One
word: yes or no?"
"Yes," he murmured.
"Very good. Your escape, this morning, was well planned. I
congratulate you."
I arose. He fumbled in his pocket, drew out a large knife and
tried to strike me with it.
"Imbecile!" I exclaimed.
With one hand, I parried the attack; with the other, I gave him a
sharp blow on the carotid artery. He fell--stunned!
In my pocketbook, I recovered my papers and bank-notes. Out of
curiosity, I took his. Upon an envelope, addressed to him, I read
his name: Pierre Onfrey. It startled me. Pierre Onfrey, the
assassin of the rue Lafontaine at Auteuil! Pierre Onfrey, he who
had cut the throats of Madame Delbois and her two daughters. I
leaned over him. Yes, those were the features which, in the
compartment, had evoked in me the memory of a face I could not then
recall.
But time was passing. I placed in an envelope two bank-notes of
one hundred francs each, with a card bearing these words: "Arsene
Lupin to his worthy colleagues Honore Massol and Gaston Delivet, as
a slight token of his gratitude." I placed it in a prominent spot
in the room, where they would be sure to find it. Beside it, I
placed Madame Renaud's handbag.
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