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Updated: June 6, 2025
"All the same, it may date back to a few months since," observed Massiban. "Even so even so some one must have hunted out and taken the book Tell me, monsieur," cried Beautrelet, addressing the baron, "is there no one whom you suspect?" "We might ask my daughter." "Yes yes that's it perhaps she will know." M. de Velines rang for the footman. A few minutes later, Mme. de Villemon entered.
First one and then the other stepped over the balcony. They were now in the castle, at the end of a passage which divided the left wing into two. "This room," said Valmeras, "opens at the end of a passage. Then comes an immense hall, lined with statues, and at the end of the hall a staircase which ends near the room occupied by your father." He took a step forward. "Are you coming, Beautrelet?"
Through London, I am in touch with America, Asia, Australia, South Africa. In all those continents, I have my offices, my agents, my jackals, my scouts! I drive an international trade. I hold the great market in art and antiquities, the world's fair! Ah, Beautrelet, there are moments when my power turns my head! I feel intoxicated with strength and authority." The door gave way below.
With Beautrelet free and cured of his wound, one could hope for some certainty regarding Harlington, Arsene Lupin's mysterious accomplice, who was still detained at the Sante prison. One would learn what had become, after the crime, of Bredoux the clerk, that other accomplice, whose daring was really terrifying.
Rightly or wrongly, Beautrelet read one of these involuntary admissions into that phrase.
What Beautrelet surmised was that the four pictures had undoubtedly been carried off in the motor car, but that, before reaching Caudebec, they were transferred to another car, which had crossed the Seine either above Caudebec or below it. Now the first horse-boat down the stream was at Quillebeuf, a greatly frequented ferry and, consequently, dangerous.
Beautrelet asked himself with a certain curiosity how they were going to get out of this hemmed-in creek which was called Port-Lupin, when, at the foot of the cliff, he saw the uprights of an iron ladder. "Isidore," said Lupin, "if you knew your geography and your history, you would know that we are at the bottom of the gorge of Parfonval, in the parish of Biville.
He bowed again, thanked M. de Velines for his kind hospitality, took his cane, lit a cigarette, offered one to the baron, gave a circular sweep with his hat and, in a patronizing tone, said to Beautrelet: "Good-bye, baby." And he walked away quietly, puffing the smoke of his cigarette into the servants' faces. Beautrelet waited for a few minutes.
The truth was too beautiful and too curious, the proofs which he was able to produce were too logical and too conclusive for him to consent to misrepresent it. The whole world was waiting for his revelations. He spoke. On the evening of the day on which his article appeared, the newspapers announced the kidnapping of M. Beautrelet, senior.
There must be, on the side of the offing, some fissure where boats could land at certain hours of the tide. But on the side of the land? Beautrelet lay until ten o'clock at night hanging over the precipice, with his eyes riveted on the shadowy mass formed by the pyramid, thinking and pondering with all the concentrated effort of his mind.
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