After a short silence, the lady, as if she had mustered all her energy to perform a desperate act, said to me, in an almost inaudible voice:

“Do you know who is on our train?”

“Who?”

“He⁠ ⁠… he.⁠ ⁠… I assure you.⁠ ⁠…”

“Who is he?”

“Arsène Lupin!”

She had not taken her eyes off our companion, and it was to him rather than to me that she uttered the syllables of that disquieting name. He drew his hat over his face. Was that to conceal his agitation or, simply, to arrange himself for sleep? Then I said to her: