"Yes; and I had informed him of my approaching escape and my return
to Paris."

"But how did you manage it? Where were you? And how did you find the
means? ..."

Don Luis smiled without answering.

"Monte Cristo, this time," said M. Desmalions. "The mysterious
Monte Cristo."

"Monte Cristo, if you like, Monsieur le Préfet. In point of fact, the
mystery of my captivity and escape is a rather strange one. It may be
interesting to throw some light upon it one of these days. Meanwhile, I
must ask for a little credit."

A silence ensued. M. Desmalions once more inspected this curious
individual; and he could not refrain from saying, as though in obedience
to an association of ideas for which he himself was unable to account:

"One word more, and one only. What were your comrades' reasons for giving
you that rather odd nickname of Arsène Lupin? Was it just an allusion to
your pluck, to your physical strength?"

"There was something besides, Monsieur le Préfet: the discovery of a very
curious theft, of which certain details, apparently incapable of
explanation, had enabled me to name the perpetrator."

"So you have a gift for that sort of thing?"