He was splashed with mud from head to foot: one sleeve of his coat was torn along half its length.

The sole of his left-hand pump was half off; and his cut foot showed white and red through the torn sock.
"The master! The master!" cried Charolais in a tone of extravagant relief; and he danced round the room snapping his fingers.
"You're wounded ?" cried Victoire.
"No," said Arsene Lupin.
The front-door bell rang out again, startling, threatening, terrifying.
The note of danger seemed to brace Lupin, to spur him to a last effort.
He pulled himself together, and said in a hoarse but steady voice: "Your waistcoat, Charolais....

Go and open the door ...

not too quickly ...

fumble the bolts....