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last, Suzanne said:

      “But, father, they will pay you just the same.”

      “How? On what proof?”

      “Must you have proof?”

      “Of course.”

      “And you haven’t any?”

      “It was in the box.”

      “In the box that has disappeared.”

      “Yes; and now the thief will get the money.”

      “Oh! that would be terrible, father. You must prevent it.”

      For a moment he was silent; then, in an outburst of energy, he leaped up, stamped on the floor, and exclaimed:

      “No, no, he shall not have that million; he shall not have it! Why should he have it? Ah! clever as he is, he can do nothing. If he goes to claim the money, they will arrest him. Ah! now, we will see, my fine fellow!”

      “What will you do, father?”

      “Defend our just rights, whatever happens! And we will succeed. The million francs belong to me, and I intend to have them.”

      A few minutes later, he sent this telegram:

      “Governor Crédit Foncier

      “rue Capucines, Paris.

      “Am holder of No. 514, series 23. Oppose by all legal means any other claimant.

      “GERBOIS.”

      Almost at the same moment, the Crédit Foncier received the following telegram:

      “No. 514, series 23, is in my possession.

      “ARSÈNE LUPIN.”

      * * * *

      Every time I undertake to relate one of the many extraordinary adventures that mark the life of Arsène Lupin, I experience a feeling of embarrassment, as it seems to me that the most commonplace of those adventures is already well known to my readers. In fact, there is not a movement of our “national thief,” as he has been so aptly described, that has not been given the widest publicity, not an exploit that has not been studied in all its phases, not an action that has not been discussed with that particularity usually reserved for the recital of heroic deeds.

      For instance, who does not know the strange history of “The Blonde Lady,” with those curious episodes which were proclaimed by the newspapers with heavy black headlines, as follows: “Lottery Ticket No. 514!”…“The Crime on the Avenue Henri-Martin!”…“The Blue Diamond!”…The interest created by the intervention of the celebrated English detective, Sherlock Holmes! The excitement aroused by the various vicissitudes which marked the struggle between those famous artists! And what a commotion on the boulevards, the day on which the newsboys announced: “Arrest of Arsène Lupin!”

      My excuse for repeating these stories at this time is the fact that I produce the key to the enigma. Those adventures have always been enveloped in a certain degree of obscurity, which I now remove. I reproduce old newspaper articles, I relate old-time interviews, I present ancient letters; but I have arranged and classified all that material and reduced it to the exact truth. My collaborators in this work have been Arsène Lupin himself, and also the ineffable Wilson, the friend and confidant of Sherlock Holmes.

      Every one will recall the tremendous burst of laughter which greeted the publication of those two telegrams. The name “Arsène Lupin” was in itself a stimulus to curiosity, a promise of amusement for the gallery. And, in this case, the gallery means the entire world.

      An investigation was immediately commenced by the Crédit Foncier, which established these facts: That ticket No. 514, series 23, had been sold by the Versailles branch office of the Lottery to an artillery officer named Bessy, who was afterward killed by a fall from his horse. Some time before his death, he informed some of his comrades that he had transferred his ticket to a friend.

      “And I am that friend,” affirmed Mon. Gerbois.

      “Prove it,” replied the governor of the Crédit Foncier.

      “Of course I can prove it. Twenty people can tell you that I was an intimate friend of Monsieur Bessy, and that we frequently met at the Café de la Place-d’Armes. It was there, one day, I purchased the ticket from him for twenty francs—simply as an accommodation to him.

      “Have you any witnesses to that transaction?”

      “No.”

      “Well, how do you expect to prove it?”

      “By a letter he wrote to me.”

      “What letter?”

      “A letter that was pinned to the ticket.”

      “Produce it.”

      “It was stolen at the same time as the ticket.”

      “Well, you must find it.”

      It was soon learned that Arsène Lupin had the letter. A short paragraph appeared in the Echo de France—which has the honor to be his official organ, and of which, it is said, he is one of the principal shareholders—the paragraph announced that Arsène Lupin had placed in the hands of Monsieur Detinan, his advocate and legal adviser, the letter that Monsieur Bessy had written to him—to him personally.

      This announcement provoked an outburst of laughter. Arsène Lupin had engaged a lawyer! Arsène Lupin, conforming to the rules and customs of modern society, had appointed a legal representative in the person of a well-known member of the Parisian bar!

      Mon. Detinan had never enjoyed the pleasure of meeting Arsène Lupin—a fact he deeply regretted—but he had actually been retained by that mysterious gentleman and felt greatly honored by the choice. He was prepared to defend the interests of his client to the best of his ability. He was pleased, even proud, to exhibit the letter of Mon. Bessy, but, although it proved the transfer of the ticket, it did not mention the name of the purchaser. It was simply addressed to “My Dear Friend.”

      “My Dear Friend! that is I,” added Arsène Lupin, in a note attached to Mon. Bessy’s letter. “And the best proof of that fact is that I hold the letter.”

      The swarm of reporters immediately rushed to see Mon. Gerbois, who could only repeat:

      “My Dear Friend! that is I.… Arsène Lupin stole the letter with the lottery ticket.”

      “Let him prove it!” retorted Lupin to the reporters.

      “He must have done it, because he stole the writing-desk!” exclaimed Mon. Gerbois before the same reporters.

      “Let him prove it!” replied Lupin.

      Such was the entertaining comedy enacted by the two claimants of ticket No. 514; and the calm demeanor of Arsène Lupin contrasted strangely with the nervous perturbation of poor Mon. Gerbois. The newspapers were filled with the lamentations of that unhappy man. He announced his misfortune with pathetic candor.

      “Understand, gentlemen, it was Suzanne’s dowry that the rascal stole! Personally, I don’t care a straw for it,…but for Suzanne! Just think of it, a whole million! Ten times one hundred thousand francs! Ah! I knew very well that the desk contained a treasure!”

      It was in vain to tell him that his adversary, when stealing the desk, was unaware that the lottery ticket was in it, and that, in any event, he could not foresee that the ticket would draw the grand prize. He would reply;

      “Nonsense! of course, he knew it…else why would he take the trouble to steal a poor, miserable desk?”

      “For some unknown reason; but certainly not for a small scrap of paper which was then worth only twenty francs.”

      “A million francs! He knew it;…he knows everything! Ah! you do not know him—the scoundrel!… He hasn’t robbed you of a million francs!”

      The controversy would have lasted for a much

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