THE DEATH-SENTENCE
Lupin’s motor-car was not only an office, a writing-room furnished
with books, stationery, pens and ink, but also a regular actor’s
dressing-room, containing a complete make-up box, a trunk filled
with every variety of wearing-apparel, another crammed with
“properties”--umbrellas, walking-sticks, scarves, eye-glasses and
so on--in short, a complete set of paraphernalia which enabled him
to alter his appearance from top to toe in the course of a drive.
The man who rang at Daubrecq the deputy’s gate, at six o-clock that
evening, was a stout, elderly gentleman, in a black frock-coat, a
bowler hat, spectacles and whiskers.
The portress took him to the front-door of the house and rang the
bell. Victoire appeared.
Lupin asked:
“Can M. Daubrecq see Dr. Vernes?”
“M. Daubrecq is in his bedroom; and it is rather late....”
“Give him my card, please.”
He wrote the words, “From Mme. Mergy,” in the margin and added:
“There, he is sure to see me.”
“But . . .” Victoire began.
“Oh, drop your buts, old dear, do as I say, and don’t make such a
fuss about it!”
She was utterly taken aback and stammered:
“You! . . . is it you?”
“No, it’s Louis XIV.!” And, pushing her into a corner of the hall,
“Listen.... The moment I’m done with him, go up to your room, put
your things together anyhow and clear out.”
“What!”
“Do as I tell you. You’ll find my car waiting down the avenue.
Come, stir your stumps! Announce me. I’ll wait in the study.”
“But it’s dark in there.”
“Turn on the light.”
She switched on the electric light and left Lupin alone.
“It’s here,” he reflected, as he took a seat, “it’s here that
the crystal stopper lives.... Unless Daubrecq always keeps it by
him.... But no, when people have a good hiding-place, they make use
of it. And this is a capital one; for none of us . . . so far....”
Concentrating all his attention, he examined the objects in the
room; and he remembered the note which Daubrecq wrote to Prasville:
“Within reach of your hand, my dear Prasville!... You touched
it! A little more and the trick was done....”
Nothing seemed to have moved since that day. The same things were
lying about on the desk: books, account-books, a bottle of ink, a
stamp-box, pipes, tobacco, things that had been searched and probed
over and over again.
“The bounder!” thought Lupin. “He’s organized his business jolly
cleverly. It’s all dove-tailed like a well-made play.”
In his heart of hearts, though he knew exactly what he had come
to do and how he meant to act, Lupin was thoroughly aware of the
danger and uncertainty attending his visit to so powerful an
adversary. It was quite within the bounds of possibility that
Daubrecq, armed as he was, would remain master of the field and
that the conversation would take an absolutely different turn from
that which Lupin anticipated.
And this prospect angered him somewhat.
He drew himself up, as he heard a sound of footsteps approaching.
Daubrecq entered.
He entered without a word, made a sign to Lupin, who had risen
from his chair, to resume his seat and himself sat down at the
writing-desk. Glancing at the card which he held in his hand:
“Dr. Vernes?”
“Yes, monsieur le député, Dr. Vernes, of Saint-Germain.”
“And I see that you come from Mme. Mergy. A patient of yours?”
“A recent patient. I did not know her until I was called in to see
her, the other day, in particularly tragic circumstances.”
“Is she ill?”
“Mme. Mergy has taken poison.”
“What!”
Daubrecq gave a start and he continued, without concealing his
distress:
“What’s that you say? Poison! Is she dead?”
“No, the dose was not large enough. If no complications ensue, I
consider that Mme. Mergy’s life is saved.”
Daubrecq said nothing and sat silent, with his head turned to Lupin.
“Is he looking at me? Are his eyes open or shut?” Lupin asked
himself.
It worried Lupin terribly not to see his adversary’s eyes, those
eyes hidden by the double obstacle of spectacles and black glasses:
weak, bloodshot eyes, Mme. Mergy had told him. How could he follow
the secret train of the man’s thought without seeing the expression
of his face? It was almost like fighting an enemy who wielded an
invisible sword.
Presently, Daubrecq spoke:
“So Mme. Mergy’s life is saved.... And she has sent you to me.... I
don’t quite understand.... I hardly know the lady.”
“Now for the ticklish moment,” thought Lupin. “Have at him!”
And, in a genial, good-natured and rather shy tone, he said:
“No, monsieur le député, there are cases in which a doctor’s duty
becomes very complex . . . very puzzling.... And you may think
that, in taking this step.... However, to cut a long story short,
while I was attending Mme. Mergy, she made a second attempt to
poison herself.... Yes; the bottle, unfortunately, had been left
within her reach. I snatched it from her. We had a struggle. And,
railing in her fever, she said to me, in broken words, ‘He’s the
man.... He’s the man.... Daubrecq the deputy.... Make him give
me back my son. Tell him to . . . or else I would rather die....
Yes, now, to-night.... I would rather die.’ That’s what she said,
monsieur le député.... So I thought that I ought to let you know.
It is quite certain that, in the lady’s highly nervous state of
mind.... Of course, I don’t know the exact meaning of her words....
I asked no questions of anybody . . . obeyed a spontaneous impulse
and came straight to you.”
Daubrecq reflected for a little while and said:
“It amounts to this, doctor, that you have come to ask me if I know
the whereabouts of this child whom I presume to have disappeared.
Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“And, if I did happen to know, you would take him back to his
mother?”
There was a longer pause. Lupin asked himself:
“Can he by chance have swallowed the story? Is the threat of
that death enough? Oh, nonsense it’s out of the question!... And
yet . . . and yet . . . he seems to be hesitating.”
“Will you excuse me?” asked Daubrecq, drawing the telephone, on his
writing-desk, toward him. “I have an urgent message.”
“Certainly, monsieur le député.”
Daubrecq called out:
“Hullo!... 822.19, please, 822.19.”
Having repeated the number, he sat without moving.
Lupin smiled:
“The headquarters of police, isn’t it? The secretary-general’s
office....”
“Yes, doctor.... How do you know?”
“Oh, as a divisional surgeon, I sometimes have to ring them up.”
And, within himself, Lupin asked:
“What the devil does all this mean? The secretary-general is
Prasville.... Then, what?...”
Daubrecq put both receivers to his ears and said:
“Are you 822.19? I want to speak to M. Prasville, the
secretary-general.... Do you say he’s not there?... Yes, yes,
he is: he’s always in his office at this time.... Tell him it’s
M. Daubrecq.... M. Daubrecq the deputy . . . a most important
communication.”
“Perhaps I’m in the way?” Lupin suggested.
“Not at all, doctor, not at all,” said Daubrecq. “Besides, what I
have to say has a certain bearing on your errand.” And, into the
telephone, “Hullo! M. Prasville?... Ah, it’s you, Prasville, old
cock!... Why, you seem quite staggered! Yes, you’re right, it’s
an age since you and I met. But, after all, we’ve never been far
away in thought.... And I’ve had plenty of visits from you and
your henchmen.... In my absence, it’s true. Hullo!.... What?...
Oh, you’re in a hurry? I beg your pardon!... So am I, for that
matter.... Well, to come to the point, there’s a little service I
want to do you.... Wait, can’t you, you brute?... You won’t regret
it.... It concerns your renown.... Hullo!... Are you listening?...
Well, take half-a-dozen men with you . . . plain-clothes
detectives, by preference: you’ll find them at the night-office....
Jump into a taxi, two taxis, and come along here as fast as you
can.... I’ve got a rare quarry for you, old chap. One of the upper
ten . . . a lord, a marquis Napoleon himself . . . in a word,
Arsène Lupin!”
[Illustration: Lupin sprang to his feet. He was prepared for every
upshot except this.]
Lupin sprang to his feet. He was prepared for everything but this.
Yet something within him stronger than astonishment, an impulse of
his whole nature, made him say, with a laugh:
“Oh, well done, well done!”
Daubrecq bowed his head, by way of thanks, and muttered:
“I haven’t quite finished.... A little patience, if you don’t
mind.” And he continued, “Hullo! Prasville!... No, no, old chap,
I’m not humbugging.... You’ll find Lupin here, with me, in my
study.... Lupin, who’s worrying me like the rest of you.... Oh,
one more or less makes no difference to me! But, all the same,
this one’s a bit too pushing. And I am appealing to your sense
of kindness. Rid me of the fellow, do.... Half-a-dozen of your
satellites and the two who are pacing up and down outside my house
will be enough.... Oh, while you’re about it, go up to the third
floor and rope in my cook as well.... She’s the famous Victoire:
you know, Master Lupin’s old nurse.... And, look here, one more
tip, to show you how I love you: send a squad of men to the Rue
Chateaubriand, at the corner of the Rue Balzac.... That’s where our
national hero lives, under the name of Michel Beaumont.... Do you
twig, old cockalorum? And now to business. Hustle!”
When Daubrecq turned his head, Lupin was standing up, with clenched
fists. His burst of admiration had not survived the rest of the
speech and the revelations which Daubrecq had made about Victoire
and the flat in the Rue Chateaubriand. The humiliation was too
great; and Lupin no longer bothered to play the part of the small
general practitioner. He had but one idea in his head: not to give
way to the tremendous fit of rage that was urging him to rush at
Daubrecq like a bull.
Daubrecq gave the sort of little cluck which, with him, did
duty for a laugh. He came waddling up, with his hands in his
trouser-pockets, and said, incisively:
“Don’t you think that this is all for the best? I’ve cleared the
ground, relieved the situation.... At least, we now know where we
stand. Lupin versus Daubrecq; and that’s all about it. Besides,
think of the time saved! Dr. Vernes, the divisional surgeon, would
have taken two hours to spin his yarn! Whereas, like this, Master
Lupin will be compelled to get his little story told in thirty
minutes . . . unless he wants to get himself collared and his
accomplices nabbed. What a shock! What a bolt from the blue! Thirty
minutes and not a minute more. In thirty minutes from now, you’ll
have to clear out, scud away like a hare and beat a disordered
retreat. Ha, ha, ha, what fun! I say, Polonius, you really are
unlucky, each time you come up against Bibi Daubrecq! For it was
you who were hiding behind that curtain, wasn’t it, my ill-starred
Polonius?”
Lupin did not stir a muscle. The one and only solution that would
have calmed his feelings, that is to say, for him to throttle
his adversary then and there, was so absurd that he preferred to
accept Daubrecq’s gibes without attempting to retort, though each
of them cut him like the lash of a whip. It was the second time,
in the same room and in similar circumstances, that he had to bow
before that Daubrecq of misfortune and maintain the most ridiculous
attitude in silence. And he felt convinced in his innermost being
that, if he opened his mouth, it would be to spit words of anger
and insult in his victor’s face. What was the good? Was it not
essential that he should keep cool and do the things which the new
situation called for?
“Well, M. Lupin, well?” resumed the deputy. “You look as if your
nose were out of joint. Come, console yourself and admit that
one sometimes comes across a joker who’s not quite such a mug as
his fellows. So you thought that, because I wear spectacles and
eye-glasses, I was blind? Bless my soul, I don’t say that I at once
suspected Lupin behind Polonius and Polonius behind the gentleman
who came and bored me in the box at the Vaudeville. No, no! But,
all the same, it worried me. I could see that, between the police
and Mme. Mergy, there was a third bounder trying to get a finger
in the pie. And, gradually, what with the words let fall by the
portress, what with watching the movements of my cook and making
inquiries about her in the proper quarter, I began to understand.
Then, the other night, came the lightning-flash. I heard the row in
the house, in spite of my being asleep. I managed to reconstruct
the incident, to follow up Mme. Mergy’s traces, first, to the Rue
Chateaubriand and, afterward, to Saint-Germain.... And then . . .
what then? I put different facts together: the Enghien burglary....
Gilbert’s arrest . . . the inevitable treaty of alliance between
the weeping mother and the leader of the gang... the old nurse
installed as cook . . . all these people entering my house through
the doors or through the windows.... And I knew what I had to
do. Master Lupin was sniffing at the secret. The scent of the
Twenty-seven attracted him. I had only to wait for his visit. The
hour has arrived. Good-evening, Master Lupin.”
Daubrecq paused. He had delivered his speech with the evident
satisfaction of a man entitled to claim the appreciation of the
most captious critics.
As Lupin did not speak, he took out his watch: “I say! Only
twenty-three minutes! How time flies! At this rate, we sha’n’t have
time to come to an explanation.” And, stepping still closer to
Lupin, “I’m bound to say, I’m disappointed. I thought that Lupin
was a different sort of gentleman. So, the moment he meets a more
or less serious adversary, the colossus falls to pieces? Poor young
man! Have a glass of water, to bring you round!” Lupin did not
utter a word, did not betray a gesture of irritation. With absolute
composure, with a precision of movement that showed his perfect
self-control and the clear plan of conduct which he had adopted, he
gently pushed Daubrecq aside, went to the table and, in his turn,
took down the receiver of the telephone:
“I want 565.34, please,” he said.
He waited until he was through; and then, speaking in a slow voice
and picking out every syllable, he said:
“Hullo!.... Rue Chateaubriand?... Is that you, Achille?... Yes,
it’s the governor. Listen to me carefully, Achille.... You must
leave the flat! Hullo!... Yes, at once. The police are coming in
a few minutes. No, no, don’t lose your head.... You’ve got time.
Only, do what I tell you. Is your bag still packed?... Good. And
is one of the sides empty, as I told you?... Good. Well, go to my
bedroom and stand with your face to the chimney-piece. Press with
your left hand on the little carved rosette in front of the marble
slab, in the middle, and with your right hand on the top of the
mantel-shelf. You’ll see a sort of drawer, with two little boxes
in it. Be careful. One of them contains all our papers; the other,
bank-notes and jewellery. Put them both in the empty compartment
of the bag. Take the bag in your hand and go as fast as you can,
on foot, to the corner of the Avenue Victor-Hugo and the Avenue de
Montespan. You’ll find the car waiting, with Victoire. I’ll join
you there.... What?... My clothes? My knick-knacks?... Never mind
about all that.... You be off. See you presently.”
Lupin quietly pushed away the telephone. Then, taking Daubrecq by
the arm, he made him sit in a chair by his side and said:
“And now listen to me, Daubrecq.”
“Oho!” grinned the deputy. “Calling each other by our surnames, are
we?”
“Yes,” said Lupin, “I allowed you to.” And, when Daubrecq released
his arm with a certain misgiving, he said, “No, don’t be afraid. We
sha’n’t come to blows. Neither of us has anything to gain by doing
away with the other. A stab with a knife? What’s the good? No, sir!
Words, nothing but words. Words that strike home, though. Here are
mine: they are plain and to the point. Answer me in the same way,
without reflecting: that’s far better. The boy?”
“I have him.”
“Give him back.”
“No.”
“Mme. Mergy will kill herself.”
“No, she won’t.”
“I tell you she will.”
“And I tell you she will not.”
“But she’s tried to, once.”
“That’s just the reason why she won’t try again.”
“Well, then....”
“No.”
Lupin, after a moment, went on:
“I expected that. Also, I thought, on my way here, that you would
hardly tumble to the story of Dr. Vernes and that I should have to
use other methods.”
“Lupin’s methods.”
“As you say. I had made up my mind to throw off the mask. You
pulled it off for me. Well done you! But that doesn’t change my
plans.”
“Speak.”
Lupin took from a pocketbook a double sheet of foolscap paper,
unfolded it and handed it to Daubrecq, saying:
“Here is an exact, detailed inventory, with consecutive numbers,
of the things removed by my friends and myself from your Villa
Marie-Thérèse on the Lac d’Enghien. As you see, there are one
hundred and thirteen items. Of those one hundred and thirteen
items, sixty-eight, which have a red cross against them, have been
sold and sent to America. The remainder, numbering forty-five, are
in my possession . . . until further orders. They happen to be the
pick of the bunch. I offer you them in return for the immediate
surrender of the child.”
Daubrecq could not suppress a movement of surprise:
“Oho!” he said. “You seem very much bent upon it.”
“Infinitely,” said Lupin, “for I am persuaded that a longer
separation from her son will mean death to Mme. Mergy.”
“And that upsets you, does it . . . Lothario?”
“What!”
Lupin planted himself in front of the other and repeated:
“What! What do you mean?”
“Nothing.... Nothing.... Something that crossed my mind....
Clarisse Mergy is a young woman still and a pretty woman at that.”
Lupin shrugged his shoulders:
“You brute!” he mumbled. “You imagine that everybody is like
yourself, heartless and pitiless. It takes your breath away, what,
to think that a shark like me can waste his time playing the Don
Quixote? And you wonder what dirty motive I can have? Don’t try
to find out: it’s beyond your powers of perception. Answer me,
instead: do you accept?”
“So you’re serious?” asked Daubrecq, who seemed but little
disturbed by Lupin’s contemptuous tone.
“Absolutely. The forty-five pieces are in a shed, of which I will
give you the address, and they will be handed over to you, if you
call there, at nine o’clock this evening, with the child.”
There was no doubt about Daubrecq’s reply. To him, the kidnapping
of little Jacques had represented only a means of working upon
Clarisse Mergy’s feelings and perhaps also a warning for her to
cease the contest upon which she had engaged. But the threat of a
suicide must needs show Daubrecq that he was on the wrong track.
That being so, why refuse the favourable bargain which Arsène Lupin
was now offering him?
“I accept,” he said.
“Here’s the address of my shed: 99, Rue Charles-Lafitte, Neuilly.
You have only to ring the bell.”
“And suppose I send Prasville, the secretary-general, instead?”
“If you send Prasville,” Lupin declared, “the place is so arranged
that I shall see him coming and that I shall have time to escape,
after setting fire to the trusses of hay and straw which surround
and conceal your credence-tables, clocks and Gothic virgins.”
“But your shed will be burnt down....”
“I don’t mind that: the police have their eye on it already. I am
leaving it in any case.”
“And how am I to know that this is not a trap?”
“Begin by receiving the goods and don’t give up the child till
afterward. I trust you, you see.”
“Good,” said Daubrecq; “you’ve foreseen everything. Very well, you
shall have the nipper; the fair Clarisse shall live; and we will
all be happy. And now, if I may give you a word of advice, it is to
pack off as fast as you can.”
“Not yet.”
“Eh?”
“I said, not yet.”
“But you’re mad! Prasville’s on his way!”
“He can wait. I’ve not done.”
“Why, what more do you want? Clarisse shall have her brat. Isn’t
that enough for you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There is another son.”
“Gilbert.”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“I want you to save Gilbert.”
“What are you saying? I save Gilbert!”
“You can, if you like; it only means taking a little trouble.”
Until that moment Daubrecq had remained quite calm. He now suddenly
blazed out and, striking the table with his fist:
“No,” he cried, “not that! Never! Don’t reckon on me!... No, that
would be too idiotic!”
He walked up and down, in a state of intense excitement, with that
queer step of his, which swayed him from right to left on each of
his legs, like a wild beast, a heavy, clumsy bear. And, with a
hoarse voice and distorted features, he shouted:
“Let her come here! Let her come and beg for her son’s pardon!
But let her come unarmed, not with criminal intentions, like
last time! Let her come as a supplicant, as a tamed woman, as a
submissive woman, who understands and accepts the situation . . .
Gilbert? Gilbert’s sentence? The scaffold? Why, that is where my
strength lies! What! For more than twenty years have I awaited my
hour; and, when that hour strikes, when fortune brings me this
unhoped-for chance, when I am at last about to know the joy of a
full revenge--and such a revenge!--you think that I will give it
up, give up the thing which I have been pursuing for twenty years?
I save Gilbert? I? For nothing? For love? I, Daubrecq?... No, no,
you can’t have studied my features!”
He laughed, with a fierce and hateful laugh. Visibly, he saw before
him, within reach of his hand, the prey which he had been hunting
down so long. And Lupin also summoned up the vision of Clarisse,
as he had seen her several days before, fainting, already beaten,
fatally conquered, because all the hostile powers were in league
against her.
He contained himself and said:
“Listen to me.”
And, when Daubrecq moved away impatiently, he took him by the two
shoulders, with that superhuman strength which Daubrecq knew, from
having felt it in the box at the Vaudeville, and, holding him
motionless in his grip, he said:
“One last word.”
“You’re wasting your breath,” growled the deputy.
“One last word. Listen, Daubrecq: forget Mme. Mergy, give up all
the nonsensical and imprudent acts which your pride and your
passions are making you commit; put all that on one side and think
only of your interest....”
“My interest,” said Daubrecq, jestingly, “always coincides with my
pride and with what you call my passions.”
“Up to the present, perhaps. But not now, not now that I have taken
a hand in the business. That constitutes a new factor, which you
choose to ignore. You are wrong. Gilbert is my pal. Gilbert is my
chum. Gilbert has to be saved from the scaffold. Use your influence
to that end, and I swear to you, do you hear, I swear that we will
leave you in peace. Gilbert’s safety, that’s all I ask. You will
have no more battles to wage with Mme. Mergy, with me; there will
be no more traps laid for you. You will be the master, free to act
as you please. Gilbert’s safety, Daubrecq! If you refuse....”
“What then?”
“If you refuse, it will be war, relentless war; in other words, a
certain defeat for you.”
“Meaning thereby....”
“Meaning thereby that I shall take the list of the Twenty-seven
from you.”
“Rot! You think so, do you?”
“I swear it.”
“What Prasville and all his men, what Clarisse Mergy, what nobody
has been able to do, you think that you will do!”
“I shall!”
“And why? By favour of what saint will you succeed where everybody
else has failed? There must be a reason?”
“There is.”
“What is it?”
“My name is Arsène Lupin.”
He had let go of Daubrecq, but held him for a time under the
dominion of his authoritative glance and will. At last, Daubrecq
drew himself up, gave him a couple of sharp taps on the shoulder
and, with the same calm, the same intense obstinacy, said:
“And my name’s Daubrecq. My whole life has been one desperate
battle, one long series of catastrophes and routs in which I spent
all my energies until victory came: complete, decisive, crushing,
irrevocable victory. I have against me the police, the government,
France, the world. What difference do you expect it to make to
me if I have M. Arsène Lupin against me into the bargain? I will
go further: the more numerous and skilful my enemies, the more
cautiously I am obliged to play. And that is why, my dear sir,
instead of having you arrested, as I might have done--yes, as I
might have done and very easily--I let you remain at large and beg
charitably to remind you that you must quit in less than three
minutes.”
“Then the answer is no?”
“The answer is no.”
“You won’t do anything for Gilbert?”
“Yes, I shall continue to do what I have been doing since his
arrest--that is to say, to exercise indirect influence with the
minister of justice, so that the trial may be hurried on and end in
the way in which I want to see it end.”
“What!” cried Lupin, beside himself with indignation. “It’s because
of you, it’s for you....”
“Yes, it’s for me, Daubrecq; yes, by Jove! I have a trump card,
the son’s head, and I am playing it. When I have procured a
nice little death-sentence for Gilbert, when the days go by
and Gilbert’s petition for a reprieve is rejected by my good
offices, you shall see, M. Lupin, that his mummy will drop all her
objections to calling herself Mme. Alexis Daubrecq and giving me an
unexceptionable pledge of her good-will. That fortunate issue is
inevitable, whether you like it or not. It is foredoomed. All I can
do for you is to invite you to the wedding and the breakfast. Does
that suit you? No? You persist in your sinister designs? Well, good
luck, lay your traps, spread your nets, rub up your weapons and
grind away at the Complete Foreign-post-paper Burglar’s Handbook.
You’ll need it. And now, good-night. The rules of open-handed and
disinterested hospitality demand that I should turn you out of
doors. Hop it!”
Lupin remained silent for some time. With his eyes fixed on
Daubrecq, he seemed to be taking his adversary’s size, gauging his
weight, estimating his physical strength, discussing, in fine, in
which exact part to attack him. Daubrecq clenched his fists and
worked out his plan of defence to meet the attack when it came.
Half a minute passed. Lupin put his hand to his hip-pocket.
Daubrecq did the same and grasped the handle of his revolver.
A few seconds more. Coolly, Lupin produced a little gold box of the
kind that ladies use for holding sweets, opened it and handed it to
Daubrecq:
“A lozenge?”
“What’s that?” asked the other, in surprise.
“Cough-drops.”
“What for?”
“For the draught you’re going to feel!”
And, taking advantage of the momentary fluster into which Daubrecq
was thrown by his sally, he quickly took his hat and slipped away.
“Of course,” he said, as he crossed the hall, “I am knocked into
fits. But all the same, that bit of commercial-traveller’s waggery
was rather novel, in the circumstances. To expect a pill and
receive a cough-drop is by way of being a sort of disappointment.
It left the old chimpanzee quite flummoxed.”
As he closed the gate, a motor-car drove up and a man sprang out
briskly, followed by several others.
Lupin recognized Prasville:
“Monsieur le secrétaire;-général,” he muttered, “your humble
servant. I have an idea that, some day, fate will bring us face
to face: and I am sorry, for your sake; for you do not inspire me
with any particular esteem and you have a bad time before you, on
that day. Meanwhile, if I were not in such a hurry, I should wait
till you leave and I should follow Daubrecq to find out in whose
charge he has placed the child whom he is going to hand back to me.
But I am in a hurry. Besides, I can’t tell that Daubrecq won’t act
by telephone. So let us not waste ourselves in vain efforts, but
rather join Victoire, Achille and our precious bag.”
Two hours later, Lupin, after taking all his measures, was on the
lookout in his shed at Neuilly and saw Daubrecq turn out of an
adjoining street and walk along with a distrustful air.
Lupin himself opened the double doors:
“Your things are in here, monsieur le député,” he said. “You can go
round and look. There is a job-master’s yard next door: you have
only to ask for a van and a few men. Where is the child?”
Daubrecq first inspected the articles and then took Lupin to the
Avenue de Neuilly, where two closely veiled old ladies stood
waiting with little Jacques.
Lupin carried the child to his car, where Victoire was waiting for
him.
All this was done swiftly, without useless words and as though the
parts had been got by heart and the various movements settled in
advance, like so many stage entrances and exits.
At ten o’clock in the evening Lupin kept his promise and handed
little Jacques to his mother. But the doctor had to be hurriedly
called in, for the child, upset by all those happenings, showed
great signs of excitement and terror. It was more than a fortnight
before he was sufficiently recovered to bear the strain of the
removal which Lupin considered necessary. Mme. Mergy herself was
only just fit to travel when the time came. The journey took place
at night, with every possible precaution and under Lupin’s escort.
He took the mother and son to a little seaside place in Brittany
and entrusted them to Victoire’s care and vigilance.
“At last,” he reflected, when he had seen them settled, “there
is no one between the Daubrecq bird and me. He can do nothing
more to Mme. Mergy and the kid; and she no longer runs the risk
of diverting the struggle through her intervention. By Jingo, we
have made blunders enough! First, I have had to disclose myself to
Daubrecq. Secondly, I have had to surrender my share of the Enghien
movables. True, I shall get those back, sooner or later; of that
there is not the least doubt. But, all the same, we are not getting
on; and, in a week from now, Gilbert and Vaucheray will be up for
trial.”
What Lupin felt most in the whole business was Daubrecq’s
revelation of the whereabouts of the flat. The police had entered
his place in the Rue Chateaubriand. The identity of Lupin and
Michel Beaumont had been recognized and certain papers discovered;
and Lupin, while pursuing his aim, while, at the same time,
managing various enterprises on which he had embarked, while
avoiding the searches of the police, which were becoming more
zealous and persistent than ever, had to set to work and reorganize
his affairs throughout on a fresh basis.
His rage with Daubrecq, therefore, increased in proportion to the
worry which the deputy caused him. He had but one longing, to
pocket him, as he put it, to have him at his bidding by fair means
or foul, to extract his secret from him. He dreamt of tortures
fit to unloose the tongue of the most silent of men. The boot,
the rack, red-hot pincers, nailed planks: no form of suffering,
he thought, was more than the enemy deserved; and the end to be
attained justified every means.
“Oh,” he said to himself, “oh, for a decent bench of inquisitors
and a couple of bold executioners!... What a time we should have!”
Every afternoon the Growler and the Masher watched the road which
Daubrecq took between the Square Lamartine, the Chamber of Deputies
and his club. Their instructions were to choose the most deserted
street and the most favourable moment and, one evening, to hustle
him into a motor-car.
Lupin, on his side, got ready an old building, standing in the
middle of a large garden, not far from Paris, which presented all
the necessary conditions of safety and isolation and which he
called the Monkey’s Cage.
Unfortunately, Daubrecq must have suspected something, for every
time, so to speak, he changed his route, or took the underground or
a tram; and the cage remained unoccupied.
Lupin devised another plan. He sent to Marseilles for one of his
associates, an elderly retired grocer called Brindebois, who
happened to live in Daubrecq’s electoral district and interested
himself in politics. Old Brindebois wrote to Daubrecq from
Marseilles, announcing his visit. Daubrecq gave this important
constituent a hearty welcome, and a dinner was arranged for the
following week.
The elector suggested a little restaurant on the left bank of the
Seine, where the food, he said, was something wonderful. Daubrecq
accepted.
This was what Lupin wanted. The proprietor of the restaurant was
one of his friends. The attempt, which was to take place on the
following Thursday, was this time bound to succeed.
Meanwhile, on the Monday of the same week, the trial of Gilbert and
Vaucheray opened.
* * * * *
The reader will remember--and the case took place too recently for me
to recapitulate its details--the really incomprehensible partiality
which the presiding judge showed in his cross-examination of Gilbert.
The thing was noticed and severely criticised at the time. Lupin
recognized Daubrecq’s hateful influence.
The attitude observed by the two prisoners differed greatly.
Vaucheray was gloomy, silent, hard-faced. He cynically, in curt,
sneering, almost defiant phrases, admitted the crimes of which he
had formerly been guilty. But, with an inconsistency which puzzled
everybody except Lupin, he denied any participation in the murder
of Léonard the valet and violently accused Gilbert. His object, in
thus linking his fate with Gilbert’s, was to force Lupin to take
identical measures for the rescue of both his accomplices.
Gilbert, on the other hand, whose frank countenance and dreamy,
melancholy eyes won every sympathy, was unable to protect himself
against the traps laid for him by the judge or to counteract
Vaucheray’s lies. He burst into tears, talked too much, or else did
not talk when he should have talked. Moreover, his counsel, one
of the Leaders of the bar, was taken ill at the last moment--and
here again Lupin saw the hand of Daubrecq--and he was replaced by
a junior who spoke badly, muddied the whole case, set the jury
against him and failed to wipe out the impression produced by the
speeches of the advocate-general and of Vaucheray’s counsel.
Lupin, who had the inconceivable audacity to be present on the last
day of the trial, the Thursday, had no doubt as to the result. A
verdict of guilty was certain in both cases.
It was certain because all the efforts of the prosecution, thus
supporting Vaucheray’s tactics, had tended to link the two
prisoners closely together. It was certain, also and above all,
because it concerned two of Lupin’s accomplices. From the opening
of the inquiry before the magistrate until the delivery of the
verdict, all the proceedings had been directed against Lupin;
and this in spite of the fact that the prosecution, for want of
sufficient evidence and also in order not to scatter its efforts
over too wide an area, had decided not to include Lupin in the
indictment. He was the adversary aimed at, the leader who must
be punished in the person of his friends, the famous and popular
scoundrel whose fascination in the eyes of the crowd must be
destroyed for good and all. With Gilbert and Vaucheray executed,
Lupin’s halo would fade away and the legend would be exploded.
Lupin.... Lupin.... Arsène Lupin: it was the one name heard
throughout the four days. The advocate-general, the presiding
judge, the jury, the counsel, the witnesses had no other words
on their lips. Every moment, Lupin was mentioned and cursed at,
scoffed at, insulted and held responsible for all the crimes
committed. It was as though Gilbert and Vaucheray figured only as
supernumeraries, while the real criminal undergoing trial was he,
Lupin, Master Lupin, Lupin the burglar, the leader of a gang of
thieves, the forger, the incendiary, the hardened offender, the
ex-convict, Lupin the murderer, Lupin stained with the blood of his
victim, Lupin lurking in the shade, like a coward, after sending
his friends to the foot of the scaffold.
“Oh, the rascals know what they’re about!” he muttered. “It’s my
debt which they are making my poor old Gilbert pay.”
And the terrible tragedy went on.
At seven o’clock in the evening, after a long deliberation, the
jury returned to court and the foreman read out the answers to
the questions put from the bench. The answer was “Yes” to every
count of the indictment, a verdict of guilty without extenuating
circumstances.
The prisoners were brought in. Standing up, but staggering and
white-faced, they received their sentence of death.
And, amid the great, solemn silence, in which the anxiety of the
onlookers was mingled with pity, the assize-president asked:
“Have you anything more to say, Vaucheray?”
“Nothing, monsieur le president. Now that my mate is sentenced as
well as myself, I am easy.... We are both on the same footing....
The governor must find a way to save the two of us.”
“The governor?”
“Yes, Arsène Lupin.”
There was a laugh among the crowd.
The president asked:
“And you, Gilbert?”
Tears streamed down the poor lad’s cheeks and he stammered a few
inarticulate sentences. But, when the judge repeated his question,
he succeeded in mastering himself and replied, in a trembling voice:
“I wish to say, monsieur le president, that I am guilty of many
things, that’s true.... I have done a lot of harm.... But, all the
same, not this. No, I have not committed murder.... I have never
committed murder.... And I don’t want to die.... it would be too
horrible....”
He swayed from side to side, supported by the warders, and he was
heard to cry, like a child calling for help:
“Governor.... save me!... Save me!... I don’t want to die!”
Then, in the crowd, amid the general excitement, a voice rose above
the surrounding clamour:
“Don’t be afraid, little ‘un!... The governor’s here!”
A tumult and hustling followed. The municipal guards and the
policemen rushed into court and laid hold of a big, red-faced man,
who was stated by his neighbours to be the author of that outburst
and who struggled hand and foot.
Questioned without delay, he gave his name, Philippe Bonel, an
undertaker’s man, and declared that some one sitting beside him had
offered him a hundred-franc note if he would consent, at the proper
moment, to shout a few words which his neighbour scribbled on a bit
of paper. How could he refuse?
In proof of his statements, he produced the hundred-franc note and
the scrap of paper.
Philippe Bonel was let go.
Meanwhile, Lupin, who of course had assisted energetically in the
individual’s arrest and handed him over to the guards, left the
law-courts, his heart heavy with anguish. His car was waiting for
him on the quay. He flung himself into it, in despair, seized
with so great a sorrow that he had to make an effort to restrain
his tears. Gilbert’s cry, his voice wrung with affliction, his
distorted features, his tottering frame: all this haunted his
brain; and he felt as if he would never, for a single second,
forget those impressions.
He drove home to the new place which he had selected among his
different residences and which occupied a corner of the Place de
Clichy. He expected to find the Growler and the Masher, with whom
he was to kidnap Daubrecq that evening. But he had hardly opened
the door of his flat, when a cry escaped him: Clarisse stood before
him; Clarisse, who had returned from Brittany at the moment of the
verdict.
[Illustration: “What we have to do is to stop the mischief and
to-night, you understand, to-night the thing will be done.”]
He at once gathered from her attitude and her pallor that she knew.
And, at once, recovering his courage in her presence, without
giving her time to speak, he exclaimed:
“Yes, yes, yes . . . but it doesn’t matter. We foresaw that. We
couldn’t prevent it. What we have to do is to stop the mischief.
And to-night, you understand, to-night, the thing will be done.”
Motionless and tragic in her sorrow, she stammered:
“To-night?”
“Yes. I have prepared everything. In two hours, Daubrecq will be
in my hands. To-night, whatever means I have to employ, he shall
speak.”
“Do you mean that?” she asked, faintly, while a ray of hope began
to light up her face.
“He shall speak. I shall have his secret. I shall tear the list of
the Twenty-seven from him. And that list will set your son free.”
“Too late,” Clarisse murmured.
“Too late? Why? Do you think that, in exchange for such a document,
I shall not obtain Gilbert’s pretended escape?... Why, Gilbert will
be at liberty in three days! In three days....”
He was interrupted by a ring at the bell:
“Listen, here are our friends. Trust me. Remember that I keep my
promises. I gave you back your little Jacques. I shall give you
back Gilbert.”
He went to let the Growler and the Masher in and said:
“Is everything ready? Is old Brindebois at the restaurant? Quick,
let us be off!”
“It’s no use, governor,” replied the Masher.
“No use? What do you mean?”
“There’s news.”
“What news? Speak, man!”
“Daubrecq has disappeared.”
“Eh? What’s that? Daubrecq disappeared?”
“Yes, carried off from his house, in broad daylight.”
“The devil! By whom?”
“Nobody knows . . . four men . . . there were pistols fired.... The
police are on the spot. Prasville is directing the investigations.”
Lupin did not move a limb. He looked at Clarisse Mergy, who lay
huddled in a chair.
He himself had to bow his head. Daubrecq carried off meant one more
chance of success lost....