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We had now reached the boulevards. Lupin entered a public reading-room and spent a long time consulting the last fortnight’s newspapers. Now and again, he mumbled:

“Yes … yes … of course … it’s only a guess, but it explains everything…. Well, a guess that answers every question is not far from being the truth….”

It was now dark. We dined at a little restaurant and I noticed that Lupin’s face became gradually more animated. His gestures were more decided. He recovered his spirits, his liveliness. When we left, during the walk which he made me take along the Boulevard Haussmann, towards Baron Repstein’s house, he was the real Lupin of the great occasions, the Lupin who had made up his mind to go in and win.

We slackened our pace just short of the Rue de Courcelles. Baron Repstein lived on the left-hand side, between this street and the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, in a three-storied private house of which we could see the front, decorated with columns and caryatides.

“Stop!” said Lupin, suddenly.