The fourth mysterious letter! The fourth of those letters "posted by the
devil and delivered by the devil," as one of the newspapers expressed it!
We all of us remember the really extraordinary agitation of the public as
the night of the twenty-fifth of May drew near. And fresh news increased
this interest to a yet higher degree.
People heard in quick succession of the arrest of Sauverand, the flight
of his accomplice, Florence Levasseur, Don Luis Perenna's secretary, and
the inexplicable disappearance of Perenna himself, whom they insisted,
for the best of reasons, on identifying with Arsène Lupin.
The police, assured from this moment of victory and having nearly all the
actors in the tragedy in their power, had gradually given way to
indiscretion; and, thanks to the particulars revealed to this or that
journalist, the public knew of Don Luis's change of attitude, suspected
his passion for Florence Levasseur and the real cause of his
right-about-face, and thrilled with excitement as they saw that
astonishing figure enter upon a fresh struggle.
What was he going to do? If he wanted to save the woman he loved from
prosecution and to release Marie and Sauverand from prison, he would have
to intervene some time that night, to take part, somehow or other, in the
event at hand, and to prove the innocence of the three accomplices,
either by arresting the invisible bearer of the fourth letter or by
suggesting some plausible explanation. In short, he would have to be
there; and that was interesting indeed!
And then the news of Marie Fauville was not good. With unwavering
obstinacy she persisted in her suicidal plans. She had to be artificially
fed; and the doctors in the infirmary at Saint-Lazare did not conceal
their anxiety. Would Don Luis Perenna arrive in time?
Lastly, there was that one other thing, the threat of an explosion which
was to blow up Hippolyte Fauville's house ten days after the delivery of
the fourth letter, a really impressive threat when it was remembered that
the enemy had never announced anything that did not take place at the
stated hour. And, although it was still ten days--at least, so people
thought--from the date fixed for the catastrophe, the threat made the
whole business look more and more sinister.
That evening, therefore, a great crowd made its way, through La Muette
and Auteuil, to the Boulevard Suchet, a crowd coming not only from Paris,
but also from the suburbs and the provinces. The spectacle was exciting,
and people wanted to see.
They saw only from a distance, for the police had barred the approaches
a hundred yards from either side of the house and were driving into the
ditches of the fortifications all those who managed to climb the
opposite slope.
The sky was stormy, with heavy clouds revealed at intervals by the light
of a silver moon. There were lightning-flashes and peals of distant
thunder. Men sang. Street-boys imitated the noises of animals. People
formed themselves into groups on the benches and pavements and ate and
drank while discussing the matter.
A part of the night was spent in this way and nothing happened to reward
the patience of the crowd, who began to wonder, somewhat wearily, if they
would not do better to go home, seeing that Sauverand was in prison and
that there was every chance that the fourth letter would not appear in
the same mysterious way as the others.
And yet they did not go: Don Luis Perenna was due to come!
From ten o'clock in the evening the Prefect of Police and his secretary
general, the chief detective and Weber, his deputy, Sergeant Mazeroux,
and two detectives were gathered in the large room in which Fauville had
been murdered. Fifteen more detectives occupied the remaining rooms,
while some twenty others watched the roofs, the outside of the house, and
the garden.
Once again a thorough search had been made during the afternoon, with no
better results than before. But it was decided that all the men should
keep awake. If the letter was delivered anywhere in the big room, they
wanted to know and they meant to know who brought it. The police do not
recognize miracles.
At twelve o'clock M. Desmalions had coffee served to his subordinates. He
himself took two cups and never ceased walking from one end to the other
of the room, or climbing the staircase that led to the attic, or going
through the passage and hall. Preferring that the watch should be
maintained under the most favourable conditions, he left all the doors
opened and all the electric lights on.
Mazeroux objected:
"It has to be dark for the letter to come. You will remember, Monsieur le
Préfet, that the other experiment was tried before and the letter was not
delivered."
"We will try it again," replied M. Desmalions, who, in spite of
everything, was really afraid of Don Luis's interference, and increased
his measures to make it impossible.
Meanwhile, as the night wore on, the minds of all those present became
impatient. Prepared for the angry struggle as they were, they longed for
the opportunity to show their strength. They made desperate use of their
ears and eyes.
At one o'clock there was an alarm that showed the pitch which the nervous
tension had reached. A shot was fired on the first floor, followed by
shouts. On inquiry, it was found that two detectives, meeting in the
course of a round, had not recognized each other, and one of them had
discharged his revolver in the air to inform his comrades.
In the meantime the crowd outside had diminished, as M. Desmalions
perceived on opening the garden gate. The orders had been relaxed and
sightseers were allowed to come nearer, though they were still kept at a
distance from the pavement.
Mazeroux said:
"It is a good thing that the explosion is due in ten days' time and not
to-night, Monsieur le Préfet; otherwise, all those good people would be
in danger as well as ourselves."
"There will be no explosion in ten days' time, any more than there will
be a letter to-night," said M. Desmalions, shrugging his shoulders. And
he added, "Besides, on that day, the orders will be strict."
It was now ten minutes past two.
At twenty-five minutes past, as the Prefect was lighting a cigar, the
chief detective ventured to joke:
"That's something you will have to do without, next time, Monsieur le
Préfet. It would be too risky."
"Next time," said M. Desmalions, "I shall not waste time in keeping
watch. For I really begin to think that all this business with the
letters is over."
"You can never tell," suggested Mazeroux.
A few minutes more passed. M. Desmalions had sat down. The others also
were seated. No one spoke.
And suddenly they all sprang up, with one movement, and the same
expression of surprise.
A bell had rung.
They at once heard where the sound came from.
"The telephone," M. Desmalions muttered.
He took down the receiver.
"Hullo! Who are you?"
A voice answered, but so distant and so faint that he could only catch an
incoherent noise and exclaimed:
"Speak louder! What is it? Who are you?"
The voice spluttered out a few syllables that seemed to astound him.
"Hullo!" he said. "I don't understand. Please repeat what you said. Who
is it speaking?"
"Don Luis Perenna," was the answer, more distinctly this time.
The Prefect made as though to hang up the receiver; and he growled:
"It's a hoax. Some rotter amusing himself at our expense."
Nevertheless, in spite of himself, he went on in a gruff voice:
"Look here, what is it? You say you're Don Luis Perenna?"
"Yes."
"What do you want?"
"What's the time?"
"What's the time!"
The Prefect made an angry gesture, not so much because of the
ridiculous question as because he had really recognized Don Luis's
voice beyond mistake.
"Well?" he said, controlling himself. "What's all this about?
Where are you?"
"At my house, above the iron curtain, in the ceiling of my study."
"In the ceiling!" repeated the Prefect, not knowing what to think.
"Yes; and more or less done for, I confess."
"We'll send and help you out," said M. Desmalions, who was beginning to
enjoy himself.
"Later on, Monsieur le Préfet. First answer me. Quickly! If not, I don't
know that I shall have the strength. What's the time?"
"Oh, look here!"
"I beg of you--"
"It's twenty minutes to three."
"Twenty minutes to three!"
It was as though Don Luis found renewed strength in a sudden fit of fear.
His weak voice recovered its emphasis, and, by turns imperious,
despairing, and beseeching, full of a conviction which he did his utmost
to impart to M. Desmalions, he said:
"Go away, Monsieur le Préfet! Go, all of you; leave the house. The house
will be blown up at three o'clock. Yes, yes, I swear it will. Ten days
after the fourth letter means now, because there has been a ten days'
delay in the delivery of the letters. It means now, at three o'clock in
the morning. Remember what was written on the sheet which Deputy Chief
Weber handed you this morning: 'The explosion is independent of the
letters. It will take place at three o'clock in the morning.' At three
o'clock in the morning, to-day, Monsieur le Préfet!" The voice faltered
and then continued:
"Go away, please. Let no one remain in the house. You must believe me. I
know everything about the business. And nothing can prevent the threat
from being executed. Go, go, go! This is horrible; I feel that you do not
believe me--and I have no strength left. Go away, every one of you!"
He said a few more words which M. Desmalions could not make out. Then the
voice ceased; and, though the Prefect still heard cries, it seemed to him
that those cries were distant, as though the instrument were no longer
within the reach of the mouth that uttered them.
He hung up the receiver.
"Gentlemen," he said, with a smile, "it is seventeen to three. In
seventeen minutes we shall all be blown up together. At least, that is
what our good friend Don Luis Perenna declares."
In spite of the jokes with which this threat was met, there was a general
feeling of uneasiness. Weber asked:
"Was it really Don Luis, Monsieur le Préfet?"
"Don Luis in person. He has gone to earth in some hiding-hole in his
house, above the study; and his fatigue and privations seem to have
unsettled him a little. Mazeroux, go and ferret him out--unless this is
just some fresh trick on his part. You have your warrant."
Sergeant Mazeroux went up to M. Desmalions. His face was pallid.
"Monsieur le Préfet, did _he_ tell you that we were going to be
blown up?"
"He did. He relies on the note which M. Weber found in a volume of
Shakespeare. The explosion is to take place to-night."
"At three o'clock in the morning?"
"At three o'clock in the morning--that is to say, in less than a quarter
of an hour."
"And do you propose to remain, Monsieur le Préfet?"
"What next, Sergeant? Do you imagine that we are going to obey that
gentleman's fancies?"
Mazeroux staggered, hesitated, and then, despite all his natural
deference, unable to contain himself, exclaimed:
"Monsieur le Préfet, it's not a fancy. I have worked with Don Luis. I
know the man. If he tells you that something is going to happen, it's
because he has his reasons."
"Absurd reasons."
"No, no, Monsieur le Préfet," Mazeroux pleaded, growing more and more
excited. "I swear that you must listen to him. The house will be blown
up--he said so--at three o'clock. We have a few minutes left. Let us go.
I entreat you, Monsieur le Préfet."
"In other words, you want us to run away."
"But it's not running away, Monsieur le Préfet. It's a simple precaution.
After all, we can't risk--You, yourself, Monsieur le Préfet--"
"That will do."
"But, Monsieur le Préfet, as Don Luis said--"
"That will do, I say!" repeated the Prefect harshly. "If you're afraid,
you can take advantage of the order which I gave you and go off after
Don Luis."
Mazeroux clicked his heels together and, old soldier that he was,
saluted:
"I shall stay here, Monsieur le Préfet."
And he turned and went back to his place at a distance.
* * * * *
Silence followed. M. Desmalions began to walk up and down the room, with
his hands behind his back. Then, addressing the chief detective and the
secretary general:
"You are of my opinion, I hope?" he said.
"Why, yes, Monsieur le Préfet."
"Well, of course! To begin with, that supposition is based on nothing
serious. And, besides, we are guarded, aren't we? Bombs don't come
tumbling on one's head like that. It takes some one to throw them. Well,
how are they to come? By what way?"
"Same way as the letters," the secretary general ventured to suggest.
"What's that? Then you admit--?"
The secretary general did not reply and M. Desmalions did not complete
his sentence. He himself, like the others, experienced that same feeling
of uneasiness which gradually, as the seconds sped past, was becoming
almost intolerably painful.
Three o'clock in the morning! ... The words kept on recurring to his
mind. Twice he looked at his watch. There was twelve minutes left. There
was ten minutes. Was the house really going to be blown up, by the mere
effect of an infernal and all-powerful will?
"It's senseless, absolutely senseless!" he cried, stamping his foot.
But, on looking at his companions, he was amazed to see how drawn their
faces were; and he felt his courage sink in a strange way. He was
certainly not afraid; and the others were no more afraid than he. But all
of them, from the chiefs to the simple detectives, were under the
influence of that Don Luis Perenna whom they had seen accomplishing such
extraordinary feats, and who had shown such wonderful ability throughout
this mysterious adventure.
Consciously or unconsciously, whether they wished it or no, they looked
upon him as an exceptional being endowed with special faculties, a
being of whom they could not think without conjuring up the image of
the amazing Arsène Lupin, with his legend of daring, genius, and
superhuman insight.
And Lupin was telling them to fly. Pursued and hunted as he was, he
voluntarily gave himself up to warn them of their danger. And the danger
was immediate. Seven minutes more, six minutes more--and the house would
be blown up.
With great simplicity, Mazeroux went on his knees, made the sign of the
cross, and said his prayers in a low voice. The action was so impressive
that the secretary general and the chief detective made a movement as
though to go toward the Prefect of Police.
M. Desmalions turned away his head and continued his walk up and down the
room. But his anguish increased; and the words which he had heard over
the telephone rang in his ears; and all Perenna's authority, his ardent
entreaties, his frenzied conviction--all this upset him. He had seen
Perenna at work. He felt it borne in upon him that he had no right, in
the present circumstances, to neglect the man's warning.
"Let's go," he said.
The words were spoken in the calmest manner; and it really seemed as if
those who heard them regarded them merely as the sensible conclusion of
a very ordinary state of affairs. They went away without hurry or
disorder, not as fugitives, but as men deliberately obeying the dictates
of prudence.
They stood back at the door to let the Prefect go first.
"No," he said, "go on; I'll follow you."
He was the last out, leaving the electric light full on.
In the hall he asked the chief detective to blow his whistle. When all
the plain-clothesmen had assembled, he sent them out of the house
together with the porter, and shut the door behind him. Then, calling the
detectives who were watching the boulevard, he said:
"Let everybody stand a good distance away; push the crowd as far back
as you can; and be quick about it. We shall enter the house again in
half an hour."
"And you, Monsieur le Préfet?" whispered Mazeroux, "You won't remain
here, I hope?"
"No, that I shan't!" he said, laughing. "If I take our friend Perenna's
advice at all, I may as well take it thoroughly!"
"There is only two minutes left."
"Our friend Perenna spoke of three o'clock, not of two minutes to
three. So--"
He crossed the boulevard, accompanied by his secretary general, the chief
detective, and Mazeroux, and clambered up the slope of the fortifications
opposite the house.
"Perhaps we ought to stoop down," suggested Mazeroux.
"Let's stoop, by all means," said the Prefect, still in a good humour.
"But, honestly, if there's no explosion, I shall send a bullet through my
head. I could not go on living after making myself look so ridiculous."
"There will be an explosion, Monsieur le Préfet," declared Mazeroux.
"What confidence you must have in our friend Don Luis!"
"You have just the same confidence, Monsieur le Préfet."
They were silent, irritated by the wait, and struggling with the absurd
anxiety that oppressed them. They counted the seconds singly, by the
beating of their hearts. It was interminable.
Three o'clock sounded from somewhere.
"You see," grinned M. Desmalions, in an altered voice, "you see! There's
nothing, thank goodness!"
And he growled:
"It's idiotic, perfectly idiotic! How could any one imagine such
nonsense!"
Another clock struck, farther away. Then the hour also rang from the roof
of a neighbouring building.
Before the third stroke had sounded they heard a kind of cracking, and,
the next moment, came the terrible blast, complete, but so brief that
they had only, so to speak, a vision of an immense sheaf of flames and
smoke shooting forth enormous stones and pieces of wall, something like
the grand finale of a fireworks display. And it was all over. The volcano
had erupted.
"Look sharp!" shouted the Prefect of Police, darting forward. "Telephone
for the engines, quick, in case of fire!"
He caught Mazeroux by the arm:
"Run to my motor; you'll see her a hundred yards down the boulevard. Tell
the man to drive you to Don Luis, and, if you find him, release him and
bring him here."
"Under arrest, Monsieur le Préfet?"
"Under arrest? You're mad!"
"But, if the deputy chief--"
"The deputy chief will keep his mouth shut. I'll see to that. Be off!"
Mazeroux fulfilled his mission, not with greater speed than if he had
been sent to arrest Don Luis, for Mazeroux was a conscientious man, but
with extraordinary pleasure. The fight which he had been obliged to wage
against the man whom he still called "the chief" had often distressed him
to the point of tears. This time he was coming to help him, perhaps to
save his life.
That afternoon the deputy chief had ceased his search of the house, by M.
Desmalions's orders, as Don Luis's escape seemed certain, and left only
three men on duty. Mazeroux found them in a room on the ground floor,
where they were sitting up in turns. In reply to his questions, they
declared that they had not heard a sound.
He went upstairs alone, so as to have no witnesses to his interview with
the governor, passed through the drawing-room and entered the study.
Here he was overcome with anxiety, for, after turning on the light, the
first glance revealed nothing to his eyes.
"Chief!" he cried, repeatedly. "Where are you, Chief?"
No answer.
"And yet," thought Mazeroux, "as he telephoned, he can't be far away."
In fact, he saw from where he stood that the receiver was hanging from
its cord; and, going on to the telephone box, he stumbled over bits of
brick and plaster that strewed the carpet. He then switched on the
light in the box as well and saw a hand and arm hanging from the
ceiling above him. The ceiling was broken up all around that arm. But
the shoulder had not been able to pass through; and Mazeroux could not
see the captive's head.
He sprang on to a chair and reached the hand. He felt it and was
reassured by the warmth of its touch.
"Is that you, Mazeroux?" asked a voice that seemed to the sergeant to
come from very far away.
"Yes, it's I. You're not wounded, are you? Nothing serious?"
"No, only stunned--and a bit faint--from hunger.... Listen to me."
"I'm listening."
"Open the second drawer on the left in my writing-desk.... You'll find--"
"Yes, Chief?"
"An old stick of chocolate."
"But--"
"Do as I tell you, Alexandre; I'm famished."
Indeed, Don Luis recovered after a moment or two and said, in a
gayer voice:
"That's better. I can wait now. Go to the kitchen and fetch me some bread
and some water."
"I'll be back at once, Chief."
"Not this way. Come back by Florence Levasseur's room and the secret
passage to the ladder which leads to the trapdoor at the top."
And he told him how to make the stone swing out and how to enter the
hollow in which he had expected to meet with such a tragic end.
The thing was done in ten minutes. Mazeroux cleared the opening, caught
hold of Don Luis by the legs and pulled him out of his hole.
"Oh, dear, oh dear!" he moaned, in a voice full of pity. "What a
position, Chief! How did you manage it all? Yes, I see: you must have dug
down, where you lay, and gone on digging--for more than a yard! And it
took some pluck, I expect, on an empty stomach!"
When Don Luis was seated in his bedroom and had swallowed a few bits of
bread and drunk what he wanted, he told his story:
"Yes, it took the devil's own pluck, old man. By Jingo! when a chap's
ideas are whirling in his head and he can't use his brain, upon my word,
all he asks is to die? And then there was no air, you see. I couldn't
breathe. I went on digging, however, as you saw, went on digging while I
was half asleep, in a sort of nightmare. Just look: my fingers are in a
jelly. But there, I was thinking of that confounded business of the
explosion and I wanted to warn you at all costs, and I dug away at my
tunnel. What a job! And then, oof! I felt space at last!
"I got my hand through and next my arm. Where was I? Why, over the
telephone, of course! I knew that at once by feeling the wall and finding
the wires. Then it took me quite half an hour to get hold of the
instrument. I couldn't reach it with my arm.
"I managed at last with a piece of string and a slip-knot to fish up the
receiver and hold it near my mouth, or, say, at ten inches from my mouth.
And then I shouted and roared to make my voice carry; and, all the time,
I was in pain. And then, at last, my string broke.... And then--and
then--I hadn't an ounce of strength left in my body. Besides, you fellows
had been warned; and it was for you to get yourselves out of the mess."
He looked at Mazeroux and asked him, as though certain of the reply:
"The explosion took place, didn't it?"
"Yes, Chief."
"At three o'clock exactly?"
"Yes."
"And of course M. Desmalions had the house cleared?"
"Yes."
"At the last minute?"
"At the last minute."
Don Luis laughed and said:
"I knew he would wait about and not give way until the crucial moment.
You must have had a bad time of it, my poor Mazeroux, for of course you
agreed with me from the start."
He kept on eating while he talked; and each mouthful seemed to bring back
a little of his usual animation.
"Funny thing, hunger!" he said. "Makes you feel so light-headed. I must
practise getting used to it, however."
"At any rate, Chief, no one would believe that you have been fasting for
nearly forty-eight hours."
"Ah, that comes of having a sound constitution, with something to fall
back upon! I shall be a different man in half an hour. Just give me time
to shave and have a bath."
When he had finished dressing, he sat down to the breakfast of eggs
and cold meat which Mazeroux had prepared for him; and then,
getting up, said:
"Now, let's be off."
"But there's no hurry, Chief. Why don't you lie down for a few hours? The
Prefect can wait."
"You're mad! What about Marie Fauville?"
"Marie Fauville?"
"Why, of course! Do you think I'm going to leave her in prison, or
Sauverand, either? There's not a second to lose, old chap."
Mazeroux thought to himself that the chief had not quite recovered his
wits yet. What? Release Marie Fauville and Sauverand, one, two, three,
just like that! No, no, it was going a bit too far.
However, he took down to the Prefect's car a new Perenna, merry, brisk,
and as fresh as though he had just got out of bed.
"Very flattering to my pride," said Don Luis to Mazeroux, "most
flattering, that hesitation of the Prefect's, after I had warned him over
the telephone, followed by his submission at the decisive moment. What a
hold I must have on all those jokers, to make them sit up at a sign from
little me! 'Beware, gentlemen!' I telephone to them from the bottomless
pit. 'Beware! At three o'clock, a bomb!' 'Nonsense!' say they. 'Not a bit
of it!' say I. 'How do you know?' 'Because I do.' 'But what proof have
you?' 'What proof? That I say so.' 'Oh, well, of course, if you say so!'
And, at five minutes to three, out they march. Ah, if I wasn't built up
of modesty--"
They came to the Boulevard Suchet, where the crowd was so dense that they
had to alight from the car. Mazeroux passed through the cordon of police
protecting the approaches to the house and took Don Luis to the slope
across the road.
"Wait for me here, Chief. I'll tell the Prefect of Police."
On the other side of the boulevard, under the pale morning sky in which a
few black clouds still lingered, Don Luis saw the havoc wrought by the
explosion. It was apparently not so great as he had expected. Some of the
ceilings had fallen in and their rubbish showed through the yawning
cavities of the windows; but the house remained standing. Even Fauville's
built-out annex had not suffered overmuch, and, strange to say, the
electric light, which the Prefect had left burning on his departure, had
not gone out. The garden and the road were covered with stacks of
furniture, over which a number of soldiers and police kept watch.
"Come with me, Chief," said Mazeroux, as he fetched Don Luis and led him
toward the engineer's workroom.
A part of the floor was demolished. The outer walls on the left, near the
passage, were cracked; and two workmen were fixing up beams, brought from
the nearest timber yard, to support the ceiling. But, on the whole, the
explosion had not had the results which the man who prepared it must have
anticipated.
M. Desmalions was there, together with all the men who had spent the
night in the room and several important persons from the public
prosecutor's office. Weber, the deputy chief detective, alone had gone,
refusing to meet his enemy.
Don Luis's arrival caused great excitement. The Prefect at once came up
to him and said:
"All our thanks, Monsieur. Your insight is above praise. You have
saved our lives; and these gentlemen and I wish to tell you so most
emphatically. In my case, it is the second time that I have to
thank you."
"There is a very simple way of thanking me, Monsieur le Préfet," said Don
Luis, "and that is to allow me to carry out my task to the end."
"Your task?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet. My action of last night is only the beginning.
The conclusion is the release of Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand."