Arsène Lupin, gentleman-cambrioleur 🕵️‍♂️💎

Arsène Lupin, gentleman-cambrioleur 🕵️‍♂️💎

Arsène Lupin, gentleman burglar, is a master of disguise and theft, whose ingenuity and charisma fascinate. This hero, both refined and daring, outwits law enforcement and the greatest detectives, embarking on thrilling adventures where every move is a work of art. In this story, you will follow Lupin in one of his greatest exploits, where mystery, suspense, and a sharp mind combine to captivate the imagination. Chapter 1. The Arrest of Arsène Lupin. The strange voyage! It had started so well, however! For my part, I have never made one that promised to be under happier auspices. The Provence is a fast, comfortable ocean liner, captained by the most affable of men. The most select society was gathered there. Relationships were formed, entertainments were organized. We had this exquisite impression of being separated from the world, reduced to ourselves as if on an unknown island, obliged, consequently, to come closer to one another. And we were getting closer… Have you ever thought about what is original and unexpected in this group of beings who, only the day before, did not know each other, and who, for a few days, between the infinite sky and the immense sea, will live the most intimate life, together will defy the anger of the Ocean, the terrifying assault of the waves, the wickedness of the storms and the sly calm of the sleeping water? It is, in essence, lived in a sort of tragic shortcut, life itself, with its storms and its grandeur, its monotony and its diversity, and that is why, perhaps, we savor with feverish haste and an all the more intense voluptuousness this short voyage whose end we perceive at the very moment it begins. But, for several years, something has been happening that singularly adds to the emotions of the crossing. The small floating island still depends on this world from which we thought we were free. A link remains, which is only gradually unraveled in the open ocean, and little by little, in the open ocean, is re-established. The wireless telegraph! A call from another universe from which we would receive news in the most mysterious way possible! The imagination no longer has the resource to evoke iron wires through which the invisible message slides. The
mystery is even more unfathomable, more poetic too, and it is to the wings of the wind that we must resort to explain this new miracle. Thus, for the first few hours, we felt ourselves followed, escorted, even preceded by this distant voice, which, from time to time, whispered a few words to one of us from over there. Two friends spoke to me. Ten others, twenty others sent us all, across space, their saddened or smiling farewells. Now, on the second day, five hundred miles from the French coast, on a stormy afternoon, the wireless telegraph transmitted us a dispatch with the following content: Arsène Lupin on board, first class, blond hair, wounded right forearm, traveling alone, under the name of R… At that precise moment, a violent clap of thunder burst into the dark sky. The electric waves were interrupted. The rest of the dispatch did not reach us. Of the name under which Arsène Lupin was hiding, only the initial was known. Had it been any other news, I have no doubt that the secret would have been scrupulously kept by the employees of the telegraph station, as well as by the ship’s purser and the captain. But there are events that seem to require the most rigorous discretion. That very day, without anyone being able to say how the thing had been made public, we all knew that the famous Arsène Lupin was hiding among us. Arsène Lupin among us! The elusive burglar whose exploits had been recounted in all the newspapers for months! The enigmatic character with whom old Ganimard, our best policeman, had engaged in this duel to the death whose twists and turns unfolded in such a picturesque way ! Arsène Lupin, the fanciful gentleman who operates only in castles and salons, and who, one night, when he had entered Baron Schormann’s house, had left empty-handed and left his card, adorned with this formula: Arsène Lupin, gentleman burglar, will return when the furniture is authentic. Arsène Lupin, the man of a thousand disguises: by turns chauffeur, tenor, bookmaker, son of a family, adolescent, old man, Marseilles traveling salesman, Russian doctor, Spanish bullfighter! Let this be clearly understood: Arsène Lupin coming and going in the relatively restricted framework of a transatlantic liner, what am I saying! in this little corner of the firsts where one found oneself at any moment, in this dining room, in this salon, in this smoking room! Arsène Lupin, it was perhaps this gentleman… or that one… my neighbor at the table… my cabin companion… –And this will last another five times twenty-four hours! cried Miss Nelly Underdown the next day, “but this is intolerable! I really hope they’ll arrest her.” And addressing me: “Come now, you, Monsieur d’Andrézy, who are already on the best of terms with the commandant, don’t you know anything? I would have liked to know something to please Miss Nelly! ” She was one of those magnificent creatures who, wherever they are, immediately occupy the most prominent place. Their beauty as much as their fortune dazzles. They have a court, fervent, enthusiastic ones. Raised in Paris by a French mother, she was joining her father, the extremely wealthy Underdown, from Chicago. One of her friends, Lady Jerland, accompanied her. From the very first hour, I had put forward my candidacy as a flirt. But, in the rapid intimacy of the journey, her charm had immediately troubled me, and I felt a little too moved for a flirtation when her large black eyes met mine. However, she received my homage with a certain favor. She deigned to laugh at my witticisms and take an interest in my anecdotes. A vague sympathy seemed to respond to the eagerness I showed her. Only one rival might have worried me, a rather handsome young man, elegant, reserved, whose taciturn humor she sometimes seemed to prefer to my more un-Parisian ways. He happened to be part of the group of admirers surrounding Miss Nelly when she questioned me. We were on deck, comfortably seated in rocking chairs. The previous day’s storm had cleared the sky. The hour was delightful. “I don’t know anything specific, mademoiselle,” I replied, “but is it impossible to conduct our own investigation, just as well as old Ganimard, Arsène Lupin’s personal enemy, would do ? ” “Oh! oh! you’re getting ahead of yourself!” “How so? Is the problem so complicated? ” “Very complicated.” –You’re forgetting the elements we have to solve it. –What elements? –1° Lupin calls himself Mr. R… –A bit vague description. –2° He’s traveling alone. –If that particularity is enough for you! –3° He’s blond. –So what? –Then we just have to consult the passenger list and proceed by elimination. I had this list in my pocket. I took it and looked through it. –I note first that there are only thirteen people whose initials designate them to our attention. –Only thirteen? –In first class, yes. Of these thirteen Mr. R… , as
you can see, nine are accompanied by women, children, or servants. There remain four isolated individuals: the Marquis de Raverdan… –Secretary of the Embassy, ​​interrupted Miss Nelly, I know him. –Major Rawson… –He’s my uncle, someone said. –Mr. Rivolta… “Present,” cried one of us, “an Italian whose face disappeared under a beard of the finest black.” Miss Nelly burst out laughing. “Sir isn’t exactly blond.” “Then,” I continued, “we are obliged to conclude that the culprit is the last on the list. ” “What do you mean? ” “That is, Monsieur Rozaine. Does anyone know Monsieur Rozaine?” They fell silent. But Miss Nelly, calling out to the taciturn young man whose assiduity around her tormented me, said to him: “Well, Monsieur Rozaine, aren’t you answering?” They turned their eyes toward him. He was blond. Let’s admit it, I felt a little shock deep inside me. And the embarrassed silence that weighed on us indicated to me that the other people present were also experiencing this sort of suffocation. It was absurd , moreover, because nothing in this gentleman’s manner allowed anyone to suspect him. “Why don’t I answer?” he said, but because, given my name, my status as an isolated traveler, and the color of my hair, I have already conducted a similar investigation and arrived at the same result. I am therefore of the opinion that I should be arrested. He had a strange air as he spoke these words. His lips, thin as two inflexible lines, thinned further and paled. Streams of blood streaked his eyes. Certainly, he was joking. Yet his physiognomy, his attitude impressed us. Naively, Miss Nelly asked: “But you have no injury? ” “It is true,” he said, “the injury is missing.” With a nervous gesture, he lifted his cuff and uncovered his arm. But immediately an idea struck me. My eyes met Miss Nelly’s: he had shown his left arm. And by Jove, I was about to make a clear point of it, when an incident diverted our attention. Lady Jerland, Miss Nelly’s friend, was coming running. She was overwhelmed. They crowded around her, and it was only after much effort that she managed to stammer: “My jewels, my pearls!… they’ve taken everything!… No, they hadn’t taken everything, as we learned later; something even more curious: they had chosen! From the diamond star, the ruby ​​cabochon pendant, the broken necklaces and bracelets, they had removed, not the largest stones, but the finest, the most precious, those, one would say, which were the most valuable while taking up the least space. The settings lay there, on the table. I saw them, we all saw them, stripped of their jewels like flowers from which the beautiful, sparkling, colorful petals had been torn off. And to carry out this work, it had been necessary, during the hour when Lady Jerland was having tea, it had been necessary, in broad daylight, and in a busy corridor, to break down the cabin door, find a small bag deliberately hidden at the bottom of a hat box, open it and choose! There was only one cry among us. There was only one opinion among all the passengers, when the theft became known: it was Arsène Lupin. And in fact, it was indeed his complicated, mysterious, inconceivable way… and yet logical, for if it was difficult to conceal the cumbersome mass that all the jewels would have formed, how much less was the embarrassment with small things independent of each other, pearls, emeralds and sapphires. And at dinner, this happened: to the right and left of Rozaine, the two seats remained empty. And in the evening it was known that he had been summoned by the commander. His arrest, which no one doubted, brought a real relief. We could finally breathe. That evening we played games. We danced. Miss Nelly, especially, displayed a dizzying gaiety which made me see that, if Rozaine’s homage had pleased her at first, she hardly remembered it. Her grace finally won me over. Around midnight, by the serene light of the moon, I affirmed my devotion to her with an emotion which did not seem to displease her. But the next day, to everyone’s astonishment, it was learned that, the charges against him not being sufficient, Rozaine was free. The son of a prominent Bordeaux merchant, he had exhibited papers perfectly in order. Furthermore, his arms did not show the slightest trace of injury. “Papers! Birth certificates!” cried Rozaine’s enemies, “but Arsène Lupin will supply you with as many as you want! As for the injury, he didn’t receive one… or he erased the trace of it! ” It was objected to them that at the time of the theft, Rozaine—it had been proven—was walking on the deck. To which they retorted: “Does a man of Arsène Lupin’s caliber need to be present at the theft he is committing?” And then, apart from any extraneous considerations, there was one point on which the most skeptical could not dwell: Who, except Rozaine, was traveling alone, was blond, and had a name beginning with R? Who did the telegram designate, if not Rozaine? And when Rozaine, a few minutes before lunch, boldly walked towards our group, Miss Nelly and Lady Jerland got up and walked away. It was indeed fear. An hour later, a handwritten circular was passed from hand to hand among the ship’s employees, the sailors, and the passengers of all classes: M. Louis Rozaine promised a sum of ten thousand francs to whoever would unmask Arsène Lupin, or find the owner of the stolen stones. “And if no one comes to my aid against this bandit,” Rozaine declared to the captain, “I will do his bidding.” Rozaine against Arsène Lupin, or rather, according to the word that was circulating, Arsène Lupin himself against Arsène Lupin, the fight was not without interest! It continued for two days. Rozaine was seen wandering here and there, mingling with the personnel, questioning, snooping. Her shadow was seen prowling at night. For his part, the commander displayed the most active energy. From top to bottom, in every corner, the Provence was searched. Every cabin was searched, without exception, under the very just pretext that the objects were hidden anywhere except the culprit’s cabin. “We’ll end up discovering something, won’t we?” Miss Nelly asked me. As much of a sorcerer as he is, he can’t make diamonds and pearls become invisible. “Yes, indeed,” I replied, “or else we’d have to explore the tops of our hats, the linings of our jackets, and everything we wear.” And showing her my Kodak, a 9 X 12 with which I never tired of photographing her in the most diverse poses: “In a camera no bigger than this, don’t you think there would be room for all of Lady Jerland ‘s precious stones ?” They pretend to take pictures and that’s it. –But I’ve heard that there’s no thief who doesn’t leave some kind of clue behind him. –There is one: Arsène Lupin. –Why? –Why? Because he doesn’t think only of the theft he commits, but of all the circumstances that might denounce him. –At first, you were more confident. –But since then, I’ve seen him at work. –So what do you think? –In my opinion, we’re wasting our time. And in fact, the investigations yielded no results, or at least, the ones they did yield did not correspond to the general effort: the commander’s watch was stolen. Furious, he redoubled his ardor and kept even closer watch on Rozaine, with whom he had had several interviews. The next day, in a charming irony, the watch was found among the second-in-command’s false collars .
All this had an air of prodigy, and clearly exposed the humorous manner of Arsène Lupin, a burglar, yes, but also a dilettante. He worked by taste and vocation, certainly, but also for amusement. He gave the impression of a gentleman who is amused by the play he is putting on, and who, in the wings, laughs heartily at his witticisms and the situations he imagines. He was definitely an artist of his kind, and when I observed Rozaine, somber and stubborn, and thought of the double role that this curious character undoubtedly played, I could not speak of him without a certain admiration. Now, the night before last, the officer of the watch heard groans in the darkest part of the deck. He approached. A man was lying there, his head wrapped in a very thick gray scarf, his wrists tied with a thin cord. He was freed from his bonds. He was lifted up, and he was given medical care . This man was Rozaine. It was Rozaine attacked during one of his expeditions, knocked down and robbed. A business card pinned to his clothing bore these words: Arsène Lupin gratefully accepts ten thousand francs from M. Rozaine. In reality, the stolen wallet contained twenty thousand-franc notes. Naturally, the unfortunate man was accused of having simulated this attack on himself. But, besides the fact that it would have been impossible for him to bind himself in this way, it was established that the handwriting on the card differed completely from Rozaine’s handwriting, and on the contrary resembled, to the point of being mistaken, that of Arsène Lupin, as reproduced in an old journal found on board. Thus, Rozaine was no longer Arsène Lupin. Rozaine was Rozaine, son of a Bordeaux merchant! And the presence of Arsène Lupin was asserted once more, and by what a formidable act! It was terror. No one dared to remain alone in their cabin, nor venture alone into places too remote. Prudently, people gathered together among those who were sure of one another. And still, an instinctive distrust divided even the most intimate. The threat did not come from an isolated individual, watched, and therefore less dangerous. Arsène Lupin, now, was… was everyone . Our overexcited imagination attributed to him a miraculous and unlimited power . We supposed him capable of taking on the most unexpected disguises, of being in turn the respectable Major Rawson, or the noble Marquis de Raverdan, or even, for we no longer stopped at the accusatory initial, or even this or that person known to all, having a wife, children, servants. The first wireless dispatches brought no news. At least the commandant did not inform us of it, and such silence did not reassure us. So, the last day seemed interminable. We lived in anxious expectation of misfortune. This time, it would no longer be a theft, it would no longer be a simple assault, it would be crime, murder. It was not accepted that Arsène Lupin should confine himself to these two insignificant thefts. Absolute master of the ship, the authorities reduced to impotence, he only had to will, everything was permitted to him, he disposed of goods and existences. Delightful hours for me, I admit, because they earned me the confidence of Miss Nelly. Impressed by so many events, already of an anxious nature, she spontaneously sought at my side a protection, a security that I was happy to offer her. Deep down, I blessed Arsène Lupin. Wasn’t it he who brought us closer? Wasn’t it thanks to him that I had the right to abandon myself to the most beautiful dreams? Dreams of love and less chimerical dreams, why not confess it? The Andrézys are of good Poitou stock, but their coat of arms is somewhat faded, and it does not seem to me unworthy of a gentleman to think of restoring to his name the lost luster. And these dreams, I felt, did not offend Nelly. Her smiling eyes authorized me to dream them. The sweetness of her voice told me to hope. And until the last moment, leaning on the rails, we remained close to each other, while the line of the American coast sailed before us. The searches had been interrupted. We waited. Since the From the first to the steerage where the emigrants were swarming, we waited for the supreme moment when the insoluble enigma would finally be explained. Who was Arsène Lupin? Under what name, under what mask was the famous Arsène Lupin hiding? And this supreme moment arrived. Even if I live to be a hundred years old, I will not forget the smallest detail. “How pale you are, Miss Nelly,” I said to my companion who was leaning on my arm, quite faint. “And you!” she replied, “ah! you are so changed! ” “Just think! This moment is exciting, and I am so happy to be living it with you, Miss Nelly. It seems to me that your memory will linger sometimes… ” She was not listening, panting and feverish. The gangplank fell. But before we were free to cross it, people came aboard, customs officers, men in uniform, postmen. Miss Nelly stammered: “If it were discovered that Arsène Lupin escaped during the crossing , I wouldn’t be surprised. ” “Perhaps he preferred death to dishonor, and to plunge into the Atlantic rather than be arrested. ” “Don’t laugh,” she said, irritated. Suddenly I started, and as she questioned me, I said to her: “Do you see that little old man standing at the end of the gangplank? ” “With an umbrella and an olive-green frock coat?” “Is that Ganimard. ” “Ganimard? ” “Yes, the famous policeman, the one who swore that Arsène Lupin would be arrested by his own hand. Ah! I understand why we haven’t had any information from this side of the ocean. Ganimard was there!” and he likes it when no one bothers with his little affairs. –So Arsène Lupin is sure to be caught? –Who knows? Ganimard has never seen him, it seems, except in disguise and makeup. Unless he knows his assumed name… –Ah! she said, with that slightly cruel curiosity of a woman, if only I could be present at the arrest! –Let’s wait. Certainly Arsène Lupin has already noticed the presence of his enemy. He will prefer to leave among the last, when the old man’s eyes are tired. The landing began. Leaning on his umbrella, looking indifferent, Ganimard did not seem to pay attention to the crowd pressing between the two balustrades. I noted that an officer from the ship, posted behind him, kept him informed from time to time. The Marquis de Raverdan, Major Rawson, the Italian Rivolta, filed past, and others, and many others… And I saw Rozaine approaching. Poor Rozaine! He didn’t seem to have recovered from his misadventures! “Perhaps it’s him after all,” Miss Nelly said to me… “What do you think? ” “I think it would be very interesting to have Ganimard and Rozaine in the same photograph. Take my camera, I’m so loaded.” I gave it to her, but too late for her to use it. Rozaine was passing by. The officer leaned into Ganimard’s ear, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, and Rozaine passed by. But then, my God, who was Arsène Lupin? “Yes,” she said aloud, “who is he?” There were only about twenty people left. She looked at them one after the other, with the confused fear that he might not be among those twenty people. I said to her: “We can’t wait any longer.” She came forward. I followed her. But we hadn’t taken ten steps when Ganimard blocked our way. “Well, what?” I cried. “One moment, sir, who’s pressing you? ” “I’ll accompany mademoiselle. ” “One moment,” he repeated in a more imperious voice. He looked me deeply, then said, looking me straight in the eye: “Arsène Lupin, isn’t he? ” I began to laugh. “No, Bernard d’Andrézy, quite simply. ” “Bernard d’Andrézy died three years ago in Macedonia. ” “If Bernard d’Andrézy had died, I would no longer be of this world.” And That’s not the case. Here are my papers. –They’re his. How did you get them? I’ll have the pleasure of explaining to you. –But you’re crazy! Arsène Lupin embarked under the name of R. –Yes, another one of your tricks, a false trail you set them on, down there. Ah! You’re a pretty strong man, my lad. But this time, luck has turned. Come now, Lupin, show yourself a good sport.
I hesitated for a second. With a sharp blow, he struck me on the right forearm . I cried out in pain. He had struck the still-barely healed wound indicated by the telegram. Come on, I had to resign myself. I turned to Miss Nelly. She listened, livid, unsteady. Her gaze met mine, then fell on the Kodak I had given her. She made a sudden gesture, and I had the impression, I had the certainty, that she suddenly understood. Yes, it was there, between the narrow walls of black shagreen, in the hollow of the small object that I had been careful to place in her hands before Ganimard arrested me, it was indeed there that Rozaine’s twenty thousand francs , Lady Jerland’s pearls and diamonds were to be found. Ah! I swear, at that solemn moment, when Ganimard and two of his acolytes surrounded me, everything was indifferent to me, my arrest, the hostility of the people, everything, except this: the decision that Miss Nelly was going to make about what I had confided to her. That they would have this material and decisive proof against me, I did not even dream of fearing it, but this proof, would Miss Nelly decide to provide it? Would I be betrayed by her? Lost by her? Would she act like an unforgiving enemy , or like a woman who remembers and whose contempt is softened by a little indulgence, a little involuntary sympathy? She passed in front of me, I bowed very low, without a word. Mingling with the other passengers, she headed towards the gangway, my Kodak in her hand.
No doubt, I thought, she doesn’t dare, in public. In an hour, in a moment, she will give it away. But, having arrived in the middle of the gangway, with a movement of simulated clumsiness, she dropped it into the water, between the quay wall and the side of the ship. Then I saw her walk away. Her pretty silhouette disappeared into the crowd, appeared to me again and disappeared. It was over, over forever. For a moment I remained motionless, sad at the same time and filled with a gentle tenderness, then I sighed, to Ganimard’s great astonishment: “It’s a shame, all the same, not to be an honest man…” Thus it was that one winter evening, Arsène Lupin told me the story of his arrest. The chance of incidents, the account of which I will write some day, had forged a bond between us… shall I say friendship? Yes, I dare to believe that Arsène Lupin honors me with some friendship, and that it is out of friendship that he sometimes arrives at my house unexpectedly, bringing, into the silence of my study, his youthful gaiety, the radiance of his ardent life, his good humor of a man for whom destiny has only favors and smiles. His portrait? How could I paint it? Twenty times I have seen Arsène Lupin, and twenty times it was a different being who appeared to me… or rather the same being of whom twenty mirrors would have sent back to me as many distorted images, each with its own particular eyes, its special form of face, its own gesture, its silhouette and its character. “I myself,” he said to me, “I no longer know who I am. In a mirror I no longer recognize myself. ” A joke, certainly, and a paradox, but a truth with regard to those who meet him and who are ignorant of his infinite resources, his patience, his art of makeup, his prodigious faculty of transforming even the proportions of his face, and of altering the very relationship of his features to each other. “Why,” he said again, “should I have a definite appearance? Why not to avoid this danger of an always identical personality? My actions sufficiently designate me. And he specifies with a touch of pride: –So much the better if one can never say with complete certainty: Here is Arsène Lupin. The essential thing is that one says without fear of error: Arsène Lupin did this. These are some of these acts, some of these adventures that I try to reconstruct, based on the confidences with which he had the good grace to favor me, certain winter evenings, in the silence of my study… Chapter 2. Arsène Lupin in prison. There is no tourist worthy of the name who does not know the banks of the Seine, and who has not noticed, on his way from the ruins of Jumièges to the ruins of Saint Wandrille, the strange little feudal castle of Malaquis, so proudly camped on its rock, in the middle of the river. The arch of a bridge connects it to the road. The base of its dark turrets blends into the granite that supports it, an enormous block detached from who knows what mountain and thrown there by some formidable convulsion. All around, the calm water of the great river plays among the reeds, and wagtails tremble on the damp crest of the pebbles. The history of Malaquis is as harsh as its name, as surly as its silhouette. It has been nothing but battles, sieges, assaults, plunder, and massacres. At the wakes of the Pays de Caux, people recall with a shudder the crimes that were committed there. They tell mysterious legends. They speak of the famous underground passage that once led to the Abbey of Jumièges and to the manor of Agnès Sorel, the beautiful friend of Charles VII. In this former lair of heroes and brigands lives Baron Nathan Cahorn, Baron Satan, as he was once called at the Bourse where he became rich a little too suddenly. The ruined lords of Malaquis had to sell him their ancestral home for a piece of bread. There he installed his admirable collections of furniture and paintings, earthenware and carved wood. He lives there alone, with three old servants. No one ever enters. No one has ever contemplated in the decor of these ancient rooms the three Rubens he owns, his two Watteaus, his Jean Goujon chair, and so many other marvels snatched with banknotes from the richest regulars at public auctions. Baron Satan is afraid. He is afraid not for himself, but for the treasures accumulated with such tenacious passion and the perspicacity of an amateur that the shrewdest of dealers cannot boast of having misled. He loves them, his trinkets. He loves them fiercely, like a miser; jealously, like a lover. Every day at sunset, the four iron-clad gates that control the two ends of the bridge and the entrance to the main courtyard are closed and locked. At the slightest shock, electric bells would vibrate in the silence. On the Seine side, there is nothing to fear: the rock there rises sheer. Now, one Friday in September, the postman presented himself as usual at the bridgehead. And, according to the daily rule, it was the baron who half-opened the heavy door. He examined the man as minutely as if he had not already known, for years, that kind, cheerful face and those mocking peasant eyes, and the man said to him, laughing: “It’s always me, Monsieur Baron. I’m not someone else who would have taken my blouse and cap. ” “You never know?” murmured Cahorn. The postman handed him a pile of newspapers. Then he added: “And now, Monsieur Baron, there’s something new. ” “Something new?” –A letter… and registered, again. Isolated, without friends or anyone interested in him, the Baron never received a letter, and this immediately seemed to him an ominous event that had cause for concern. Who was this mysterious correspondent who had come to revive his retreat? –You must sign, Baron. He signed, grumbling. Then he took the letter, waited for the postman had disappeared around the bend in the road, and after pacing back and forth for a few steps, he leaned against the bridge parapet and tore open the envelope. It contained a sheet of squared paper with this handwritten letterhead: Prison de la Santé, Paris. He looked at the signature: Arsène Lupin. Astonished, he read: Baron, In the gallery that joins your two salons, there is a painting by Philippe de Champaigne of excellent workmanship that I like infinitely. Your Rubens are also to my taste, as is your smaller Watteau. In the salon on the right, I note the Louis XIII credenza, the Beauvais tapestries, the Empire pedestal table by Jacob, and the Renaissance sideboard. In the one on the left, the entire display case of jewelry and miniatures. For this time, I will be content with these objects, which I believe will be easy to sell. I therefore ask you to have them properly packed and sent in my name, postage paid, to Batignolles station, within eight days… failing which, I will have them moved myself during the night of Wednesday, September 27 to Thursday, September 28. And, as is only right, I will not be satisfied with the items indicated above.
Please excuse the slight inconvenience I am causing you, and accept the expression of my feelings of respectful consideration. ARSÈNE LUPIN. PS–Above all, do not send me the greatest of Watteau. Although you paid thirty thousand francs for it at the Hôtel des Ventes, it is only a copy, the original having been burned, under the Directory, by Barras, one evening of an orgy. Consult the unpublished Memoirs of Garat. I am also not attached to the chatelaine Louis XV, whose authenticity seems doubtful to me. This letter upset Baron Cahorn. Signed by anyone else, it would have already alarmed him considerably, but signed by Arsène Lupin! An avid reader of newspapers, up to date with everything that was happening in the world in matters of theft and crime, he was fully aware of the exploits of the infernal burglar. Certainly, he knew that Lupin, arrested in America by his enemy Ganimard, was indeed incarcerated, that his trial was being conducted—with what difficulty!—But he also knew that anything could be expected from him. Besides, this exact knowledge of the castle, of the arrangement of the paintings and the furniture, was a most formidable clue. Who had informed him of things that no one had seen? The baron raised his eyes and contemplated the fierce silhouette of the Malaquis, its steep pedestal, the deep water surrounding it, and shrugged his shoulders. No, definitely, there was no danger. No one in the world could penetrate to the inviolable sanctuary of his collections. No one, granted, but Arsène Lupin? For Arsène Lupin, do doors, drawbridges, walls exist? What use are the best-imagined obstacles, the most skillful precautions, if Arsène Lupin has decided to achieve such a goal? That same evening, he wrote to the public prosecutor in Rouen. He sent the threatening letter and requested help and protection. The response was not long in coming: since the man named Arsène Lupin was currently detained at La Santé, under close surveillance, and unable to write, the letter could only be the work of a hoaxer. Everything demonstrated this, logic and common sense, as well as the reality of the facts. However, and out of an abundance of caution, an expert had been appointed to examine the handwriting, and the expert declared that, despite certain similarities, this handwriting was not that of the prisoner. Despite certain analogies, the Baron only retained these three terrifying words, in which he saw the admission of a doubt which, in itself, should have been enough for justice to intervene. His fears were exasperated. He kept rereading the letter. I will carry out the move myself . And this precise date: the night of Wednesday 27 to Thursday 28 September!… Suspicious and taciturn, he had not dared to confide in his servants, whose devotion did not seem to him to be immune to all trials. However, for the first time in years, he felt the need to talk, to seek advice. Abandoned by the justice of his country, he no longer hoped to defend himself with his own resources, and he was on the point of going to Paris and imploring the assistance of some former policeman. Two days passed. On the third, while reading his newspapers, he leaped with joy. The Réveil de Caudebec published this short article: We have had the pleasure of having within our walls, for almost three weeks, Chief Inspector Ganimard, one of the veterans of the Sûreté service. Mr. Ganimard, whose arrest of Arsène Lupin, his latest feat, has earned him a European reputation, is resting from his long fatigues by teasing gudgeon and bleak. Ganimard! There is indeed the assistant Baron Cahorn was looking for! Who better than the cunning and patient Ganimard to thwart Lupin’s plans ?
The Baron didn’t hesitate. Six kilometers separate the castle from the small town of Caudebec. He crossed them with a brisk step, like a man excited by the hope of salvation. After several fruitless attempts to find the chief inspector’s address, he headed for the offices of Le Réveil, located in the middle of the quay. There he found the editor of the news item who, approaching the window, cried: “Ganimard? But you’re sure to meet him along the quay, line in hand. That’s where we became acquainted, and where I happened to read his name engraved on his fishing rod. Look, the little old man you see over there, under the trees on the promenade. ” “In a frock coat and straw hat?” “Exactly! Ah! A funny fellow, not a talker and rather gruff.” Five minutes later, the baron approached the famous Ganimard, introduced himself, and tried to start a conversation. Unable to do so, he broached the subject frankly and explained his case. The other listened, motionless, without losing sight of the fish he was watching, then he turned his head toward him, looked him up and down with an air of profound pity, and said: “Sir, it is hardly customary to warn people you want to rob. Arsène Lupin, in particular, does not make such blunders. ” “However…” “Sir, if I had the slightest doubt, believe me, the pleasure of getting dear Lupin into it again would outweigh any other consideration. Unfortunately, this young man is behind bars. ” “Suppose he escapes?” “One does not escape from the Santé. ” “But, him… ” “Him, no more than anyone else.” –However… –Well, if he escapes, so much the better, I’ll catch him again. In the
meantime, sleep soundly, and don’t frighten that bleak any further. The conversation was over. The Baron returned home, somewhat reassured by Ganimard’s carelessness. He checked the locks, spied on the servants, and another forty-eight hours passed during which he almost managed to persuade himself that, after all, his fears were fanciful. No, definitely, as Ganimard had said , you don’t warn people you want to rob. The date was approaching. On Tuesday morning, the eve of the 27th, nothing in particular. But at three o’clock, a kid rang. He was bringing a telegram. No parcel at Batignolles station. Get everything ready for tomorrow evening. ARSÈNE. Once again, he was in a panic, so much so that he wondered if he would give in to Arsène Lupin’s demands. He ran to Caudebec. Ganimard was fishing in the same spot, sitting on a folding chair. Without a word, he handed him the telegram. “And then?” said the inspector. “And then? But that’s for tomorrow! ” “What? ” “The burglary! The pillaging of my collections! ” Ganimard dropped his line, turned towards him, and, with both arms crossed on his chest, cried impatiently: “Ah! Do you imagine that I’m going to deal with such a stupid story! ” “What compensation are you asking for spending the night of September 27th to 28th at the château? ” “Not a penny, leave me alone.” “Set your price, I’m rich, extremely rich. ” The brutality of the offer disconcerted Ganimard, who continued, calmer: “I’m here on leave and I have no right to interfere…” “No one will know. I promise, whatever happens, to keep silent. ” “Oh! Nothing will happen. ” “Well, come now, three thousand francs, is that enough?” The inspector sniffed a pinch of snuff, reflected, and let it fall: “Very well. Only, I must tell you honestly that it’s money thrown out the window. ” “I don’t care.” –In that case… And then, after all, what do we know about that devil Lupin! He must have a whole gang at his command… Are you sure about your servants? –My goodness… –Then, let’s not count on them. I’ll send a telegram to two fellow friends of mine who will give us more security… And now, get out of here, so that no one sees us together. See you tomorrow, around nine o’clock. The next day, the date set by Arsène Lupin, Baron Cahorn took down his panoply, polished his weapons, and walked around Malaquis. Nothing ambiguous struck him. That evening, at eight-thirty, he dismissed his servants. They lived in a wing facing the road, but a little back, and at the very end of the castle. Once alone, he quietly opened the four doors. After a moment, he heard footsteps approaching. Ganimard introduced his two auxiliaries, tall, sturdy fellows with bull necks and powerful hands, then asked for some explanations. Having taken note of the layout of the premises, he carefully closed and barricaded all the exits through which one could enter the threatened rooms. He inspected the walls, lifted the tapestries, and finally installed his agents in the central gallery. “No nonsense, eh? We’re not here to sleep. At the slightest alarm, open the courtyard windows and call me. Watch out for the water too. Ten meters of straight cliff, devils of their caliber, that doesn’t frighten them.” He locked them in, took the keys, and said to the baron: “And now, to our post.” He had chosen, to spend the night, a small room cut into the thickness of the surrounding walls, between the two main gates, and which had formerly been the watchman’s den. A peephole opened onto the bridge, another onto the courtyard. In a corner, one could see what looked like the opening of a well. “You told me, Baron, that this well was the only entrance to the underground passages, and that, within living memory, it has been blocked? ” “Yes.” “So, unless there is another exit unknown to everyone except Arsène Lupin, which seems a bit problematic, we are safe. ” He lined up three chairs, stretched out comfortably, lit his pipe, and sighed: “Really, Baron, I must be very eager to add another floor to the little house where I am to end my days, to accept such an elementary task. I will tell the story to my friend Lupin; he will hold his sides with laughter.” The Baron was not laughing. His ear to the floor, he questioned the silence with growing anxiety. From time to time he leaned over the well and peered anxiously into the gaping hole. Eleven o’clock, midnight, one o’clock struck. Suddenly, he seized Ganimard’s arm, and he woke up with a start. “Do you hear? ” “What’s that? ” “I’m snoring!” “But no, listen… ” “Ah! Exactly, it’s the horn of an automobile. ” “Well? ” “Well, it’s unlikely that Lupin would use an automobile.” like a battering ram to demolish your castle. Also, Baron , in your place, I would sleep… as I will have the honor of doing again. Good evening. That was the only warning. Ganimard was able to resume his interrupted nap, and the Baron heard nothing but his loud, regular snoring. At dawn, they left their cell. A great, serene peace, the peace of morning by the cool water, enveloped the castle. Cahorn radiant with joy, Ganimard always peaceful, they climbed the stairs. No noise. Nothing suspicious. “What did I tell you, Baron? Basically, I shouldn’t have accepted… I’m ashamed…” He took the keys and entered the gallery. On two chairs, bent over, arms dangling, the two agents slept. “Thunder of a dog’s name!” growled the inspector. At the same moment, the baron cried out: “The paintings!… the credenza!” He stammered, gasping for breath, his hand stretched out toward the empty spaces, toward the bare walls where the nails were sticking out, where the useless ropes hung. The Watteau, gone! The Rubens, removed! The tapestries, taken down! The display cases, emptied of their jewels! “And my Louis XVI candelabras!… and the Regent’s candlestick!… and my Virgin from the twelfth floor!” He ran from one place to another, terrified, desperate. He recalled his purchase prices, added up the losses he had suffered, accumulated figures, all in a jumble, in indistinct words, in unfinished sentences. He stamped his feet, he convulsed, mad with rage and pain. He looked like a ruined man who had nothing left to do but blow his brains out. If anything could have consoled him, it would have been seeing Ganimard’s stupor. Unlike the Baron, the inspector didn’t move. He seemed petrified, and with a vague eye he examined things. The windows? Closed. The door locks? Intact. No breach in the ceiling. No hole in the floor. The order was perfect. All this must have been carried out methodically, according to an inexorable and logical plan. “Arsène Lupin… Arsène Lupin,” he murmured, shattered. Suddenly, he leaped upon the two officers, as if anger had finally shaken him, and he shoved them furiously and insulted them. They didn’t wake up! “The devil,” he said, “is it by chance?…” He bent over them and, in turn, observed each one carefully: they were asleep, but in an unnatural sleep. He said to the Baron: “They’ve been put to sleep.” –But who? –Hey, him, of course!… or his gang, but led by him. It’s one of his own tricks. The mark is there. –In that case, I’m lost, nothing to be done. –Nothing to be done. –But it’s abominable, it’s monstrous. –File a complaint. –What’s the point? –Lady! Keep trying… justice has resources… –Justice! But you see for yourself… Look, right now , when you could be looking for a clue, discovering something, you’re not even moving. –Discovering something with Arsène Lupin! But, my dear sir, Arsène Lupin never leaves anything behind! There’s no such thing as chance with Arsène Lupin! I’m starting to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose that he got himself arrested by me, in America! –Then I must give up my paintings, everything! But it’s the pearls of my collection that he stole from me. I’d give a fortune to find them. If nothing can be done against him, let him name his price! Ganimard looked at him fixedly. “That’s a sensible word. You won’t take it back? ” “No, no, no. But why? ” “An idea I have. ” “What idea?” “We’ll talk about it if the investigation doesn’t lead to anything… Only, not a word from me, if you want me to succeed. ” He added between his teeth: “And then, really, I have nothing to boast about.” The two agents gradually regained consciousness with that dazed air . of those emerging from hypnotic sleep. They opened their astonished eyes , they tried to understand. When Ganimard questioned them, they remembered nothing. “However, you must have seen someone? ” “No.” “Remember? ” “No, no. ” “And you didn’t drink?” They thought, and one of them replied: “Yes, I drank a little water. ” “Water from this carafe? ” “Yes. ” “Me too,” declared the second. Ganimard smelled it, tasted it. It had no special taste, no smell. “Come on,” he said, “we’re wasting our time. We can’t solve the problems posed by Arsène Lupin in five minutes. But, damn it! I swear I’ll catch him again. He wins the second round. The beauty is mine!” That same day, a complaint of robbery was filed by Baron de Cahorn against Arsène Lupin, detained at La Santé! The Baron often regretted this complaint when he saw Malaquis handed over to the police, the prosecutor, the investigating judge, the journalists, all the curious onlookers who insinuate themselves everywhere they shouldn’t be. The affair was already a source of public concern. It occurred in such unusual circumstances, and the name of Arsène Lupin so excited imaginations that the most fanciful stories filled the newspaper columns and found credence among the public. But Arsène Lupin’s initial letter, which was published in the Echo de France , and no one ever knew who had communicated the text, this letter in which Baron Cahorn was brazenly warned of what threatened him, caused considerable emotion. Fabulous explanations were immediately proposed. The existence of the famous underground passages was recalled. And the influenced prosecutor’s office pushed its research in this direction. The castle was searched from top to bottom. Each stone was questioned. The woodwork and fireplaces, the mirror frames and ceiling beams were studied. By torchlight, the immense cellars where the lords of Malaquis once stored their munitions and provisions were examined. The bowels of the rock were probed. It was in vain. Not the slightest vestige of an underground passage was discovered. There was no secret passage. Fine, they replied on all sides, but furniture and paintings do not vanish like ghosts. They leave through doors and windows, and the people who seize them also enter and leave through doors and windows. Who are these people? How did they get in? And how did they leave? The Rouen prosecutor’s office, convinced of its impotence, sought the help of Parisian agents. Mr. Dudouis, the head of the Sûreté, sent his best bloodhounds from the Iron Brigade. He himself spent forty-eight hours at Malaquis. He was no more successful. It was then that he summoned Chief Inspector Ganimard, whose services he had so often had the opportunity to appreciate. Ganimard listened silently to his superior’s instructions, then, nodding his head, he said: “I believe we are on the wrong track by persisting in searching the castle. The solution lies elsewhere. ” “And where? ” “With Arsène Lupin. ” “With Arsène Lupin! To suppose that is to admit his intervention. ” “I admit it. Moreover, I consider it certain. ” “Come now, Ganimard, that’s absurd. Arsène Lupin is in prison. ” “Arsène Lupin is in prison, fine. He’s under surveillance, I grant you that.” But even if he had irons on his feet, ropes on his wrists , and a gag on his mouth, I wouldn’t change my mind. –And why this obstinacy? –Because only Arsène Lupin is capable of assembling a machine of this magnitude, and of assembling it in such a way that it succeeds… as it has succeeded. –Words, Ganimard! –Which are realities. But there you go, we’re not looking for underground passages, stones turning on a pivot, and other nonsense of that caliber. Our individual doesn’t use such old-fashioned methods. He’s from today, or rather from tomorrow. –And you conclude? –I conclude by clearly asking your permission to spend an hour with him. –In his cell? –Yes. On our return from America, we maintained excellent relations during the crossing, and I dare say that he has some sympathy for the person who managed to arrest him. If he can give me information without compromising himself, he won’t hesitate to spare me a useless journey. It was a little after noon when Ganimard was shown into Arsène Lupin’s cell. The latter, lying on his bed, raised his head and gave a cry of joy. –Ah! that’s a real surprise. This dear Ganimard, here! –Himself. “I desired many things in the retreat I have chosen… but none more passionately than to receive you there. ” “Too amiable. ” “But no, but no, I profess the highest esteem for you. ” “I am proud of it. ” “I have always claimed it: Ganimard is our best detective. He is almost worth—you see how frank I am!—he is almost worth Sherlock Holmes. But, in truth, I am sorry to have nothing to offer you but this stool. And not a refreshment! Not a glass of beer! Excuse me, I am only passing through. ” Ganimard sat down, smiling, and the prisoner resumed, happy to speak: “My God, how happy I am to rest my eyes on the face of an honest man! I have had enough of all these faces of spies and informers who pass ten times a day through my pockets and my modest cell, to make sure that I am not preparing an escape.” Gee, how much the government cares about me!… –He’s right. –But no! I would be so happy if they would let me live in my little corner! –With other people’s income. –Wouldn’t it? It would be so simple! But I chatter, I talk nonsense, and perhaps you’re in a hurry. Let’s get to the point, Ganimard! To what do I owe the honor of a visit? –The Cahorn affair, declared Ganimard, bluntly. –Hold right there! One second… It’s because I have so much to do! Let me first find in my brain the file on the Cahorn affair… Ah! There I am, I’m there. Cahorn affair, Château du Malaquis, Seine Inférieure… Two Rubens, a Watteau, and a few small objects. –Small! –Oh! my goodness, all that is of little importance. There are better things! But it’s enough that the affair interests you… Speak up, Ganimard. “Shall I explain to you where we are with the investigation? ” “No need. I read this morning’s newspapers. I’ll even venture to say that you’re not making any progress. ” “That’s precisely why I’m asking for your kindness. ” “Entirely at your command. ” “First of all, this: was the case indeed conducted by you? ” “From A to Z. ” “The letter of advice? The telegram? ” “They’re from your servant. I should even have the receipts somewhere . ” Arsène opened the drawer of a small white wooden table that, along with the bed and stool, made up the entire furniture in his cell, took out two scraps of paper, and handed them to Ganimard. “Ah! But,” he cried, “I thought you were being held in custody and searched for no reason. Now, you read the newspapers, you collect postal receipts… ” “Bah! These people are so stupid!” They unpick the lining of my jacket, they explore the soles of my boots, they examine the walls of this room, but not one of them would think that Arsène Lupin would be foolish enough to choose such an easy hiding place. That’s what I counted on. Ganimard, amused, exclaimed: “What a strange fellow you are! You disconcert me. Come on, Tell me about the adventure. –Oh! Oh! How you’re going! Initiating you into all my secrets… revealing my little tricks… It’s very serious. –Was I wrong to count on your indulgence? –No, Ganimard, and since you insist… Arsène Lupin paced his room two or three times, then stopping: –What do you think of my letter to the Baron? –I think you wanted to amuse yourself, to impress the gallery a little. –Ah! There you go, to impress the gallery! Well, I assure you, Ganimard, that I thought you were stronger. Do I dwell on these puerilities, me, Arsène Lupin! Would I have written this letter if I could have robbed the Baron without writing to him? But understand, you and the others, that this letter is the indispensable starting point , the spring that set the whole machine in motion. Let’s see, let’s proceed in order, and prepare together, if you like, the burglary of the Malaquis. –I’m listening. –So, let’s suppose a castle rigorously closed, barricaded, like that of Baron Cahorn. Am I going to give up the game and renounce the treasures I covet, under the pretext that the castle that contains them is inaccessible? –Obviously not. –Am I going to attempt the assault as in the past, at the head of a band of adventurers? –Childish! –Am I going to sneak in? –Impossible. –One way remains, the only one in my opinion, which is to get myself invited by the owner of the said castle. –The method is original. –And how easy! Let’s suppose that one day, the said owner receives a letter, warning him of what a man named Arsène Lupin, a renowned burglar, is plotting against him. What will he do? –He will send the letter to the prosecutor. –Who will laugh at him, since the said Lupin is currently behind bars. So, panic of the good man, who is quite ready to ask for help from the first comer, is it not true? –That is beyond doubt. –And if he happens to read in a newspaper that a famous policeman is on vacation in the neighboring town… –He will go and speak to this policeman. –You said so. But, on the other hand, let us suppose that in anticipation of this inevitable step, Arsène Lupin has asked one of his most astute friends to settle in Caudebec, to enter into relations with an editor of the Réveil, a newspaper to which the Baron subscribes, to let it be known that he is such and such, the famous policeman, what will happen? –That the editor will announce in the Réveil the presence in Caudebec of the said policeman. –Perfect, and one of two things: either the fish—I mean Cahorn—doesn’t bite the hook, and then nothing happens. Or, and this is the most likely hypothesis, it comes running, all wriggling. And so there is my Cahorn imploring the assistance of one of my friends against me! –More and more original. –Of course, the pseudo-policeman initially refuses his help. Thereupon, dispatch from Arsène Lupin. Terror of the baron, who again begs my friend, and offers him so much to see to his safety. The said friend accepts, brings two fellows from our gang, who, at night, while Cahorn is being kept in custody by his protector, move a certain number of objects through the window and let them slide, with the help of ropes, into a good little boat chartered ad hoc. It’s as simple as Lupin. “And it’s simply marvelous,” cried Ganimard, “and I cannot praise too highly the boldness of the design and the ingenuity of the details. But I can hardly think of a detective so illustrious that his name could have attracted and impressed the Baron to this extent. ” “There is one, and there is only one.” “Which one?” “That of the most illustrious, of Arsène Lupin’s personal enemy, in short, of Inspector Ganimard. ” “Me!” “You yourself, Ganimard. And here’s what’s delicious: if you go there and the baron decides to talk, you’ll end up discovering that your duty is to arrest him yourself, as you arrested me in America. Huh! Revenge is comical: I have Ganimard arrested by Ganimard! ” Arsène Lupin laughed heartily. The inspector, rather annoyed, bit his lip. The joke didn’t seem to him to deserve such fits of joy. The arrival of a guard gave him time to recover. The man was bringing the meal that Arsène Lupin, as a special favor, had brought from the neighboring restaurant. Having placed the tray on the table, he withdrew. Arsène sat down, broke his bread, ate two or three mouthfuls, and continued: “But don’t worry, my dear Ganimard, you won’t go there.” I’m going to reveal something that will astound you: the Cahorn case is about to be closed. –Huh! –On the verge of being closed, I tell you. –Come on, I’m leaving the head of the Sûreté right now. –And then? Does Mr. Dudouis know more than I do about what concerns me? You will learn that Ganimard–excuse me–that the pseudonym Ganimard has remained on very good terms with the baron. The latter, and this is the main reason why he hasn’t confessed anything, has charged him with the very delicate mission of negotiating a transaction with me, and, at the present time, for a certain sum, it is likely that the baron has regained possession of his beloved trinkets. In return, he will withdraw his complaint. So, no more theft. So the prosecution will have to give up… Ganimard looked at the prisoner with a stunned air. –And how do you know all this? –I have just received the dispatch I was waiting for. –Have you just received a dispatch? –Just now, dear friend. Out of politeness, I did not want to read it in your presence. But if you will allow me… –You are making fun of me, Lupin. –Please, my dear friend, gently decapitate this boiled egg. You will see for yourself that I am not making fun of you. Mechanically, Ganimard obeyed and cracked the egg with the blade of a knife. A cry of surprise escaped him. The empty shell contained a sheet of blue paper. At Arsène’s request, he unfolded it. It was a telegram, or rather part of a telegram from which the postal instructions had been torn out. It read: Agreement concluded. One hundred thousand francs delivered. All is well. –One hundred thousand francs? he said. –Yes, one hundred thousand francs! It is not much, but still, times are hard… And I have such heavy overheads! If you knew my budget… a big city budget! Ganimard stood up. His bad mood had dissipated. He thought for a few seconds, took in the whole affair at a glance, to try to discover the weak point. Then he spoke in a tone in which his connoisseur’s admiration frankly showed: “Fortunately, there aren’t dozens like you, otherwise we’d have to close up shop. ” Arsène Lupin assumed a modest air and replied: “Well! I had to distract myself, occupy my leisure time… especially since the coup could only succeed if I were in prison. ” “What!” exclaimed Ganimard, “your trial, your defense, the investigation, all that isn’t enough to distract you? ” “No, because I’ve decided not to attend my trial. ” “Oh! oh!” Arsène Lupin repeated calmly: “I won’t attend my trial.” “Truly! ” “Ah! Oh, my dear fellow, do you imagine I’m going to rot on the wet straw? You insult me. Arsène Lupin only stays in prison as long as he pleases, and not a minute longer. ” “Perhaps it would have been more prudent not to go in at all,” the inspector objected ironically. –Ah! Sir, is he joking? Sir, does he remember that he had the honor of arresting me? You should know, my respectable friend, that no one, not you or anyone else, would have been able to lay their hands on me if a much more considerable interest had not solicited me at that critical moment. –You astonish me. –A woman was looking at me, Ganimard, and I loved her. Do you understand all that there is in this fact of being looked at by a woman you love? The rest mattered little to me, I swear. And that is why I am here. –For a long time, allow me to point out. –I wanted to forget at first. Don’t laugh: the adventure had been charming, and I still have the fond memory of it… And then, I am somewhat neurasthenic! Life is so feverish these days! One must know, at certain moments, how to do what is called a cure of isolation. This place is supreme for regimes of this kind. They practice the Health Cure in all its rigor. “Arsène Lupin,” observed Ganimard, “you’re making fun of me. ” “Ganimard,” affirmed Lupin, “today is Friday. Next Wednesday, I’ll go smoke my cigar at your place, rue Pergolèse, at four o’clock in the afternoon. ” “Arsène Lupin, I’ll wait for you.” They shook hands like two good friends who value each other at their true worth, and the old policeman went to the door. “Ganimard! ” He turned around. “What is it?” “Ganimard, you forgot your watch. ” “My watch? ” “Yes, it got lost in my pocket. ” He returned it, apologizing. “Forgive me… a bad habit… But that’s no reason, because they took mine, to deprive you of yours.” Especially since I have a chronometer here, which I have no reason to complain about, and which fully meets my needs. He took out of the drawer a large gold watch, thick and comfortable, adorned with a heavy chain. “And this one, which pocket did it come from?” asked Ganimard. Arsène Lupin casually examined the initials. “JB… Who the devil can it be?… Ah! Yes, I remember, Jules Bouvier, my examining magistrate, a charming man…” Chapter 3. The Escape of Arsène Lupin. Just as Arsène Lupin, his meal finished, was taking a fine gold-ringed cigar from his pocket and examining it complacently, the cell door opened. He only had time to throw it in the drawer and move away from the table. The guard came in; it was time for his walk. “I was expecting you, my dear friend,” cried Lupin, always in a good mood. They left. They had barely disappeared around the corner of the corridor when two men in turn entered the cell and began a detailed examination. One was Inspector Dieuzy, the other Inspector Folenfant. They wanted to get this over with. There was no doubt: Arsène Lupin maintained intelligence with the outside world and communicated with his cronies. Just the day before, the Grand Journal had published these lines addressed to his judicial collaborator: Sir, In an article published recently, you expressed yourself about me in terms that nothing could justify. A few days before the opening of my trial, I will ask you for an account. Yours sincerely, ARSÈNE LUPIN. The handwriting was indeed Arsène Lupin’s. So he was sending letters. So he was receiving them. So it was certain that he was preparing this escape he announced in such an arrogant manner. The situation was becoming intolerable. In agreement with the investigating judge, the head of the Sûreté, Mr. Dudouis, went himself to the Santé to explain to the prison director the measures that should be taken. And, upon his arrival, he sent two of his men to the prisoner’s cell. They lifted each of the slabs, took apart the bed, did everything that is customary in such cases, and finally discovered nothing. They were about to give up their investigations when the guard rushed up in all haste and said to them: “The drawer… look at the table drawer. When I went in, it seemed to me that he was pushing it back. ” They looked, and Dieuzy cried out: “For God’s sake, this time we have the customer. ” Folenfant stopped him. “Hold right there, my boy, the chief will take inventory. ” “However, this luxury cigar…” “Leave the Havana, and let’s warn the chief.” Two minutes later, M. Dudouis was exploring the drawer. He found first a bundle of newspaper articles cut out by the Argus de la Presse and concerning Arsène Lupin, then a tobacco pouch, a pipe, some so-called onion-skin paper, and finally two books. He looked at the title. It was Carlyle’s Hero Cult, English edition, and a charming old-fashioned book, in a contemporary binding, Epictetus’s Manual, a German translation published in Leiden in 1634. Having leafed through them, he noticed that all the pages were slashed, underlined, and annotated. Were these conventional signs or rather those marks that show the fervor one has for a book? “We will see that in detail,” said M. Dudouis. He explored the tobacco pouch, the pipe. Then, seizing the famous gold-ringed cigar: “Blimey, our friend is getting on well,” he cried, “a Henri Clet!” With a mechanical smoker’s gesture, he brought it close to his ear and cracked it. And immediately an exclamation escaped him. The cigar had softened under the pressure of his fingers. He examined it more carefully and soon made out something white between the tobacco leaves. And delicately, with the help of a pin, he drew out a roll of very thin paper, barely the size of a toothpick. It was a note. He unrolled it and read these words, in a woman’s tiny handwriting: The basket has taken the place of the other. Eight out of ten are prepared. By pressing with the outside foot, the plate lifts from top to bottom. From twelve to sixteen every day, HP will wait. But where? Immediate response. Rest assured, your friend is watching over you. Mr. Dudouis thought for a moment and said: “That’s clear enough… the basket… the eight boxes… From twelve to sixteen, that is to say, from noon to four o’clock… ” “But this HP, who will wait? ” “HP in this case must mean automobile, HP, horse power, isn’t that how in sports language we designate the strength of an engine?” A twenty-four HP is a twenty-four horsepower automobile. He stood up and asked: “Was the prisoner finishing lunch? ” “Yes.” “And since he hasn’t read this message yet, as the state of the cigar proves, it’s likely he had just received it. ” “How? ” “In his food, in the middle of his bread or a potato, who knows? ” “Impossible, he was only allowed to bring his food to trap him, and we found nothing. ” “We’ll look for Lupin’s answer this evening. For the moment, keep him out of his cell. I’ll take this to the examining magistrate . If he agrees with me, we’ll have the letter photographed immediately, and in an hour you can put back in the drawer, along with these items, an identical cigar containing the original message itself. The prisoner must not suspect anything.” It was not without a certain curiosity that Mr. Dudouis returned that evening to the Health Office in the company of Inspector Dieuzy. In a corner, on the stove, three plates were spread out. “Did he eat? ” “Yes,” replied the director. “Dieuzy, please cut these few strands of macaroni into very thin pieces and open this bread ball… Nothing?” “No, chef.” Mr. Dudouis examined the plates, the fork, the spoon, and finally the knife, a regulation knife with a round blade. He turned the handle left, then right. On the right, the handle gave way and unscrewed. The knife was hollow and was serving as a case for a sheet of paper. “Phew!” he said, “that’s not very clever for a man like Arsène. But let’s not waste any time. You, Dieuzy, go and investigate this restaurant.” Then he read: ” I’ll leave it to you, HP will follow from afar, every day. I’ll go ahead. See you soon, dear and admirable friend. ” “Finally,” cried Mr. Dudouis, rubbing his hands, “I think the case is on the right track. A little help from us, and the escape will be successful… enough at least to allow us to catch the accomplices. ” “And if Arsène Lupin slips through your fingers?” objected the director. “We will employ the necessary number of men. If, however, he were to be too clever… well, too bad for him! As for the gang, since the leader refuses to talk, the others will talk. And in fact, Arsène Lupin didn’t talk much. For months, Mr. Jules Bouvier, the investigating judge, had been trying in vain. The interrogations were reduced to pointless discussions between the judge and the lawyer, Maître Danval, one of the princes of the bar, who, moreover, knew about the accused as much as the next person. From time to time, out of politeness, Arsène Lupin would let slip: “Yes, Your Honor, we agree: the robbery of the Crédit Lyonnais, the robbery on the Rue de Babylone, the issuance of the counterfeit banknotes , the matter of the insurance policies, the burglary of the châteaux of Armesnil, Gouret, Imblevain, Groseillers, Malaquis, all of that is yours truly. ” “So, could you explain to me… ” “No need, I confess everything, everything, and even ten times more than you suppose.” Weary of the struggle, the judge had suspended these tedious interrogations. After learning of the two intercepted notes, he resumed them. And, regularly, at noon, Arsène Lupin was brought from the Santé to the Depot, in the prison car, with a certain number of inmates. They left around three or four o’clock. Now, one afternoon, this return took place under unusual conditions. Since the other prisoners at La Santé had not yet been questioned, it was decided to take Arsène Lupin back first. He therefore got into the car alone. These prison cars, commonly called salad baskets, are divided along their length by a central corridor onto which ten compartments open, five on the right and five on the left. Each of these compartments is arranged in such a way that one must sit in it, and the five prisoners, consequently, sit on top of each other, while being separated from each other by parallel partitions. A municipal guard, placed at the end, watches the corridor. Arsène was brought into the third cell on the right, and the heavy car moved off. He realized that they were leaving the Quai de l’Horloge and passing in front of the Palais de Justice. Then, towards the middle of the Pont Saint Michel, he pressed, with his outside foot, that is to say his right foot, as he always did, on the sheet of metal that closed his cell. Immediately something happened , and the sheet of metal moved aside imperceptibly. He could see that he was right between the two wheels. He waited, his eyes on the alert. The car climbed Boulevard Saint Michel at a walking pace. At the Saint Germain crossroads, it stopped. The horse of a truck had fallen. With traffic interrupted, very quickly there was a traffic jam of cabs and buses. Arsène Lupin poked his head out. Another prison car was parked alongside the one he was occupying. He raised the sheet metal, put his foot on one of the spokes of the big wheel and jumped down . A coachman saw him, burst out laughing, then wanted to call out. But his voice was lost in the din of the vehicles that were passing by again . Besides, Arsène Lupin was already far away. He had run a few steps; but on the left-hand sidewalk, he turned around, cast a circular glance, seemed to catch the wind, like someone who is still not quite sure which direction he will follow. Then, resolute, he put his hands in his pockets, and with the carefree air of a stroller, he continued up the boulevard. The weather was mild, a happy and light autumn weather. The cafes were full. He sat down on the terrace of one of them. He ordered a beer and a pack of cigarettes. He emptied his glass in small sips, calmly smoked a cigarette, and lit a second. Finally, having risen, he asked the waiter to summon the manager.
The manager came, and Arsène said to him, loud enough for everyone to hear: “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot my purse. Perhaps my name is well-known enough to you for you to grant me a credit for a few days: Arsène Lupin.” The manager looked at him, thinking it was a joke. But Arsène repeated: “Lupin, detained at La Santé, currently on the run. I dare to believe that this name inspires complete confidence in you.” And he walked away, amidst laughter, without the other thinking of complaining. He crossed Rue Soufflot diagonally and took Rue Saint Jacques. He followed it peacefully, stopping at the shop windows and smoking cigarettes. On Boulevard de Port Royal, he oriented himself, made inquiries, and walked straight towards Rue de la Santé. The high, gloomy walls of the prison soon rose up. Having walked along them, he arrived near the municipal guard who was on duty, and removing his hat: “Is this the Santé prison? ” “Yes. ” “I would like to return to my cell. The car left me on the way and I wouldn’t want to take advantage… ” The guard growled: “Hey, man, go on your way, and faster than that. ” “Pardon, pardon, it’s because my way passes through this door. And if you prevent Arsène Lupin from going through it, it could cost you dearly, my friend.
” “Arsène Lupin! What are you talking about? ” “I’m sorry I don’t have my card,” said Arsène, pretending to search his pockets. The guard looked him up and down, stunned. Then, without a word, as if in spite of himself, he rang a bell. The iron door opened ajar. A few minutes later, the director ran up to the registry office, gesticulating and feigning violent anger. Arsène smiled: “Come now, Mr. Director, don’t play tricks on me.” The manager came, and Arsène said to him, loud enough for everyone to hear:
“I’m sorry, sir, I forgot my purse. Perhaps my name is well-known enough to you for you to give me a few days’ credit: Arsène Lupin.” The manager looked at him, thinking it was a joke. But Arsène repeated: “Lupin, inmate at La Santé, currently on the run. I dare to believe that name inspires complete confidence in you.” And he walked away, amidst laughter, without the other thinking of complaining. He crossed Rue Soufflot diagonally and took Rue Saint Jacques. He followed it peacefully, stopping at the shop windows and smoking cigarettes. On Boulevard de Port Royal, he oriented himself, made inquiries, and walked straight towards Rue de la Santé. The high, gloomy walls of the prison soon loomed up. Having walked along them, he arrived near the municipal guard who was on duty, and taking off his hat: “Is this the Santé prison? ” “Yes.
” “I would like to return to my cell. The carriage left me on the way and I wouldn’t want to take advantage… ” The guard growled:
“Hey, man, go on your way, and faster than that.” “Pardon, pardon, it’s just that my way passes through this door. And if you prevent Arsène Lupin from going through it, it could cost you dearly, my friend. ” “Arsène Lupin! What are you talking about now? ” “I’m sorry I don’t have my card,” said Arsène, pretending to search his pockets. The guard looked him up and down, stunned. Then, without a word, as if in spite of himself, he rang a bell. The iron door opened a crack. A few minutes later, the director ran up to the registry office, gesticulating and feigning violent anger. Arsène smiled: “Come now, Monsieur le Directeur, don’t play tricks on me. What! They take the precaution of bringing me back alone in the carriage, they prepare a nice little obstruction, and they imagine that I’m going to take to my heels to join my friends.” Well, what about the twenty Sûreté agents who escorted us on foot, in cabs, and on bicycles? No, they would have been fine with me! I wouldn’t have gotten out alive. Hey, Mr. Director, is that perhaps what they were counting on? He shrugged his shoulders and added: “Please, Mr. Director, don’t worry about me. The day I want to escape, I won’t need anyone.” Two days later, the Echo de France, which was definitely becoming the official monitor of Arsène Lupin’s exploits—it was said that he was one of the principal instigators—the Echo de France published the most complete details of this escape attempt. The very text of the notes exchanged between the prisoner and his mysterious friend, the means employed for this correspondence, the complicity of the police, the walk on the Boulevard Saint Michel, the incident at the Café Soufflot, everything was revealed. It was known that Inspector Dieuzy’s searches among the restaurant waiters had yielded no results. And they also learned this astonishing fact, which showed the infinite variety of resources at the disposal of this man: the prison car in which he had been transported was a completely rigged car, which his gang had substituted for one of the six usual cars that make up the prison service. Arsène Lupin’s impending escape was no longer in doubt for anyone. He himself, moreover, announced it in categorical terms, as his response to M. Bouvier, the day after the incident, proved. The judge , mocking his failure, looked at him and said coldly: “Listen to this, sir, and take my word for it: this escape attempt was part of my escape plan. ” “I don’t understand,” the judge sneered. “It’s useless for you to understand.” And like the judge, during this interrogation which appeared at length in the columns of the Echo de France, as the judge returned to his investigation, he cried out with an air of weariness: “My God, my God, what’s the use! All these questions have no importance! ” “What, no importance? ” “But no, since I will not attend my trial. ” “You will not attend… ” “No, it is a fixed idea, an irrevocable decision. Nothing will make me compromise. ” Such assurance, the inexplicable indiscretions which were committed every day, annoyed and disconcerted the justice system. There were secrets there which Arsène Lupin alone knew, and whose disclosure consequently could only come from him. But for what purpose did he reveal them? And how? Arsène Lupin was moved to another cell. One evening, he went down to the lower floor. For his part, the judge concluded his investigation and referred the case to the indictment chamber. There was silence. It lasted two months. Arsène spent them lying on his bed, his face almost always turned towards the wall. This change of cell seemed to have devastated him. He refused to see his lawyer. He barely exchanged a few words with his guards. In the fortnight preceding his trial, he seemed to revive. He complained of lack of air. He was taken out into the courtyard very early in the morning, flanked by two men. Public curiosity, however, had not diminished. Every day they had waited for the news of his escape. They almost hoped for it, so much did the character please the crowd with his verve, his gaiety, his diversity, his genius for invention, and the mystery of his life. Arsène Lupin had to escape. It was inevitable, fatal. People were even surprised that it took so long. Every morning the Prefect of Police asked his secretary: “Well, hasn’t he left yet? ” “No, Mr. Prefect. ” “It will be tomorrow, then.” And, the day before the trial, a gentleman appeared at the offices of the Grand Journal, asked for the judicial collaborator, threw his card in his face, and quickly walked away. On the card, these words were written: Arsène Lupin always keeps his promises. It was under these conditions that the debates opened. The crowd was enormous. No one who did not want to see the famous Arsène Lupin and did not savor in advance the way in which he would outwit the president. Lawyers and magistrates, columnists and socialites, artists and women of the world, all of Paris crowded onto the benches of the courtroom. It was raining, outside the day was dark, Arsène Lupin was hard to see when the guards brought him in. However, his heavy attitude, the way he let himself fall into his seat, his indifferent and passive immobility, did not speak in his favor. Several times his lawyer—one of Maître Danval’s secretaries, the latter having judged the role to which he was reduced to beneath him—several times his lawyer addressed him. He nodded and remained silent. The clerk read the indictment, then the presiding judge pronounced: “Accused, stand up. Your name, first name, age, and profession?” Receiving no reply, he repeated: “Your name? I ask your name?” A thick, tired voice articulated: “Baudru, Désiré. ” There were murmurs. But the presiding judge continued: “Baudru, Désiré? Ah! Well, a new avatar! As this is about the eighth name you have claimed, and it is undoubtedly as imaginary as the others, we will stick, if you please , to that of Arsène Lupin, by which you are more favorably known. ” The presiding judge consulted his notes and continued: “For, despite all the research, it has been impossible to reconstruct your identity. You present this rather unusual case in our modern society of having no past. We know who you are, where you come from, where your childhood was spent, in short, nothing.” You suddenly emerged three years ago, from whom we don’t know exactly, to suddenly reveal yourself as Arsène Lupin, that is to say, a bizarre compound of intelligence and perversion, immorality and generosity. The information we have about you before this time is rather suppositional. It is likely that the man named Rostat who worked, eight years ago, alongside the conjurer Dickson was none other than Arsène Lupin. It is likely that the Russian student who frequented, six years ago, the laboratory of Doctor Altier, at the Saint Louis Hospital, and who often surprised the master by the ingenuity of his hypotheses on bacteriology and the boldness of his experiments in skin diseases , was none other than Arsène Lupin. Arsène Lupin, also, the professor of Japanese wrestling who settled in Paris long before anyone spoke of jiu jitsu there. Arsène Lupin, we believe, the cyclist who won the Grand Prix de l’Exposition, collected his 10,000 francs and never appeared again. Arsène Lupin may also have been the one who saved so many people through the small window of the Charity Bazaar… and robbed them. And, after a pause, the president concluded: “Such is this period, which seems to have been nothing but a meticulous preparation for the struggle you undertook against society, a methodical apprenticeship in which you brought your strength, your energy, and your skill to the highest degree. Do you recognize the accuracy of these facts?” During this speech, the accused had swayed from one leg to the other, his back arched, his arms inert. In the brighter light, his extreme thinness, his hollow cheeks, his strangely prominent cheekbones , his earth-colored face, marbled with small red patches, and framed by an uneven and sparse beard, were noted. Prison had aged and withered him considerably. The elegant figure and the young face whose sympathetic portrait the newspapers had so often published were no longer recognizable . One would have said that he had not heard the question that was put to him. Twice it was repeated to him. Then he raised his eyes, seemed to reflect, then, making a violent effort, murmured: “Baudru, Désiré.” The president began to laugh. “I don’t have a precise idea of ​​the system of defense you have adopted, Arsène Lupin. If it is to play the fool and the irresponsible, that’s up to you. As for me, I will go straight to the point without worrying about your fancies. ” And he went into detail about the thefts, swindles, and forgeries with which Lupin was accused. Sometimes he questioned the accused. The latter groaned or didn’t answer. The parade of witnesses began. There were several insignificant depositions, others more serious, all of which had this common characteristic of contradicting one another. A disturbing darkness enveloped the proceedings, but Chief Inspector Ganimard was introduced, and interest was reawakened. From the beginning, however, the old policeman caused a certain disappointment. He seemed, not intimidated—he had seen many others—but worried, ill at ease. Several times, he turned his eyes toward the accused with visible embarrassment. Meanwhile, with both hands resting on the bar, he recounted the incidents in which he had been involved, his pursuit across Europe, his arrival in America. And people listened to him avidly, as if listening to the story of the most exciting adventures. But, toward the end, having alluded to his conversations with Arsène Lupin, he twice stopped, distracted, undecided. It was clear that another thought was obsessing him. The president said to him: “If you are ill, it would be better to interrupt your testimony. ” “No, no, only…” He fell silent, looked at the accused for a long time, deeply, then he said: “I request permission to examine the accused more closely. There is a mystery here that I must clear up.” He approached, considered him even longer, with all his concentrated attention, then he returned to the bar. And there, in a somewhat solemn tone, he pronounced: “Mr. President, I affirm that the man who is here, in front of me, is not Arsène Lupin. ” A great silence greeted these words. The president, taken aback at first, exclaimed: “Ah! What are you saying! You’re crazy.” The inspector stated calmly: “At first glance, one can be taken in by a resemblance, which does indeed exist, I admit, but a second’s attention is enough. The nose, the mouth, the hair, the color of the skin… well, what: it’s not Arsène Lupin. And the eyes! Has he ever had those alcoholic eyes? ” “Come, come, let’s explain ourselves. What do you claim, witness? ” “Do I know?” He will have put in his place a poor devil who was going to be condemned in his place… Unless he was an accomplice. Shouts, laughter, exclamations came from all sides in the room which was shaken by this unexpected twist. The president had summoned the examining magistrate, the director of Health, the guards, and suspended the hearing. When it resumed, Mr. Bouvier and the director, brought into the presence of the accused, declared that there was only a very vague similarity of features between Arsène Lupin and this man . “But then,” cried the president, “who is this man? Where does he come from? How did he find himself in the hands of justice?” The two health guards were brought in. A stupefying contradiction, they recognized the prisoner whose supervision they had taken turns! The president breathed. But one of the guards continued: “Yes, yes, I believe it is him. ” “What, do you think?” “Lady, I have hardly seen him. He was delivered to me in the evening, and for two months he has been lying against the wall. ” “But before these two months? ” “Ah!” Before, he did not occupy cell 24. The prison director clarified this point: “We changed the prisoner’s cell after his escape attempt. ” “But you, Mr. Director, have you seen him for two months? ” “I didn’t have the opportunity to see him… he was staying calm. ” “And this man is not the prisoner who was handed over to you? ” “No. ” “Then who is he? ” “I couldn’t say.” “So we are in the presence of a substitution that would have taken place two months ago. How do you explain it? ” “It’s impossible. ” “Then?” In desperation, the president turned to the accused and, in an engaging voice: “Come now, accused, could you explain to me how and since when you have been in the hands of justice? ” One would have said that this benevolent tone disarmed the mistrust or stimulated the man’s understanding. He tried to answer. Finally, skillfully and gently interrogated, he managed to put together a few sentences, from which emerged this: two months earlier, he had been brought to the Depot. He had spent a night and a morning there. Possessing a sum of seventy-five centimes, he had been released. But, as he crossed the courtyard, two guards took him by the arm and led him to the prison car. Since then, he had been living in cell 24, not unhappy… the food is good there… the sleep is not bad… So he had not protested… All this seemed plausible. Amid laughter and great excitement, the president referred the case to another session for further investigation. The investigation immediately established this fact recorded in the prison register: eight weeks earlier, a man named Baudru Désiré had slept at the Depot. Released the next day, he left the Depot at two o’clock in the afternoon. Now, that day, at two o’clock, after being questioned for the last time, Arsène Lupin was leaving the investigation and leaving in the prison van. Had the guards made a mistake? Deceived by the resemblance, had they themselves, in a moment of inattention, substituted this man for their prisoner? They would really have had to be complacent, something their record of service would not allow . Had the substitution been planned in advance? Besides the fact that the layout of the premises made it almost impossible, it would have been necessary in this case for Baudru to be an accomplice, and for him to have been arrested with the specific aim of taking Arsène Lupin’s place. But then, by what miracle could such a plan, based solely on a series of improbable chances, fortuitous encounters, and fabulous errors, have succeeded? Désiré Baudru was taken to the anthropometric service: there were no records corresponding to his description. Besides, his traces were easily found. In Courbevoie, in Asnières, in Levallois, he was known. He lived on alms and slept in one of those rag-pickers’ huts that pile up near the Ternes barrier. For a And yet he had disappeared. Had he been hired by Arsène Lupin? Nothing gave reason to believe it. And even if that had been the case, no one would have known more about the prisoner’s escape. The prodigy remained the same. Of the twenty hypotheses that attempted to explain it, none was satisfactory. The escape alone was beyond doubt, and an incomprehensible, impressive escape, in which the public, as well as the courts, felt the effort of long preparation, a series of acts marvelously intertwined with one another, and whose outcome justified Arsène Lupin’s proud prediction: I will not attend my trial. After a month of meticulous research, the enigma presented itself with the same indecipherable character. However, they could not keep this poor devil Baudru indefinitely. His trial would have been ridiculous: what charges were there against him? His release was signed by the investigating judge. But the head of the Sûreté decided to establish active surveillance around him. The idea came from Ganimard. In his view, there was neither complicity nor chance. Baudru was an instrument that Arsène Lupin had played with his extraordinary skill. With Baudru free, through him one could trace back to Arsène Lupin or at least to someone in his gang. Ganimard was joined by the two inspectors Folenfant and Dieuzy, and one January morning, on a foggy day, the prison doors opened before Baudru Désiré. He seemed at first rather embarrassed, and walked like a man who has no very precise ideas about how to spend his time. He followed the rue de la Santé and the rue Saint Jacques. In front of a second-hand clothes dealer’s shop, he took off his jacket and waistcoat, sold his waistcoat for a few sous, and, putting his jacket back on, left. He crossed the Seine. At the Châtelet, an omnibus passed him. He wanted to get on. There was no room. The conductor advised him to take a number, and he entered the waiting room. At that moment, Ganimard called his two men over to him, and, without leaving the office, he said to them hastily: “Stop a car… no, two, it’s safer. I’ll go with one of you and we’ll follow him.” The men obeyed. Baudru, however, did not appear. Ganimard stepped forward: there was no one in the room. “Idiot that I am,” he murmured, “I forgot the second exit. The office communicates, in fact, by an interior corridor, with that of the rue Saint Martin.” Ganimard rushed forward. He arrived just in time to see Baudru on the Batignolles Jardin des Plantes open-top car, which was turning the corner onto the Rue de Rivoli. He ran and caught up with the bus. But he had lost his two agents. He was alone in continuing the pursuit. In his fury, he was on the point of grabbing him by the collar without further formality. Had it not been with premeditation and by an ingenious ruse that this so-called imbecile had separated him from his auxiliaries? He looked at Baudru. He was dozing on the seat, and his head was tossing from side to side. His mouth was slightly open, his face had an incredible expression of stupidity. No, this was not an adversary capable of outwitting old Ganimard. Chance had favored him, that was all. At the intersection of the Galeries Lafayette, the man jumped from the bus into the La Muette tramway. We followed Boulevard Haussmann and Avenue Victor Hugo. Baudru only got off in front of the Muette station. And with a nonchalant step, he plunged into the Bois de Boulogne. He passed from one alley to another, retraced his steps, and moved on. What was he looking for? Did he have a goal? After an hour of this, he seemed exhausted. In fact, spotting a bench, he sat down. The place, located not far from Auteuil, on the edge of a small lake hidden among the trees, was absolutely deserted. Half an hour passed. Impatient, Ganimard decided to start a conversation. So he approached and sat down beside Baudru. He lit a cigarette, drew circles in the sand with the tip of his cane, and said: “It’s not hot.” Silence. And suddenly, in this silence, a burst of laughter rang out, but a joyful, happy laugh, the laughter of a child overcome with laughter, who cannot stop laughing. Clearly, truly, Ganimard felt his hair stand on end on the raised leather of his skull. This laughter, this infernal laughter that he knew so well! With a sudden movement, he seized the man by the cuffs of his jacket and looked at him deeply, violently, even better than he had looked at him at the Assizes, and in truth it was no longer the man he saw. It was the man, but at the same time it was the other, the real one. Aided by a complicit will, he rediscovered the ardent life of the eyes, he completed the emaciated mask, he perceived the real flesh beneath the damaged epidermis, the real mouth through the rictus that deformed it. And these were the eyes of the other, the mouth of the other, it was above all his sharp, lively, mocking, witty expression, so clear and so young! “Arsène Lupin, Arsène Lupin,” he stammered. And suddenly, seized with rage, clutching his throat, he tried to knock him down. Despite his fifty years, he was still of uncommon vigor , while his adversary seemed in rather poor condition. And then, what a masterstroke if he managed to bring him back! The struggle was short. Arsène Lupin barely defended himself, and, as promptly as he had attacked, Ganimard let go. His right arm hung inert, numb. “If you were taught jiu-jitsu at the Quai des Orfèvres, ” Lupin declared, “you would know that this blow is called udi shi ghi in Japanese.” And he added coldly: “One more second and I would have broken your arm, and you would have gotten what you deserved. How can you, an old friend, whom I esteem, before whom I spontaneously reveal my incognito, abuse my trust! It’s wrong… Well, what, what’s the matter with you? ” Ganimard remained silent. This escape for which he held himself responsible—wasn’t it he who, by his sensational deposition, had misled the justice system?—this escape seemed to him the shame of his career. A tear rolled down his gray mustache. “Hey! My God, Ganimard, don’t worry: if you hadn’t spoken, I would have arranged for someone else to speak.” Come now, could I admit that Baudru Désiré was condemned? “Then,” murmured Ganimard, “it was you who was there? It’s you who are here! ” “Me, always me, only me. ” “Is that possible? ” “Oh! There’s no need to be a sorcerer. It’s enough, as that brave president said , to prepare yourself for a dozen years to be ready for all eventualities. ” “But your face? Your eyes? ” “You understand that if I worked eighteen months at Saint Louis with Doctor Altier, it was not for love of art. I thought that the one who would one day have the honor of being called Arsène Lupin, must escape the ordinary laws of appearance and identity. Appearance? But one modifies it at will. A hypodermic injection of paraffin swells your skin in the chosen spot. Pyrogallic acid transforms you into a Mohican. The sap of greater celandine adorns you with rashes and tumors with the most fortunate effect. One chemical process acts on the growth of your beard and hair, another on the sound of your voice. Add to that two months of diet in cell No. 24, exercises repeated a thousand times to open my mouth in this rictus, to hold my head in this inclination and my back in this curve. Finally, five drops of atropine in the eyes to make them haggard and shifty, and the The trick is done. –I don’t understand that the guards… –The metamorphosis was gradual. They couldn’t have noticed its daily evolution. –But Baudru Désiré? –Baudru exists. He’s a poor innocent, whom I met last year , and who truly bears a certain resemblance to me. In anticipation of an arrest always possible, I put him in a safe place, and I tried to discern from the outset the points of dissimilarity that separated us, to attenuate them in me as much as possible. My friends made him spend a night at the Depot, so that he would leave at about the same time as me, and the coincidence would be easy to ascertain. For, note, it was necessary that the trace of his passage be found, otherwise the justice would have wondered who I was. Whereas in offering her this excellent Baudru, it was inevitable, you understand, inevitable that she would jump on him, and that despite the insurmountable difficulties of a substitution, she would prefer to believe in the substitution rather than admit her ignorance. “Yes, yes, indeed,” murmured Ganimard. “And then,” cried Arsène Lupin, “I had in my hands a formidable trump card, a card plotted by me from the beginning: the expectation that everyone had of my escape. And that is the gross error into which you and the others fell, in this exciting game that justice and I had engaged, and in which the stake was my freedom: you supposed once again that I was acting out of boasting, that I was intoxicated by my successes like a greenhorn. Me, Arsène Lupin, such a weakness! And, no more than in the Cahorn affair, you never said to yourself: From the moment Arsène Lupin shouts from the rooftops that he will escape, it is because he has reasons that oblige him to shout it. But, by golly, understand that, in order for me to escape… without escaping, it was necessary that people believed in this escape in advance, that it was an article of faith, an absolute conviction, a truth as bright as the sun. And that was it, by my will. Arsène Lupin would escape, Arsène Lupin would not attend his trial. And when you stood up to say: this man is not Arsène Lupin, it would have been supernatural if everyone did not immediately believe that I was not Arsène Lupin. If a single person doubted, if a single person issued this simple reservation: What if it was Arsène Lupin? At that very moment, I was lost. It was enough to lean towards me, not with the idea that I was not Arsène Lupin, as you and the others did, but with the idea that I could be Arsène Lupin, and despite all my precautions, I was recognized. But I was calm. Logically, psychologically, no one could have this simple little idea. He suddenly seized Ganimard’s hand. ” Come now, Ganimard, admit that eight days after our interview in the Santé prison, you waited for me at four o’clock, at your house, as I had asked you to? ” “And your prison car?” said Ganimard, avoiding answering. “Bluff! It was my friends who patched up and substituted this old, out-of-order car and who wanted to try it. But I knew it was impracticable without a combination of exceptional circumstances.” Only I found it useful to complete this escape attempt and give it the greatest publicity. A first escape boldly planned gave the second the value of an escape carried out in advance. –So that the cigar… –Carved by me as well as the knife. –And the notes? –Written by me. –And the mysterious correspondent? –She and I are one. I have all the writings at will. Ganimard reflected for a moment and objected: –How can it be that in the anthropometry department, when they have taken Baudru’s card, no one noticed that it coincided with Arsène Lupin’s? –Arsène Lupin’s card doesn’t exist. –Come on! –Or at least it’s false. It’s a question I’ve studied a lot. The Bertillon system first involves visual reporting –and you see that it’s not infallible–and then reporting by measurements, measurement of the head, fingers, ears, etc. There’s nothing to be done about it. –So? –So we had to pay. Even before I returned from America, one of the employees in the service accepted so much to enter a false measurement at the beginning of my measurements. That’s enough to cause the whole system to deviate, and for a card to be directed towards a box diametrically opposed to the box where it should have ended up. The Baudru card should therefore not have coincided with the Arsène Lupin card. There was another silence, then Ganimard asked: “And now, what are you going to do?” “Now,” exclaimed Lupin, “I’m going to rest, follow a diet of overeating, and little by little become myself again. It’s all very well to be Baudru or someone else, to change your personality like a shirt and to choose your appearance, your voice, your gaze, your writing. But sometimes you no longer recognize yourself in all that, and that’s very sad. Right now I’m feeling what the man who lost his shadow must have felt. I’m going to look for myself… and find myself again.” He walked up and down. A little darkness mingled with the light of day. He stopped in front of Ganimard. “We have nothing more to say to each other, I think? ” “Yes,” replied the inspector, “I would like to know if you will reveal the truth about your escape… The mistake I made… ” “Oh! No one will ever know that it was Arsène Lupin who was released. I have too much interest in accumulating the most mysterious darkness around me not to leave this escape with its almost miraculous character. So, have no fear, my good friend, and farewell. I am dining out tonight, and I only have time to get dressed. –I thought you were so eager for rest! –Alas! there are worldly obligations that one cannot escape. Rest will begin tomorrow. –And where are you dining then? –At the English Embassy. Chapter 4. The Mysterious Traveler. The day before, I had sent my automobile to Rouen by road. I was to join it there by train, and from there go to the house of friends who live on the banks of the Seine. Now, in Paris, a few minutes before departure, seven gentlemen invaded my compartment; five of them were smoking. However short the journey by express train, the prospect of making it in such company was unpleasant to me, especially since the carriage, being of an old model, had no corridor. So I took my overcoat, my newspapers, my timetable, and took refuge in one of the neighboring compartments. A lady was there. At the sight of me, she made a gesture of annoyance which did not escape me, and she leaned towards a gentleman standing on the step, her husband, no doubt, who had accompanied her to the station. The gentleman observed me and the examination probably ended to my advantage, for he spoke quietly to his wife, smiling, with the air with which one reassures a frightened child. She smiled in turn, and gave me a friendly glance, as if she suddenly understood that I was one of those gallant men with whom a woman can remain shut up for two hours, in a small box six feet square, without having anything to fear. Her husband said to her: “You won’t mind, my darling, but I have an urgent appointment, and I can’t wait.” He kissed her affectionately and left. His wife blew him discreet little kisses through the window and waved her handkerchief. But a whistle sounded. The train moved off. At that precise moment, and despite the protests of the employees, the door opened, and a man burst into our compartment. My companion, who was standing at the time and putting her things along the net, let out a cry of terror and fell onto the seat. I am not a coward, far from it, but I admit that these last-minute irruptions are always painful. They seem equivocal, unnatural. There must be something underneath, otherwise… The appearance of the newcomer, however, and his attitude, would rather have attenuated the bad impression produced by his act. Correctness , almost elegance, a tie in good taste, clean gloves, an energetic face… But, in fact, where the devil had I seen this face? For, there was no doubt, I had seen it. At least, more precisely, I found in myself the sort of memory left by the vision of a portrait seen several times and of which one has never contemplated the original. And, at the same time, I felt the futility of any effort of memory, so inconsistent and vague was this memory. But, having turned my attention back to the lady, I was astonished by her pallor and the confusion of her features. She looked at her neighbor—they were sitting on the same side—with an expression of real terror, and I noticed that one of her hands, all trembling, was slipping towards a small traveling bag placed on the bench twenty centimeters from her knees. She finally seized it and nervously drew it against her. Our eyes met, and I read in hers so much unease and anxiety that I could not help saying to her: “Aren’t you ill, Madam?… Shall I open this window?” Without answering me, she pointed to the individual with a fearful gesture. I
smiled as her husband had done, shrugged my shoulders, and explained to her by signs that she had nothing to fear, that I was there, and besides, that this gentleman seemed quite harmless. At that moment, he turned towards us, one after the other, looked us up and down, then withdrew into his corner and did not move. There was a silence, but the lady, as if she had gathered all her energy to perform a desperate act, said to me in a barely intelligible voice : “You know he’s on our train? ” “Who? ” “But him… him… I assure you. ” “Who, him? ” “Arsène Lupin!” She had not taken her eyes off the traveler, and it was to him rather than to me that she hurled the syllables of this disturbing name. He lowered his hat over his nose. Was it to mask his confusion , or was he simply preparing to sleep? I made this objection : “Arsène Lupin was sentenced yesterday, in absentia, to twenty years of hard labor. It is therefore unlikely that he would be so imprudent as to appear in public today. Besides, haven’t the newspapers reported his presence in Turkey this winter, since his famous escape from La Santé? ” “He’s on this train,” the lady repeated, with the increasingly marked intention of being overheard by our companion. “My husband is an assistant director in the penitentiary services, and it was the station commissioner himself who told us that they were looking for Arsène Lupin. ” “That’s no reason…” “We met him in the Salle des Pas Perdus. He took a first-class ticket to Rouen. ” “It was easy to get hold of him.” “He’s disappeared.” The conductor at the entrance to the waiting rooms didn’t see him, but we assumed he had passed through the suburban platforms and boarded the express that leaves ten minutes after us. –In that case, he’ll have been caught there. –And if, at the last moment, he jumped off that express to come here, on our train… as is likely… as is certain? –In that case, he’ll be caught here. Because the employees and The agents will not have failed to see this passage from one train to the other, and when we arrive in Rouen, we will pick him up very cleanly. –Him, never! He will find a way to escape again. –In that case, I wish him a good journey. –But until then, whatever he can do! –What? –Do I know? We must expect anything! She was very agitated, and in fact the situation justified to a certain extent this nervous overexcitement. Almost in spite of myself, I said to her: –There are indeed curious coincidences… But calm down. Assuming that Arsène Lupin is in one of these carriages, he will behave himself there, and, rather than attracting new troubles, he will have no other idea than to avoid the danger that threatens him. My words did not reassure her. However, she remained silent, no doubt fearing to be indiscreet. I unfolded my newspapers and read the reports of Arsène Lupin’s trial. As they contained nothing that was not already known, they interested me only moderately. Besides, I was tired, I had slept badly, I felt my eyelids grow heavy and my head droop. “But, sir, you are not going to sleep!” The lady snatched my newspapers from me and looked at me indignantly. “Obviously not,” I replied, “I have no desire to. ” “That would be the last act of imprudence,” she told me. “The last act of imprudence,” I repeated. And I struggled energetically, clinging to the landscape, to the clouds that streaked the sky. And soon all this blurred in space, the image of the agitated lady and the dozing gentleman faded from my mind, and within me was the great, the profound silence of sleep. Insubstantial and light dreams soon embellished it, a being who played the role and bore the name of Arsène Lupin held a certain place in it. He moved on the horizon, his back laden with precious objects, passed through walls and unfurnished castles. But the silhouette of this being, who was no longer Arsène Lupin, became clearer. He came towards me, grew larger and larger, jumped into the carriage with incredible agility, and fell right back onto my chest. A sharp pain… a heart-rending cry… I woke up. The man, the traveler, with one knee on my chest, was squeezing me by the throat. I saw this very vaguely, for my eyes were bloodshot. I also saw the lady convulsing in a corner, in the grip of a nervous attack. I didn’t even try to resist. Besides, I wouldn’t have had the strength: my temples were ringing, I was suffocating… I was moaning… One more minute… and I would have been asphyxiated. The man must have felt it. He released his grip. Without moving away, with his right hand, he held out a rope in which he had prepared a noose, and, with a sharp gesture, he bound my two wrists. In an instant, I was garroted, gagged, immobilized. And he accomplished this task in the most natural way in the world, with an ease that revealed the knowledge of a master, a professional in theft and crime. Not a word, not a feverish movement. Cold blood and audacity. And there I was, on the bench, tied up like a mummy, me, Arsène Lupin! In truth, there was something to laugh about. And, despite the gravity of the circumstances, I was not without appreciating all that was ironic and delicious in the situation. Arsène Lupin, taken in like a novice! Robbed like the first comer—for, of course, the bandit relieved me of my purse and my wallet! Arsène Lupin, victim in his turn, duped, vanquished… What an adventure! There remained the lady. He did not even pay attention to her. He contented himself with picking up the little satchel lying on the carpet and extracting the jewels, purse, gold and silver trinkets that it contained. The lady opened one eye, shuddered with terror, took off her rings and handed them to the man as if she wanted to spare him any unnecessary effort. He took the rings and looked at her: she vanished. Then, still silent and calm, without paying any further attention to us, he returned to his seat, lit a cigarette and devoted himself to a thorough examination of the treasures he had conquered, an examination which seemed to satisfy him entirely. I was much less satisfied. I do not speak of the twelve thousand francs of which I had been unduly stripped: it was a loss that I accepted only momentarily, and I fully expected that these twelve thousand francs would return to my possession as soon as possible, as well as the very important papers contained in my wallet: projects, estimates, addresses, lists of correspondents, compromising letters . But, for the moment, a more immediate and more serious concern worried me: What was going to happen? As one might imagine, the commotion caused by my passage through the Saint Lazare station had not escaped me. Invited to the home of friends I frequented under the name of Guillaume Berlat, and for whom my resemblance to Arsène Lupin was a subject of affectionate jokes, I had not been able to disguise myself as I pleased, and my presence had been reported. In addition, a man, Arsène Lupin no doubt, had been seen rushing from the express into the rapid. So, inevitably, fatally, the police commissioner of Rouen, warned by telegram, and assisted by a respectable number of officers, would be at the arrival of the train, would question the suspicious passengers, and would carry out a meticulous review of the carriages. I had foreseen all this, and I hadn’t been too upset by it, certain that the Rouen police would be no more perceptive than those in Paris, and that I would know how to pass unnoticed, – would it not be enough for me , on leaving, to casually show my deputy’s card, thanks to which I had already inspired complete confidence in the controller of Saint Lazare? – But how things had changed! I was no longer free. Impossible to attempt one of my usual tricks. In one of the carriages, the commissioner would discover Mr. Arsène Lupin, whom a fortunate chance had sent him bound hand and foot, docile as a lamb, wrapped up, all prepared. He would only have to take delivery of it, as one receives a postal parcel addressed to you at the station, a hamper of game or a basket of fruit and vegetables. And to avoid this unfortunate outcome, what could I do, wrapped up in my bandages? And the express train sped toward Rouen, the only and nearest station, burning Vernon, Saint Pierre. Another problem intrigued me, in which I was less directly interested, but whose solution aroused my professional curiosity. What were my companion’s intentions? Had I been alone, he would have had time, in Rouen, to get off in complete tranquility. But the lady? Hardly had the door opened, the lady, so wise and humble at that moment, would scream, struggle, call for help! And hence my astonishment! Why didn’t he reduce her to the same helplessness as me, which would have given him the leisure to disappear before anyone noticed his double misdeed? He was still smoking, his eyes fixed on the space that a hesitant rain was beginning to scratch with great oblique lines. Once, however, he turned away, grabbed my indicator, and consulted it. The lady, for her part, was trying to remain unconscious, to reassure her enemy. But coughing fits, brought on by the smoke, belied this fainting spell. As for me, I was very uncomfortable and very sore. And I thought… I combined… Pont de l’Arche, Oissel… The express train hurried on, joyful, drunk with speed. Saint Étienne… At that moment, the man stood up and took two steps towards us, to which the lady hastened to respond with another cry and an unfeigned fainting spell. But what was his goal? He lowered the window on our side. The rain was now falling furiously, and his gesture showed the annoyance he felt at having neither umbrella nor overcoat. He glanced at the net: the lady’s emergency kit was there. He took it. He also took my overcoat and put it on. We were crossing the Seine. He rolled up the hem of his trousers, then, bending down, he lifted the outside latch. Was he going to throw himself onto the track? At that speed, it would have been certain death . We plunged into the tunnel bored under the Côte Sainte-Catherine. The man half-opened the door and, with his foot, felt for the first step. What madness! The darkness, the smoke, the din, all this gave such an attempt a fantastic appearance. But suddenly, the train slowed down, the Westinghouses resisted the effort of the wheels. In a minute the pace became normal, then slowed down again. No doubt consolidation work was planned in this part of the tunnel, which required the slow passage of trains, perhaps for several days, and the man knew it. He therefore only had to place his other foot on the step, step down onto the second, and leave peacefully, not without first lowering the latch and closing the door. Hardly had he disappeared than daylight lit up the whiter smoke. We emerged into a valley. One more tunnel and we were in Rouen. Immediately the lady recovered her senses and her first concern was to lament the loss of her jewels. I implored her with my eyes. She understood and freed me from the gag that was suffocating me. She also wanted to untie my bonds, but I stopped her. “No, no, the police must see things as they are. I want them to be enlightened about this scoundrel.” “What if I sounded the alarm? ” “Too late, I should have thought of it while he was attacking me. ” “But he would have killed me! Ah! Sir, I told you he was traveling on this train! I recognized him immediately, from his portrait. And there he was, off with my jewels. ” “He’ll be found, don’t be afraid. ” “Find Arsène Lupin! Never. ” “That’s up to you, Madame. Listen. As soon as you arrive, be at the door, and call out, make a noise. Agents and employees will come. Then tell us what you saw, in a few words, the attack I suffered and Arsène Lupin’s escape. Give his description: a soft hat, an umbrella—yours—a gray overcoat with a waistband. ” “Yours,” she said. “What, mine? But no, his. I didn’t have one.” “It seemed to me that he didn’t have one either when he got on. ” “Yes, yes… unless it was an item of clothing forgotten in the net. In any case, he had it when he got off, and that’s the main thing… a gray overcoat, waist-length, remember… Oh! I forgot… say your name, right away. Your husband’s duties will stimulate the zeal of all these people. ” We were arriving. She was already leaning out of the door. I continued in a rather loud, almost imperious voice, so that my words would sink into her brain. “Say my name too, Guillaume Berlat. If necessary, say that you know me… That will save us time… we must expedite the preliminary investigation… the important thing is the pursuit of Arsène Lupin… your jewels… There’s no mistake, is there ? Guillaume Berlat, a friend of your husband’s. ” “Understood… Guillaume Berlat.” She was already calling out and gesticulating. The train hadn’t stopped when a gentleman got on, followed by several men. The critical hour was striking. Panting, the lady cried out: “Arsène Lupin… he attacked us… he stole my jewelry… I’m Madame Renaud… my husband is the deputy director of the penitentiary services… Ah! Look, this is my brother, Georges Ardelle, director of Crédit Rouennais… you must to know… She kissed a young man who had just joined us, whom the commissioner greeted, and she continued, tearful: “Yes, Arsène Lupin… while Monsieur was sleeping, he threw himself at his throat… M. Berlat, a friend of my husband.” The commissioner asked: “But where is he, Arsène Lupin? ” “He jumped out of the train under the tunnel, after the Seine. ” “Are you sure it’s him? ” “Yes, I’m sure! I recognized him perfectly. Besides, he was seen at the Gare Saint Lazare. He was wearing a soft hat… ” “No, not… a hard felt hat, like this one,” corrected the commissioner, pointing to my hat. “A soft hat, I affirm it,” repeated Madame Renaud, “and a gray overcoat with a waistband. ” “Indeed,” murmured the commissioner, “the telegram indicates this gray overcoat, with a black velvet waistband and collar.” “With a black velvet collar, indeed,” cried Madame Renaud triumphantly. I breathed . Ah! The brave, excellent friend I had there! The officers, however, had freed me from my restraints. I bit my lips violently, blood flowed. Bent double, the handkerchief over my mouth, as befits an individual who has remained for a long time in an uncomfortable position, and who bears on his face the bloody mark of the gag, I said to the commissioner, in a weakened voice: “Sir, it was Arsène Lupin, there is no doubt… If we act quickly, we will catch him… I believe I can be of some use to you…” The carriage that was to be used for the legal proceedings was uncoupled. The train continued towards Le Havre. We were led towards the stationmaster’s office, through the crowd of curious onlookers who crowded the platform. At that moment, I hesitated. Under any pretext, I could leave, find my car, and make off. Waiting was dangerous. If something happened, if a telegram arrived from Paris, I would be lost. Yes, but what about my thief? Left to my own devices, in a region I wasn’t very familiar with, I couldn’t hope to catch up with him. “Well! Let’s take a chance,” I said to myself, “and stay. The game is difficult to win, but so much fun to play! And the stakes are worth it . ” And, as we were asked to temporarily renew our statements, I cried out: “Monsieur le commissaire, Arsène Lupin is currently getting ahead. My car is waiting for me in the courtyard. If you would do me the favor of getting in, we could try… ” The commissaire smiled shrewdly: “The idea isn’t bad… so little bad, in fact, that it’s being put into practice. ” “Ah!” “Yes, sir, two of my agents have been out on bicycles… for some time now. ” “But where? ” “To the very exit of the tunnel. There, they will collect clues, testimonies, and follow Arsène Lupin’s trail. ” I couldn’t help but shrug. “Your two agents will collect neither clues nor testimonies. ” “Really!” “Arsène Lupin will have arranged for no one to see him leave the tunnel. He will have reached the first road and, from there… ” “And from there, Rouen, where we will catch him. ” “He will not go to Rouen. ” “So, he will stay in the surrounding area where we are even safer … ” “He will not stay in the surrounding area. ” “Oh! Oh! And where will he be hiding?” I pulled out my watch. “Right now, Arsène Lupin is prowling around the Darnétal station.” At ten fifty, that is to say in twenty-two minutes, he will take the train which goes from Rouen, Gare du Nord, to Amiens. –Do you think so? And how do you know? –Oh! It’s very simple. In the compartment, Arsène Lupin consulted my timetable. For what reason? Was there, not far from the place where he disappeared, another line, a station on this line, And a train stopping at this station? In my turn, I have just consulted the timetable. He has informed me. “Truly, sir,” said the inspector, “it is marvelously deduced. What competence! Carried away by my conviction, I had committed a blunder in showing such skill.” He looked at me with astonishment, and I thought I felt a suspicion brush against him. “Oh! Hardly, for the photographs sent from all sides by the prosecutor’s office were too imperfect, represented an Arsène Lupin too different from the one he had before him, for it to be possible for him to recognize me. But, all the same, he was troubled, confusedly worried. There was a moment of silence. Something equivocal and uncertain stopped our words. Even I was shaken by a shudder of embarrassment. Was luck going to turn against me? Controlling myself, I began to laugh. “My God, nothing opens your understanding like the loss of a wallet and the desire to find it again. And it seems to me that if you would give me two of your agents, they and I, we could perhaps… ” “Oh! I beg you, Commissioner,” cried Madame Renaud, ” listen to Mr. Berlat.” The intervention of my excellent friend was decisive. Pronounced by her, the wife of an influential personage, this name of Berlat truly became mine and conferred on me an identity that no suspicion could touch. The Commissioner stood up: “I would be only too happy, Mr. Berlat, believe me, to see you succeed. As much as you do, I want the arrest of Arsène Lupin.” He led me to the car. Two of his agents, whom he introduced to me, Honoré Massol and Gaston Delivet, got in. I got behind the wheel. My mechanic turned the crank. A few seconds later we left the station. I was saved. Ah! I admit that as I drove along the boulevards that encircle the old Norman city, at the powerful pace of my thirty-five horsepower Moreau Lepton, I was not without a certain pride. The engine roared harmoniously. To the right and left, the trees fled behind us. And free, out of danger, I now had only to settle my small personal affairs, with the help of the two honest representatives of the law. Arsène Lupin was going in search of Arsène Lupin! Modest supporters of social order, Delivet Gaston and Massol Honoré, how precious your assistance was to me! What would I have done without you? Without you, how many times, at crossroads, I would have chosen the wrong road! Without you, Arsène Lupin made a mistake, and the other escaped! But all was not over. Far from it. First, I had to catch the individual, and then seize the papers he had stolen from me. At no cost was it necessary for my two accomplices to poke their noses into these documents, much less seize them . To use them and act independently of them, that was what I wanted, and it was not easy. At Darnétal, we arrived three minutes after the train had passed. It is true that I had the consolation of learning that an individual in a gray overcoat, with a waist and a black velvet collar, had boarded a second-class compartment, equipped with a ticket for Amiens. My debut as a policeman was certainly promising. Delivet said to me: “The train is express and only stops at Montérolier Buchy, in nineteen minutes.” If we don’t get there before Arsène Lupin, he can continue on to Amiens, or turn off to Clères, and from there reach Dieppe or Paris. –Montérolier, how far? –Twenty-three kilometers. –Twenty-three kilometers in nineteen minutes… We’ll be there before him. The exciting stage! Never did my faithful Moreau Lepton respond to my impatience with more ardor and regularity. It seemed to me that I communicated my will to her directly, without the intermediary of levers and handles. She shared my desires. She approved of my stubbornness. She understood my animosity against that scoundrel Arsène Lupin. The deceiver! The traitor! Would I get the better of him? Would he once again play with authority, this authority of which I was the incarnation? “To the right,” Delivet shouted! “To the left!” “Straight on!” We glided above the ground. The markers looked like little timid creatures that vanished at our approach. And suddenly, at the bend in the road, a swirl of smoke, the Northern Express. For a kilometer, it was a struggle, side by side, an unequal struggle whose outcome was certain. At the finish, we beat him by twenty lengths. In three seconds we were on the platform, in front of the second- class carriages. The doors opened. A few people got out. My thief’s point. We inspected the compartments. No Arsène Lupin. “Good heavens,” I cried, “he must have recognized me in the car as we walked side by side, and he must have jumped out.” The conductor confirmed this supposition. He had seen a man tumbling down the embankment, two hundred meters from the station. “Look, over there… the one who crosses the level crossing.” I dashed off, followed by my two accomplices, or rather followed by one of them, for the other, Massol, happened to be an exceptional runner, with as much distance as speed. In a few moments, the gap separating him from the fugitive narrowed considerably. The man saw him, jumped a hedge, and quickly scampered toward an embankment, which he climbed. We saw him even further on: he was entering a small wood. When we reached this wood, Massol was waiting for us there. He had judged it useless to venture further, for fear of losing us. “And I congratulate you, my dear friend,” I said to him. “After such a journey, our individual must be out of breath. We have him. ” I examined the surroundings, while considering the means of proceeding alone with the arrest of the fugitive, in order to make recaptures myself that justice would doubtless only have tolerated after many unpleasant investigations. Then I returned to my companions. “There, it’s easy. You, Massol, position yourself on the left. You, Delivet, on the right. From there, you watch the entire rear line of the grove, and he can only leave it, without being seen by you, through this hollow, where I take up position. If he doesn’t leave, I’ll enter, and, inevitably, I’ll drive him back to one or the other. So you just have to wait. Ah! I forgot: in case of an alert, a shot. Massol and Delivet each moved off in their own direction. As soon as they had disappeared, I entered the woods, with the greatest precautions, so as to be neither seen nor heard. They were thick thickets, laid out for hunting, and cut by very narrow paths where it was only possible to walk by bending over as if in underground passages of greenery. One of them ended in a clearing where the wet grass showed footprints. I followed them, taking care to slip through the thickets. They led me to the foot of a small mound crowned by a half-demolished plaster hovel . “It must be there,” I thought. “The observation post is well chosen.” I crawled to the vicinity of the building. A slight noise alerted me to his presence , and, indeed, through an opening, I saw him with his back to me. In two bounds I was upon him. He tried to aim the revolver he was holding in his hand. I didn’t give him time, and dragged him to the ground, in such a way that both his arms were caught under him, twisted, and I was pressing my knee on his chest. “Listen, my boy,” I said in his ear, “I’m Arsène Lupin. You Go and give me back, immediately and with good grace, my wallet and the lady’s bag… in exchange for which I will rescue you from the clutches of the police, and enlist you among my friends. Just one word: yes or no? “Yes,” he murmured. “So much the better. Your affair this morning was nicely arranged. We will come to an understanding. ” I got up. He rummaged in his pocket, took out a large knife and tried to strike me with it. “Imbecile!” I cried. With one hand, I had parried the attack. With the other, I dealt him a violent blow on the carotid artery, what is called the carotid hook … He fell, stunned. In my wallet, I found my papers and my banknotes . Out of curiosity, I took his. On an envelope addressed to him, I read his name: Pierre Onfrey. I shuddered. Pierre Onfrey, the murderer of Rue Lafontaine, in Auteuil! Pierre Onfrey, the one who had slit the throats of Madame Delbois and her two daughters. I leaned over him. Yes, it was this face that, in the compartment, had awakened in me the memory of features I had already contemplated. But time passed. I put two hundred- franc notes in an envelope, with a card and these words: Arsène Lupin to his good colleagues Honoré Massol and Gaston Delivet, as a token of gratitude. I placed this in a conspicuous place in the middle of the room. Next to it, Madame Renaud’s satchel . Could I not return it to the excellent friend who had rescued me? I confess, however, that I removed everything of any interest, leaving only a tortoiseshell comb, a stick of Dorin lipstick, and an empty purse. What the devil! Business is business. And then, really, her husband had such a disreputable profession!… There remained the man. He was beginning to stir. What should I do? I had no authority to save him or condemn him. I took his weapons away and fired a revolver into the air. “The other two will come,” I thought, “let him sort it out! Things will work out as he was destined.” And I hurried away along the path to the cave. Twenty minutes later, a side road, which I had noticed during our pursuit, brought me back to my car. At four o’clock I telegraphed my friends in Rouen that an unforeseen incident forced me to postpone my visit. Between us, I greatly fear, given what they must know by now, that I will be obliged to postpone it indefinitely. Cruel disappointment for them! At six o’clock, I returned to Paris by way of Isle Adam, Enghien, and Porte Bineau. The evening papers informed me that they had finally succeeded in capturing Pierre Onfrey. The next day—let us not disdain the advantages of intelligent advertising—the Echo de France published this sensational item: Yesterday, near Buchy, after numerous incidents, Arsène Lupin arrested Pierre Onfrey. The murderer from Rue Lafontaine had just robbed Mme Renaud, the wife of the deputy director of the penitentiary services, on the Paris-Le Havre line. Arsène Lupin returned to Mme Renaud the bag containing her jewels, and generously rewarded the two Sûreté agents who had helped him during this dramatic arrest. Chapter 5. The Queen’s Necklace. Two or three times a year, on the occasion of important solemnities, such as the balls of the Austrian embassy or the evenings of Lady Billingstone, the Countess of Dreux Soubise placed on her white shoulders the Queen’s Necklace. It was indeed the famous necklace, the legendary necklace that Böhmer and Bassenge, jewelers to the crown, intended for Du Barry, that Cardinal de Rohan Soubise believed he was offering to Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, and that the adventuress Jeanne de Valois, Countess of La Motte, cut into pieces one evening in February 1785, with the help of her husband and their accomplice Rétaux de Villette. To tell the truth, only the setting was authentic. Rétaux de Villette had kept it, while the Sieur de la Motte and his wife scattered to the four winds the brutally unset stones, the admirable stones so carefully chosen by Böhmer. Later, in Italy, he sold it to Gaston de Dreux Soubise, nephew and heir of the cardinal, saved by him from ruin during the resounding bankruptcy of Rohan Guéménée, and who, in memory of his uncle, bought back the few diamonds that remained in the possession of the English jeweler Jefferys, supplemented them with others of much lesser value, but of the same size, and managed to reconstitute the marvelous necklace in slavery, as it had left the hands of Böhmer and Bassenge. For nearly a century, the Dreux Soubises were proud of this historic jewel. Although various circumstances had significantly diminished their fortune, they preferred to reduce their household rather than alienate the royal and precious relic. In particular, the current count held it as dear as one holds the home of one’s fathers. As a precaution, he had rented a safe from the Crédit Lyonnais to deposit it in. He went to fetch it himself on the afternoon of the day his wife wanted to adorn herself with it, and returned it himself the next day. That evening, at the reception at the Palace of Castile, the countess was a real success, and King Christian, in whose honor the party was given, remarked on her magnificent beauty. The jewels streamed around her graceful neck. The thousand facets of the diamonds shone and sparkled like flames in the brightness of the lights. No one else, it seemed, could have carried with such ease and nobility the burden of such an adornment. It was a double triumph, which the Count of Dreux savored deeply, and for which he applauded himself when they returned to the room of their old mansion in the Faubourg Saint Germain. He was proud of his wife, and perhaps just as much of the jewel that had adorned his house for four generations. And his wife took a somewhat childish vanity from it, but which was indeed the mark of her haughty character. Not without regret, she detached the necklace from her shoulders and held it out to her husband, who examined it with admiration, as if he did not know it . Then, having put it back in its red leather case bearing the Cardinal’s coat of arms, he passed into a neighboring closet, a sort of alcove rather than one that had been completely isolated from the bedroom, and whose only entrance was at the foot of their bed. As on other occasions, he hid it on a fairly high board, among hat boxes and piles of linen. He closed the door and undressed. In the morning, he got up around nine o’clock, intending to go to the Crédit Lyonnais before lunch. He dressed, drank a cup of coffee, and went down to the stables. There, he gave orders. One of the horses was worrying him. He made it walk and trot before him in the courtyard. Then he returned to his wife. She had not left the room and was combing her hair, helped by her maid. She said to him: “You’re going out! ” “Yes… for this errand… ” “Ah! indeed… it’s more prudent…” He went into the study. But, after a few seconds, he asked, without the slightest surprise, however: “You took it, dear friend?” She replied: “What? No, I didn’t take anything. ” “You disturbed it.” “Not at all… I didn’t even open this door.” He appeared, decomposed, and he stammered, his voice barely intelligible: “You haven’t got it?… It’s not you?… Then…” She ran up, and they searched feverishly, throwing boxes to the ground and demolishing piles of linen. And the count repeated: “It’s useless… everything we do is useless… It’s here, there, on this board, that I put it.” “You could have made a mistake.” “It’s here, there, on this board, and not on another.” They lit a candle, for the room was quite dark, and they removed all the linen and all the objects that cluttered it. And when there was nothing left in the closet, they had to admit with despair that the famous necklace, the Queen’s Slavery Necklace , had disappeared. Resolute by nature, the Countess, without wasting time in vain lamentations, notified the commissioner, Mr. Valorbe, whose sagacious mind and foresight they had already had the opportunity to appreciate. He was informed in detail, and immediately he asked: “Are you sure, Count, that no one could have crossed your room during the night? ” “Absolutely sure. I am a very light sleeper. Better still: the door of this room was locked. I must have pulled it this morning when my wife rang for the maid.” “And there is no other passage that allows one to enter the study? ” “None. ” “No window? ” “Yes, but it is blocked. ” “I would like to see for myself…” Candles were lit, and Monsieur Valorbe immediately pointed out that the window was blocked only halfway up, by a chest, which, moreover, did not exactly touch the windows. “It touches them sufficiently,” replied Monsieur de Dreux, “that it is impossible to move it without making a great deal of noise. ” “And where does this window open? ” “Onto a small interior courtyard. ” “And you have another floor above that? ” “Two, but at the level of the servants’ house, the courtyard is protected by a small-mesh grille. That is why we have so little daylight.” Besides, when they moved the chest aside, they noticed that the window was closed, which would not have been the case if someone had entered from outside. “Unless,” observed the Count, “that someone came out through our room. ” “In which case, you would not have found the bolt of this room unlocked. ” The Commissioner reflected for a moment, then turning to the Countess: “Did anyone in your entourage know, Madame, that you were to wear this necklace last night? ” “Certainly, I did not hide it. But no one knew that we locked it in this study. ” “No one? ” “No one… Unless… ” “Please, Madame, be more specific. This is a most important point. ” She said to her husband: “I was thinking of Henriette.” “Henriette? She is as ignorant of this detail as the others. ” “Are you certain? ” “Who is this lady?” asked Monsieur Valorbe. “A friend from a convent, who fell out with her family to marry some sort of worker.” When her husband died, I took her in with her son and furnished them an apartment in this hotel. And she added with embarrassment: “She does me some favors. She’s very handy. ” “What floor does she live on? ” “Ours, not far from the rest… at the end of this corridor… And even, I think… her kitchen window…” “Opens onto this courtyard, doesn’t it? ” “Yes, just opposite ours.” A slight silence followed this declaration. Then M. Valorbe asked to be taken to Henriette. They found her sewing, while her son Raoul, a toddler of six or seven, was reading at her side. Quite astonished to see the miserable apartment that had been furnished for her, and which consisted in total of a room without a fireplace and a small room serving as a kitchen, the inspector questioned her. She seemed upset when she learned of the theft. The night before, she herself had dressed the Countess and fixed the necklace around her neck. “Good Lord!” she cried, “who would have ever told me? ” “And you have no idea? Not the slightest doubt? It is possible.” while the culprit passed through your room. She laughed heartily, without even imagining that someone could touch her with suspicion: “But I haven’t left my room! I never go out. And then, you didn’t see?” She opened the window of the closet. “Look, it’s a good three meters to the opposite sill.” “Who told you that we were considering the hypothesis of a theft carried out through there?” “But… wasn’t the necklace in the closet? ” “How do you know? ” “Lady! I always knew that it was put there at night… it was talked about in my presence… ” Her face, still young, but withered by sorrow, showed great gentleness and resignation. However, she suddenly had, in the silence, an expression of anguish, as if danger had threatened her. She drew her son to her. The child took her hand and kissed her tenderly. “I don’t suppose,” said M. de Dreux to the commissioner, when they were alone, “I don’t suppose that you suspect her? I’ll answer for her. It’s honesty itself. ” “Oh! I completely agree with you,” affirmed M. Valorbe. ” At most, I had thought of an unconscious complicity. But I recognize that this explanation must be abandoned… especially since it in no way resolves the problem we are facing. ” The commissioner did not pursue this investigation further, which the examining magistrate resumed and completed in the following days. The servants were questioned, the condition of the lock was checked, experiments were made on the closing and opening of the study window, the courtyard was explored from top to bottom… All was useless. The lock was intact. The window could not be opened or closed from the outside. More specifically, the searches targeted Henriette, because, despite everything, they always came back from that direction. Her life was thoroughly searched , and it was found that, in the last three years, she had only left the hotel four times, and all four times for errands that could be determined. In reality, she served as a chambermaid and seamstress to Madame de Dreux, who showed her a rigor that all the servants testified to in confidence. “Besides,” said the investigating judge, who, after a week, reached the same conclusions as the commissioner, ” assuming that we knew the culprit, and we are not there yet, we would not know any more about the manner in which the theft was committed. We are barred on the right and on the left by two obstacles: a closed door and a closed window. The mystery is twofold! How was it possible to get in, and how, which was much more difficult, was it possible to escape leaving behind a locked door and a closed window?” After four months of investigations, the judge’s secret idea was this: Mr. and Mrs. de Dreux, pressed by financial needs, which, in fact, were considerable, had sold the Queen’s Necklace. He closed the case. The theft of the precious jewel dealt the Dreux Soubises a blow whose mark they bore for a long time. Their credit no longer supported by the sort of reserve that such a treasure constituted, they found themselves faced with more demanding creditors and less favorable lenders. They had to cut to the quick, alienate, mortgage. In short, it would have been ruin if two large inheritances from distant relatives had not saved them. They also suffered in their pride, as if they had lost a quarter of nobility. And, strangely enough, it was her old boarding school friend that the Countess attacked. She felt a real grudge against her and openly accused her. She was first relegated to the servants’ floor, then dismissed overnight. And life went on, without any notable events. They traveled a lot. Only one event should be noted during this time. A few months After Henriette’s departure, the Countess received a letter from her that filled her with astonishment: Madam, I don’t know how to thank you. For it was you, wasn’t it, who sent me this? It can only be you. No one else knows of my retreat in the depths of this little village. If I am mistaken, excuse me, and at least retain the expression of my gratitude for your past kindnesses… What did she mean? The Countess’s present or past kindnesses to her amounted to a great deal of injustice. What did these thanks mean? Asked to explain, she replied that she had received by post, in an unregistered and uncharged envelope, two thousand-franc notes. The envelope, which she enclosed with her reply, was stamped from Paris and bore only her address, written in obviously disguised handwriting. Where did these two thousand francs come from? Who had sent them? The courts inquired. But what trail could one follow in this darkness? And the same thing happened again twelve months later. And a third time; and a fourth time; and every year for six years, with the difference that in the fifth and sixth years, the sum doubled, which allowed Henriette, who had suddenly fallen ill, to take proper care of herself. Another difference: the postal administration having seized one of the letters on the pretext that it was not charged, the last two letters were sent according to the regulations, the first dated from Saint Germain, the other from Suresnes. The sender signed first Anquety, then Péchard. The addresses he gave were false. After six years, Henriette died. The enigma remained unsolved. All these events are known to the public. The affair was one of those that captivated public opinion, and it is a strange fate that of this necklace, which, after having shaken France at the end of the eighteenth century, still aroused so much emotion a century later . But what I am going to say is unknown to all, except the principal parties concerned and a few people from whom the Count has asked for absolute secrecy. As it is likely that one day or another they will fail to keep their promise, I have no qualms about tearing the veil and thus we will have, at the same time as the key to the enigma, the explanation of the letter published in the newspapers the day before yesterday morning, an extraordinary letter which added, if possible, a little shadow and mystery to the obscurity of this drama. That was five days ago. Among the guests who lunched at M.
de Dreux Soubise’s were his two nieces and his cousin, and, as men, the President d’Essaville, the deputy Bochas, the Chevalier Floriani whom the Count had known in Sicily, and the General Marquis de Rouzières, an old friend of his circle. After the meal, the ladies served coffee, and the gentlemen were allowed a cigarette, provided they did not leave the drawing room. They chatted. One of the young ladies amused herself by playing cards and telling fortunes. Then they came to talk of famous crimes. And it was on this subject that M. de Rouzières, who never missed an opportunity to tease the Count, recalled the adventure of the necklace, a topic of conversation that M. de Dreux abhorred. Immediately everyone gave their opinion. Each began the investigation again in their own way. And, of course, all the hypotheses contradicted each other, all equally inadmissible. “And you, Sir,” the Countess asked the Chevalier Floriani, ” what is your opinion? ” “Oh! I have no opinion, Madame.” There was an outcry. The knight had just recounted very brilliantly various adventures in which he had been involved with his father, a magistrate in Palermo, and in which his judgment and his taste for these matters had been affirmed. –I confess, he said, that I have succeeded at times when more clever people had given up. But to consider me a Sherlock Holmes… And then, I hardly know what it’s about. They turned to the master of the house. Reluctantly, he had to summarize the facts. The knight listened, reflected, asked a few questions, and murmured: “It’s funny… at first sight it doesn’t seem to me that the thing is so difficult to guess.” The count shrugged his shoulders. But the other people crowded around the knight, and he continued in a somewhat dogmatic tone: “In general, to trace the author of a crime or a theft, it is necessary to determine how this crime or this theft was committed, or at least could have been committed. In the present case, nothing could be simpler in my opinion, for we are faced, not with several hypotheses, but with a certainty, a single, rigorous certainty, which is stated thus: the individual could only have entered through the bedroom door or the study window. Now, one does not open a locked door from the outside. Therefore, he entered through the window. “It was closed and was found closed,” declared M. de Dreux clearly. “For that,” continued Floriani without noticing the interruption, “he only needed to establish a bridge, a plank or a ladder, between the kitchen balcony and the window sill, and as soon as the casket… ” “But I repeat that the window was closed!” cried the Count impatiently. This time Floriani had to reply. He did so with the greatest calm, like a man who is not troubled by such an insignificant objection . “I want to believe it was, but isn’t there a skylight? ” “How do you know?” “First of all, it’s almost a rule in hotels of that time. And then it must be so, since, otherwise, the theft is inexplicable. ” “Indeed, there is one, but it was closed, like the window. No one even paid attention to it. ” “That’s a mistake. For if they had paid attention, they would obviously have seen that it had been opened. ” “And how? ” “I suppose that, like all the others, it opens by means of a braided wire, fitted with a ring at its lower end? ” “Yes.” “And this ring hung between the window and the sideboard? ” “Yes, but I don’t understand…” “Here it is.” Through a slit made in the pane, it was possible, with the help of some instrument, let’s say an iron rod fitted with a hook, to grasp the ring, weigh it down, and open it. The Count sneered: “Perfect! Perfect! You arrange all that with such ease! Only you forget one thing, my dear Sir, that there was no slit made in the pane. ” “There was a slit. ” “Come now! We would have seen it. ” “To see it, we have to look, and we didn’t look. The slit exists, it is materially impossible for it not to exist, along the pane, against the mastic… in the vertical direction, of course… ” The Count stood up. He seemed very excited. He paced the room two or three times with nervous steps, and, approaching Floriani: “Nothing has changed up there since that day… no one has set foot in this office.” “In that case, sir, you are free to assure yourself that my explanation is consistent with reality. ” “It does not agree with any of the facts that justice has established. You saw nothing, you know nothing, and you are going against everything we have seen and everything we know.” Floriani did not seem to notice the count’s irritation, and he said with a smile: “My God, sir, I am trying to see clearly, that’s all. If I am mistaken, prove me wrong. ” “Without further ado… I admit that in the long run your assurance…” M. de Dreux mumbled a few more words, then suddenly walked to the door and left. Not a word was spoken. They waited anxiously, as if, truly, a particle of the truth was about to appear. And the silence had an extreme gravity. Finally, the count appeared in the doorway. He was pale and singularly agitated. He said to his friends in a trembling voice: “I beg your pardon… Monsieur’s revelations are so unexpected… I would never have thought… ” His wife questioned him eagerly: “Speak… I beg you… what is it?” He stammered: “The crack exists… at the very place indicated… along the pane…” He abruptly seized the knight’s arm and said to him in an imperious tone: “And now, Monsieur, continue… I recognize that you are right so far, but now… It is not over… answer… what do you think happened?” Floriani gently freed himself and after a moment said: “Well, in my opinion, this is what happened. The individual, knowing that Madame de Dreux was going to the ball with the necklace, threw down his gangplank while you were away. He watched you through the window and saw you hide the jewel. As soon as you left, he cut the glass and pulled out the ring. ” “Very well, but the distance is too great for him to have been able to reach the window handle through the skylight. ” “If he couldn’t open it, it’s because he entered through the skylight itself. ” “Impossible; there’s no man thin enough to get in through there. ” “Then it’s not a man. ” “What! ” “Certainly. If the passage is too narrow for a man, it must be a child. ” “A child! ” “Didn’t you tell me that your friend Henriette had a son?” –Indeed… a son named Raoul. –It is infinitely probable that it was this Raoul who committed the theft. –What proof do you have? –What proof!… there is no shortage of proof… For example… He fell silent and thought for a few seconds. Then he continued: –So, for example, this gangway, it is not to be believed that the child brought it in from outside and carried it out without anyone noticing . He must have used what was at his disposal. In the closet where Henriette did her cooking, there were, were there not, shelves attached to the wall where the pans were placed? –Two shelves, as far as I remember. –We should make sure if these planks are really fixed to the wooden cleats that support them. If not, we would be entitled to think that the child unnailed them, then attached them to each other. Perhaps, too, since there was a stove, they would find the stove hook he must have used to open the skylight. Without a word, the Count left, and this time those present did not even feel the slight anxiety of the unknown that they had experienced the first time. They knew, they knew absolutely , that Floriani’s predictions were correct. This man gave off an impression of such rigorous certainty that they listened to him not as if he were deducing facts from one another, but as if he were recounting events whose authenticity could be easily verified as they happened. And no one was surprised when, upon his return, the Count declared: “It’s the child, it’s him, everything attests to it. ” “You saw the planks… the hook?” “I saw… the planks have been unnailed… the hook is still there. ” But Madame de Dreux Soubise cried out: “It’s him… You mean rather that it’s his mother. Henriette is the only one to blame. She will have forced her son… ” “No,” affirmed the knight, “the mother has nothing to do with it. ” “Come now! They lived in the same room, the child could not have act without Henriette’s knowledge. “They lived in the same room, but everything happened in the next room, at night, while the mother was asleep. ” “And the necklace?” said the Count. “It would have been found among the child’s things . ” “Pardon! He was going out. The very morning you surprised him at his desk, he was coming from school, and perhaps the law, instead of exhausting its resources against the innocent mother, would have been better inspired to search there, in the child’s desk, among her schoolbooks. ” “Very well, but these two thousand francs that Henriette received each year, is that not the best sign of her complicity? ” “Accomplice, would she have thanked you for this money? And besides, were they not watching her?” While the child is free, he has every opportunity to run to the neighboring town, to get in touch with some dealer and sell him a diamond, two diamonds, as the case may be, at a low price… on the sole condition that the money be sent from Paris, in return for which they will start again the following year. An indefinable unease oppressed the Dreux Soubises and their guests. Truly there was in Floriani’s tone, in his attitude, something other than that certainty which, from the beginning, had so annoyed the Count. There was something like irony, and an irony which seemed rather hostile than sympathetic and friendly as he would have liked. The Count affected to laugh. “All this is so ingenious that it delights me, my compliments. What a brilliant imagination! ” “But no, but no,” cried Floriani more gravely, “I am not imagining, I am evoking circumstances which were inevitably such as I describe them.” –What do you know about it? –What you yourself told me. I picture the life of the mother and child, down there, in the depths of the province, the mother who falls ill, the tricks and inventions of the little one to sell the jewels and save his mother or at least soften her last moments. Evil prevails. She dies. Years pass. The child grows up, becomes a man. And then–and this time, I am willing to admit that my imagination is given free rein–let us suppose that this man feels the need to return to the places where he spent his childhood, that he sees them again, that he finds those who suspected, accused his mother… do you think of the poignant interest of such an interview in the old house where the events of the tragedy took place ? His words echoed for a few seconds in the anxious silence, and on the faces of M. and Mme de Dreux, one could read a frantic effort to understand, at the same time as fear, as the anguish of understanding. The Count murmured: “Who are you, then, Monsieur? ” “Me? But the Chevalier Floriani whom you met in Palermo, and whom you have been kind enough to invite to your home several times already. ” “Then what does this story mean? ” “Oh! But nothing at all! It’s just a game on my part. I try to imagine the joy that Henriette’s son, if he still exists, would have in telling you that he was the only one guilty, and that he was so because his mother was unhappy, on the point of losing the position of… domestic from which she lived, and because the child suffered to see his mother unhappy.” He spoke with suppressed emotion, half-rising and leaning towards the Countess. No doubt could remain. The Chevalier Floriani was none other than Henriette’s son. Everything, in his attitude, in his words, proclaimed it. Besides, was it not his obvious intention, his very desire to be recognized as such? The Count hesitated. How would he behave toward the audacious personage? Ring? Provoke a scandal? Unmask the one who had once robbed him? But it had been so long! And who would want to admit this absurd story of a guilty child? No, it was better to accept the situation, pretending not to grasp its true meaning. And the Count, approaching Floriani, cried cheerfully : “Very amusing, very curious, your novel. I swear it fascinates me . But, according to you, what has become of this good young man, this model of sons? I hope he hasn’t stopped in such a fine way. ” “Oh! certainly not. ” “Isn’t that so! After such a start! To take the Queen’s Necklace at the age of six, the famous necklace that Marie Antoinette coveted!” “And take it,” observed Floriani, playing along with the Count’s game, ” take it without it costing him the slightest inconvenience, without anyone thinking of examining the state of the panes or noticing that the windowsill was too clean, this sill that he had wiped to erase the traces of his passage on the thick dust… Admit that it was enough to turn the head of a kid his age. Is it so easy? All you have to do is want it and hold out your hand?… My goodness, he wanted it… ” “And he held out his hand. ” “Both hands,” continued the knight, laughing. There was a shudder. What mystery did the life of this so-called Floriani hide? How extraordinary must have been the existence of this adventurer, a brilliant thief at six years old, and who, today, through the refinement of a dilettante in search of emotion, or at most to satisfy a feeling of resentment, came to brave his victim in her home , audaciously, madly, and yet with all the correctness of a gallant man on a visit! He stood up and approached the Countess to take his leave. She
suppressed a movement of recoil. He smiled. “Oh! Madame, you are afraid! Have I then pushed my little comedy of drawing-room sorcerer too far?” She controlled herself and replied with the same slightly mocking nonchalance: “Not at all, Monsieur. The legend of this good son has, on the contrary, greatly interested me, and I am happy that my necklace has been the occasion of such a brilliant destiny. But don’t you think that the son of this… woman, of this Henriette, was above all obeying his vocation?” He shuddered, feeling the point, and replied: “I am convinced of it, and it was even necessary that this vocation was serious for the child not to be put off. ” “And how so? ” “Yes, you know, most of the stones were false. Only the few diamonds bought back from the English jeweler were real , the others having been sold one by one according to the harsh necessities of life. ” “It was always the Queen’s Necklace, Monsieur,” said the Countess haughtily, “and that, it seems to me, is what Henriette’s son could not understand. ” “He must have understood, Madame, that, false or true, the necklace was above all an object of parade, a sign. ” Monsieur de Dreux made a gesture. His wife immediately warned him. “Sir,” she said, “if the man to whom you are referring has the slightest modesty… ” She broke off, intimidated by Floriani’s calm gaze. He repeated: “If this man has the slightest modesty…” She felt that she would gain nothing by speaking to him like that, and despite herself, despite her anger and indignation, trembling with humiliated pride, she said to him almost politely: “Sir, legend has it that Rétaux de Villette, when he had the Queen’s Necklace in his hands and had knocked out all the diamonds with Jeanne de Valois, did not dare touch the setting. He understood that the diamonds were only the ornament, the accessory, but that the setting was the essential work, the very creation of the artist, and he respected it. Do you think that this man understood as well? ” “I have no doubt that the setting exists. The child respected it. ” “Well, sir, if you happen to meet him, you will You will say that he is unjustly guarding one of those relics which are the property and glory of certain families, and that he was able to tear out the stones without the Queen’s Necklace ceasing to belong to the house of Dreux Soubise. It belongs to us like our name, like our honor. The knight replied simply: “I will tell her, Madame.” He bowed before her, greeted the Count, greeted all the attendants one after the other, and left. Four days later, Madame de Dreux found on the table in her room a red leather case with the Cardinal’s coat of arms. She opened it. It was the Queen’s Necklace in Slavery. But since all things must, in the life of a man concerned with unity and logic, contribute to the same goal—and since a little publicity is never harmful—the next day, the Echo de France published these sensational lines: The Queen’s Necklace, the famous historical jewel once stolen from the Dreux Soubise family, has been found by Arsène Lupin. Arsène Lupin hastened to return it to its rightful owners. One can only applaud this delicate and chivalrous attention. Chapter 6. The Seven of Hearts. A question arises, and it has often been asked of me: “How did I know Arsène Lupin? No one doubts that I know him.” The details I am accumulating on this disconcerting man, the irrefutable facts I am presenting, the new evidence I am providing, the interpretation I am giving of certain acts of which we had only seen the outward manifestations without penetrating their secret reasons or invisible mechanism, all this clearly proves, if not an intimacy, which Lupin’s very existence would make impossible, at least friendly relations and continued confidences. But how did I come to know him? Where did I get the favor of being his historiographer? Why me and not someone else? The answer is easy: chance alone presided over a choice in which my merit plays no part. It was chance that put me on his path. It was by chance that I was involved in one of his strangest and most mysterious adventures, and finally by chance that I was an actor in a drama of which he was the marvelous director, an obscure and complex drama, bristling with such twists and turns that I feel a certain embarrassment at the moment of undertaking its narrative. The first act takes place during that famous night of June 22-23, about which so much has been said. And, for my part, let us say it right away, I attribute the rather abnormal conduct I displayed on the occasion to the very special state of mind I found myself in when I returned home. We had dined with friends at the Cascade restaurant, and all evening, while we smoked and the gypsy orchestra played melancholy waltzes, we spoke only of crimes and thefts, of frightening and dark intrigues. This is always a poor preparation for sleep. The Saint Martins left by car. Jean Daspry,—that charming and carefree Daspry who, six months later, was to be killed in such a tragic manner on the Moroccan border,—Jean Daspry and I returned on foot through the dark and hot night. When we arrived in front of the little hotel where I had lived for a year in Neuilly, on the Boulevard Maillot, he said to me: “Aren’t you ever afraid?” “What an idea! ” “Lady, this house is so isolated! No neighbors… vacant lots… True, I’m not a coward, and yet… ” “Well, you’re cheerful, you! ” “Oh! I say that as if I were saying something else. The Saint Martins impressed me with their stories of brigands.” After shaking my hand, he went away. I took my key and opened the door. “Come on! Well,” I murmured, “Antoine forgot to light me a candle.” And suddenly I remembered: Antoine was away, I had given him notice. Immediately the darkness and the silence were unpleasant to me. I groped my way up to my room as quickly as possible, and immediately, contrary to my habit, I turned the key and pushed the bolt. The candle flame restored my composure. However, I took care to take my revolver from its holster, a large long-range revolver, and I placed it beside my bed. This precaution completely reassured me. I went to bed and, as usual, to fall asleep, I took from the night table the book that awaited me there every evening. I was very surprised. In place of the letter opener with which I had marked it the day before, there was an envelope, sealed with five red wax seals . I grabbed it quickly. It bore as an address my first and last name, accompanied by this note: Urgent. A letter! A letter in my name! Who could have put it there ? A little nervous, I tore open the envelope and read: From the moment you open this letter, whatever happens, whatever you hear, do not move, do not make a gesture, do not utter a cry. Otherwise, you are lost. I am not a coward either, and, just as well as anyone else, I know how to face real danger or smile at the fanciful perils that frighten our imagination. But, I repeat, I was in an abnormal state of mind, more easily impressionable, my nerves on edge. And besides, was there not something troubling and inexplicable in all this that would have shaken the soul of the most intrepid? My fingers feverishly gripped the sheet of paper, and my eyes constantly reread the threatening sentences… Do not make a movement… do not utter a cry… otherwise, you are lost… Come on! I thought, it’s some joke, a stupid farce. I was on the point of laughing, I even wanted to laugh out loud. Who stopped me? What undecided fear constricted my throat? At least I would blow out the candle. No, I couldn’t blow it out. Not a gesture, or you are lost, it was written. But why fight against these kinds of autosuggestions, often more imperious than the most precise facts? All I had to do was close my eyes. I closed my eyes. At the same moment, a slight noise passed through the silence, then creaking. And it came, it seemed to me, from a large neighboring room where I had set up my study and from which I was separated only by the antechamber. The approach of real danger overexcited me, and I had the feeling that I was going to get up, grab my revolver and rush into that room. I didn’t get up: opposite me, one of the curtains of the left-hand window had stirred. There was no doubt: it had stirred. It was still stirring! And I saw—oh! I saw it distinctly—that between the curtains and the window, in that too narrow space, there was a human form whose thickness prevented the fabric from falling straight. And the being saw me too; it was certain that it saw me through the very wide mesh of the fabric. Then I understood everything. While the others carried off their loot, its mission consisted of keeping me in check. Get up? Grab a revolver? Impossible… it was there! At the slightest movement, at the slightest cry, I was lost. A violent blow shook the house, followed by small blows grouped in twos or threes, like those of a hammer striking points and rebounding. Or at least that’s what I imagined, in the confusion of my brain. And other noises intersected, a veritable uproar which proved that no one was holding back, and that they were acting in complete safety. They were right: I did not move. Was this cowardice? No, rather annihilation, total inability to move a single one of my limbs. Wisdom too, for after all, why struggle? Behind this man, there were ten others who would come at his call. Was I going to Risk my life to save a few tapestries and a few trinkets? And all night this torture lasted. Intolerable torture, terrible anguish! The noise had stopped, but I kept waiting for it to start again. And the man! The man who was watching me, weapon in hand! My frightened gaze did not leave him. And my heart was beating! And sweat was streaming from my forehead and all over my body! And suddenly an inexpressible well-being invaded me: a milkman’s cart, whose noise I knew well, passed along the boulevard, and at the same time I had the impression that dawn was slipping between the closed shutters and that a little daylight outside was mingling with the shadows. And daylight penetrated the room. And other cars passed. And all the ghosts of the night vanished. Then I slowly, surreptitiously put one arm out of bed. Opposite me, nothing moved. I marked with my eyes the fold of the curtain, the precise spot where I had to aim, I counted the exact movements I had to execute, and quickly I grabbed my revolver and fired. I jumped out of bed with a cry of deliverance and sprang onto the curtain. The fabric was pierced, the window was pierced. As for the man, I hadn’t been able to reach him… for the good reason that there was no one there. No one! So, all night long, I had been hypnotized by a fold of the curtain! And meanwhile, criminals… Angrily, with an impulse that nothing could have stopped, I turned the key in the lock, opened my door, crossed the antechamber, opened another door, and rushed into the room. But a stupor nailed me to the threshold, panting, stunned, even more astonished than I had been by the man’s absence: nothing had disappeared. All the things I assumed had been removed, furniture, paintings, old velvets and old silks, all these things were in their places! An incomprehensible spectacle! I couldn’t believe my eyes! Yet this din, these sounds of moving… I walked around the room, I inspected the walls, I took inventory of all these objects that I knew so well. Nothing was missing! And what disconcerted me most was that nothing either revealed the passage of the criminals, no clue, not a chair moved, not a trace of footprints. “Come now, come now,” I said to myself, taking my head in both hands, “I ‘m not crazy!” I heard right!… Inch by inch, with the most meticulous investigative methods, I examined the room. It was in vain. Or rather… but could I consider this a discovery? Under a small Persian rug, thrown on the parquet floor, I picked up a card, a playing card. It was a seven of hearts, like all the seven of hearts in French card games , but which caught my attention with a rather curious detail. The extreme point of each of the seven red heart-shaped marks was pierced with a hole, the round and regular hole that would have been made by the end of an awl. That was all. A card and a letter found in a book. Apart from that, nothing. Was this enough to affirm that I had not been the plaything of a dream? All day long, I continued my search in the living room. It was a large room, disproportionate to the cramped conditions of the hotel, and whose ornamentation attested to the bizarre taste of the person who had designed it. The parquet floor was made of a mosaic of small multicolored stones, forming large symmetrical designs. The same mosaic covered the walls, arranged in panels, Pompeian allegories, Byzantine compositions, a medieval fresco. A Bacchus was straddling a barrel. A golden-crowned emperor, with a flowery beard, held a sword in his right hand. At the very top, somewhat like a workshop, stood out the single, vast window. This window was always open at night, so it was It was likely that the men had gone through there, using a ladder. But, here again, there was no certainty. The ladder posts should have left traces on the beaten earth of the courtyard: there were none . The grass of the vacant lot surrounding the hotel should have been freshly trodden: it wasn’t. I admit that I never thought of going to the police, so inconsistent and absurd were the facts I would have had to present. I would have been laughed at. But, the day after tomorrow, it was my day of column at Gil Blas, where I was writing at the time. Obsessed by my adventure, I recounted it in full. The article did not go unnoticed, but I saw clearly that it was hardly taken seriously, and that it was considered more as a fantasy than as a real story. The Saint Martins mocked me. Daspry, however, who was not lacking in a certain competence in these matters, came to see me, had the matter explained to him, and studied it… without any more success, moreover. Now, one of the following mornings, the bell at the gate rang, and Antoine came to inform me that a gentleman wished to speak to me. He had not wanted to give his name. I asked him to come up. He was a man of about forty, very dark, with an energetic face, and whose clean, but worn, clothes indicated a concern for elegance that contrasted with his rather vulgar manners. Without preamble, he said to me—in a raspy voice, with accents that confirmed the individual’s social status: “Sir, while traveling, in a café, Gil Blas came across me . I read your article. It interested me… a lot. ” “Thank you. ” “And I came back.” “Ah! “Yes, to speak to you.” Are all the facts you have recounted correct? –Absolutely correct. –Isn’t there a single one of them that you invented? –Not a single one. –In that case, I might have some information to give you. –I’m listening. –No. –What, no? –Before speaking, I must check whether they are correct. –And to check them? –I must remain alone in this room. I looked at him in surprise. –I can’t see very well… –It’s an idea I had while reading your article. Certain details establish a truly extraordinary coincidence with another adventure that chance has revealed to me. If I was mistaken, it is better for me to remain silent. And the only way to find out is for me to remain alone… What was behind this proposition? Later I remembered that when he formulated it, the man had a worried look, an anxious expression on his face. But, at the time, although a little surprised, I found nothing particularly abnormal in his request. And besides, such curiosity stimulated me! I replied: “Very well. How much time do you need? ” “Oh! Three minutes, no more. In three minutes, I’ll join you. ” I left the room. Downstairs, I took out my watch. A minute passed. Two minutes… Why did I feel oppressed? Why did these moments seem more solemn than others? Two and a half minutes… Two and three-quarter minutes… And suddenly a shot rang out. In a few strides I climbed the steps and went in. A cry of horror escaped me. In the middle of the room the man lay motionless, lying on his left side. Blood flowed from his skull, mixed with fragments of brain matter. Near his fist, a smoking revolver. A convulsion shook him, and that was all. But even more than this dreadful spectacle, something struck me, something that made me not call for help immediately, and not throw myself on my knees to see if the man was breathing. Two steps from him, on the ground, there was a seven of hearts! I picked it up. The seven ends of the seven red marks were pierced with a hole… Half an hour later, the Neuilly police commissioner arrived, then the medical examiner, then the head of the Sûreté, M. Dudouis. I had been careful not to touch the corpse. Nothing could distort the first observations. They were brief, all the briefer because at first nothing, or very little, was discovered. In the dead man’s pockets no papers, on his clothes no name, on his linen no initials. In short, not a single clue capable of establishing his identity. And in the room the same order as before. The furniture had not been disturbed, and the objects had kept their former position. Yet this man had not come to my house with the sole intention of killing himself, and because he judged that my home was better suited than any other for his self-harm! There must have been a motive that had determined him to this act of despair, and that motive itself had resulted from a new fact, observed by him during the three minutes he had spent alone. What fact? What had he seen? What had he overheard? What terrible secret had he penetrated? No supposition was permissible. But, at the last moment, an incident occurred that seemed to us to be of considerable interest. As two agents were bending down to lift the corpse and carry it away on a stretcher, they noticed that the left hand, closed until then and tense, had relaxed, and that a business card, all crumpled, was escaping from it. This card read: Georges Andermatt, rue de Berry, 37. What did this mean? Georges Andermatt was a prominent banker in Paris, founder and president of this Comptoir des Métals which gave such impetus to the metallurgical industries of France. He lived in luxury, owning a mail coach, automobiles, and a racing stable. His meetings were well attended, and Madame Andermatt was mentioned for her grace and beauty. “Could that be the dead man’s name?” I murmured. The head of the Sûreté leaned forward. “It’s not him. Mr. Andermatt is a pale, slightly graying man. ” “But then why this card? ” “Do you have a telephone, sir? ” “Yes, in the vestibule. If you would be so kind as to accompany me. ” He looked in the directory and asked for 415.21. “Is Mr. Andermatt at home?” “Please tell him that Mr. Dudouis is asking him to come quickly to 102 Boulevard Maillot. It’s urgent.” Twenty minutes later, Mr. Andermatt got out of his car. They explained to him the reasons that required his intervention, then led him to the body. He had a moment of emotion that contracted his face, and said in a low voice, as if speaking in spite of himself: “Étienne Varin.” “You knew him? ” “No… or at least yes… but only by sight. His brother… ” “He has a brother? ” “Yes, Alfred Varin… His brother came to ask me once… I don’t remember why… ” “Where does he live? ” “The two brothers lived together… Rue de Provence, I think. ” “And you have no idea why this one killed himself? ” “Not at all. ” “However, this card he was holding in his hand?… Your card with your address! ” “I don’t understand it. This is obviously just a coincidence that the investigation will explain to us. A very curious coincidence in any case,” I thought, and I felt that we all felt the same way. I found this impression in the newspapers the next day, and among all my friends with whom I spoke of the adventure. In the midst of the mysteries that complicated it, after the double discovery, so disconcerting, of this seven of hearts pierced seven times, after the two events, each as enigmatic as the other, of which my home had been the scene, this business card finally seemed to promise a little light. Through it, we would arrive at the truth. But, contrary to expectations, Mr. Andermatt provides no information. “I said what I knew,” he repeated. “What more could one want? I am the first to be astonished that this card was found there, and I am waiting, like everyone else, for this point to be clarified. It was not. The investigation established that the Varin brothers, Swiss by origin, had led a very eventful life under different names , frequenting gambling dens, in contact with a whole gang of foreigners who were being investigated by the police, and who had dispersed after a series of burglaries in which their participation was only established later. At number 24 rue de Provence, where the Varin brothers had in fact lived six years earlier, no one knew what had become of them. I confess that, for my part, this affair seemed so tangled that I hardly believed in the possibility of a solution, and I tried to stop thinking about it. But Jean Daspry, on the contrary, whom I saw a lot at that time, was becoming more and more passionate every day. It was he who brought to my attention this echo from a foreign newspaper that the entire press was reproducing and commenting on: In the presence of the Emperor, and in a place that will be kept secret until the last minute, the first tests of a submarine that is to revolutionize the future conditions of naval warfare are going to be carried out. An indiscretion has revealed its name to us: it is called The Seven of Hearts. The Seven of Hearts! Was this a chance encounter? Or should we establish a link between the name of this submarine and the incidents we have spoken of? But a link of what nature? What was happening here could in no way be connected to what was happening there. “What do you know about it?” Daspry said to me. The most disparate effects often stem from a single cause. Two days later, another echo reached us: It is claimed that the plans for the Sept de Coeurs, the submarine whose experiments will take place shortly, were executed by French engineers. These engineers, having sought in vain the support of their compatriots, then apparently contacted the English Admiralty, without any more success. We give this news with all reserve. I dare not insist too much on facts of an extremely delicate nature, and which provoked, as we remember, such considerable emotion. However, since all danger of complication has been removed, I must speak of the article in the Echo de France, which made such a stir at the time, and which shed some… confused… clarity on the Sept de Coeurs affair, as it was called. Here it is, as it appeared under Salvator’s signature: The Sept de Coeurs affair. A corner of the veil lifted. We will be brief. Ten years ago, a young mining engineer, Louis Lacombe, wishing to devote his time and fortune to the studies he was pursuing, resigned and rented, at number 102 Boulevard Maillot, a small hotel that an Italian count had recently built and decorated. Through two individuals, the Varin brothers, from Lausanne, one of whom assisted him in his experiments as a preparer, and the other of whom was looking for sponsors, he entered into relations with H. Georges Andermatt, who had just founded the Comptoir des Métaux. After several interviews, he managed to interest him in a submarine project he was working on, and it was agreed that, as soon as the invention was finalized, Mr. Andermatt would use his influence to obtain a series of tests from the Ministry of the Navy. For two years, Louis Lacombe regularly visited the Andermatt Hotel and submitted to the banker the improvements he made to his project, until the day when, satisfied with his work, having found the definitive formula he was looking for, he asked Mr. Andermatt to go on campaign. That day, Louis Lacombe dined at the Andermatts’. He left that evening around eleven-thirty. He has not been seen since. Rereading the newspapers of the time, we would see that the young man’s family took legal action and that the public prosecutor’s office was concerned. But nothing was ever established for certain, and it was generally accepted that Louis Lacombe, who was considered an original and eccentric boy, had gone on a trip without telling anyone. Let’s accept this hypothesis… improbable. But a question arises, one of capital importance for our country: what happened to the submarine plans? Did Louis Lacombe take them with him? Were they destroyed? From the very serious investigation we have undertaken, it appears that these plans exist. The Varin brothers had them in their hands. How? We have not yet been able to establish this, just as we do not know why they did not try to sell them sooner. Were they afraid that they would be asked how they had them in their possession? In any case, this fear did not persist, and we can state this with complete certainty: Louis Lacombe’s plans are the property of a foreign power, and we are able to publish the correspondence exchanged on this subject between the Varin brothers and the representative of this power. Currently, the Seven of Hearts imagined by Louis Lacombe is being realized by our neighbors. Will reality live up to the optimistic predictions of those who were involved in this betrayal? We have reasons to hope otherwise, which, we would like to believe, the event will not disappoint. And a postscript added: Last hour.–We rightly hoped. Our particular information allows us to announce that the tests of the Seven of Hearts were not satisfactory. It is quite likely that the plans delivered by the Varin brothers were missing the last document brought by Louis Lacombe to Mr. Andermatt on the evening of his disappearance, a document essential to a complete understanding of the project, a sort of summary containing the definitive conclusions, assessments, and measurements contained in the other papers. Without this document, the plans are imperfect; just as, without the plans, the document is useless. So there is still time to act and take back what belongs to us. For this very difficult task, we are counting heavily on Mr. Andermatt’s assistance. He will be keen to explain the inexplicable conduct he has followed from the beginning. He will explain not only why he did not tell what he knew at the time of Étienne Varin’s self-harm, but also why he never revealed the disappearance of the papers he was aware of. He will explain why, for six years, he has had the Varin brothers monitored by agents in his pay. We expect from him, not words, but actions. Otherwise… The threat was brutal. But what did it consist of? What means of intimidation did Salvator, the anonymous author of the article, have over Mr. Andermatt? A swarm of reporters assailed the banker, and ten interviews expressed the disdain with which he responded to this formal notice. Whereupon, the correspondent of the Echo de France retorted with these three lines: Whether Mr. Andermatt likes it or not, he is from now on our collaborator in the work we are undertaking. The day this reply appeared, Daspry and I dined together. In the evening, with the newspapers spread out on my table, we discussed the affair and examined it from all angles with the irritation one would feel walking indefinitely in the shadows and always encountering the same obstacles. And suddenly, without my servant having warned me, without the bell having rung, the door opened and a lady entered, covered with a thick veil. I got up immediately and went forward. She said to me: “Are you the one who lives here, sir? ” “Yes, madam, but I confess… ” “The gate on the boulevard wasn’t closed,” she explained. “But the vestibule door?” She didn’t answer, and I thought she must have gone around by the back stairs. So she knew the way? ” There was a slightly embarrassed silence. She looked at Daspry. In spite of myself, as I would have done in a drawing room, I introduced him. Then I asked her to sit down and explain the purpose of her visit. She removed her veil, and I saw that she was dark-haired, with a regular face, and, if not very beautiful, at least of infinite charm, which came from her eyes especially, her grave and sorrowful eyes. She said simply: “I am Madame Andermatt. ” “Madame Andermatt!” I repeated, more and more astonished. Another silence. And she continued in a calm voice, and with the most tranquil air : “I have come about this matter… which you know. I thought I might perhaps be able to obtain some information from you … ” “Good heavens, Madam, I know no more than what the newspapers have said. Please specify how I can be of use to you. ” “I don’t know… I don’t know…” Only then did I have the intuition that her calm was artificial, and that, beneath this air of perfect security, a great unease was hidden. And we fell silent, both equally embarrassed. But Daspry, who had not ceased to observe her, approached and said to her: “Will you allow me, Madam, to ask you a few questions? ” “Oh! yes,” she cried, “that way I will speak.” “You will speak… whatever these questions may be? ” “Whatever they may be.” He reflected and said: “You knew Louis Lacombe? ” “Yes, through my husband.” –When did you see him for the last time? –The evening he dined with us. –That evening, nothing could have made you think that you would not see him again? –No. He had indeed alluded to a trip to Russia, but so vaguely! –So you were counting on seeing him again? –The day after tomorrow, at dinner. –And how do you explain this disappearance? –I don’t explain it. –And Mr. Andermatt? –I don’t know. –However… –Don’t ask me about that. –The article in the Echo de France seems to say… –What it seems to say is that the Varin brothers are not unconnected with this disappearance. –Is that your opinion? –Yes. –What is your conviction based on? –When he left us, Louis Lacombe was carrying a briefcase containing all the papers relating to his project. Two days later, there was an interview between my husband and one of the Varin brothers, the one who is still alive, during which my husband acquired proof that these papers were in the hands of the two brothers. “And he didn’t denounce them? ” “No.
” “Why? ” “Because, in the briefcase, there was something other than Louis Lacombe’s papers. ” “What?” She hesitated, was on the point of replying, then finally remained silent. Daspry continued: “So that’s the reason why your husband, without notifying the police, had the two brothers under surveillance. He hoped to recover both the papers and this… compromising thing with which the two brothers were exercising a sort of blackmail over him. ” “Over him… and over me. ” “Oh! Over you too? ” “Mainly over me.” She uttered these three words in a dull voice. Daspry watched her, took a few steps, and returning to her senses: “You wrote to Louis Lacombe?” –Certainly… my husband was in contact… –Apart from these official letters, did you not write to Louis Lacombe… other letters. Excuse my insistence, but it is essential that I know the whole truth. Did you write other letters? Blushing all over, she murmured: “Yes.” “And these are the letters that the Varin brothers possessed? ” “Yes. ” ” Mr. Andermatt knows, then? ” “He hasn’t seen them, but Alfred Varin revealed their existence to him, threatening to publish them if my husband took action against them. My husband was afraid… he shrank from the scandal. ” “Only, he did everything in his power to wrest these letters from them. ” “He did everything in his power… at least, I suppose so, because, from that last interview with Alfred Varin, and after the few very violent words in which he told me about it, there has been no longer any intimacy, no trust between my husband and me. We live like two strangers. ” “In that case, if you have nothing to lose, what do you fear? ” “However indifferent I may have become to him, I am the one he loved, the one he could still have loved;–oh! I am certain of this, she murmured in an ardent voice, he would still have loved me, if he had not seized these cursed letters… “How! He would have succeeded… But the two brothers were suspicious of each other, though? ” “Yes, and they even boasted, it seems, of having a safe hiding place. ” “Then?” “I have every reason to believe that my husband discovered this hiding place! ” “Come now! Where was it? ” “Here. ” I started. “Here! ” “Yes, and I had always suspected it. Louis Lacombe, very ingenious, passionate about mechanics, amused himself, in his spare time, by making chests and locks. The Varin brothers must have surprised and, subsequently, used one of these hiding places to conceal the letters… and other things too, no doubt. ” “But they did not live here,” I cried. “Until your arrival four months ago, this pavilion remained unoccupied. It is therefore likely that they returned there, and they also thought that your presence would not bother them the day they needed to retrieve all their papers. But they were counting on my husband, who, on the night of June 22-23, forced open the safe, took… what he was looking for, and left his card to show the two brothers that he no longer had to fear them and that the roles were changing. Two days later, warned by the article in Gil Blas, Étienne Varin appeared at your house in haste, remained alone in this living room, found the safe empty… and killed himself. ” After a moment, Daspry asked: “It’s just a supposition, isn’t it? Mr. Andermatt didn’t say anything to you? ” “No.” “Hasn’t his attitude toward you changed? Didn’t he seem more somber, more worried? ” “No.” “And you think it would be like that if he had found the letters! As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t have them. As far as I’m concerned, it wasn’t he who came in here.
” “But who then? ” “The mysterious character who is leading this affair, who holds all the threads, and who is directing it toward a goal that we can only glimpse through so many complications, the mysterious character whose visible and all-powerful action we have felt from the very beginning . It was he and his friends who entered this hotel on June 22, it was he who discovered the hiding place, it was he who left Mr. Andermatt’s card, it is he who holds the correspondence and the proof of the Varin brothers’ betrayal. ” “Who?” I interrupted, not without impatience. “The correspondent of the Echo de France, of course, this Salvator! Isn’t it blindingly obvious? Doesn’t he give details in his article that only the man who has penetrated the secrets of the two brothers can know?” “In that case,” stammered Mrs. Andermatt, in terror, “he has my letters too, and it’s he in turn who’s threatening my husband! What can I do, my God? ” “Write to him,” declared Daspry clearly, “confide in him without detours; tell him everything you know and everything you can learn. –What are you saying! –Your interest is the same as his. There is no doubt that he is acting against the survivor of the two brothers. It is not against Mr. Andermatt that he is seeking weapons, but against Alfred Varin. Help him. –How? –Does your husband have this document which completes and allows the use of Louis Lacombe’s plans? –Yes.
–Inform Salvator. If necessary, try to obtain this document for him. In short, enter into correspondence with him. What do you risk? The advice was bold, dangerous even at first glance, but Mrs. Andermatt had little choice. Moreover, as Daspry said, what did she risk? If the stranger was an enemy, this step did not aggravate the situation. If it was a stranger pursuing a particular goal, he should attach only secondary importance to these letters . Be that as it may, there was an idea there, and Mrs. Andermatt, in her dismay, was only too happy to join in. She thanked us profusely and promised to keep us informed. Two days later, in fact, she sent us this note that she had received in reply: The letters were not there. But I will have them, rest assured. I am watching over everything. S. I took the paper. It was the handwriting of the note that had been put into my bedside book on the evening of June 22. So Daspry was right, Salvator was indeed the great organizer of this affair. In truth, we were beginning to discern some glimmers of light among the darkness that surrounded us and certain points were lit up with an unexpected light. But how many others remained obscure, like the discovery of the two sevens of hearts! For my part, I kept coming back to it, perhaps more intrigued than necessary by these two maps whose seven small pierced figures had struck my eyes in such troubling circumstances. What role did they play in the drama? What importance should be attributed to them? What conclusion should be drawn from the fact that the submarine built to Louis Lacombe’s plans bore the name Seven of Hearts? Daspry, for his part, paid little attention to the two maps, entirely absorbed in the study of another problem whose solution seemed to him more urgent: he was tirelessly searching for the famous hiding place. “And who knows,” he said, “if I might not find there the letters that Salvator did not find there… perhaps inadvertently. It is so unbelievable that the Varin brothers would have removed from a place they assumed to be inaccessible, the weapon whose inestimable value they knew .” And he searched. The great hall soon having no more secrets for him, he extended his investigations to all the other rooms of the pavilion: he scrutinized the interior and the exterior, he examined the stones and bricks of the walls, he lifted the slates of the roof. One day, he arrived with a pickaxe and a shovel, gave me the shovel, kept the pickaxe and, pointing to the vacant lot: “Let’s go.” I followed him without enthusiasm. He divided the land into several sections which he inspected successively. But, in a corner, at the angle formed by the walls of two neighboring properties, a pile of rubble and pebbles, covered with brambles and grass, attracted his attention. He attacked it. I had to help him. For an hour, in the full sun, we toiled in vain. But when, under the stones that had been pushed aside, we reached the ground itself and had ripped it open, Daspry’s pickaxe exposed bones, the remains of a skeleton around which scraps of clothing were still fraying. And suddenly I felt myself turning pale. I saw stuck in the ground a small iron plate, cut into the shape of a rectangle and on which I thought I could make out red spots. I bent down. That was it: the The plate was the size of a playing card, and the red spots, a red of minium eaten away in places, were seven in number, arranged like the seven points of a seven of hearts, and pierced with a hole at each of the seven ends. –Listen, Daspry, I’ve had enough of all this fuss. So much the better for you if they interest you. I’m leaving you. Was it emotion? Was it the fatigue of working under a too harsh sun, the fact remains that I staggered as I left, and had to go to bed where I remained forty-eight hours, feverish and burning, obsessed by skeletons dancing around me and throwing their bloody hearts at each other’s heads. Daspry was faithful to me. Every day he granted me three or four hours, which he spent, it is true, in the great hall, rummaging, knocking, and tapping. “The letters are here, in this room,” he would say to me from time to time, “they are here. I’d bet my life on it. ” “Leave me alone,” I replied, horrified. On the morning of the third day, I got up still quite weak, but cured. A substantial breakfast comforted me. But a small bruise that I received around five o’clock contributed, more than anything, to my complete recovery, so much so that my curiosity was, once again and despite everything, piqued. The letter contained these words: Sir, The drama, the first act of which took place on the night of June 22-23 , is nearing its conclusion. The very force of circumstances requiring that I bring the two principal characters of this drama face to face and that this confrontation take place at your home, I would be infinitely grateful if you would lend me your home for today’s evening. It would be good if, from nine o’clock to eleven o’clock, your servant were removed, and preferable if you yourself were so kind as to leave the field clear for adversaries. You were able to see, during the night of June 22 to 23, that I pushed the respect for everything that belongs to you to the point of scrupulousness. For my part, I would believe I was doing you an insult if I doubted for a single instant your absolute discretion with regard to the one who signs Yours devotedly, SALVATOR. There was in this missive a tone of courteous irony, and, in the request it expressed, such a pretty fantasy, that I delighted in it. It was charmingly casual, and my correspondent seemed so sure of my acquiescence! For nothing in the world would I have wanted to disappoint him or respond to his confidence with ingratitude. At eight o’clock, my servant, to whom I had offered a theater ticket, had just left when Daspry arrived. I showed him the little blue one. “Well?” he said to me. “Well, I’ll leave the garden gate open so we can get in. ” “And you’re leaving? ” “Never in a million years! ” ” But since you’re asked… ” “I’m asked to be discreet. I’ll be discreet. But I’m desperate to see what happens .” Daspry started laughing. “Well, you’re right, and I’m staying too. I have a feeling we wo n’t be bored. ” A bell interrupted him. “Them already?” he murmured, “and twenty minutes early! Impossible.” From the vestibule, I pulled the cord that opened the gate. A woman’s silhouette crossed the garden: Mrs. Andermatt. She seemed upset, and it was with a panting breath that she stammered: “My husband… he’s coming… he has an appointment… we’re supposed to give him the letters… ” “How do you know?” I said. “A coincidence.” A note my husband received during dinner. –A little blue? –A telephone message. The servant gave it to me by mistake. My husband took it at once, but it was too late… I had read it. –You had read… –This approximately: At nine o’clock this evening, be at the boulevard Maillot with the documents concerning the case. In exchange, the letters.
After dinner, I went back upstairs and went out. “Without Mr. Andermatt’s knowledge? ” “Yes.” Daspry looked at me. “What do you think? ” “I think what you think, that Mr. Andermatt is one of the adversaries summoned. ” “By whom? And for what purpose? ” “That is precisely what we are going to find out.” I led them into the great hall. The three of us could, if need be, fit under the mantelpiece and hide behind the velvet drapery. We settled down. Mrs. Andermatt sat between us. Through the cracks in the curtain, the entire room appeared before us. Nine o’clock struck. A few minutes later, the garden gate creaked on its hinges. I confess that I was not without feeling a certain anxiety and that a new fever was overexciting me. I was on the point of knowing the answer to the riddle! The disconcerting adventure, the twists and turns of which had been unfolding before me for weeks, was finally about to take on its true meaning, and it was before my eyes that the battle was about to be fought. Daspry seized Madame Andermatt’s hand and murmured: “Above all, not a movement! Whatever you hear or see, remain impassive. ” Someone entered. And I recognized at once, by his great resemblance to Étienne Varin, his brother Alfred. Same heavy gait, same earthy face overgrown with beard. He entered with the anxious air of a man who is accustomed to fearing ambushes around him, who scents them out and avoids them. At a glance he took in the room, and I had the impression that this fireplace masked by a velvet portière was unpleasant to him. He took three steps towards us. But an idea, doubtless more pressing, diverted him, for he veered toward the wall, stopped before the old mosaic king, with the flowery beard and the flaming sword, and examined him at length, climbing onto a chair, tracing with his finger the contour of the shoulders and face, and feeling certain parts of the image. But suddenly he jumped from his chair and moved away from the wall. A sound of footsteps resounded. On the threshold appeared Mr. Andermatt. The banker gave a cry of surprise. “You! You! Did you call me? ” “Me? Not at all,” protested Varin in a broken voice that reminded me of his brother’s, “it was your letter that made me come. ” “My letter! ” “A letter signed by you, in which you offer me… ” “I didn’t write to you. ” “You didn’t write to me!” Instinctively, Varin put himself on his guard, not against the banker, but against the unknown enemy who had lured him into this trap. A second time his eyes turned in our direction, and he quickly headed for the door. Mr. Andermatt blocked his path. “What are you doing, Varin? ” “There are some machines down there that I don’t like. I’m going. Good evening. ” “Just a moment!” “Come now, Mr. Andermatt, don’t insist, we have nothing to say to each other. ” “We have a lot to say to each other and the opportunity is too good…” “Let me pass. ” “No, no, no, you won’t pass.” Varin stepped back, intimidated by the banker’s resolute attitude, and he muttered: “Then, quickly, let’s talk, and let this be over with!” One thing astonished me, and I had no doubt that my two companions would feel the same disappointment. How could it be that Salvator was not there? Was it not part of his plans to intervene? And did the mere confrontation between the banker and Varin seem sufficient to him? I was singularly troubled. Because of his absence, this duel, planned by him, desired by him, took on the tragic appearance of events that the rigorous order of destiny arouses and commands, and the The force that was pushing these two men together was all the more impressive because it resided outside of them. After a moment, Mr. Andermatt approached Varin and, facing him, looked him in the eye: “Now that years have passed, and you have nothing more to fear, answer me frankly, Varin. What have you done with Louis Lacombe? ” “That’s a question! As if I could know what became of him! ” “You know! You know! Your brother and you were attached to his steps, you lived almost at his house, in the very house where we are. You were aware of all his work, all his projects. And on the last evening, Varin, when I escorted Louis Lacombe to my door, I saw two silhouettes slipping away in the shadows. That, I am ready to swear. ” “And afterward, when you have sworn it?” “It was your brother and you, Varin. ” “Prove it.” “But the best proof is that, two days later, you yourself showed me the papers and plans you had collected from Lacombe’s briefcase, and you offered to sell them to me. How did these papers come to be in your possession? ” “I told you, Mr. Andermatt, we found them on Louis Lacombe’s very table the next morning, after his disappearance. ” “That’s not true. ” “Prove it. ” “The courts could have proven it. ” “Why didn’t you go to court? ” “Why? Ah! Why…” He fell silent, his face gloomy. And the other continued: “You see, Mr. Andermatt, if you had had the slightest certainty, it wasn’t the little threat we made that would have prevented… ” “What threat? These letters?” Do you imagine that I ever believed for a moment?… “If you didn’t believe in those letters, why did you offer me thousands to get them back? And why, since then, have you had my brother and me hunted down like animals? ” “To resume plans I held dear.” “Come now! It was for the letters. Once in possession of the letters, you denounced us. More often than I would have given them up!”
He burst into laughter, which he suddenly interrupted. “But that’s enough. We can repeat the same words over and over again, and we’ll get no further ahead. Consequently, we ‘ll leave it at that. ” “We won’t leave it at that,” said the banker, “and since you mentioned the letters, you won’t leave here until you’ve given them back to me. ” “I’ll leave.” “Listen, Mr. Andermatt, I advise you… ” “You won’t leave.” “That’s what we’ll see,” said Varin, with such an accent of rage that Mrs. Andermatt stifled a weak cry. He must have heard her, for he wanted to force his way through. Mr. Andermatt pushed him away violently. Then I saw him slip his hand into his jacket pocket. “One last time!
” “Letters first.” Varin drew a revolver and, aiming at Mr. Andermatt, said, “Yes, or no?”
The banker ducked quickly. A shot rang out. The weapon fell. I was astounded. It was near me that the shot had come! And it was Daspry who, with a pistol bullet, had knocked the weapon out of Alfred Varin’s hand! And suddenly standing between the two adversaries, facing Varin, he sneered: “You’re lucky, my friend, very lucky.” It was the hand I was aiming for, and it was the revolver I hit. They both stared at it, motionless and confused. ” You never believed for a moment?” “If you didn’t believe those letters, why did you offer me thousands and thousands to get them back? And why, since then, have you had my brother and me hunted like animals? ” “To resume plans I held dear.” “Come now! It was about the letters. Once you had them, you denounced us. More often than I would have given them up!” He burst into laughter, which he suddenly interrupted. “But that’s enough. We can repeat the same words over and over again, but we’ll get no further. Therefore, we ‘ll leave it at that. ” “We won’t leave it at that,” said the banker, “and since you mentioned the letters, you won’t leave here until you’ve given them back to me.
” “I’ll leave. ” “No, no.” “Listen, Mr. Andermatt, I advise you… ” “You won’t leave. ” “That’s what we’ll see,” said Varin with such an accent of rage that Mrs. Andermatt stifled a weak cry. He must have heard her, for he wanted to force his way through. Mr. Andermatt pushed him away violently. Then I saw him slip his hand into the door. “One last time!” –Letters first. Varin drew a revolver and, aiming at Mr. Andermatt, the banker ducked quickly. A shot rang out. The weapon fell.
I was stunned. It was near me that the shot had come! And it was Daspry who, with a pistol bullet, had knocked the weapon out of Alfred Varin’s hand! And suddenly standing between the two adversaries, facing Varin, he sneered: –You’re lucky, my friend, very lucky. It’s the hand I was aiming at, and it’s the revolver I’ve hit. Both of them stared at him, motionless and confused. He said to the banker: –You’ll excuse me, sir, for interfering in what doesn’t concern me . But really, you’re playing your game too clumsily. Allow me to hold the cards. Turning to the other: –To both of us, comrade. And roundly, I beg you. The trump is heart, and I play the seven. And, three inches from his nose, he stuck the iron plate on which the seven red dots were marked. I have never seen such an upheaval. Livid, his eyes wide, his features twisted with anguish, the man seemed hypnotized by the image before him. “Who are you?” he stammered. “I’ve already said it, a gentleman who takes care of what doesn’t concern him … but who takes care of it thoroughly. ” “What do you want? ” “Everything you brought. ” “I brought nothing. ” “Yes, otherwise you wouldn’t have come. You received a note this morning summoning you here at nine o’clock, and ordering you to bring all the papers you had. Now, here you are. Where are the papers?” There was an authority in Daspry’s voice, there was an authority in his attitude that disconcerted me, a way of acting that was completely new to this usually rather nonchalant and gentle man. Completely subdued, Varin pointed to one of his pockets. “The papers are here.” “Are they all there?” “All the ones you found in Louis Lacombe’s briefcase and sold to Major von Lieben? ” “Yes. ” “Is this the copy or the original? ” “The original. ” “How many do you want? ” “One hundred thousand. ” Daspry laughed. “You’re crazy. The major only gave you twenty thousand. Twenty thousand thrown away, since the tests failed. ” “They didn’t know how to use the plans. ” “The plans are incomplete. ” “Then why are you asking me for them? ” “I need them. I’ll offer you five thousand francs. Not a penny more. ” “Ten thousand.” Not a penny less. –Granted. Daspry returned to Mr. Andermatt. –Please sign a check, sir. –But… it’s just that I don’t have… –Your book? Here it is. Bewildered, Mr. Andermatt fingered the book Daspry held out to him. –It’s mine… How come? –No idle talk, I beg you, dear sir, you don’t have than to sign. The banker took out his fountain pen and signed. Varin put out his hand. “Hands off,” said Daspry, “it’s not all over.” And addressing the banker: “There was also talk of letters, which you are asking for? ” “Yes, a packet of letters. ” “Where are they, Varin? ” “I don’t have them. ” “Where are they, Varin? ” “I don’t know. My brother took care of that. ” “They are hidden here, in this room. ” “In that case, you know where they are. ” “How should I know? ” “Lady, weren’t you the one who visited the hiding place? You seem as well informed… as Salvator. ” “The letters are not in the hiding place. ” “They are there. ” “Open it.” Varin gave a look of defiance. Were Daspry and Salvator really one and the same, as everything suggested? If so, he risked nothing by showing a hiding place he already knew. If not, it was useless… “Open it,” repeated Daspry. “I don’t have a seven of hearts. ” “Yes, that one,” said Daspry, holding out the iron plate. Varin stepped back, terrified: “No… no… I don’t want to… ” “Never mind…” Daspry went to the old monarch with the flowery beard, climbed onto a chair, and placed the seven of hearts at the bottom of the sword, against the hilt, so that the edges of the plate exactly covered the two edges of the sword. Then, with the help of an awl, which he introduced alternately into each of the seven holes made at the end of the seven points of hearts, he weighed down seven of the small stones of the mosaic. At the seventh small stone driven in, a trigger occurred, and the king’s entire bust pivoted, unmasking a large opening arranged like a chest, with iron coverings and two shining steel spokes. “You see, Varin, the chest is empty. ” “Indeed… Then my brother will have removed the letters.” Daspry returned to the man and said: “Don’t play tricks on me. There is another hiding place. Where is it? ” “There isn’t one. ” “Is it money you want? How much? ” “Ten thousand.” “Mr. Andermatt, are these letters worth ten thousand francs to you? ” “Yes,” said the banker in a loud voice. Varin closed the chest, took the seven of hearts, not without visible repugnance , and placed it on the sword, against the hilt, and right in the same place. He successively drove the punch into the extremity of the seven points of hearts. There was a second click, but this time, unexpectedly, it was only part of the safe that pivoted, revealing a small safe cut into the very thickness of the door that closed the larger one. The bundle of letters was there, tied with string and sealed. Varin handed it to Daspry. The latter asked: “Is the check ready, Mr. Andermatt? ” “Yes.” “And do you also have the last document you have from Louis Lacombe, which completes the plans for the submarine? ” “Yes.” The exchange took place. Daspry pocketed the document and the check, and offered the bundle to Mr. Andermatt. “Here is what you wanted, sir.” The banker hesitated for a moment, as if afraid to touch those cursed pages he had sought with such ferocity. Then, with a nervous gesture, he seized them. Beside me, I heard a groan. I took Mrs. Andermatt’s hand : it was freezing. And Daspry said to the banker: “I think, sir, that our conversation is over. Oh! No thanks, I beg you. It was only chance that I could be of use to you. ” Mr. Andermatt withdrew. He was taking his wife’s letters to Louis Lacombe. “Wonderful,” cried Daspry with a delighted air, “everything is working out for the best. We have only to conclude our business, comrade. You Got the papers? “Here they are all.” Daspry went through them, examined them carefully, and stuffed them in his pocket. “Perfect, you kept your word. ” “But… ” “But what? ” “The two checks?… the money?… ” “Well, you’ve got nerve, my good man. What, you dare to demand! ” “I demand what’s due me. ” “So you’re owed something for papers you stole?” But the man seemed beside himself. He was trembling with anger, his eyes bloodshot. “The money… the twenty thousand…” he stammered. “Impossible… I have a use for it. ” “The money!…” “Come now, be reasonable, and leave your dagger alone.” He grabbed his arm so roughly that the other screamed in pain, and he added: “Go away, comrade, the air will do you good. Do you want me to show you back?” We’ll go through the vacant lot, and I ‘ll show you a pile of stones under which… –That’s not true! That’s not true! –Yes, it’s true. That little iron plate with the seven red dots comes from over there. It never left Louis Lacombe’s side, remember? Your brother and you buried it with the corpse… and with other things that will be of great interest to the courts. Varin covered his face with his angry fists. Then he said: –Very well. I’ve been tricked. Let’s not talk about it anymore. One word, however… just one word… I’d like to know… –I’m listening. –In that trunk, in the larger of the two, was there a cassette? –Yes.
–When you came here, on the night of June 22-23, was it there? –Yes. –It contained?… –Everything the Varin brothers had locked away in it, a rather nice collection of jewels, diamonds, and pearls, hung up here and there by the said brothers. –And you took it? –Lady! Put yourself in my place. –So… it was upon noticing the disappearance of the casket that my brother killed himself? –Probable. The disappearance of your correspondence with Major von Lieben would not have been enough. But the disappearance of the casket… Is that all you had to ask me? –This too: your name? –You say that as if you had ideas of revenge. –By Jove! Luck is changing. Today you are the strongest. Tomorrow… –It will be you. –I’m counting on it. Your name? –Arsène Lupin. –Arsène Lupin! The man staggered, stunned as if by a blow from a club. It was as if these two words took away all hope. Daspry began to laugh. –Ah! Did you imagine that a Mr. Durand or Dupont could have set up this whole fine business? Come on, at least one Arsène Lupin was needed. And now that you’ve been informed, my boy, go and prepare your revenge. Arsène Lupin is waiting for you. And he pushed him out, without another word. “Daspry, Daspry,” I shouted, again, and in spite of myself, giving him the name by which I had known him . I drew back the velvet curtain. He ran up. “What? What’s the matter? ” “Mrs. Andermatt is ill.” He hurried over, made her smell salts and, while caring for her, questioned me: “Well, what happened? ” “The letters,” I said to him… “the letters from Louis Lacombe that you gave to her husband!” He slapped his forehead. “She thought I did that!… Why, yes, after all, she could believe it.” Fool that I am! Mrs. Andermatt, revived, listened to him avidly. He took from his wallet a small package in every way similar to the one Mr. Andermatt had brought with him. “Here are your letters, madame, the real ones. ” “But… the others? ” “The others are the same as these, but copied by me last night, and carefully arranged. Your husband will be all the more happy to read them that he will not suspect the substitution, since everything seemed to happen before his eyes… –The writing… –There is no writing that cannot be imitated. She thanked him, with the same words of gratitude that she would have addressed to a man of her world, and I saw clearly that she must not have heard the last sentences exchanged between Varin and Arsène Lupin. I looked at him not without embarrassment, not knowing quite what to say to this old friend who revealed himself to me in such an unexpected light. Lupin! It was Lupin! My circle comrade was none other than Lupin! I could not believe it. But he, very at ease: –You can say your goodbyes to Jean Daspry. –Ah! –Yes, Jean Daspry is going on a trip. I am sending him to Morocco. It is quite possible that he will find there an end worthy of him. I even admit that this is his intention. –But Arsène Lupin remains for us? –Oh! More than ever. Arsène Lupin is still only at the beginning of his career, and he intends to… An irresistible movement of curiosity threw me towards him, and drawing him some distance from Mrs. Andermatt: –So you finally discovered the second hiding place, the one where the packet of letters was? –I had enough trouble! It was only yesterday, in the afternoon, while you were lying down. And yet, God knows how easy it was! But the simplest things are those we think of last. And showing me the seven of hearts: –I had guessed correctly that, to open the large chest, it was necessary to press this card against the mosaic man’s sword… –How did you guess that? –Easily. From my own information, I knew when I came here, on the evening of June 22nd… –After leaving me… –Yes, and after putting you, through selected conversations, in such a state of mind that a nervous and impressionable person like you would inevitably let me do as I pleased, without getting out of bed. –The reasoning was sound. –So I knew, when I came here, that there was a casket hidden in a chest with a secret lock, and that the seven of hearts was the key, the password to this lock. It was only a matter of placing this seven of hearts in a place that was visibly reserved for it. An hour of examination was enough for me. –An hour! –Observe the mosaic man. –The old emperor? –This old emperor is the exact representation of the king of hearts in all card games, Charlemagne. –Indeed… But why does the seven of hearts sometimes open the large chest and sometimes the small one? And why did you only open the large chest first? –Why? but because I always persisted in placing my seven of hearts in the same direction. Only yesterday I noticed that by turning it over, that is to say by putting the seventh point, the one in the middle, in the air instead of putting it at the bottom, the arrangement of the seven points changed. –By Jove! –Obviously, by Jove, but you still had to think about it. –Another thing: you were ignorant of the story of the letters before Mrs. Andermatt… –Talked about it in front of me? Yes. I had discovered in the trunk, apart from the casket, only the correspondence of the two brothers, correspondence which put me on the path to their betrayal. –All in all, it was by chance that you were led, first to reconstruct the story of the two brothers, then to search for the plans and documents of the submarine? –By chance. –But for what purpose did you search?… Daspry interrupted me, laughing: –My God! How this affair interests you! –It fascinates me. –Well, later, when I have escorted Mrs. Andermatt back and sent the note I am going to write to the Echo de France, I will come back and we will go into detail. He sat down and wrote one of those lapidary little notes that entertain the character’s whimsy. Who doesn’t remember the stir it made throughout the world? Arsène Lupin has solved the problem that Salvator recently posed. Having obtained all the original documents and plans of the engineer Louis Lacombe, he has forwarded them to the Minister of the Navy. On this occasion, he opened a subscription with the aim of offering the State the first submarine built according to these plans. And he himself put himself at the head of this subscription for the sum of twenty thousand francs. “The twenty thousand francs of Mr. Andermatt’s checks?” I said to him, when he had given me the paper to read. “Precisely. It was only fair that Varin should partially atone for his treason. And that is how I came to know Arsène Lupin. This is how I learned that Jean Daspry, a fellow socialite and socialite, was none other than Arsène Lupin, gentleman burglar. This is how I formed very pleasant bonds of friendship with our great man, and how, little by little, thanks to the trust he is kind enough to honor in me, I became his very humble, very faithful, and very grateful historiographer. Chapter 7. Madame Imbert’s safe. At three o’clock in the morning, there were still half a dozen cars in front of one of the small painter’s hotels that make up the only side of Boulevard Berthier. The door of this hotel opened. A group of guests, men and women, got out. Four cars sped off from right to left, and only two gentlemen remained on the avenue, who parted ways at the corner of Rue de Courcelles, where one of them lived. The other decided to walk back to Porte Maillot. So he crossed Avenue de Villiers and continued on the sidewalk opposite the fortifications. On this beautiful winter night, pure and cold, it was a pleasure to walk. One could breathe easily. The sound of footsteps echoed cheerfully. But after a few minutes he had the unpleasant feeling that he was being followed. In fact, having turned around, he saw the shadow of a man slipping between the trees. He was not fearful; however, he quickened his pace in order to arrive as quickly as possible at the Ternes octroi. But the man began to run. Quite worried, he judged it more prudent to face him and take his revolver from his pocket. He did not have time. The man attacked him violently, and immediately a struggle began on the deserted boulevard, a hand-to-hand struggle in which he immediately felt that he was at a disadvantage. He called for help, struggled, and was knocked against a pile of stones, held by the throat, gagged with a handkerchief that his adversary forced into his mouth. His eyes closed, his ears buzzed, and he was about to lose consciousness, when suddenly the grip loosened, and the man who was suffocating him with his weight got up to defend himself in turn against an unexpected attack. A blow from the cane on the wrist, a blow from the boot on the ankle… the man uttered two grunts of pain, and fled limping and cursing. Without deigning to pursue him, the newcomer bent down and said: “Are you hurt, sir?” He was not hurt, but very dizzy and unable to stand . Fortunately, one of the excise employees, attracted by the cries, ran up. A car was requested. The gentleman took his place, accompanied by his savior, and was taken to his hotel on the Avenue de la Grande Armée. At the door, completely recovered, he expressed his thanks profusely. “I owe you my life, sir, please believe that I will not forget it. I do not want to frighten my wife at this moment, but I want her to express to you herself, from today, all my gratitude. ” He asked him to come to lunch and told him his name: Ludovic Imbert, adding: “May I know to whom I have the honor… ” “Certainly,” said the other. And he introduced himself: “Arsène Lupin.” Arsène Lupin did not then have the celebrity that the Cahorn affair, his escape from the Santé, and so many other resounding exploits had earned him. He was not even called Arsène Lupin. This name, for which the future held such brilliance, was specially invented to designate the savior of M. Imbert, and one can say that it was in this affair that he received his baptism of fire. Ready for combat, it is true, fully armed, but without resources, without the authority that success gives, Arsène Lupin was only an apprentice in a profession in which he was soon to become a master. So what a thrill of joy on waking, when he remembered the invitation of the night! At last he was reaching his goal! At last he was undertaking a work worthy of his strength and his talent! The Imberts’ millions, what magnificent prey for an appetite like his! He dressed himself up specially, a threadbare frock coat, threadbare trousers, a slightly reddish silk hat, frayed cuffs and false collars, all very clean, but smelling of poverty. As a tie, a black ribbon pinned with a surprise walnut diamond. And, thus attired, he descended the stairs of the lodgings he occupied in Montmartre. On the third floor, without stopping, he rapped the knob of his cane on the leaf of a closed door. Outside, he reached the outer boulevards. A tram was passing. He took a seat, and someone who was walking behind him, the tenant of the third floor, sat down beside him . After a moment, this man said to him: “Well, boss? ” “Well, it’s done.” “What?” “I’m having lunch there. ” “You’re having lunch there!” “You wouldn’t wish, I hope, that I had gratuitously exposed days as precious as mine? I snatched M. Ludovic Imbert from the certain death you had in store for him. M. Ludovic Imbert is a grateful man. He invited me to lunch. ” A silence, and the other ventured: “So, you’re not giving up? ” “My boy,” said Arsène, “if I plotted the little attack last night, if I took the trouble, at three o’clock in the morning, along the fortifications, to give you a blow with my cane on the wrist and a kick on the shin, thus risking injuring my only friend, it’s not to renounce now the benefit of such a well-organized rescue. ” “But the bad rumors that circulate about fortune…” “Let them run.” I’ve been pursuing the case for six months, six months of inquiring, studying, casting my nets, questioning servants, moneylenders, and straw men, six months of living in the shadow of husband and wife. Consequently, I know what to expect. Whether the fortune comes from old Brawford, as they claim, or from some other source, I affirm that it exists. And since it exists, it’s mine. –Good heavens, a hundred million! –Let’s make ten, or even five, it doesn’t matter! There are large bundles of securities in the safe. It’ll be the devil if, one day or another, I don’t get my hands on the key. The tram stopped at the Place de l’Étoile. The man murmured: –So, for the moment? –For the moment, nothing can be done. I’ll let you know. We have time. Five minutes later, Arsène Lupin climbed the sumptuous staircase of the Hôtel Imbert, and Ludovic introduced him to his wife. Gervaise was a nice little lady, very plump, very talkative. She gave Lupin the warmest welcome. “I wanted us to be alone to celebrate our savior,” she said. And from the outset, our savior was treated like an old friend. At dessert, the intimacy was complete, and confidences flowed freely . Arsène told his life story, the life of his father, an upright magistrate, the sadness of her childhood, the difficulties of the present. Gervaise, in turn, spoke of her youth, her marriage, the kindness of old Brawford, the hundred million she had inherited, the obstacles that delayed her entry into possession, the loans she had had to contract at exorbitant rates, her interminable disputes with Brawford’s nephews, and the oppositions! And the sequestrations! Everything, in short! ” Just think, Monsieur Lupin, the securities are there, next door, in my husband’s office, and if we detach a single coupon, we lose everything! They are there, in our safe, and we cannot touch them! ” A slight shudder shook Monsieur Lupin at the thought of this proximity. And he had the very distinct feeling that Monsieur Lupin would never have enough elevation of soul to experience the same scruples as the good lady. “Ah! they are there,” he murmured, his throat dry. –They are here. Relations begun under such auspices could only form closer ties. Delicately questioned, Arsène Lupin confessed his misery, his distress. On the spot, the unfortunate boy was appointed private secretary to the two spouses, with a salary of one hundred and fifty francs a month. He would continue to live at home, but he would come every day to collect work orders and, for greater convenience, one of the rooms on the second floor was made available to him as a study. He chose. By what excellent chance did it find itself above Ludovic’s office? Arsène soon realized that his position as secretary was furiously resembling a sinecure. In two months, he had only four insignificant letters to copy and was only called once into his boss’s office, which only allowed him to officially contemplate the safe once. Furthermore, he noted that the holder of this sinecure should not be considered worthy of appearing alongside Deputy Anquety, or President Grouvel, because he was not invited to the famous social gatherings. He did not complain, much preferring to keep his modest little place in the shade, and kept to himself, happy and free. Besides, he was not wasting his time. He first paid a certain number of clandestine visits to Ludovic’s office, and presented his duties to the safe, which nevertheless remained hermetically sealed. It was an enormous block of cast iron and steel, forbidding in appearance, and against which neither files, nor gimlets, nor monseigneur pliers could prevail. Arsène Lupin was not stubborn. “Where force fails, cunning succeeds,” he said to himself. The essential thing is to have an eye and an ear in the place. He therefore took the necessary measurements, and after meticulous and painful probing through the parquet floor of his room, he introduced a lead pipe which ended in the ceiling of the study between two moldings of the cornice. Through this pipe, acoustic tube and spyglass, he hoped to see and hear. From then on he lived flat on his floor. And in fact he often saw the Imberts in conference in front of the safe, examining registers and handling files. When they turned successively the four knobs which controlled the lock, he tried, to know the number, to grasp the number of notches which passed. He watched their gestures, he spied on their words. What were they doing with the key? Did they hide it? One day, he went downstairs in haste, having seen them leaving the room without closing the safe. And he entered resolutely. They had returned. –Oh! “Excuse me,” he said, “I came to the wrong door.” But Gervaise rushed in and, pulling him in, “Come in, Monsieur Lupin, come in, aren’t you at home here? You’re going to give us some advice. What securities should we sell? Foreign or Rente? ” “But the opposition?” Lupin objected, very surprised. “Oh! She’s not striking all the securities.” She pushed the clapper aside. On the shelves were piled wallets belted with straps. She grabbed one. But her husband protested. “No, no, Gervaise, it would be madness to sell from the Exterior. It’s going to rise… While the Rent is at its highest . What do you think, my dear friend?” The dear friend had no opinion, yet he advised sacrificing the Rent. Then she took another bundle, and from this bundle, at random, a piece of paper. It was a 3-note bond of 1,374 francs. Ludovic put it in his pocket. That afternoon, accompanied by his secretary, he had this bond sold by a stockbroker and received forty-six thousand francs. Whatever Gervaise might have said, Arsène Lupin did not feel at home. On the contrary, his situation in the Hôtel Imbert filled him with surprise. On several occasions, he noticed that the servants did not know his name. They called him Monsieur. Ludovic always referred to him thus: “You will inform Monsieur… Has Monsieur arrived?” Why this enigmatic appellation? Besides, after the initial enthusiasm, the Imberts barely spoke to him , and, while treating him with the respect due to a benefactor, never paid any attention to him! They seemed to consider him an eccentric who did not like to be bothered, and their isolation was respected, as if this isolation were a rule laid down by him, a whim of his. Once he was passing into the hall, he heard Gervaise saying to two gentlemen: “He’s such a savage! So be it,” he thought, “we are a savage.” And giving up trying to explain the oddities of these people, he continued to carry out his plan. He had become certain that he should not rely on chance or on Gervaise’s carelessness, who never left the key to the safe, and who, moreover, would never have taken this key without first having scrambled the letters in the lock. So he had to act. An event precipitated things, the violent campaign waged against the Imberts by certain newspapers. They were accused of fraud. Arsène Lupin witnessed the twists and turns of the drama, the household turmoil, and he understood that by delaying any longer, he would lose everything. For five days in a row, instead of leaving around six o’clock as was his custom, he locked himself in his room. He was assumed to have gone out. He stretched out on the floor and watched Ludovic’s study. On the five evenings, the favorable circumstance he was waiting for not having occurred, he left in the middle of the night, by the small door leading to the courtyard. He had a key. But on the sixth day he learned that the Imberts, in response to the malicious insinuations of their enemies, had proposed that the safe be opened and an inventory made. “It’s for this evening,” thought Lupin. And indeed, after dinner, Ludovic settled into his study. Gervaise joined him. They began to leaf through the registers in the safe. An hour passed, then another hour. He heard the servants going to bed. Now there was no one on the first floor. Midnight. The Imberts continued their work. “Let’s go,” murmured Lupin. He opened his window. It looked out onto the courtyard, and the space, on the moonless and starless night, was dark. He took a knotted rope from his wardrobe and secured it to the balcony railing, stepped over it, and slid gently, using a gutter, to the window below his own. It was the study window, and the thick fleece of the curtains hid the room. Standing on the balcony, he remained motionless for a moment, his ears strained and his eyes alert .
Reassured by the silence, he gently pushed open the two windows. If no one had taken the trouble to check them, they would have given way. the effort, for he, during the afternoon, had turned the espagnolette so that it no longer entered the latches. The windows gave way. Then, with infinite precautions, he opened them further. As soon as he could put his head through, he stopped. A little light filtered between the two badly joined curtains: he saw Gervaise and Ludovic sitting next to the chest. They exchanged only rare words and in low voices, absorbed in their work. Arsène calculated the distance that separated him from them, established the exact movements that he would have to make to reduce them one after the other to impotence, before they had time to call for help, and he was about to rush in, when Gervaise said: –How cold the room has become in the last moment! I’m going to bed. And you? –I want to finish. –Finish! But you’ll be here all night. –No, an hour at most. She withdrew. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes passed. Arsène pushed the window a little further. The curtains rustled. He pushed again. Ludovic turned around and, seeing the curtains billowing in the wind, got up to close the window… There was not a cry, not even a sign of a struggle. In a few precise movements, and without causing him the slightest harm, Arsène stunned him, wrapped the curtain around his head, tied it up, and in such a way that Ludovic couldn’t even make out his attacker’s face. Then, quickly, he went to the trunk, grabbed two wallets which he put under his arm, left the office, went down the stairs, crossed the courtyard, and opened the service door. A car was parked in the street. “Take this first,” he said to the coachman, “and follow me.” He returned to the office. In two trips they emptied the safe. Then Arsène went up to his room, removed the rope, and erased all traces of his passage. It was over. A few hours later, Arsène Lupin, assisted by his companion, went through the portfolios. He was not disappointed, having foreseen it, to find that the Imbert fortune was not as important as it was supposed to be. The millions were not counted in hundreds, or even in tens. But still, the total was a very respectable figure, and it was excellent securities: railway bonds, Paris cities, government funds, Suez, mines of the North, etc. He declared himself satisfied. “Certainly,” he said, “there will be a heavy waste when the time comes to negotiate. We will encounter opposition, and more than once we will have to sell things at a low price.” No matter, with this initial investment , I’ll take charge of living as I see fit… and of realizing a few dreams that are dear to my heart. “And the rest? ” “You can burn it, my dear. Those piles of papers looked good in the safe. For us, it’s useless. As for the securities, we’ll lock them away quietly in the cupboard and wait for the right moment. ” The next day, Arsène thought there was no reason why he shouldn’t return to the Hôtel Imbert. But reading the newspapers revealed this unexpected news: Ludovic and Gervaise had disappeared. The safe was opened with great solemnity. The magistrates found what Arsène Lupin had left behind… very little. Such are the facts, and such is the explanation given to some of them by Arsène Lupin’s intervention. I heard the story from him himself, one day when he was in a mood of confidences. That day, he was pacing up and down my study , and his eyes had a slight fever that I did n’t know they had. “All in all,” I said to him, “this is your best move yet?” Without answering me directly, he continued: “There are impenetrable secrets in this affair. So, even after the explanation I have given you, how many obscurities still remain! Why this flight? Why didn’t they take advantage of the help I was involuntarily giving them? It was so simple to say: The hundred million were in the safe. They are no longer there because they were stolen! “They have lost their minds. ” “Yes, that’s it, they have lost their minds… Besides, it is true… ” “It is true?” “No, nothing. What did this reticence mean? He hadn’t said everything, that was obvious, and what he hadn’t said, he was reluctant to say. I was intrigued. The matter had to be serious to provoke hesitation in such a man. I asked him questions at random. “You haven’t seen them again? ” “No. ” “And it hasn’t occurred to you to feel any pity for these two unfortunates? ” “Me!” he said, starting. His revolt astonished me. Had I hit the nail on the head? I insisted: “Obviously. Without you, they might have been able to face the danger… or at least leave with their pockets full. ” “Remorse, that’s what you attribute to me, isn’t it? ” “Lady!” He rapped violently on my table. “So, according to you, I should have remorse? ” “Call it remorse or regret, in short, some kind of feeling… ” “Any feeling for people… ” “For people from whom you stole a fortune. ” “What fortune? ” “Well… those two or three bundles of securities… ” “Those two or three bundles of securities! I stole bundles of securities from them, didn’t I? Part of their inheritance? That’s my fault? That’s my crime? But, damn it, my dear fellow, you didn’t guess that these securities were fake? You hear? THEY WERE FAKE!” I looked at him, stunned. “Fake, the four or five million.” “Fake,” he cried angrily, “completely fake! The bonds, the Cities of Paris, the State funds, paper, nothing but paper! Not a penny, I didn’t get a penny from the whole block! And you ask me to feel remorse? But they’re the ones who should! They fooled me like a common fool! They fleeced me like the last of their dupes, and the most stupid! ” A real anger stirred in him, made of resentment and wounded pride . “But, from start to finish, I was the loser! From the very first hour! Do you know the role I played in this affair, or rather the role they made me play? That of André Brawford! Yes, my dear fellow, and I didn’t see a thing!” It was afterward, through the newspapers, and by putting together certain details, that I realized it. While I was posing as the benefactor, the gentleman who risked his life to save you from the clutches of the Apaches, they were making me out to be one of the Brawfords! Isn’t that admirable? This eccentric who had his room on the second floor, this savage who was shown from afar, was Brawford, and Brawford was me! And thanks to me, thanks to the confidence I inspired under the name of Brawford, bankers lent, and notaries persuaded their clients to lend! Hey, what a school for a beginner! Ah! I swear the lesson served me well! He stopped abruptly, grabbed my arm, and said to me in an exasperated tone in which it was easy to sense nuances of irony and admiration, he said this ineffable sentence: “My dear fellow, at the moment, Gervaise Imbert owes me fifteen hundred francs! ” At that moment, I couldn’t help laughing. It was truly superior buffoonery. And he himself had a fit of frank gaiety. “Yes, my dear fellow, fifteen hundred francs! Not only have I not touched the first penny of my salary, but she has even borrowed fifteen hundred francs from me! All my savings as a young man! And do you know why? I’ll give you a thousand… For her poor!” As I tell you! For supposed unfortunates whom she was relieving without Ludovic’s knowledge! And I cut into that! Isn’t that quite funny? Arsène Lupin, remade out of fifteen hundred francs, and remade by the good lady from whom he stole four million in fake securities! And what combinations, efforts, and brilliant tricks it took me to achieve this fine result! It’s the only time I’ve been taken for a ride in my life. But damn, I was taken for a ride this time, and properly, in the grand prix!… Chapter 8. The Black Pearl. A violent ring at the doorbell woke the concierge of number 9 Avenue Hoche. She pulled the cord, grumbling: “I thought everyone had gone home. It’s at least three o’clock!” Her husband grumbled: “Perhaps it’s for the doctor.” Indeed, a voice asked: “Doctor Harel… which floor?” “Third on the left.” But the doctor doesn’t bother himself at night. –He’ll have to bother himself. The gentleman entered the vestibule, went up one floor, two floors, and, without even stopping on Doctor Harel’s landing, continued to the fifth. There, he tried two keys. One worked the lock, the other the safety bolt. –Excellent, he murmured, the task is considerably simplified. But before acting, we must secure our retreat. Let’s see… did I logically have time to ring the doctor’s bell, and be dismissed by him? Not yet… a little patience… After about ten minutes, he went back downstairs and banged on the dressing room floor, grumbling at the doctor. They opened it for him, and he slammed the door behind him. However, the door did not close, the man having quickly applied a piece of iron to the strike plate so that the bolt could not enter. So he went back in, quietly, unbeknownst to the concierges. In case of an alarm, his retreat was assured. Peacefully he climbed the five floors. In the antechamber, by the light of an electric lantern, he placed his overcoat and hat on one of the chairs, sat down on another, and wrapped his boots in thick felt slippers. “Phew! That’s it… And how easily! I wonder why everyone doesn’t choose the comfortable profession of burglar? With a little skill and reflection, there isn’t a more charming one. A completely restful profession… a profession for the father of a family… Too convenient, even… it’s becoming tedious.” He unfolded a detailed plan of the apartment. “Let’s start by getting our bearings. Here, I can see the rectangular vestibule where I am. On the street side, the living room, the boudoir, and the dining room. No point wasting time on this, it seems the Countess has deplorable taste… not a single valuable trinket!… So, straight to the point… Ah! Here is the layout of a corridor, the corridor leading to the bedrooms. At three meters, I should find the door of the robe closet which connects to the Countess’s bedroom. He folded up his map, extinguished his lantern, and started down the corridor , counting: “One meter… Two meters… three meters… Here is the door… How everything fits together, my God! A simple bolt, a small bolt, separates me from the bedroom, and, what’s more, I know that this bolt is located one meter forty-three from the floor… So that , thanks to a slight incision that I am going to make around it, we will be rid of it…” He took the necessary instruments from his pocket, but an idea stopped him. “And if, by chance, this bolt is not pushed. Let’s keep trying… For what it costs!” He turned the knob of the lock. The door opened. “My brave Lupin, luck is definitely on your side. What do you need now? You know the topography of the place where you are going to operate; you know the place where the Countess is hiding the black pearl… Consequently, for the black pearl to belong to you, it is all a matter of … stupidly to be quieter than silence, more invisible than night. Arsène Lupin spent a good half hour opening the second door, a glass door that opened onto the bedroom. But he did it with such caution that even if the Countess hadn’t slept, no ambiguous creaking could have disturbed her. According to the indications on his plan, he only had to follow the outline of a chaise longue. This led him to an armchair, then to a small table near the bed. On the table was a box of writing paper, and, simply enclosed in this box, the black pearl. He lay down on the carpet and followed the contours of the chaise longue. But at the end he stopped to suppress the beating of his heart. Although no fear agitated him, it was impossible for him to overcome that sort of nervous anguish that one feels in too great silence. And he was astonished, for, after all, he had lived through more solemn minutes without emotion. No danger threatened him. Then why was his heart beating like a frantic bell? Was it this sleeping woman who impressed him, this life so close to his own? He listened and thought he could discern the rhythm of breathing. He was reassured as if by a friendly presence. He looked for the armchair, then, with small, imperceptible gestures, crept toward the table, feeling the shadow of her outstretched arm. His right hand encountered one of the table legs. Finally! He had nothing left to do but get up, take the pearl, and go away . Fortunately! for his heart began to leap again in his chest like a terrified beast, and with such a noise that it seemed impossible to him that the Countess would not wake up. He calmed it with a prodigious burst of will, but, just as he was trying to get up, his left hand struck an object on the carpet that he immediately recognized as a torch, an upside-down torch; and immediately, another object presented itself, a clock, one of those small traveling clocks that are covered with a leather sheath. What? What was happening? He didn’t understand. This torch,… this clock… why weren’t these objects in their usual place? Ah! What was happening in the terrifying darkness? And suddenly, a cry escaped him. He had touched… oh! what a strange, unspeakable thing! But no, no, fear troubled his brain. Twenty seconds, thirty seconds, he remained motionless, terrified, sweat on his temples. And his fingers retained the sensation of this contact. With an implacable effort, he stretched out his arm again. His hand, again, brushed against the thing, the strange, unspeakable thing. He felt it. He demanded that his hand feel it and realize it. It was hair, a face… and this face was cold, almost icy. However terrifying reality may be, a man like Arsène Lupin masters it as soon as he becomes aware of it. Quickly, he activated the spring of his lantern. A woman lay before him, covered in blood. Horrid wounds ravaged her neck and shoulders. He bent down and examined her. She was dead. “Dead, dead,” he repeated in amazement. And he looked at those fixed eyes, the grimace of that mouth, that livid flesh, and that blood, all that blood that had flowed onto the carpet and was now congealing, thick and black. Getting up, he turned the light switch, the room filled with light, and he could see all the signs of a fierce struggle. The bed was completely unmade, the covers and sheets torn off. On the floor, the torch, then the clock—the hands marked eleven twenty—then, further away, an overturned chair, and everywhere blood, pools of blood. “And the black pearl?” he murmured. The box of writing paper was in its place. He opened it quickly. It contained the casket. But the casket was empty. “Good heavens,” he said to himself, “you bragged a little too soon about your luck, my friend Arsène Lupin… The murdered countess, the missing black pearl… the situation isn’t brilliant! Let’s get out of here, otherwise you’re very likely to incur heavy responsibilities. ” He didn’t move, however. “Get out of here? Yes, someone else would. But, Arsène Lupin? Isn’t there something better to do? Come on, let’s proceed in order. After all, your conscience is clear… Suppose you’re a police commissioner and you have to conduct an investigation… Yes, but for that, you’d have to have a clearer mind. And mine’s in a state!” He fell into an armchair, his fists clenched against his burning forehead. ” The Avenue Hoche affair is one of those that has most intrigued us lately, and I certainly wouldn’t have recounted it if Arsène Lupin’s participation didn’t throw it into a very special light.” Few suspect this participation. In any case, no one knows the exact and curious truth. Who did not know, having met her at the Bois, Léontine Zalti, the former singer, wife and widow of the Count of Andillot, the Zalti whose luxury dazzled Paris some twenty years ago, the Zalti, Countess of Andillot, whose diamond and pearl jewelry earned her a European reputation? It was said of her that she carried on her shoulders the safe of several banking houses and the gold mines of several Australian companies. The great jewelers worked for Zalti as they once worked for kings and queens. And who does not remember the catastrophe in which all this wealth was swallowed up? Banking houses and gold mines, the abyss devoured everything. Of the marvelous collection, dispersed by the auctioneer, only the famous black pearl remained. The black pearl! that is to say, a fortune, if she had wanted to part with it. She did not want to. She preferred to restrict herself, to live in a simple apartment with her lady-in-waiting, her cook, and a servant, rather than sell this inestimable jewel. There was a reason for this that she was not afraid to admit: the black pearl was the gift of an emperor! And almost ruined, reduced to the most mediocre existence, she remained faithful to her companion of the beautiful days. “As long as I am alive,” she said, “I will not leave her.” From morning until night, she wore it around her neck. At night, she put it in a place known only to herself. All these facts recalled by the public papers stimulated curiosity, and, strangely enough, but easily understood by those who have the key to the enigma, it was precisely the arrest of the presumed assassin that complicated the mystery and prolonged the emotion. The day after tomorrow, in fact, the newspapers published the following news: We have been informed of the arrest of Victor Danègre, the servant of the Countess of Andillot. The charges against him are crushing. On the lustrine sleeve of his livery waistcoat, which Mr. Dudouis, the head of the Sûreté, found in his attic, between the bedstead and the mattress, blood stains were found. In addition, this waistcoat was missing a button covered with fabric. Now, this button, at the beginning of the searches, had been picked up from under the victim’s bed. It is likely that after dinner, Danègre, instead of returning to his attic, slipped into the dressing room, and that, through the glass door, he saw the Countess hiding the black pearl. We must say that, so far, no evidence has come to confirm this supposition. In any case, another point remains obscure. At seven o’clock in the morning, Danègre went to the tobacconist’s on Boulevard de Courcelles: first the concierge, then the tobacconist testified to this effect. On the other hand, the countess’s cook and her lady-in- waiting, who both sleep at the end of the corridor, affirm that at At eight o’clock, when they got up, the antechamber door and the kitchen door were double-locked. For twenty years in the Countess’s service, these two people are above suspicion. One wonders, then, how Danègre was able to leave the apartment. Had he had another key made? The investigation will clarify these various points. The investigation clarified absolutely nothing, on the contrary. It was learned that Victor Danègre was a dangerous repeat offender, an alcoholic and a debaucher, who was not frightened by a knife wound. But the case itself seemed, as it was studied, to become shrouded in thicker darkness and more inexplicable contradictions. First, a Mademoiselle de Sinclèves, cousin and sole heiress of the victim, declared that the Countess, a month before her death, had confided to her in one of her letters the way in which she hid the black pearl. The day after she received this letter, she noticed it was gone. Who had stolen it? For their part, the concierges said they had opened the door to an individual, who had gone up to Doctor Harel’s. The doctor was summoned. No one had rung his bell. So who was this individual? An accomplice? This accomplice hypothesis was adopted by the press and the public. Ganimard, the old Chief Inspector Ganimard, defended it, not without reason. “There’s something of Lupin in this,” he said to the judge. “Bah!” he retorted, “you see him everywhere, your Lupin. ” “I see him everywhere, because he’s everywhere.” “Say rather that you see him every time something doesn’t seem very clear to you.” Moreover, in this case, note this: the crime was committed at eleven twenty in the evening, as the clock attests, and the nighttime visit, denounced by the concierges, did not take place until three in the morning. Justice often obeys those impulses of conviction which force events to conform to the initial explanation given. The deplorable antecedents of Victor Danègre, a repeat offender, drunkard, and debaucher, influenced the judge, and although no new circumstance came to corroborate the two or three clues initially discovered, nothing could shake him. He concluded his investigation. A few weeks later, the debates began. They were embarrassed and languid. The presiding judge conducted them without enthusiasm. The public prosecutor attacked weakly. Under these conditions, Danègre’s lawyer had an easy game. He showed the gaps and impossibilities of the accusation. No material evidence existed. Who had forged the key, the indispensable key without which Danègre, after his departure, would not have been able to double-lock the apartment door? Who had seen this key, and what had become of it? Who had seen the murderer’s knife, and what had become of it? “And, in any case,” the lawyer concluded, “prove that it was my client who killed. Prove that the perpetrator of the theft and the crime was not this mysterious character who entered the house at three in the morning.” The clock read eleven o’clock, you might ask? And then what? Can’t one set the hands of a clock to the time that suits oneself? Victor Danègre was acquitted. He left prison one Friday at the end of the day, emaciated, depressed by six months in prison. The investigation, the solitude, the debates, the jury deliberations, all of this had filled him with a morbid terror. At night, dreadful nightmares, visions of the scaffold haunted him. He trembled with fever and terror. Under the name of Anatole Dufour, he rented a small room on the heights of Montmartre, and he lived by chance, tinkering here and there. A pitiful life! Hired three times by three different bosses, he was recognized and dismissed on the spot. Often he noticed, or thought he noticed, that men were following him, policemen, he had no doubt, who were determined to make him fall into some trap. And in advance he felt the rough grip of the hand that would take him by the collar. One evening while he was dining at a local caterer, someone sat down opposite him. He was a man of about forty , dressed in a black frock coat of questionable cleanliness. He ordered soup, vegetables, and a liter of wine. And when he had eaten the soup, he turned his eyes toward Danègre and looked at him for a long time. Danègre turned pale. This man was certainly one of those who had been following him for weeks. What did he want with him? Danègre tried to get up. He couldn’t. His legs wobbled beneath him. The man poured himself a glass of wine and refilled Danègre’s glass. “Shall we toast, comrade?” Victor stammered: “Yes… yes… to your health, comrade. ” “To your health, Victor Danègre. ” The other jumped: “Me!… me!… but no… I swear to you… ” “You swear what? That you are not you? The Countess’s servant? ” “What servant? My name is Dufour. Ask the boss. ” “Dufour, Anatole, yes, for the boss, but Danègre for the law, Victor Danègre. ” “Not true! Not true! You’ve been lied to.” The newcomer took a card from his pocket and held it out. Victor read: Grimaudan, ex-inspector of the Sûreté. Confidential information. He started. “Are you with the police?” “I’m no longer, but I liked the job, and I’m continuing in a more… lucrative way.” From time to time, we unearth gold deals … like yours. “Mine? ” “Yes, yours is an exceptional deal, if you ‘re willing to be a little accommodating. ” “And if I don’t? ” “It will be necessary. You are in a situation where you can refuse me nothing . ” A dull apprehension was creeping over Victor Danègre. He asked: “What is it?… speak. ” “Very well,” replied the other, “let’s get it over with. In a nutshell, here it is: I have been sent by Mademoiselle de Sinclèves. ” “Sinclèves? ” “The heiress of the Countess d’Andillot. ” “Well? ” “Well, Mademoiselle de Sinclèves has asked me to claim the black pearl from you. ” “The black pearl? ” “The one you stole. ” “But I don’t have it! ” “You have it. ” “If I had it, I would be the murderer. ” “You are the murderer.” Danègre forced himself to laugh. “Fortunately, my good sir, the Assize Court was not of the same opinion. All the jurors, you understand, found me innocent. And when you have your conscience on your side and the esteem of twelve good people… ” The former inspector grabbed his arm: “No words, my boy. Listen to me very carefully and weigh my words, they are worth it. Danègre, three weeks before the crime, you stole the key that opens the service door from the cook, and you had a similar key made by Outard, locksmith, 244, rue Oberkampf. ” “Not true, not true,” Victor growled, “no one has seen this key… it doesn’t exist. ” “Here it is. ” After a silence, Grimaudan continued: “You killed the Countess with a ferrule knife bought at the Republic Bazaar, the very day you ordered your key.” The blade is triangular and grooved. “You’re just talking about a joke. No one has seen the knife. ” “Here it is.” Victor Danègre stepped back. The former inspector continued: “There are rust stains on it. Is there any need to explain their origin? ” “And then? You have a key and a knife… Who can say they belonged to me?” “First the locksmith, and then the clerk you bought the knife from. I’ve already refreshed their memory. In front of you, they won’t fail to recognize you.” He spoke dryly and harshly, with terrifying precision. Danègre was convulsed with fear. Neither the judge nor the presiding judge , nor the public prosecutor had held him so closely, had seen so clearly into things that he himself no longer discerned very clearly. However, he still tried to play indifference. “If that’s all your evidence! ” “I have this left. You left, after the crime, by the same route. But, in the middle of the chamber with the robes, seized with fear, you had to lean against the wall to keep your balance. ” “How do you know?” Victor stammered… “No one can know. ” “Justice, no, it could not have occurred to any of these gentlemen of the prosecution to light a candle and examine the walls.” But if we did, we would see on the white plaster a very light red mark, clear enough, however, to find the imprint of the front of your thumb, your thumb all wet with blood and which you placed against the wall. Now, you are not unaware that in anthropometry, this is one of the principal means of identification. Victor Danègre was pale. Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead onto the table. He looked with maddened eyes at this strange man who evoked his crime as if he had been an invisible witness.
He lowered his head, defeated, powerless. For months he had been struggling against everyone. Against this man, he had the impression that there was nothing to be done. “If I give you back the pearl,” he stammered, “how much will you give me? ” “Nothing. ” “What! You’re joking! I would give you something worth thousands and hundreds of thousands, and I would have nothing? ” “Yes, life.” The wretch shuddered. Grimaudan added, in an almost gentle tone: “Come now, Danègre, this pearl has no value for you. It is impossible for you to sell it. What’s the point of keeping it? ” “There are receivers… and one day or another, at any price…” “One day or another, it will be too late. ” “Why? ” “Why? But because justice will have gotten its hands on you again, and this time, with the evidence I will provide, the knife, the key, the thumb mark, you’re done for, my good man.” Victor clasped his head with both hands and reflected. He felt lost, indeed, irremediably lost, and, at the same time, a great fatigue was overwhelming him, an immense need for rest and abandonment. He murmured: “When do you need it?” “This evening, before one o’clock. ” “Otherwise?” “Otherwise, I’ll post this letter in which Mademoiselle de Sinclèves denounces you to the public prosecutor.” Danègre poured himself two glasses of wine, which he drank one after the other, then, getting up :
“Pay the bill, and let ‘s go… I’ve had enough of this damned business. ” Night had fallen. The two men went down Rue Lepic and followed the outer boulevards, heading towards the Étoile. They walked silently, Victor very tired and his back hunched. At Parc Monceau, he said: “It’s near the house… ” “By Jove! You only left it, before your arrest, to go to the tobacconist’s. ” “We’re here,” said Danègre, in a dull voice. They walked along the garden gate and crossed a street with the tobacconist’s in the corner. Danègre stopped a few steps further on. His legs were wobbly. He fell onto a bench. “Well?” asked his companion. “It’s there. ” “It’s there! What are you talking about? ” “Yes, there, in front of us. ” “In front of us! Say, Danègre, you shouldn’t…” “I tell you, it’s there. ” “Where? ” “Between two paving stones. ” “Which ones? ” “Look. ” “Which ones?” repeated Grimaudan. Victor didn’t reply. “Ah! Perfect, you want me to pose, my good man. ” “No… but… I’ll die of misery. ” “So, you’re hesitating? Come on, I’ll be a good prince. How much do you need? ” “Enough to buy my steerage ticket to America.” “Agreed. ” “And a hundred-dollar note for the first expenses. ” “You’ll have two. Speak. ” “Count the paving stones, to the right of the sewer. It’s between the twelfth and thirteenth. ” “In the gutter? ” “Yes, at the bottom of the sidewalk.” Grimaudan looked around him. Trams were passing, people were passing. But well! Who could have guessed? He opened his penknife and stuck it between the twelfth and thirteenth paving stone. “And if it’s not there? ” “If no one saw me bend down and push it in, it’s still there. Could it have been there! The black pearl thrown into the mud of a stream, at the disposal of the first comer! The black pearl… a fortune! ” “How deep? ” “Ten centimeters, roughly.” He dug into the wet sand. The tip of his penknife struck something . With his fingers, he widened the hole. He saw the black pearl. “Here, here are your two hundred francs. I’ll send you your ticket to America.” The next day, the Echo de France published this short article, which was reprinted by newspapers around the world: Since yesterday, the famous black pearl has been in the hands of Arsène Lupin, who reclaimed it from the murderer of the Countess d’Andillot. Before long, facsimiles of this precious jewel will be exhibited in London, Saint Petersburg, Calcutta, Buenos Aires, and New York. Arsène Lupin awaits the proposals his correspondents would like to make to him. “And that’s how crime is always punished and virtue rewarded,” concluded Arsène Lupin, when he had revealed the ins and outs of the affair to me. “And that’s how, under the name of Grimaudan, former inspector of the Sûreté, you were chosen by fate to deprive the criminal of the benefit of his crime. ” “Exactly. And I confess that it is one of the adventures of which I am most proud. The forty minutes I spent in the Countess’s apartment, after having ascertained her death, are among the most astonishing and profound of my life. In forty minutes, entangled in the most inextricable situation, I reconstructed the crime, I became certain, with the help of a few clues, that the culprit could only be one of the Countess’s servants. Finally, I understood that, to get the pearl, this servant had to be arrested—and I left the waistcoat button—but that irrefutable proof of his guilt must not be found against him—and I picked up the knife left on the carpet, took the key left in the lock, locked the door tightly, and erased the fingerprints from the plaster of the robe closet. In my opinion, this was one of those flashes of—— “Of genius,” I interrupted. “Of genius, if you like, and which would not have illuminated the brain of the first comer. To guess in a second the two terms of the problem—an arrest and an acquittal—to use the formidable apparatus of justice to unhinge my man, to stupefy him, in short, to put him in a state of mind such that once free he would inevitably, fatally, fall into the rather crude trap I was setting for him!— ” “A little?” say a lot, for he was in no danger. –Oh! not the least, since every acquittal is final. –Poor devil… –Poor devil… Victor Danègre! Don’t you think he’s a murderer? It would have been the height of immorality for the black pearl to have remained. He lives, just think, Danègre lives! –And the black pearl is yours. He took it out of one of the secret pockets of his wallet, examined it, caressed it with his fingers and his moved eyes, and he sighed: –Who is the boyar, who is the foolish and vain rajah who will possess this treasure? To which American billionaire is the little piece of beauty and luxury that adorned the white shoulders of Léontine Zalti, Countess of Andillot destined?… Chapter 9. Herlock sholmès arrives too late. It’s strange how much you resemble Arsène Lupin, Velmont! –Do you know him? –Oh! like everyone else, from their photographs, none of which is like the others, but each of which leaves the impression of an identical physiognomy… which is indeed yours. Horace Velmont seemed rather annoyed. –Isn’t that so, my dear Devanne! And you’re not the first to point this out to me, believe me. “It’s to the point,” Devanne insisted, “that if you hadn’t been recommended to me by my cousin from Estevan, and if you weren’t the famous painter whose beautiful seascapes I admire, I wonder if I wouldn’t have informed the police of your presence in Dieppe. ” The joke was greeted with general laughter. There, in the large dining room of the Château de Thibermesnil, besides Velmont, were Abbé Gélis, the village priest, and a dozen officers, whose regiments were maneuvering in the surrounding area, and who had responded to the invitation of the banker Georges Devanne and his mother. One of them exclaimed: “But wasn’t Arsène Lupin specifically reported on the coast after his famous Paris-Le Havre raid?” –Perfectly, three months ago, and the following week I met our excellent Velmont at the casino, who has since been kind enough to honor me with a few visits—a pleasant preamble to a more serious home visit that he will pay me one of these days… or rather one of these nights! We laughed again and went into the old guard room, a vast, very high room, which occupies the entire lower part of the Guillaume tower, and where Georges Devanne has gathered the incomparable riches accumulated over the centuries by the lords of Thibermesnil. Sideboards and credenzas, andiers and girandoles decorate it. Magnificent tapestries hang on the stone walls. The embrasures of the four windows are deep, equipped with benches, and end in ogival windows with stained glass framed in lead. Between the door and the left window stands a monumental Renaissance-style bookcase, on the pediment of which one reads, in gold letters, Thibermesnil, and below, the proud family motto: Do ​​what you want. And as they were lighting cigars, Devanne continued: “Only hurry up, Velmont, it’s the last night you have left.
” “And why?” asked the painter, who was definitely taking the matter in jest. Devanne was about to reply when his mother signaled to him. But the excitement of dinner, the desire to interest his guests, won out. “Bah!” he murmured, “I can speak now. An indiscretion is no longer to be feared.” They sat around him with great curiosity, and he declared, with the satisfied air of someone announcing big news: “Tomorrow, at four o’clock in the evening, Herlock Sholmès, the great English detective for whom there are no mysteries, Herlock Sholmès, the most extraordinary decipherer of enigmas that one has ever seen, the prodigious character who seems to have been forged from scratch by the imagination of a novelist, Herlock Sholmès will be my guest.” They cried out. “Herlock Sholmès in Thibermesnil. Was it serious then? Was Arsène Lupin really in the area? ” “Arsène Lupin and his gang are not far away. Not to mention the affair of Baron Cahorn, to whom we attribute the burglaries of Montigny, of Gruchet, de Crasville, if not to our national thief? Today it’s my turn. –And you’ve been warned, as was Baron Cahorn? –The same trick doesn’t work twice. –So? –So?… then here it is. He stood up, and pointing with his finger, on one of the shelves of the library, to a small empty space between two enormous folios: –There was a book there, a 16th-century book entitled the Chronicle of Thibermesnil, which was the history of the castle since its construction by Duke Rollo on the site of a feudal fortress. It contained three engraved plates. One represented a bird’s-eye view of the domain as a whole, the second the plan of the buildings, and the third—I call your attention to this—the outline of an underground passage, one of whose exits opens outside the first line of the ramparts, and the other of which ends here, yes, in the very room where we are standing. Now, this book has been missing since last month. “Good heavens,” said Velmont, “that’s a bad sign. Only that isn’t enough to justify Herlock Sholmès’ intervention. ” “Certainly, it wouldn’t have been enough if another event hadn’t happened which gives the one I’ve just told you all its significance. There was a second copy of this Chronicle at the National Library, and these two copies differed in certain details concerning the underground passage, such as the establishment of a profile and a scale, and various annotations, not printed, but written in ink and more or less erased. I knew these particularities, and I knew that the definitive outline could only be reconstructed by a careful comparison of the two maps. Now, the day after my copy disappeared, the one at the National Library was requested by a reader who took it away without it being possible to determine the conditions under which the theft was carried out. Exclamations greeted these words. “This time, the matter is becoming serious. ” “So, this time,” said Devanne, “the police became agitated and there was a double investigation, which, moreover, had no result. ” “Like all those of which Arsène Lupin is the object. ” “Precisely. It was then that it occurred to me to ask for his assistance from Herlock Sholmès, who replied that he had the greatest desire to make contact with Arsène Lupin. ” “What glory for Arsène Lupin!” said Velmont. “But, if our national thief, as you call him, has no plans for Thibermesnil, Herlock Sholmès will only have to twiddle his thumbs? ” “There is something else, and one that will greatly interest him: the discovery of the underground passage. ” “What, you told us that one of the entrances opened onto the countryside, the other into this very drawing-room! ” “Where? In what part of this drawing-room?” The line that represents the underground passage on the maps ends on one side in a small circle accompanied by these two capital letters TG, which undoubtedly means, doesn’t it, Tour Guillaume. But the tower is round, and who could determine at what point in the circle the outline of the drawing begins? Devanne lit a second cigar and poured himself a glass of Benedictine. He was bombarded with questions. He smiled, pleased by the interest he had aroused. Finally he said: “The secret is lost. No one in the world knows it. From father to son, ” says the legend, “the powerful lords passed it on to each other on their deathbeds, until the day when Geoffroy, the last of the name, had his head cut off on the scaffold, on 7 Thermidor, Year II, in his nineteenth year. ” “But, for a century, we must have been looking? ” “We have looked, but in vain.” I myself, when I bought the castle from the great- grandnephew of the Convention member Leribourg, had excavations carried out. What was the point? Remember that this tower, surrounded by water, is only connected to the castle by one point, and that it is necessary, in Consequently, the underground passage passes under the old ditches. The plan of the National Library shows a series of four staircases with forty-eight steps, which suggests a depth of more than ten meters. And the scale, attached to the other plan, sets the distance at two hundred meters. In reality, the whole problem is here, between this floor, this ceiling and these walls. Well, I admit that I hesitate to demolish them. “And we have no clue?” “None. ” Abbé Gélis objected: “Mr. Devanne, we must mention two quotations. ” “Oh!” cried Devanne, laughing, ” the priest is a digger of archives, a great reader of memoirs, and everything relating to Thibermesnil fascinates him. But the explanation he speaks of only serves to confuse things. ” “But what else? ” “You insist on it? ” “Enormously.” –You will therefore know that it results from his readings that two kings of France have had the answer to the riddle. –Two kings of France! –Henry IV and Louis XVI. –They are not the first comers. And how does the Abbot know about it ?… –Oh! It’s very simple, continued Devanne. Two days before the Battle of Arques, King Henry IV came to dine and sleep in this castle. At eleven o’clock in the evening, Louise de Tancarville, the prettiest lady in Normandy, was introduced to him through the underground passage with the complicity of Duke Edgard, who, on this occasion, revealed the family secret . Henry IV later confided this secret to his minister Sully, who recounts the anecdote in his Royal Economies of State without accompanying it with any other commentary than this incomprehensible sentence: The axe spins in the trembling air, but the wing opens, and one goes to God. There was a silence, and Velmont sneered: “It is not blindingly clear. ” “Isn’t it? The priest wants Sully to have noted the answer to the enigma, without betraying the secret of the scribes to whom he dictated his memoirs. ” “The hypothesis is ingenious. ” “I grant it, but what is this axe that spins, and this bird that flies away? ” “And what goes to God? ” “Mystery!” Velmont continued: “And this good Louis XVI, was it also to receive a visit from a lady that he had the underground passage opened?” “I don’t know. All that can be said is that Louis XVI stayed in Thibermesnil in 1784, and that the famous iron cabinet, found in the Louvre following Gamain’s denunciation, contained a paper with these words written by him: Thibermesnil: 2 6 12.” Horace Velmont burst out laughing: “Victory! The darkness is dissipating more and more. Two times six makes twelve. ” “Laugh to your heart’s content, sir,” said the abbot. “Nonetheless, these two quotations contain the solution, and one day or another someone will come along who will know how to interpret them. ” “Herlock Sholmès first,” said Devanne… Unless Arsène Lupin beats him to it. What do you think, Velmont?” Velmont stood up, put his hand on Devanne’s shoulder, and declared: “I think that the data provided by your book and by that of the Library lacked a piece of information of the highest importance, and that you were kind enough to offer it to me. I thank you. ” “So that?” ” So that now, the axe having whirled, the bird having flown, and two times six making twelve, I have nothing left to do but set out on the campaign. ” “Without losing a minute.” “Without losing a second! Must I not burgle your castle tonight, that is to say, before the arrival of Herlock Sholmès ? ” “It is a fact that you have nothing but time. Do you want me to drive you? ” “As far as Dieppe?” “To Dieppe. I’ll take the opportunity to personally bring back Mr. and Mrs. d’Androl and a young girl friend of theirs who are arriving on the midnight train. ” And addressing the officers, Devanne added: “Besides, we’ll all meet here tomorrow for lunch, won’t we, gentlemen? I’m counting on you, since this castle is to be invested by your regiments and stormed at the stroke of eleven o’clock. ” The invitation was accepted, they parted ways, and a moment later, a 20 30 Gold Star carried Devanne and Velmont on the road to Dieppe. Devanne dropped the painter off in front of the casino and went to the station. At midnight, his friends got off the train. At half past twelve, the automobile passed through the gates of Thibermesnil. At one o’clock, after a light supper served in the drawing room, everyone withdrew. Little by little, all the lights went out. The great silence of the night enveloped the castle. But the moon parted the clouds that veiled it, and, through two of the windows, filled the drawing room with white light. This lasted only a moment. Very quickly the moon hid behind the curtain of the hills. And there was darkness. The silence increased with the thicker shadow. Only occasionally did the creaking of furniture disturb it, or the rustling of the reeds on the pond that bathes the old walls with its green waters. The clock ticked away the endless string of seconds. It struck two . Then, once again, the seconds fell hastily and monotonously into the heavy peace of the night. Then three o’clock struck. And suddenly something clicked, as if, at the passage of a train, the disc of a signal opens and closes. And a thin jet of light crossed the living room from one side to the other, like an arrow that would leave behind a sparkling trail. It sprang from the central groove of a pilaster where, on the right, the pediment of the library rests. It first stopped on the opposite panel in a dazzling circle, then it wandered on all sides like a worried gaze scrutinizing the shadows, then it vanished to spring forth again, while a whole section of the library spun around and unmasked a large opening, in the shape of a vault. A man entered holding an electric lantern. Another man and a third appeared carrying a roll of strings and various instruments. The first inspected the room, listened, and said: “Call the comrades.” Of these comrades, eight came through the underground passage, sturdy fellows with energetic faces. And the moving began. It was rapid. Arsène Lupin moved from one piece of furniture to another, examined it, and, depending on its size or artistic value, either spared it or ordered: “Take it away!” And the object was removed, swallowed by the gaping mouth of the tunnel, sent into the bowels of the earth. And thus were swept away six armchairs and six Louis XV chairs, and Aubusson tapestries, and girandoles signed Gouthière, and two Fragonards, and a Nattier, and a bust of Houdon, and statuettes. Sometimes Lupin would linger before a magnificent sideboard or a superb painting and sigh: “That one’s too heavy… too big… what a shame!” And he would continue his appraisal. In forty minutes, the room was cleared, as Arsène put it . And all this was accomplished in admirable order, without a single noise, as if all the objects these men were handling had been stuffed with thick cotton wool. He then said to the last of them who was leaving, carrying a placard signed Boulle: “No need to come back. It is understood, is it not, that as soon as the car truck is loaded, you will go to the barn at Roquefort. ” “But you, boss? ” “Leave the motorcycle to me.” The man having left, he pushed the movable section of the bookcase right up against it , then, after having made the traces of the moving, erased the footprints, he lifted a door, and entered a gallery that served as a communication between the tower and the castle. In the middle there was a display case, and it was because of this display case that Arsène Lupin had continued his investigations. It contained marvels, a unique collection of watches, snuff boxes, rings, chatelaines, miniatures of the most beautiful workmanship. With pliers he forced the lock, and it was an inexpressible pleasure to seize these gold and silver jewels, these small works of such precious and delicate art. He had slung around his neck a large canvas bag specially designed for these bargains. He filled it. And he also filled the pockets of his jacket, his trousers and his waistcoat. And he was closing his left arm on a pile of these pearl reticules so beloved by our ancestors, and which current fashion so passionately seeks… when a slight noise struck his ear. He listened: he wasn’t mistaken, the noise was becoming clearer. And suddenly he remembered: at the end of the gallery, an interior staircase led to an apartment, unoccupied until then, but which had been, since that evening, reserved for the young girl Devanne had gone to look for in Dieppe, with his friends from Androl. With a quick gesture, he pressed the spring of his lantern with his finger: it went out. He had barely reached the embrasure of a window when at the top of the stairs the door was opened and a faint light illuminated the gallery. He had the sensation—for, half hidden by a curtain, he could not see —that someone was cautiously descending the first steps . He hoped she would not go any further. She went down, however, and advanced several steps into the room. But she gave a cry. No doubt she had noticed the broken window, three- quarters empty. By the scent, he recognized the presence of a woman. His clothes almost brushed against the curtain that concealed him, and it seemed to him that he heard the woman’s heart beating, and that she too sensed the presence of another being, behind her, in the shadows, within reach of his hand… He said to himself: She’s afraid… she’s going to leave… it’s impossible that she won’t leave. She didn’t leave. The candle that was trembling in her hand grew firmer. She turned around, hesitated for a moment, seemed to listen to the frightening silence, then, suddenly, drew back the curtain. They saw each other. Arsène murmured, upset: “You… you… Mademoiselle. It was Miss Nelly. Miss Nelly!” the passenger on the Transatlantic, the one who had mingled her dreams with the young man’s during that unforgettable crossing, the one who had witnessed his arrest, and who, rather than betray him , had made the lovely gesture of throwing into the sea the Kodak in which he had hidden the jewels and banknotes… Miss Nelly! the dear and smiling creature whose image had so often saddened or delighted his long hours in prison! The chance was so prodigious that it brought them together in this castle and at this hour of the night, that they did not move and did not utter a word, stupefied, as if hypnotized by the fantastic apparition that they were to each other . Unsteady, overcome with emotion, Miss Nelly had to sit down. He remained standing opposite her. And little by little, during the interminable seconds that passed, he became aware of the impression he must give at that moment, his arms laden with trinkets, his pockets bulging, and his bag stuffed to bursting. A great confusion came over him, and he blushed to find himself there, in that ugly posture of the thief caught in the act. For her, from now on, whatever happened, he was the thief, the one who puts his hand in other people’s pockets , the one who locks doors and sneaks in. One of the watches rolled onto the carpet, another as well. And still other things were about to slip from his arms, which he didn’t know how to hold back. Then, making a sudden decision, he dropped some of the objects onto the armchair, emptied his pockets, and took off his bag.
He felt more at ease in front of Nelly, and took a step toward her with the intention of speaking to her. But she made a movement to recoil, then stood up quickly, as if seized with fright, and rushed toward the living room. The door closed behind her, and he joined her. She was there, speechless, trembling, and her eyes gazed with terror at the immense, devastated room. He immediately said to her: “At three o’clock tomorrow, everything will be put back in place… The furniture will be brought back…” She did not reply, and he repeated: “Tomorrow, at three o’clock, I promise… Nothing in the world can prevent me from keeping my promise… Tomorrow, at three o’clock… ” A long silence weighed on them. He did not dare break it, and the young girl’s emotion caused him real suffering. Gently, without a word, he moved away from her. And he thought: “Let her go!… Let her feel free to go !… Let her not be afraid of me!… But suddenly she started and stammered: “Listen… footsteps… I hear walking…” He looked at her in astonishment. She seemed upset, as if at the approach of danger. “I hear nothing,” he said, “and still… ” “What! but we must flee… quickly, flee… –Flee… why? –We must… we must… Ah! Don’t stay… In one go she ran to the entrance of the gallery and listened. No, there was no one there. Perhaps the noise was coming from outside?… She waited a second, then, reassured, turned around. Arsène Lupin had disappeared. At the very moment Devanne noticed the pillaging of his castle, he said to himself: it was Velmont who did it, and Velmont is none other than Arsène Lupin. Everything could be explained like that, and nothing could be explained otherwise. This idea only crossed his mind, so improbable was it that Velmont was not Velmont, that is to say, the famous painter, the circle comrade of his cousin from Estevan. And when the gendarmerie brigadier, immediately notified, appeared, Devanne did not even think to tell him this absurd supposition. All morning in Thibermesnil there was an indescribable coming and going. The gendarmes, the rural policeman, the police commissioner of Dieppe, the inhabitants of the village, all these people were bustling in the corridors, or in the park, or around the castle. The approach of troops on maneuvers, the crackle of rifles, added to the picturesqueness of the scene. The first searches provided no clues. The windows having not been broken nor the doors broken, without a doubt the move had taken place by the secret exit. Yet, on the carpet, there were no footprints, on the walls, no unusual marks. Just one unexpected thing, which clearly showed Arsène Lupin’s whimsy: the famous Chronicle of the Sixteenth Century had returned to its former place, and next to it was a similar book, which was none other than the stolen copy from the National Library. At eleven o’clock, the officers arrived. Devanne welcomed them cheerfully—however much annoyance the loss of such artistic riches caused him, his fortune allowed him to bear it without bad humor. His friends Androl and Nelly came down. After the introductions, it was noticed that one guest was missing, Horace Velmont. Would he not come? His absence would have aroused the suspicions of Georges Devanne. But at noon sharp, he entered. Devanne cried: “Good! Here you are! ” “Am I not punctual? ” “Yes, but you could have been… after such a night agitated! for you know the news? –What news? –You have burglarized the castle. –Come now! –As I told you. But first offer your arm to Miss Underdown, and let us sit down to eat… Mademoiselle, allow me… He broke off, struck by the young girl’s confusion. Then, suddenly, remembering: –It’s true, by the way, you traveled with Arsène Lupin, long ago… before his arrest… The resemblance astonishes you, doesn’t it? She didn’t reply. Before her, Velmont smiled. He bowed, she took his arm. He led her to her place and sat opposite her. During lunch, they talked only of Arsène Lupin, the removed furniture, the underground passage, Herlock Sholmes. Only at the end of the meal , as other subjects were being discussed, did Velmont join in the conversation. He was by turns amusing and serious, eloquent and witty. And everything he said seemed to be saying only to interest the young girl. Deeply absorbed, she didn’t seem to hear him. Coffee was served on the terrace overlooking the main courtyard and the French garden on the side of the main facade. In the middle of the lawn, the regimental band began to play, and the crowd of peasants and soldiers spread out into the park paths. Meanwhile, Nelly remembered Arsène Lupin’s promise: At three o’clock everything will be there, I promise. At three o’clock! And the hands of the large clock that adorned the right wing marked two forty. She kept looking at them in spite of herself. And she also looked at Velmont, who was rocking peacefully in a comfortable rocking chair. Two fifty… two fifty-five… a sort of impatience, mixed with anxiety, gripped the young girl. Was it admissible that the miracle should take place, and that it should take place at the appointed minute, when the castle, the courtyard, the countryside were filled with people, and when at that very moment the public prosecutor and the examining magistrate were continuing their investigation? And yet… yet, Arsène Lupin had promised with such solemnity! It will be as he said, she thought, impressed by all the energy, authority, and certainty in this man. And it no longer seemed to her a miracle, but a natural event that had to happen by force of circumstances. For a second, their eyes met. She blushed and turned away her head.
Three o’clock… The first stroke sounded, the second stroke, the third… Horace Velmont took out his watch, looked up at the clock, then put his watch back in his pocket. A few seconds passed. And now the crowd parted around the lawn, giving way to two carriages that had just crossed the park gate, each drawn by two horses. They were the kind of vans that follow the regiments and carry the officers’ canteens and the soldiers’ bags. They stopped in front of the steps. A quartermaster sergeant jumped from one of the seats and asked for Mr. Devanne. Devanne ran up and went down the steps. Under the tarpaulins, he saw his furniture, his paintings, and his objets d’art carefully arranged and well wrapped . To the questions put to him, the quartermaster replied by showing the order he had received from the adjutant on duty, and which this adjutant had taken down that morning when he reported. By this order, the second company of the fourth battalion was to ensure that the movable objects deposited at the crossroads of Halleux, in the forest of Arques, were brought at three o’clock to Mr. Georges Devanne, owner of the castle of Thibermesnil. Signed: Colonel Beauvel. –At the crossroads, added the sergeant, everything was ready, lined up on the lawn, and under the guard… of the passers-by. It seemed funny to me, but what! the order was categorical. One of the officers examined the signature: it was perfectly imitated, but out of tune. The music had stopped playing, the vans were emptied, and the furniture was put back in. In the midst of this commotion, Nelly remained alone at the far end of the terrace. She was grave and worried, agitated by confused thoughts that she did not seek to formulate. Suddenly, she saw Velmont approaching. She wanted to avoid him, but the angle of the balustrade that borders the terrace surrounded her on two sides, and a line of large boxes of shrubs, orange trees, oleanders, and bamboos, left her no other retreat than the path along which the young man was advancing. She did not move. A ray of sunlight trembled on her golden hair, stirred by the frail leaves of a bamboo. Someone said very quietly: “I have kept my promise of last night.” Arsène Lupin was near her, and around them there was no one. He repeated, his attitude hesitant, his voice timid: “I have kept my promise of last night.” He was waiting for a word of thanks, at least a gesture that would prove the interest she took in this act. She fell silent. This contempt irritated Arsène Lupin, and, at the same time, he had a deep sense of all that separated him from Nelly, now that she knew the truth. He would have liked to exonerate himself, to seek excuses, to show his life in all its audacity and grandeur. But, in advance, the words offended him, and he felt the absurdity and insolence of any explanation. Then he murmured sadly, overcome by a flood of memories: “How far away the past is! Do you remember the long hours on the bridge of Provence? Ah! Look… you had, like today, a rose in your hand, a pale rose like this one… I asked you for it… you didn’t seem to hear… However, after you left, I found the rose… forgotten, no doubt… I kept it… She didn’t answer yet. She seemed very far from him. He continued: “In memory of those hours, don’t think about what you know. Let the past be linked to the present! Let me not be the one you saw last night, but the one from long ago, and let your eyes look at me, even if only for a second, as they looked at me… I beg you… Am I no longer the same? ” She raised her eyes, as he asked, and looked at him. Then without a word, she placed her finger on a ring he wore on his index finger. Only the band could be seen, but the setting, turned inside, was made of a marvelous ruby. Arsène Lupin blushed. This ring belonged to Georges Devanne. He smiled bitterly: “You are right. What has been will always be. Arsène Lupin is and can only be Arsène Lupin, and between you and him, there cannot even be a memory… Forgive me… I should have understood that my mere presence near you is an outrage…” He stepped aside along the balustrade, hat in hand. Nelly passed in front of him. He was tempted to stop her, to implore her. He failed him, and he followed her with his eyes, as on the distant day when she crossed the gangplank on the quayside in New York. She climbed the steps leading to the door. For a moment longer, her slender silhouette stood out among the marble of the vestibule. He no longer saw her. A cloud obscured the sun. Arsène Lupin watched, motionless, the trace of small steps imprinted in the sand. Suddenly, he shuddered: on the bamboo box against which Nelly had leaned lay the rose, the pale rose he hadn’t dared ask her for… Forgotten, no doubt, too? But forgotten deliberately or through distraction? He seized it ardently. Petals fell off. He picked them up one by one like relics… –Come on, he said to himself, I have nothing more to do here. Let’s think about retirement . Especially since if Herlock Sholmès gets involved, it could become bad. The park was deserted. However, near the pavilion commanding the entrance, stood a group of gendarmes. He went into the thickets, climbed the surrounding wall and, to get to the nearest station, took a path that wound through the fields. He had not walked for ten minutes when the path narrowed, boxed in between two embankments, and as he arrived in this defile, someone was entering it coming from the opposite direction. It was a man of about fifty perhaps, quite stout, with a clean-shaven face, and whose costume emphasized his foreign appearance. He carried a heavy cane in his hand, and a satchel hung around his neck. They passed each other. The stranger said, with a barely perceptible English accent: “Excuse me, sir… is this the road to the castle?” “Straight on, sir, and turn left as soon as you reach the foot of the wall. We are waiting impatiently for you. ” “Ah!” “Yes, my friend Devanne told us of your visit yesterday evening. ” “So much the worse for Mr. Devanne if he talked too much. ” “And I’m happy to be the first to greet you. Herlock Sholmès has no more fervent admirer than I.” There was an imperceptible hint of irony in his voice that he immediately regretted, for Herlock Sholmès considered him from head to toe, and with an eye at once so enveloping and so sharp, that Arsène Lupin had the impression of being seized, imprisoned, recorded by that gaze, more exactly and more essentially than he had ever been by any camera. “The picture’s taken,” he thought. “No more need to disguise myself with that fellow. Only… did he recognize me?” They greeted each other. But then there was the sound of footsteps, the sound of horses prancing with a clang of steel. It was the gendarmes. The two men had to press themselves against the embankment, in the tall grass, to avoid being jostled. The gendarmes passed, and as they followed each other at a certain distance, it was quite a long walk. And Lupin thought: “Everything depends on this question: did he recognize me? If so, there’s a good chance he’s taking advantage of the situation. The problem is distressing. ” When the last rider had passed them, Herlock Sholmès got up and, without saying anything, brushed his dusty garment. The strap of his bag was entangled with a thorny branch. Arsène Lupin hurried over. For a second longer they examined each other. And, if someone had been able to surprise them at that moment, it would have been a moving spectacle , the first meeting of these two men, so strange, so powerfully armed, both truly superior, and fatally destined by their special aptitudes to collide like two equal forces that the order of things pushes against each other through space. Then the Englishman said: “Thank you, sir. ” “Everything at your service,” replied Lupin. They parted. Lupin headed towards the Herlock Sholmès station, towards the castle. The examining magistrate and the prosecutor had left after a fruitless search, and everyone was awaiting Herlock Sholmès with a curiosity justified by his great reputation. They were a little disappointed by his appearance as a good bourgeois, which differed so profoundly from the image they had of him. He had nothing of the hero of a novel, of the enigmatic and diabolical character that the idea of ​​Herlock Sholmès evokes in us. Devanne, however, exclaimed full of exuberance: “At last, Master, it’s you! What joy! I’ve been hoping for so long … I’m almost happy about everything that’s happened, since it’s given me the pleasure of seeing you. But, by the way, how did you come? ” “By train! ” “What a pity! I had sent my car to the landing stage for you, though. ” “An official arrival, isn’t it? With drums and music!” Excellent way to make my job easier, grumbled the Englishman. This uninviting tone disconcerted Devanne, who, trying to joke, continued: “The job, fortunately, is easier than I had written to you. ” “And why? ” “Because the robbery took place last night. ” ” If you had not announced my visit, sir, it is likely that the robbery would not have taken place last night. ” “And when?” “Tomorrow, or another day. ” “And in that case? ” “Lupin would have been trapped. ” “And my furniture? ” “Would not have been taken away. ” “My furniture is here.” “Here? ” “It was brought back at three o’clock. ” “By Lupin? ” “By two military vans.” Herlock Sholmès violently forced his hat down on his head and adjusted his bag; but Devanne, in a fit of anger, cried out: “What are you doing? ” “I’m leaving. ” “And why?” “Your furniture is here, Arsène Lupin is far away. My role is over. ” “But I absolutely need your help, dear sir. What happened yesterday could happen again tomorrow, since we don’t know the most important thing: how Arsène Lupin got in, how he got out, and why, a few hours later, he was making this restitution. ” “Ah! You don’t know…” The idea of ​​a secret to be discovered softened Herlock Sholmès. “Very well, let’s look. But quickly, won’t we? And, if possible, alone. ” The sentence clearly referred to the audience. Devanne understood and ushered the Englishman into the drawing room. In a dry tone, in sentences that seemed counted in advance, and with such parsimony! Sholmès asked him questions about the previous evening, about the guests there, about the regulars at the château. Then he examined the two volumes of the Chronicle, compared the maps of the underground passage, had the quotations noted by Abbé Gélis repeated to him, and asked: “Was it yesterday that you first spoke of these two quotations? ” “Yesterday. ” “You had never communicated them to M. Horace Velmont? ” “Never. ” “Good. Order your car. I’ll leave in an hour. ” “In an hour! ” “Arsène Lupin didn’t take any longer to solve the problem you posed to him. ” “Me!… I posed it to him… ” “Well! Yes, Arsène Lupin and Velmont are the same thing. ” “I suspected as much… ah! the scoundrel!” “Now, yesterday evening, at ten o’clock, you provided Lupin with the elements of truth that he lacked and that he had been looking for for weeks. And, during the night, Lupin found the time to understand, to gather his gang, and to rob you.” I have the pretension to be so expeditious. He walked from one end of the room to the other, thinking, then sat down, crossed his long legs, and closed his eyes. Devanne waited, rather embarrassed. “Is he asleep? Is he thinking?” Just in case, he went out to give orders. When he returned, he saw him at the bottom of the gallery stairs, on his knees, scrutinizing the carpet. “What is it? ” “Look… there… those candle stains… ” “Well, indeed… and quite fresh… ” “And you can see some at the top of the stairs as well, and even more around that glass case that Arsène Lupin broke open, and from which he removed the ornaments to place them on this armchair. ” “And you conclude from that? ” “Nothing. All these facts would undoubtedly explain the restitution he made.” But that’s one side of the question I don’t have time to go into. The main thing is the route of the tunnel. –You’re still hoping… –I’m not hoping, I know. There is, isn’t there, a chapel two or three hundred meters from the castle? –A ruined chapel, where Duke Rollo’s tomb is located. –Tell your driver to wait for us near this chapel. –My chauffeur hasn’t returned yet… I must be notified… But, from what I see, you believe that the underground passage leads to the chapel. On what clue… Herlock Sholmès interrupted him: –I would ask you, sir, to provide me with a ladder and a lantern. –Ah! You need a lantern and a ladder? –Apparently, since I’m asking you for them. Devanne, somewhat taken aback by this harsh logic, rang. The two objects were brought. The orders then followed one another with the rigor and precision of military commands. –Place this ladder against the bookcase, to the left of the word Thibermesnil… Devanne raised the ladder and the Englishman continued: –Further to the left… to the right… Halt!… Climb… Good… All the letters of this word are in relief, aren’t they? –Yes. –Let’s deal with the letter H. Does it turn one way or the other? Devanne seized the letter H and exclaimed: “Yes, it turns! To the right, and a quarter of a circle! Who revealed it to you?” Without replying, Herlock Sholmès continued: “Can you, from where you are, reach the letter R? Yes… Move it several times, as you would a bolt that is pushed and pulled back.” Devanne moved the letter R. To his great astonishment, an internal trigger occurred . “Perfect,” said Herlock Sholmès. “All you have to do is slide your ladder to the other end, that is to say, to the end of the word Thibermesnil… Good… And now, if I am not mistaken, if things are accomplished as they should, the letter L will open like a wicket.” With a certain solemnity, Devanne grasped the letter L. The letter L opened, but Devanne tumbled down his ladder, for the entire section of the bookcase between the first and last letters of the word pivoted on itself and revealed the opening to the underground passage. Herlock Sholmès said phlegmatically: “Aren’t you hurt?” “No, no,” said Devanne, getting up, “not hurt, but stunned, I admit… these letters moving… this gaping underground passage… ” “And then? Isn’t that exactly in accordance with Sully’s quotation?
” “How so, my lord?” “My lady! The H spins, the R quivers, and the L opens… and that’s what allowed Henri IV to receive Mademoiselle de Tancarville at an unusual hour . ” “But Louis XVI?” asked Devanne, stunned. “Louis XVI was a great blacksmith and a skilled locksmith. I read a Treatise on Combination Locks attributed to him.” For Thibermesnil, it was acting like a good courtier to show his master this mechanical masterpiece. For the record, the king wrote: 2 6 12, that is to say, HRL, the second, sixth, and twelfth letters of the word. –Ah! Perfect, I’m beginning to understand… Only, here… If I can understand how one leaves this room, I can’t understand how Lupin was able to get in. For, mind you, he came from outside. Herlock Sholmès lit the lantern and advanced a few steps into the underground passage. –Look, the whole mechanism is visible here, like the springs of a clock, and all the letters are upside down. So Lupin only had to make them work on this side of the partition. –What proof? –What proof? Look at this puddle of oil. Lupin had even foreseen that the cogs would need greasing, Herlock Sholmès said, not without admiration. “But then he knew the other way out? ” “Like I do. Follow me. ” “Into the underground passage? ” “Are you afraid? ” “No, but are you sure you know where you are? ” “With your eyes closed.” They went down twelve steps first, then twelve more, and again. twice twelve more. Then they entered a long corridor whose brick walls bore the marks of successive restorations and which were oozing in places. The ground was damp. “We’re passing under the pond,” Devanne remarked, not at all reassured. The corridor ended at a staircase of twelve steps, followed by three other staircases of twelve steps which they climbed painfully, and they emerged into a small cavity cut into the rock. The path went no further. “Damn it,” murmured Herlock Sholmes, “just bare walls, it’s getting embarrassing. ” “Let’s go back,” murmured Devanne, “because, well, I don’t see the need to know any more. I’m edified. ” But, having raised his head, the Englishman breathed a sigh of relief: above them the same mechanism as at the entrance was repeated. He only had to operate the three letters. A block of granite toppled. On the other side was the tombstone of Duke Rollo, engraved with the twelve letters Thibermesnil in relief. And they found themselves in the small ruined chapel that the Englishman had designated. “And one goes to God, that is to say, to the chapel, ” he said, repeating the end of the quotation. “Is it possible,” cried Devanne, astonished by the clairvoyance and vivacity of Herlock Sholmès, “is it possible that this simple indication was enough for you?” “Bah!” said the Englishman, “it was even useless. On the copy in the National Library, the line ends on the left, you know, with a circle, and on the right, you don’t know, with a small cross, but so faded that it can only be seen with a magnifying glass. This cross obviously means the chapel where we are. Poor Devanne couldn’t believe his ears. “It’s incredible, miraculous, and yet childishly simple! How has no one ever solved this mystery? ” “Because no one has ever gathered the three or four necessary elements, that is to say, the two books and the quotations… No one, except Arsène Lupin and me. ” “But me too,” objected Devanne, “and Abbé Gélis… We both knew as much as you, and yet…” Sholmès smiled. “Monsieur Devanne, not everyone is capable of deciphering enigmas. ” “But I’ve been looking for ten years. And you, in ten minutes… ” “Bah! Habit…” They left the chapel, and the Englishman cried out: “Look, there’s a car waiting! ” “But it’s mine! ” “Yours? But I thought the chauffeur hadn’t come back.” –Indeed… and I wonder… They advanced to the car, and Devanne, calling to the driver: –Édouard, who gave you the order to come here? –But, replied the man, it was M. Velmont. –M. Velmont? So you met him? –Near the station, and he told me to go to the chapel. –To go to the chapel! But why? –To wait there for the gentleman… and the gentleman’s friend. Devanne and Herlock Sholmès looked at each other. Devanne said: –He understood that the riddle would be a game for you. The homage is delicate. A smile of satisfaction curled the detective’s thin lips. The homage pleased him. He said, nodding his head: –He is a man. Just by looking at him, moreover, I had judged him. –So you saw him? –We crossed paths just now. –And you knew it was Horace Velmont, I mean Arsène Lupin? –No, but I didn’t take long to guess it… from a certain irony on his part. –And you let it slip? –Well, yes… I had the best part… five gendarmes passing by. –But, damn it! it was the chance or never to take advantage… –Exactly, sir, said the Englishman haughtily, when it comes With an adversary like Arsène Lupin, Herlock Sholmès doesn’t take advantage of opportunities… he creates them… But time was pressing, and since Lupin had been kind enough to send the car, it was necessary to take advantage of it without delay. Devanne and Herlock Sholmès settled into the back of the comfortable limousine. Édouard cranked the engine and off they went. Fields and clumps of trees passed by. The gentle undulations of the Pays de Caux flattened out before them. Suddenly Devanne’s eyes were drawn to a small package lying in one of the pockets. “Well, what’s this? A package! And for whom? It’s for you. ” “For me?” “Read: Mr. Herlock Sholmès, from Arsène Lupin. ” The Englishman seized the package, untied it, and removed the two sheets of paper that wrapped it. It was a watch. “Oh!” he said, accompanying this exclamation with an angry gesture … “A watch,” said Devanne, “is that by any chance?” The Englishman did not reply. “What! It’s your watch! Arsène Lupin is sending you back your watch! But if he’s sending it back, it’s because he took it… He took your watch! Ah! That’s a good one, Herlock Sholmès’ watch stolen by Arsène Lupin! God, it’s funny! No, really… you’ll excuse me… but it’s stronger than me.” He laughed heartily, unable to contain himself. And when he had laughed well, he affirmed, in a convinced tone: “Oh! It’s a man, indeed.” The Englishman did not flinch. Until Dieppe, he did not utter a word, his eyes fixed on the vanishing horizon. His silence was terrible, unfathomable, more violent than the fiercest rage. At the landing stage, he said simply, without anger this time, but in a tone in which one felt all the will and all the energy of the character: “Yes, he is a man, and a man on whose shoulder I will be pleased to place this hand that I extend to you, Monsieur Devanne. And I have an idea, you see, that Arsène Lupin and Herlock Sholmès will meet again one day or another… Yes, the world is too small for them not to meet… and on that day…” At the end of this adventure, Arsène Lupin leaves behind him a trail of mystery and triumph. As always, he manages to escape his pursuers, leaving the shadow of his genius hovering. But who knows? Perhaps he will return for new escapades, even more daring. The last word is never said with Lupin, and his enigmas remain an inexhaustible source of admiration and fascination.

Bienvenue dans l’univers fascinant d’Arsène Lupin, le gentleman cambrioleur ! Découvrez les aventures incroyables de ce maître du déguisement et du vol, qui défie la loi tout en laissant une touche de classe et d’humour. Dans ce chef-d’œuvre de Maurice Leblanc, Lupin fait face à des énigmes complexes, des policiers rusés et des intrigues palpitantes qui captivent dès la première page. 🔍✨

📖 Résumé :
– Plongez dans l’esprit brillant d’Arsène Lupin, un cambrioleur élégant et audacieux.
– Explorez ses plus grands exploits : vol de bijoux, mystères résolus et escapades audacieuses.
– L’histoire vous entraîne dans un tourbillon d’aventures imprévisibles, où chaque action de Lupin semble défier la logique et l’ordre établi.

Ne manquez pas cette lecture captivante ! Abonnez-vous à notre chaîne pour d’autres récits palpitants !

🔔 Abonnez-vous ici : https://bit.ly/LivresAudioLaMagieDesMots
-🔎✨ Nouveaux mystères et aventures | Arthur Conan Doyle 📖🕵️ [https://youtu.be/j6bpnhPwVbQ]
-📖 Les Misérables Tome I : Fantine – Victor Hugo ✨ [https://youtu.be/tYTtwllcF14]
-📖 Les Misérables – Tome II: Cosette ✨ Victor Hugo [https://youtu.be/TXKQ8iRTpsM]
-📖 Les Misérables – Tome III : Marius | Victor Hugo 🌟 [https://youtu.be/boYFIB43VxU]

#ArsèneLupin #gentlemancambrioleur #MauriceLeblanc #aventure #mystère #cambriolage #littératurefrançaise #vol #énigme #policier #detective #classique #romans #lectures #suspense #mystère #puzzle #histoire #livresaudio #policiers #grandeclasse

**Navigate by Chapters or Titles:**
00:00:26 Chapter 1.
00:25:56 Chapter 2.
00:59:37 Chapter 3.
01:37:17 Chapter 4.
02:06:20 Chapter 5.
02:35:45 Chapter 6.
03:33:00 Chapter 7.
03:53:15 Chapter 8.
04:17:51 Chapter 9.