"I shall have inquiries made about that man's circumstances.... I shall
have his house watched. I've telephoned to the detective office already.
I'm expecting some one in whom I have every confidence."
Don Luis said:
"Monsieur le Préfet, I beg you, with an earnestness which you will
understand, to authorize me to pursue the investigation. Cosmo
Mornington's will makes it my duty and, allow me to say, gives me the
right to do so. M. Fauville's enemies have given proofs of extraordinary
cleverness and daring. I want to have the honour of being at the post of
danger to-night, at M. Fauville's house, near his person."
The Prefect hesitated. He was bound to reflect how greatly to Don Luis
Perenna's interest it was that none of the Mornington heirs should be
discovered, or at least be able to come between him and the millions
of the inheritance. Was it safe to attribute to a noble sentiment of
gratitude, to a lofty conception of friendship and duty, that strange
longing to protect Hippolyte Fauville against the death that
threatened him?
For some seconds M. Desmalions watched that resolute face, those
intelligent eyes, at once innocent and satirical, grave and smiling, eyes
through which you could certainly not penetrate their owner's baffling
individuality, but which nevertheless looked at you with an expression of
absolute frankness and sincerity. Then he called his secretary:
"Has any one come from the detective office?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet; Sergeant Mazeroux is here."
"Please have him shown in."
And, turning to Perenna:
"Sergeant Mazeroux is one of our smartest detectives. I used to employ
him together with that poor Vérot when I wanted any one more than
ordinarily active and sharp. He will be of great use to you."
* * * * *
Sergeant Mazeroux entered. He was a short, lean, wiry man, whose drooping
moustache, heavy eyelids, watery eyes and long, lank hair gave him a most
doleful appearance.
"Mazeroux," said the Prefect, "you will have heard, by this time, of your
comrade Vérot's death and of the horrible circumstances attending it. We
must now avenge him and prevent further crimes. This gentleman, who knows
the case from end to end, will explain all that is necessary. You will
work with him and report to me to-morrow morning."
This meant giving a free hand to Don Luis Perenna and relying on his
power of initiative and his perspicacity. Don Luis bowed:
"I thank you, Monsieur le Préfet. I hope that you will have no reason to
regret the trust which you are good enough to place in me."
And, taking leave of M. Desmalions and Maître Lepertuis, he went out with
Sergeant Mazeroux.
As soon as they were outside, he told Mazeroux what he knew. The
detective seemed much impressed by his companion's professional gifts and
quite ready to be guided by his views.
They decided first to go to the Café du Pont-Neuf. Here they learned that
Inspector Vérot, who was a regular customer of the place, had written a
long letter there that morning. And the waiter remembered that a man at
the next table, who had entered the café at almost the same time as the
inspector, had also asked for writing-paper and called twice for yellow
envelopes.
"That's it," said Mazeroux to Don Luis. "As you suspected, one letter has
been substituted for the other."
The description given by the waiter was pretty explicit: a tall man, with
a slight stoop, wearing a reddish-brown beard cut into a point, a
tortoise-shell eyeglass with a black silk ribbon, and an ebony
walking-stick with a handle shaped like a swan's head.
"That's something for the police to go upon," said Mazeroux.
They were leaving the café when Don Luis stopped his companion.
"One moment."
"What's the matter?"
"We've been followed."
"Followed? What next? And by whom, pray?"
"No one that matters. I know who it is and I may as well settle his
business and have done with it. Wait for me. I shall be back; and I'll
show you some fun. You shall see one of the 'nuts,' I promise you."
He returned in a minute with a tall, thin man with his face set in
whiskers. He introduced him:
"M. Mazeroux, a friend of mine, Señor Caceres, an attaché at the Peruvian
Legation. Señor Caceres took part in the interview at the Prefect's just
now. It was he who, on the Peruvian Minister's instructions, collected
the documents bearing upon my identity." And he added gayly: "So you were
looking for me, dear Señor Caceres. Indeed, I expected, when we left the
police office--"
The Peruvian attaché made a sign and pointed to Sergeant Mazeroux.
Perenna replied:
"Oh, pray don't mind M. Mazeroux! You can speak before him; he is the
soul of discretion. Besides, he knows all about the business."
The attaché was silent. Perenna made him sit down in front of him.
"Speak without beating about the bush, dear Señor Caceres. It's a subject
that calls for plain dealing; and I don't mind a blunt word or two. It
saves such a lot of time! Come on. You want money, I suppose? Or, rather,
more money. How much?"
The Peruvian had a final hesitation, gave a glance at Don Luis's
companion, and then, suddenly making up his mind, said in a dull voice:
"Fifty thousand francs!"
"Oh, by Jove, by Jove!" cried Don Luis. "You're greedy, you know! What do
you say, M. Mazeroux? Fifty thousand francs is a lot of money. Especially
as--Look here, my dear Caceres, let's go over the ground again.
"Three years ago I had the honour of making your acquaintance in Algeria,
when you were touring the country. At the same time, I understood the
sort of man you were; and I asked you if you could manage, in three
years, with my name of Perenna, to fix me up a Spanish-Peruvian identity,
furnished with unquestionable papers and respectable ancestors. You said,
'Yes,' We settled the price: twenty thousand francs. Last week, when the
Prefect of Police asked me for my papers, I came to see you and learned
that you had just been instructed to make inquiries into my antecedents.
"Everything was ready, as it happened. With the papers of a deceased
Peruvian nobleman, of the name of Pereira, properly revised, you had
faked me up a first-rate civic status. We arranged what you were to say
before the Prefect of Police; and I paid up the twenty thousand. We were
quits. What more do you want?"
The Pervian attaché did not betray the least embarrassment. He put his
two elbows on the table and said, very calmly:
"Monsieur, when treating with you, three years ago, I thought I was
dealing with a gentleman who, hiding himself under the uniform of the
Foreign Legion, wished to recover the means to live respectably
afterward. To-day, I have to do with the universal legatee of Cosmo
Mornington, with a man who, to-morrow, under a false name, will receive
the sum of one million francs and, in a few months, perhaps, the sum of a
hundred millions. That's quite a different thing."
The argument seemed to strike Don Luis. Nevertheless, he objected:
"And, if I refuse--?"
"If you refuse, I shall inform the solicitor and the Prefect of Police
that I made an error in my inquiry and that there is some mistake about
Don Luis Perenna. In consequence of which you will receive nothing at all
and very likely find yourself in jail."
"With you, my worthy sir."
"Me?"
"Of course: on a charge of forgery and tampering with registers. For you
don't imagine that I should take it lying down."
The attaché did not reply. His nose, which was a very big one, seemed to
lengthen out still farther between his two long whiskers.
Don Luis began to laugh.
"Come, Señor Caceres, don't pull such a face! No one's going to hurt you.
Only don't think that you can corner me. Better men than you have tried
and have broken their backs in the process. And, upon my word, you don't
cut much of a figure when you're doing your best to diddle your
fellowmen.
"You look a bit of a mug, in fact, Caceres: a bit of a mug is what you
look. So it's understood, what? We lay down our arms. No more base
designs against our excellent friend Perenna. Capital, Señor Caceres,
capital. And now I'll be magnanimous and prove to you that the decent man
of us two is--the one whom any one would have thought!"
He produced a check-book on the Crédit Lyonnais.
"Here, my dear chap. Here's twenty thousand francs as a present from
Cosmo Mornington's legatee. Put it in your pocket and look pleasant. Say
thank you to the kind gentleman, and make yourself scarce without turning
your head any more than if you were one of old man Lot's daughters. Off
you go: hoosh!"
This was said in such a manner that the attaché obeyed Don Luis Perenna's
injunctions to the letter. He smiled as he pocketed the check, said thank
you twice over, and made off without turning his head.
"The low hound!" muttered Don Luis. "What do you say to that, Sergeant?"
Sergeant Mazeroux was looking at him in stupefaction, with his eyes
starting from his head.
"Well, but, Monsieur--"
"What, Sergeant?"
"Well, but, Monsieur, who are you?"
"Who am I?"
"Yes."
"Didn't they tell you? A Peruvian nobleman, or a Spanish nobleman, I
don't know which. In short, Don Luis Perenna."
"Bunkum! I've just heard--"
"Don Luis Perenna, late of the Foreign Legion."
"Enough of that, Monsieur--"
"Medaled and decorated with a stripe on every seam."
"Once more, Monsieur, enough of that; and come along with me to
the Prefect."
"But, let me finish, hang it! I was saying, late private in the Foreign
Legion.... Late hero.... Late prisoner of the Sureté.... Late Russian
prince.... Late chief of the detective service.... Late--"
"But you're mad!" snarled the sergeant. "What's all this story?"
"It's a true story, Sergeant, and quite genuine. You ask me who I am; and
I'm telling you categorically. Must I go farther back? I have still more
titles to offer you: marquis, baron, duke, archduke, grand-duke,
petty-duke, superduke--the whole 'Almanach de Gotha,' by Jingo! If any
one told me that I had been a king, by all that's holy, I shouldn't dare
swear to the contrary!"
Sergeant Mazeroux put out his own hands, accustomed to rough work, seized
the seemingly frail wrists of the man addressing him and said:
"No nonsense, now. I don't know whom I've got hold of, but I shan't let
you go. You can say what you have to say at the Prefect's."
"Don't speak so loud, Alexandre."
The two frail wrists were released with unparalleled ease; the sergeant's
powerful hands were caught and rendered useless; and Don Luis grinned:
"Don't you know me, you idiot?"
Sergeant Mazeroux did not utter a word. His eyes started still farther
from his head. He tried to understand and remained absolutely dumfounded.
The sound of that voice, that way of jesting, that schoolboy playfulness
allied with that audacity, the quizzing expression of those eyes, and
lastly that Christian name of Alexandre, which was not his name at all
and which only one person used to give him, years ago. Was it possible?
"The chief!" he stammered. "The chief!"
"Why not?"
"No, no, because--"
"Because what?"
"Because you're dead."
"Well, what about it? D'you think it interferes with my living,
being dead?"
And, as the other seemed more and more perplexed, he laid his hand on his
shoulder and said:
"Who put you into the police office?"
"The Chief Detective, M. Lenormand."
"And who was M. Lenormand?"
"The chief."
"You mean Arsène Lupin, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, Alexandre, don't you know that it was much more difficult for
Arsène Lupin to be Chief Detective--and a masterly Chief Detective he
was--than to be Don Luis Perenna, to be decorated in the Foreign Legion,
to be a hero, and even to be alive after he was dead?"
Sergeant Mazeroux examined his companion in silence. Then his lacklustre
eyes brightened, his drab features turned scarlet and, suddenly striking
the table with his fist, he growled, in an angry voice:
"All right, very well! But I warn you that you mustn't reckon on me. No,
not that! I'm in the detective service; and in the detective service I
remain. Nothing doing. I've tasted honesty and I mean to eat no other
bread. No, no, no, no! No more humbug!"
Perenna shrugged his shoulders:
"Alexandre, you're an ass. Upon my word, the bread of honesty hasn't
enlarged your intelligence. Who talked of starting again?"
"But--"
"But what?"
"All your maneuvers, Chief."
"My maneuvers! Do you think I have anything to say to this business?"
"Look here, Chief--"
"Why, I'm out of it altogether, my lad! Two hours ago I knew no more
about it than you do. It's Providence that chucked this legacy at me,
without so much as shouting, 'Heads!' And it's in obedience to the
decrees of--"
"Then--?"
"It's my mission in life to avenge Cosmo Mornington, to find his natural
heirs, to protect them and to divide among them the hundred millions
that belong to them. That's all. Don't you call that the mission of an
honest man?"
"Yes, but--"
"Yes, but, if I don't fulfil it as an honest man: is that what you mean?"
"Chief--"
"Well, my lad, if you notice the least thing in my conduct that
dissatisfies you, if you discover a speck of black on Don Luis Perenna's
conscience, examined under the magnifying glass, don't hesitate: collar
me with both hands. I authorize you to do it. I order you to do it. Is
that enough for you?"
"It's not enough for it to be enough for me, Chief."
"What are you talking about?"
"There are the others."
"Explain yourself."
"Suppose you're nabbed?"
"How?"
"You can be betrayed."
"By whom?"
"Your old mates."
"Gone away. I've sent them out of France."
"Where to?"
"That's my secret. I left you at the police office, in case I should
require your services; and you see that I was right."
"But suppose the police discover your real identity?"
"Well?"
"They'll arrest you."
"Impossible!"
"Why?"
"They can't arrest me."
"For what reason?"
"You've said it yourself, fat-head: a first-class, tremendous,
indisputable reason."
"What do you mean?"
"_I'm dead_!"
Mazeroux seemed staggered. The argument struck him fully. He at once
perceived it, with all its common sense and all its absurdity. And
suddenly he burst into a roar of laughter which bent him in two and
convulsed his doleful features in the oddest fashion:
"Oh, Chief, just the same as always!... Lord, how funny!... Will I come
along? I should think I would! As often as you like! You're dead and
buried and put out of sight!... Oh, what a joke, what a joke!"
* * * * *
Hippolyte Fauville, civil engineer, lived on the Boulevard Suchet, near
the fortifications, in a fair-sized private house having on its left a
small garden in which he had built a large room that served as his study.
The garden was thus reduced to a few trees and to a strip of grass along
the railings, which were covered with ivy and contained a gate that
opened on the Boulevard Suchet.
Don Luis Perenna went with Mazeroux to the commissary's office at Passy,
where Mazeroux, on Perenna's instructions, gave his name and asked to
have M. Fauville's house watched during the night by two policemen who
were to arrest any suspicious person trying to obtain admission. The
commissary agreed to the request.
Don Luis and Mazeroux next dined in the neighbourhood. At nine o'clock
they reached the front door of the house.
"Alexandre," said Perenna.
"Yes, Chief?"
"You're not afraid?"
"No, Chief. Why should I be?"
"Why? Because, in defending M. Fauville and his son, we are attacking
people who have a great interest in doing away with them and because
those people seem pretty wide-awake. Your life, my life: a breath, a
trifle. You're not afraid?"
"Chief," replied Mazeroux, "I can't say if I shall ever know what it
means to be afraid. But there's one case in which I certainly shall
never know."
"What case is that, old chap?"
"As long as I'm by your side, Chief."
And firmly he rang the bell.