ases, the same, no doubt, that started from the cave below. He
could easily have gone down, therefore, and told Ganimard. But a new
flight of stairs led upward in front of him and he had the curiosity to
pursue his investigations alone.

Thirty more steps. A door and then a room, not quite so large as the
last, Beautrelet thought. And again, opposite him, an ascending flight
of stairs.

Thirty steps more. A door. A smaller room.

Beautrelet grasped the plan of the works executed inside the Needle. It
was a series or rooms placed one above the other and, therefore,
gradually decreasing in size. They all served as store-rooms.

In the fourth, there was no lamp. A little light filtered in through
clefts in the walls and Beautrelet saw the sea some thirty feet below
him.

At that moment, he felt himself so far from Ganimard that a certain
anguish began to take hold of him and he had to master his nerves lest
he should take to his heels. No danger threatened him, however, and the
silence around him was even so great that he asked himself whether the
whole Needle had not been abandoned by Lupin and his confederates.

"I shall not go beyond the next floor," he said to himself.

Thirty stairs again and a door. This door was lighter in construction
and modern in appearance. He pushed it open gently, quite prepared for
flight. There was no one there. But the room differed from the others
in its purpose. There were hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor.
Two magnificent sideboards, laden with gold and silver plate, stood
facing each other. The little windows contrived in the deep, narrow
cleft were furnished with glass panes.

In the middle of the room was a richly-decked table, with a lace-edged
cloth, dishes of fruits and cakes, champagne in decanters and flowers,
heaps of flowers.

Three places were laid around the table.

Beautrelet walked up. On the napkins were cards with the names of the
party. He read first:

"Arsene Lupin."

"Mme. Arsene Lupin."

He took up the third card and started back with surprise. It bore his
own name:

"Isidore Beautrelet!"

CHAPTER TEN

THE TREASURES OF THE KINGS OF FRANCE

A curtain was drawn back.

"Good morning, my dear Beautrelet, you're a little late. Lunch was
fixed for twelve. However, it's only a few minutes--but what's the
matter? Don't you know me? Have I changed so much?"

In the course of his fight with Lupin, Beautrelet had met with many
surprises