The police agents had now released me. I bit my lips until they ran
blood. Stooping over, with my handkerchief over my mouth, an attitude
quite natural in a person who has remained for a long time in an
uncomfortable position, and whose mouth shows the bloody marks of the
gag, I addressed the commissary, in a weak voice:
“Monsieur, it was Arsène Lupin. There is no doubt about that. If we make
haste, he can be caught yet. I think I may be of some service to you.”
The railway car, in which the crime occurred, was detached from the
train to serve as a mute witness at the official investigation. The
train continued on its way to Havre. We were then conducted to the
station-master’s office through a crowd of curious spectators.
Then, I had a sudden access of doubt and discretion. Under some pretext
or other, I must gain my automobile, and escape. To remain there was
dangerous. Something might happen; for instance, a telegram from Paris,
and I would be lost.
Yes, but what about my thief? Abandoned to my own resources, in an
unfamiliar country, I could not hope to catch him.
“Bah! I must make the attempt,” I said to myself. “It may be a difficult
game, but an amusing one, and the stake is well worth the trouble.”
And when the commissary asked us to repeat the story of the robbery, I
exclaimed:
“Monsieur, really, Arsène Lupin is getting the start of us. My
automobile is waiting in the courtyard. If you will be so kind as to use
it, we can try....”
The commissary smiled, and replied:
“The idea is a good one; so good, indeed, that it is already being
carried out. Two of my men have set out on bicycles. They have been gone
for some time.”
“Where did they go?”
“To the entrance of the tunnel. There, they will gather evidence, secure
witnesses, and follow on the track of Arsène Lupin.”