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Updated: June 18, 2025
Take eight from nine and one remains: the one who evidently remained behind to see what he could see. Ecce homo!" "Well? And then?" said Lupin, who felt a mad craving to fly at the fellow and reduce him to silence. "And then? Nothing at all, my good man... What more do you want? The farce is over. I will only ask you to take this little note to Master Prasville, your employer.
"Upon my word," said Prasville, airily, patting the waistcoat-pocket in which he had secreted the crystal ball, "I don't quite see what you can do, M. Nicole, now that Daubrecq's eye is here, with the list of the Twenty-seven inside it." "What I can do?" echoed M. Nicole, ironically. "Yes!
With those letters, you'll go as I please, hang it all, and there will be fine days yet for Daubrecq the deputy! What! You're laughing, are you? Perhaps those letters don't exist?" Prasville shrugged his shoulders: "Yes, they exist. But Vorenglade no longer has them in his possession." "Since when?" "Since this morning.
And, to make assurance doubly sure, they would arrest whosoever could be suspected of being either Lupin or one of Lupin's emissaries. Moreover, Prasville made a close inspection of the whole station. He discovered nothing suspicious. But, at ten minutes to six, Chief-inspector Blanchon, who was with him, said: "Look, there's Daubrecq."
He ran up to Prasville, out of breath, with his clothes in disorder, a bandage over his left eye, no tie, no collar, looking like an escaped lunatic; and the door was not closed before he caught hold of Prasville with his two enormous hands: "Have you the list?" "Yes." "Have you bought it?" "Yes." "At the price of Gilbert's pardon?" "Yes." "Is it signed?" "Yes."
"But," said Prasville, "those painful events, it seems to me, are only delayed for a day, two days, three days at most. To avert them for good and all we should want..." "The real list, I suppose?" "Exactly. And I daresay you haven't got it." "Yes, I have." "The genuine list?" "The genuine, the undoubtedly genuine list." "With the cross of Lorraine?" "With the cross of Lorraine."
And he punctuated the sentences with exclamations of approval: "Good!... Capital!... Oh, how funny!... And no one suspected?... Not even Prasville?... What an ass!... Loosen a bit, Sebastiani: don't you see that our friend is out of breath?... Keep calm, Daubrecq... don't tire yourself... And so, my dear fellow, you were saying..." That was the last.
Prasville lowered his head and put his hand to his forehead to hide his flushed face: he was almost possessing the list of the Twenty-seven. It lay before him, on the table. Mastering his emotion, he said, in a casual tone: "So it is there still?" "At least, I suppose so," declared M. Nicole. "What! You suppose so?" "I have not opened the hiding-place.
Prasville had to make an effort to contain himself and to answer in a tone that was civil, or nearly so: "I admit everything. Is that enough?" "I beg your pardon, but we cannot explain ourselves too plainly. And there is one point that remains to be cleared up. Are you in a position to treat, personally?" "How do you mean?"
M. Nicole crept timidly into the room, sat down on the extreme edge of the chair to which Prasville pointed and said: "I have come...to resume... our conversation of yesterday... Please excuse the delay, monsieur." "One second," said Prasville. "Will you allow me?" He stepped briskly to the outer room and, seeing his secretary: "I was forgetting, M. Lartigue.
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