview with so good a grace.” Beautrelet smiled: “Allow me to remark that my good grace consists, above all, in obeying your orders. The threat which you made to me in the letter in question was the more peremptory in being aimed not at me, but at my father.” “My word,” said Lupin laughing, “we must do the best we can and make use of the means of action vouchsafed to us. I knew by experience that your own safety was indifferent to you, seeing that you resisted the arguments of Master Brédoux. There remained your father—your father for whom you have a great affection—I played on that string.” “And here I am,” said Beautrelet, approvingly. I motioned them to be seated. They consented and Lupin resumed, in that tone of imperceptible banter which is all his own: