"I will first ask you, Reverend Mother, if you know this young lady?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Préfet. Florence was with us for six months as a nurse,
a few years ago. She gave such satisfaction that I was glad to take her
back this day fortnight. As I had read her story in the papers, I simply
asked her to change her name. We had a new staff at the hospital, and it
was therefore a safe refuge for her."
"But, as you have read the papers, you must be aware of the accusations
against her?"
"Those accusations have no weight, Monsieur le Préfet, with any one who
knows Florence. She has one of the noblest characters and one of the
strictest consciences that I have ever met with."
The Prefect continued:
"Let us speak of the documents, Reverend Mother. Where do they
come from?"
"Yesterday, Monsieur le Préfet, I found in my room a communication in
which the writer proposed to send me some papers that interested Florence
Levasseur--"
"How did any one know that she was here?" asked M. Desmalions,
interrupting her.
"I can't tell you. The letter simply said that the papers would be at
Versailles, at the _poste restante_, in my name, on a certain day--that
is to say, this morning. I was also asked not to mention them to anybody
and to hand them at three o'clock this afternoon to Florence Levasseur,
with instructions to take them to the Prefect of Police at once. I was
also requested to have a letter conveyed to Sergeant Mazeroux."
"To Sergeant Mazeroux! That's odd."
"That letter appeared to have to do with the same business. Now, I am
very fond of Florence. So I sent the letter, and this morning went to
Versailles and found the papers there, as stated. When I got back,
Florence was out. I was not able to hand them to her until her return, at
about four o'clock."
"Where were the papers posted?"
"In Paris. The postmark on the envelope was that of the Avenue Niel,
which happens to be the nearest office to this."
"And did not the fact of finding that letter in your room strike you
as strange?"
"Certainly, Monsieur le Préfet, but no stranger than all the other
incidents in the matter."
"Nevertheless," continued M. Desmalions, who was watching Florence's pale
face, "nevertheless, when you saw that the instructions which you
received came from this house and that they concerned a person living in
this house, did you not entertain the idea that that person--"
"The idea that Florence had entered the room, unknown to me, for such a
purpose?" cried the superior. "Oh, Monsieur le Préfet, Florence is
incapable of doing such a thing!"
The girl was silent, but her drawn features betrayed the feelings of
alarm that upset her.
Don Luis went up to her and said:
"The mystery is clearing, Florence, isn't it? And you are suffering in
consequence. Who put the letter in Mother Superior's room? You know,
don't you? And you know who is conducting all this plot?"
She did not answer. Then, turning to the deputy chief, the Prefect said:
"Weber, please go and search the room which Mlle. Levasseur occupied."
And, in reply to the nun's protest:
"It is indispensable," he declared, "that we should know the reasons why
Mlle. Levasseur preserves such an obstinate silence."
Florence herself led the way. But, as Weber was leaving the room, Don
Luis exclaimed:
"Take care, Deputy Chief!"
"Take care? Why?"
"I don't know," said Don Luis, who really could not have said why
Florence's behaviour was making him uneasy. "I don't know. Still, I
warn you--"
Weber shrugged his shoulders and, accompanied by the superior, moved
away. In the hall he took two men with him. Florence walked ahead. She
went up a flight of stairs and turned down a long corridor, with rooms on
either side of it, which, after turning a corner, led to a short and very
narrow passage ending in a door.
This was her room. The door opened not inward, into the room, but
outward, into the passage. Florence therefore drew it to her, stepping
back as she did so, which obliged Weber to do likewise. She took
advantage of this to rush in and close the door behind her so quickly
that the deputy chief, when he tried to grasp the handle, merely
struck the air.
He made an angry gesture:
"The baggage! She means to burn some papers!"
And, turning to the superior:
"Is there another exit to the room?"
"No, Monsieur."
He tried to open the door, but she had locked and bolted it. Then he
stood aside to make way for one of his men, a giant, who, with one blow
of his fist, smashed a panel.
Weber pushed by him, put his arm through the opening, drew the bolt,
turned the key, pulled open the door and entered.
Florence was no longer in her room. A little open window opposite showed
the way she had taken.
"Oh, curse my luck!" he shouted. "She's cut off!"
And, hurrying back to the staircase, he roared over the balusters:
"Watch all the doors! She's got away! Collar her!"
M. Desmalions came hurrying up. Meeting the deputy, he received his
explanations and then went on to Florence's room. The open window looked
out on a small inner yard, a sort of well which served to ventilate a
part of the house. Some rain-pipes ran down the wall. Florence must have
let herself down by them. But what coolness and what an indomitable will
she must have displayed to make her escape in this manner!
The detectives had already distributed themselves on every side to bar
the fugitive's road. It soon became manifest that Florence, for whom they
were hunting on the ground floor and in the basement, had gone from the
yard into the room underneath her own, which happened to be the mother
superior's; that she had put on a nun's habit; and that, thus disguised,
she had passed unnoticed through the very men who were pursuing her.
They rushed outside. But it was now dark; and every search was bound to
be vain in so populous a quarter.
The Prefect of Police made no effort to conceal his displeasure. Don Luis
was also greatly disappointed at this flight, which thwarted his plans,
and enlarged openly upon Weber's lack of skill.
"I told you so, Deputy Chief! You should have taken your precautions.
Mlle. Levasseur's attitude ought to have warned you. She evidently knows
the criminal and wanted to go to him, ask him for explanations and, for
all we can tell, save him, if he managed to convince her. And what will
happen between them? When the villain sees that he is discovered, he will
be capable of anything."
M. Desmalions again questioned the mother superior and soon learned that
Florence, before taking refuge in the nursing-home, had spent forty-eight
hours in some furnished apartments on the Ile Saint-Louis.
The clue was not worth much, but they could not neglect it. The Prefect
of Police, who retained all his doubts with regard to Florence and
attached extreme importance to the girl's capture, ordered Weber and his
men to follow up this trail without delay. Don Luis accompanied the
deputy chief.
Events at once showed that the Prefect of Police was right. Florence had
taken refuge in the lodging-house on the Ile Saint-Louis, where she had
engaged a room under an assumed name. But she had no sooner arrived than
a small boy called at the house, asked for her, and went away with her.
They went up to her room and found a parcel done up in a newspaper,
containing a nun's habit. The thing was obvious.
Later, in the course of the evening, Weber succeeded in discovering the
small boy. He was the son of the porter of one of the houses in the
neighbourhood. Where could he have taken Florence? When questioned, he
definitely refused to betray the lady who had trusted him and who had
cried when she kissed him. His mother entreated him. His father boxed his
ears. He was inflexible.
In any case, it was not unreasonable to conclude that Florence had not
left the Ile Saint-Louis or its immediate vicinity. The detectives
persisted in their search all the evening. Weber established his
headquarters in a tap room where every scrap of information was
brought to him and where his men returned from time to time to receive
his orders. He also remained in constant communication with the
Prefect's office.
At half-past ten a squad of detectives, sent by the Prefect, placed
themselves at the deputy chief's disposal. Mazeroux, newly arrived from
Rouen and furious with Florence, joined them.
The search continued. Don Luis had gradually assumed its management; and
it was he who, so to speak, inspired Weber to ring at this or that door
and to question this or that person.
At eleven o'clock the hunt still remained fruitless; and Don Luis was the
victim of an increasing and irritating restlessness. But, shortly after
midnight, a shrill whistle drew all the men to the eastern extremity of
the island, at the end of the Quai d'Anjou.
Two detectives stood waiting for them, surrounded by a small crowd of
onlookers. They had just learned that, some distance farther away, on the
Quai Henri IV, which does not form part of the island, a motor car had
pulled up outside a house, that there was the noise of a dispute, and
that the cab had subsequently driven off in the direction of Vincennes.
They hastened to the Quai Henri IV and at once found the house. There was
a door on the ground floor opening straight on the pavement. The taxi had
stopped for a few minutes in front of this door. Two persons, a woman and
a man leading her along, had left the ground floor flat. When the door of
the taxi was shut, a man's voice had shouted from the inside:
"Drive down the Boulevard Saint-Germain and along the quays. Then take
the Versailles Road."
But the porter's wife was able to furnish more precise particulars.
Puzzled by the tenant of the ground floor, whom she had only seen once,
in the evening, who paid his rent by checks signed in the name of Charles
and who but very seldom came to his apartment, she had taken advantage of
the fact that her lodge was next to the flat to listen to the sound of
voices. The man and the woman were arguing. At one moment the man cried,
in a louder tone:
"Come with me, Florence. I insist upon it; and I will give you every
proof of my innocence to-morrow morning. And, if you nevertheless
refuse to become my wife, I shall leave the country. All my
preparations are made."
A little later he began to laugh and, again raising his voice, said:
"Afraid of what, Florence? That I shall kill you perhaps? No, no, have
no fear--"
The portress had heard nothing more. But was this not enough to justify
every alarm?
Don Luis caught hold of the deputy chief:
"Come along! I knew it: the man is capable of anything. It's the tiger!
He means to kill her!"
He rushed outside, dragging the deputy toward the two police
motors waiting five hundred yards down. Meanwhile, Mazeroux was
trying to protest:
"It would be better to search the house, to pick up some clues--"
"Oh," shouted Don Luis, increasing his pace, "the house and the clues
will keep! ... But he's gaining ground, the ruffian--and he has Florence
with him--and he's going to kill her! It's a trap! ... I'm sure of it--"
He was shouting in the dark, dragging the two men along with
irresistible force.
They neared the motors.
"Get ready!" he ordered as soon as he was in sight. "I'll drive myself."
He tried to get into the driver's seat. But Weber objected and pushed him
inside, saying:
"Don't trouble--the chauffeur knows his business. He'll drive faster than
you would."
Don Luis, the deputy chief, and two detectives crowded into the cab;
Mazeroux took his seat beside the chauffeur.
"Versailles Road!" roared Don Luis.
The car started; and he continued:
"We've got him! You see, it's a magnificent opportunity. He must be going
pretty fast, but without forcing the pace, because he doesn't think we're
after him. Oh, the villain, we'll make him sit up! Quicker, driver! But
what the devil are we loaded up like this for? You and I, Deputy Chief,
would have been enough. Hi, Mazeroux, get down and jump into the other
car! That'll be better, won't it, Deputy? It's absurd--"
He interrupted himself; and, as he was sitting on the back seat, between
the deputy chief and a detective, he rose toward the window and muttered:
"Why, look here, what's the idiot doing? That's not the road! I say, what
does this mean?"
A roar of laughter was the only answer. It came from Weber, who was
shaking with delight. Don Luis stifled an oath and, making a tremendous
effort, tried to leap from the car. Six hands fell upon him and held him
motionless. The deputy chief had him by the throat. The detectives
clutched his arms. There was no room for him to struggle within the
restricted space of the small car; and he felt the cold iron of a
revolver on his temple.
"None of your nonsense," growled Weber, "or I'll blow out your brains, my
boy! Aha! you didn't expect this! It's Weber's revenge, eh?"
And, when Perenna continued to wriggle, he went on, in a
threatening tone:
"You'll have only yourself to blame, mind!... I'm going to count three:
one, two--"
"But what's it all about?" bellowed Don Luis.
"Prefect's orders, received just now."
"What orders?"
"To take you to the lockup if the Florence girl escaped us again."
"Have you a warrant?"
"I have."
"And what next?"
"What next? Nothing: the Sante--the examining magistrate--"
"But, hang it all, the tiger's making tracks meanwhile! Oh, rot! Is it
possible to be so dense? What mugs those fellows are! Oh, dash it!"
He was fuming with rage, and when he saw that they were driving into
the prison yard, he gathered all his strength, knocked the revolver
out of the deputy's hand, and stunned one of the detectives with a
blow of his fist.
But ten men came crowding round the doors. Resistance was useless. He
understood this, and his rage increased.
"The idiots!" he shouted, while they surrounded him and searched him at
the door of the office. "The rotters! The bunglers! To go mucking up a
job like that! They can lay hands on the villain if they want to, and
they lock up the honest man--while the villain makes himself scarce! And
he'll do more murder yet! Florence! Florence ..."
Under the lamp light, in the midst of the detectives holding him, he was
magnificent in his helpless violence.
They dragged him away. With an unparalleled display of strength, he drew
himself up, shook off the men who were hanging on to him like a pack of
hounds worrying some animal at bay, got rid of Weber, and accosted
Mazeroux in familiar tones. He was gloriously masterful, almost calm, so
wholly did he appear to control his seething rage. He gave his orders in
breathless little sentences, curt as words of command.
"Mazeroux, run around to the Prefect's. Ask him to ring up Valenglay:
yes, the Prime Minister. I want to see him. Have him informed. Ask the
Prefect to say it's I: the man who made the German Emperor play his game.
My name? He knows. Or, if he forgets, the Prefect can tell him my name."
He paused for a second or two; and then, calmer still, he declared:
"Arsène Lupin! Telephone those two words to him and just say this:
'Arsène Lupin wishes to speak to the Prime Minister on very important
business.' Get that through to him at once. The Prime Minister would be
very angry if he heard afterward that they had neglected to communicate
my request. Go, Mazeroux, and then find the villain's tracks again."
The governor of the prison had opened the jail book.
"You can enter my name, Monsieur le Directeur," said Don Luis. "Put down
'Arsène Lupin.'"
The governor smiled and said:
"I should find a difficulty in putting down any other. It's on the
warrant: 'Arsène Lupin, alias Don Luis Perenna.'"
Don Luis felt a little shudder pass through him at the sound of those
words. The fact that he was arrested under the name of Arsène Lupin made
his position doubly dangerous.
"Ah," he said, "so they've resolved--"
"I should think so!" said Weber, in a tone of triumph. "We've resolved to
take the bull by the horns and to go straight for Lupin. Plucky of us,
eh? Never fear, we'll show you something better than that!"
Don Luis did not flinch. Turning to Mazeroux again, he said:
"Don't forget my instructions, Mazeroux."
But there was a fresh blow in store for him. The sergeant did not answer
his remark. Don Luis watched him closely and once more gave a start. He
had just perceived that Mazeroux also was surrounded by men who were
holding him tight. And the poor sergeant stood silently shedding tears.
Weber's liveliness increased.
"You'll have to excuse him, Lupin. Sergeant Mazeroux accompanies you to
prison, though not in the same cell."
"Ah!" said Don Luis, drawing himself up. "Is Mazeroux put into jail?"
"Prefect's orders, warrant duly executed."
"And on what charge?"
"Accomplice of Arsène Lupin."
"Mazeroux my accomplice? Get out! Mazeroux? The most honest man that
ever lived!"
"The most honest man that ever lived, as you say. That didn't prevent
people from going to him when they wanted to write to you or prevent him
from bringing you the letters. Which proves that he knew where you were
hanging out. And there's a good deal more which we'll explain to you,
Lupin, in good time. You'll have plenty of fun, I assure you."
Don Luis murmured:
"My poor Mazeroux!"
Then, raising his voice, he said:
"Don't cry, old chap. It's just a matter of the remainder of the night.
Yes, I'll share my cards with you and we'll turn the king and mark game
in a very few hours. Don't cry. I've got a much finer berth waiting for
you, a more honourable and above all a more lucrative position. I have
just what you want.
"You don't imagine, surely, that I wasn't prepared for this! Why, you
know me! Take it from me: I shall be at liberty to-morrow, and the
government, after setting you free, will pitch you into a colonelcy or
something, with a marshal's pay attached to it. So don't cry, Mazeroux."
Then, addressing Weber, he said to him in the voice of a principal giving
an order, and knowing that the order will be executed without discussion:
"Monsieur, I will ask you to fulfil the confidential mission which I was
entrusting to Mazeroux. First, inform the Prefect of Police that I have a
communication of the very highest importance to make to the Prime
Minister. Next, discover the tiger's tracks at Versailles before the
night is over. I know your merit, Monsieur, and I rely entirely upon your
diligence and your zeal. Meet me at twelve o'clock to-morrow."
And, still maintaining his attitude of a principal who has given his
instructions, he allowed himself to be taken to his cell.
It was ten to one. For the last fifty minutes the enemy had been bowling
along the highroad, carrying off Florence like a prey which it now seemed
impossible to snatch from him.
The door was locked and bolted.
Don Luis reflected:
"Even presuming that Monsieur le Prefect consents to ring up Valenglay,
he won't do so before the morning. So they've given the villain eight
hours' start before I'm free. Eight hours! Curse it!"
He thought a little longer, then shrugged his shoulders with the air of
one who, for the moment, has nothing better to do than wait, and flung
himself on his mattress, murmuring:
"Hushaby, Lupin!"