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That would have meant, for Lupin, a fresh battle to wage against a fresh enemy. The rapid march of events did not allow of the contemplation of such a possibility. He must at all costs spike the Marquis d'Albufex' guns by warning Prasville. However, Lupin remained held back by the stubborn hope of some incident that would give him the opportunity of acting. The clock struck half-past twelve.
Daubrecq? Lupin? Or he, Prasville? Lupin was not there and could not be there. Daubrecq was not in a position to fight. There could be no doubt, therefore, about the result: Prasville would reenter into possession of his letters and, through this very fact, would escape Daubrecq's threats and Lupin's threats and recover all his freedom of action against them. The train arrived.
"No, but on our wedding-day, Louis Prasville, who acted as my husband's best man in defiance of Danbrecq's opposition, went home to find the girl he loved, the opera-singer, dead, strangled..." "What!" said Lupin, with a start. "Had Daubrecq..." "It was known that Daubrecq had been persecuting her with his attentions for some days; but nothing more was known.
And it is this crystal stopper which you and I have been after for months; and it is this crystal stopper which I dug out of a packet of tobacco. Whereas all I had to do..." "Was what?" asked Prasville, greatly puzzled.
"'Be off, quickly!... If you refuse, well, if you refuse, the Vorenglade letters and documents shall be reproduced to-morrow, Tuesday, morning in one of the leading newspapers. Vorenglade will be arrested. And M. Prasville will find himself in prison before night." Lupin rubbed his hands: "He'll do as he's told!... He'll do as he's told!... I felt that at once, when I was with him.
When Prasville returned to his office he saw M. Nicole sitting on a bench in the waiting-room, with his bent back, his ailing air, his gingham umbrella, his rusty hat and his single glove: "It's he all right," said Prasville, who had feared for a moment that Lupin might have sent another M. Nicole to see him.
There was a tiny ball of paper inside. He unfolded it, smoothed it out and, quickly, without delaying to make a preliminary examination of the names, the hand-writing or the signatures, he raised his arms and turned the paper to the light from the windows. "Is the cross of Lorraine there?" asked M. Nicole. "Yes, it is there," replied Prasville. "This is the genuine list."
Well, my boy, if I do come to grief, there's always one who will fall with me and that is Master Prasville, the partner of Stanislas Vorenglade, who is going to hand me every proof in existence against him, so that I may get him sent to gaol without delay. Aha, I've got you fixed, old chap!
"But this one..." "This one is a forgery." "A forgery?" "An undoubted forgery. It was an admirable piece of cunning on Daubrecq's part. Dazzled by the crystal stopper which he flashed before your eyes, you did nothing but look for that stopper in which he had stowed away no matter what, the first bit of paper that came to hand, while he quietly kept..." Prasville interrupted himself.
There are insuperable obstacles to your conditions. I tell you again, it's impossible, physically impossible." "Then the answer is no?" "No! No! A thousand times no!" "In that case, there is nothing left for us to do but to go." She moved toward the door. M. Nicole followed her. Prasville bounded across the room and barred their way: "Where are you going?"
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