M. LENORMAND OPENS HIS CAMPAIGN
"Auguste, show M. Lenormand in."
The messenger went out and, a few seconds later, announced the chief of
the detective-service.
There were three men in the prime minister's private room on the Place
Beauvau: the famous Valenglay, leader of the radical party for the past
thirty years and now president of the council and minister of the
interior; the attorney-general, M. Testard; and the prefect of police,
Delaume.
The prefect of police and the attorney-general did not rise from the
chairs which they had occupied during their long conversation with the
prime minister. Valenglay, however, stood up and, pressing the chief
detective's hand, said, in the most cordial tones:
"I have no doubt, my dear Lenormand, that you know the reason why I
asked you to come."
"The Kesselbach case?"
"Yes."
* * * * *
The Kesselbach case! Not one of us but is able to recall not only the
main details of this tragic affair, the tangled skein of which I have
set myself to unravel, but even its very smallest incidents, so greatly
did the tragedy excite us all during these recent years. Nor is there
one of us but remembers the extraordinary stir which it created both in
and outside France. And yet there was one thing that upset the public
even more than the three murders committed in such mysterious
circumstances, more than the detestable atrocity of that butchery, more
than anything else; and that was the reappearance--one might almost say
the resurrection--of Arsène Lupin.
Arsène Lupin! No one had heard speak of him for over four years, since
his incredible, his astounding adventure of the Hollow Needle,[2] since
the day when he had slunk away into the darkness before the eyes of
Holmlock Shears and Isidore Beautrelet, carrying on his back the dead
body of the woman whom he loved, and followed by his old servant,
Victoire.
[Footnote 2: See _The Hollow Needle_. By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by
Alexander Teixeira de Mattos and published by Doubleday, Page & Co.]
From that day onward he had been generally believed to be dead. This was
the version put about by the police, who, finding no trace of their
adversary, were content purely and simply to bury him.
Some, however, believing him to be saved, described him as leading a
placid, Philistine existence. According to them, he was living with his
wife and children, growing his small potatoes; whereas others maintained
that, bent down with the weight of sorrow and weary of the vanities of
this world, he had sought the seclusion of a Trappist monastery.
And here he was once more looming large in the public view and resuming
his relentless struggle against society! Arsène Lupin was Arsène Lupin
again, the fanciful, intangible, disconcerting, audacious, genial Arsène
Lupin! But, this time, a cry of horror arose. Arsène Lupin had taken
human life! And the fierceness, the cruelty, the ruthless cynicism of
the crime were so great that, then and there, the legend of the popular
hero, of the chivalrous and occasionally sentimental adventurer, made
way for a new conception of an inhuman, bloodthirsty, and ferocious
monster. The crowd now loathed and feared its former idol with more
intensity than it had once shown in admiring him for his easy grace and
his diverting good-humor.
And, forthwith, the indignation of that frightened crowd turned against
the police. Formerly, people had laughed. They forgave the beaten
commissary of police for the comical fashion in which he allowed himself
to be beaten. But the joke had lasted too long; and, in a burst of
revolt and fury, they now called the authorities to account for the
unspeakable crimes which these were powerless to prevent.
In the press, at public meetings, in the streets and even in the tribune
of the Chamber of Deputies there was such an explosion of wrath that the
government grew alarmed and strove by every possible means to allay the
public excitement.
It so happened that Valenglay, the premier, took a great interest in all
these police questions and had often amused himself by going closely
into different cases with the chief of the detective-service, whose good
qualities and independent character he valued highly. He sent for the
prefect and the attorney-general to see him in his room, talked to them
and then sent for M. Lenormand.
* * * * *
"Yes, my dear Lenormand, it's about the Kesselbach case. But, before we
discuss it, I must call your attention to a point which more
particularly affects and, I may say, annoys Monsieur le Préfet de
Police. M. Delaume, will you explain to M. Lenormand . . . ?
"Oh, M. Lenormand knows quite well how the matter stands," said the
prefect, in a tone which showed but little good-will toward his
subordinate. "We have talked it over already and I have told him what I
thought of his improper conduct at the Palace Hotel. People are
generally indignant."
M. Lenormand rose, took a paper from his pocket and laid it on the
table.
"What is this?" asked Valenglay.
"My resignation, Monsieur le Président du Conseil."
Valenglay gave a jump:
"What! Your resignation! For a well-meaning remark which Monsieur le
Préfet thinks fit to address to you and to which, for that matter, he
attaches no importance whatever--do you, Delaume? No importance
whatever--and there you go, taking offence! You must confess, my dear
Lenormand, that you're devilish touchy! Come, put that bit of paper back
in your pocket and let's talk seriously."
The chief detective sat down again, and Valenglay, silencing the
prefect, who made no attempt to conceal his dissatisfaction, said:
"In two words, Lenormand, the thing is that Lupin's reappearance upon
the scene annoys us. The brute has defied us long enough. It used to be
funny, I confess, and I, for my part, was the first to laugh at it. But
it's no longer a question of that. It's a question of murder now. We
could stand Lupin, as long as he amused the gallery. But, when he takes
to killing people, no!"
"Then what is it that you ask, Monsieur le Président?"
"What we ask? Oh, it's quite simple! First, his arrest and then his
head!"
"I can promise you his arrest, some day or another, but not his head."
"What! If he's arrested, it means trial for murder, a verdict of guilty,
and the scaffold."
"No!"
"And why not?"
"Because Lupin has not committed murder."
"Eh? Why, you're mad, Lenormand! The corpses at the Palace Hotel are so
many inventions, I suppose! And the three murders were never committed!"
"Yes, but not by Lupin."
The chief spoke these words very steadily, with impressive calmness and
conviction. The attorney and the prefect protested.
"I presume, Lenormand," said Valenglay, "that you do not put forward
that theory without serious reasons?"
"It is not a theory."
"What proof have you?"
"There are two, to begin with, two proofs of a moral nature, which I at
once placed before Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction and which the
newspapers have laid stress upon. First and foremost, Lupin does not
kill people. Next, why should he have killed anybody, seeing that the
object which he set out to achieve, the theft, was accomplished and that
he had nothing to fear from an adversary who was gagged and bound?"
"Very well. But the facts?"
"Facts are worth nothing against reason and logic; and, moreover, the
facts also are on my side. What would be the meaning of Lupin's presence
in the room in which the cigarette-case was discovered? On the other
hand, the black clothes which were found and which evidently belonged to
the murderer are not in the least of a size to fit Lupin."
"You know him, then, do you?"
"I? No. But Edwards saw him, Gourel saw him; and the man whom they saw
is not the man whom the chambermaid saw, on the servants' staircase,
dragging Chapman by the hand."
"Then your idea . . ."
"You mean to say, the truth, M. le Président. Here it is, or, at least,
here is the truth as far as I know it. On Tuesday, the 16th of April, a
man---Lupin--broke into Mr. Kesselbach's room at about two o'clock in
the afternoon. . . ."
M. Lenormand was interrupted by a burst of laughter. It came from the
prefect of police.
"Let me tell you, M. Lenormand, that you are in rather too great a hurry
to state your precise facts. It has been shown that, at three o'clock on
that day, Mr. Kesselbach walked into the Crédit Lyonnais and went down
to the safe deposit. His signature in the register proves it."
M. Lenormand waited respectfully until his superior had finished
speaking. Then, without even troubling to reply directly to the attack,
he continued:
"At about two o'clock in the afternoon, Lupin, assisted by an
accomplice, a man named Marco, bound Mr. Kesselbach hand and foot,
robbed him of all the loose cash which he had upon him and compelled him
to reveal the cypher of his safe at the Crédit Lyonnais. As soon as the
secret was told, Marco left. He joined another accomplice, who,
profiting by a certain resemblance to Mr. Kesselbach--a resemblance
which he accentuated that day by wearing clothes similar to Mr.
Kesselbach's and putting on a pair of gold spectacles--entered the
Crédit Lyonnais, imitated Mr. Kesselbach's signature, emptied the safe
of its contents and walked off, accompanied by Marco. Marco at once
telephoned to Lupin. Lupin, as soon as he was sure that Mr. Kesselbach
had not deceived him and that the object of his expedition was attained,
went away."
Valenglay seemed to waver in his mind:
"Yes, yes . . . we'll admit that. . . . But what surprises me is that a
man like Lupin should have risked so much for such a paltry profit: a
few bank-notes and the hypothetical contents of a safe."
"Lupin was after more than that. He wanted either the morocco envelope
which was in the traveling-bag, or else the ebony box which was in the
safe. He had the ebony box, because he has sent it back empty.
Therefore, by this time, he knows, or is in a fair way for knowing, the
famous scheme which Mr. Kesselbach was planning, and which he was
discussing with his secretary a few minutes before his death."
"What was the scheme?"
"I don't exactly know. The manager of Barbareux's agency, to whom he had
opened his mind about it, has told me that Mr. Kesselbach was looking
for a man who went by the name of Pierre Leduc, a man who had lost
caste, it appears. Why and how the discovery of this person was
connected with the success of his scheme, I am unable to say."
"Very well," said Valenglay. "So much for Arsène Lupin. His part is
played. Mr. Kesselbach is bound hand and foot, robbed, but alive! . . .
What happens up to the time when he is found dead?"
"Nothing, for several hours, nothing until night. But, during the night,
some one made his way in."
"How?"
"Through room 420, one of the rooms reserved by Mr. Kesselbach. The
person in question evidently possessed a false key."
"But," exclaimed the prefect of police, "all the doors between that room
and Mr. Kesselbach's flat were bolted; and there were five of them!"
"There was always the balcony."
"The balcony!"
"Yes; the balcony runs along the whole floor, on the Rue de Judée side."
"And what about the spaces in between?"
"An active man can step across them. Our man did. I have found marks."
"But all the windows of the suite were shut; and it was ascertained,
after the crime, that they were still shut."
"All except one, the secretary's window, Chapman's, which was only
pushed to. I tried it myself."
This time the prime minister seemed a little shaken, so logical did M.
Lenormand's version seem, so precise and supported by such sound facts.
He asked, with growing interest:
"But what was the man's object in coming?"
"I don't know."
"Ah, you don't know!"
"Any more than I know his name."
"But why did he kill Mr. Kesselbach?"
"I don't know. This all remains a mystery. The utmost that we have the
right to suppose is that he did not come with the intention of killing,
but with the intention, he too, of taking the documents contained in
the morocco note-case and the ebony box; and that, finding himself by
accident in the presence of the enemy reduced to a state of
helplessness, he killed him."
Valenglay muttered:
"Yes, strictly speaking, that is possible. . . . And, according to you,
did he find the documents?"
"He did not find the box, because it was not there; but he found the
black morocco note-case. So that Lupin and . . . the other are in the
same position. Each knows as much as the other about the Kesselbach
scheme."
"That means," remarked the premier, "that they will fight."
"Exactly. And the fight has already begun. The murderer, finding a card
of Arsène Lupin's, pinned it to the corpse. All the appearances would
thus be against Arsène Lupin . . . therefore, Arsène Lupin would be the
murderer."
"True . . . true," said Valenglay. "The calculation seemed pretty
accurate."
"And the stratagem would have succeeded," continued M. Lenormand, "if in
consequence of another and a less favorable accident, the murderer had
not, either in coming or going, dropped his cigarette-case in room 420,
and if the floor-waiter, Gustave Beudot, had not picked it up. From that
moment, knowing himself to be discovered, or on the point of being
discovered . . ."
"How did he know it?"
"How? Why, through M. Formerie, the examining-magistrate, himself! The
investigation took place with open doors. It is certain that the
murderer was concealed among the people, members of the hotel staff and
journalists, who were present when Gustave Beudot was giving his
evidence; and when the magistrate sent Gustave Beudot to his attic to
fetch the cigarette-case, the man followed and struck the blow. Second
victim!"
No one protested now. The tragedy was being reconstructed before their
eyes with a realism and a probable accuracy which were equally striking.
"And the third victim?" asked Valenglay.
"He himself gave the ruffian his opportunity. When Beudot did not
return, Chapman, curious to see the cigarette-case for himself, went
upstairs with the manager of the hotel. He was surprised by the
murderer, dragged away by him, taken to one of the bedrooms and murdered
in his turn."
"But why did he allow himself to be dragged away like that and to be led
by a man whom he knew to be the murderer of Mr. Kesselbach and of
Gustave Beudot?"
"I don't know, any more than I know the room in which the crime was
committed, or the really miraculous way in which the criminal escaped."
"Something has been said about two blue labels."
"Yes, one was found on the box which Lupin sent back; and the other was
found by me and doubtless came from the morocco note-case stolen by the
murderer."
"Well?"
"I don't think that they mean anything. What does mean something is the
number 813, which Mr. Kesselbach wrote on each of them. His handwriting
has been recognized."
"And that number 813?"
"It's a mystery."
"Then?"
"I can only reply again that I don't know."
"Have you no suspicions?"
"None at all. Two of my men are occupying one of the rooms in the Palace
Hotel, on the floor where Chapman's body was found. I have had all the
people in the hotel watched by these two men. The criminal is not one of
those who have left."
"Did no one telephone while the murders were being committed?"
"Yes, some one telephoned from the outside to Major Parbury, one of the
four persons who occupied rooms on the first-floor passage."
"And this Major Parbury?"
"I am having him watched by my men. So far, nothing has been discovered
against him."
"And in which direction do you intend to seek?"
"Oh, in a very limited direction. In my opinion, the murderer must be
numbered among the friends or connections of Mr. and Mrs. Kesselbach. He
followed their scent, knew their habits, the reason of Mr. Kesselbach's
presence in Paris; and he at least suspected the importance of Mr.
Kesselbach's plans."
"Then he was not a professional criminal?"
"No, no, certainly not! The murder was committed with extraordinary
cleverness and daring, but it was due to circumstances. I repeat, we
shall have to look among the people forming the immediate circle of Mr.
and Mrs. Kesselbach. And the proof is that Mr. Kesselbach's murderer
killed Gustave Beudot for the sole reason that the waiter had the
cigarette-case in his possession; and Chapman for the sole reason that
the secretary knew of its existence. Remember Chapman's excitement: at
the mere description of the cigarette-case, Chapman received a sudden
insight into the tragedy. If he had seen the cigarette-case, we should
have been fully informed. The man, whoever he may be, was well aware of
that: and he put an end to Chapman. And we know nothing, nothing but the
initials L and M."
He reflected for a moment and said:
"There is another proof, which forms an answer to one of your questions,
Monsieur le Président: Do you believe that Chapman would have
accompanied that man along the passages and staircases of the hotel if
he did not already know him?"
The facts were accumulating. The truth or, at least, the probable truth
was gaining strength. Many of the points at issue, the most interesting,
perhaps, remained obscure. But what a light had been thrown upon the
subject! Short of the motives that inspired them, how clearly
Lenormand's hearers now perceived the sequence of acts performed on that
tragic morning!
There was a pause. Every one was thinking, seeking for arguments, for
objections. At last, Valenglay exclaimed:
"My dear Lenormand, this is all quite excellent. You have convinced me.
. . . But, taking one thing with another, we are no further than we
were."
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. The object of our meeting is not to clear up a portion of
the mystery, which, one day, I am sure, you will clear up altogether,
but to satisfy the public demand as fully as we possibly can. Now
whether the murderer is Lupin or another; whether there are two
criminals, or three, or only one: all this gives us neither the
criminal's name nor his arrest. And the public continues under the
disastrous impression that the law is powerless."
"What can I do?"
"Give the public the definite satisfaction which it demands."
"But it seems to me that this explanation ought to be enough. . . ."
"Words! The public wants deeds! One thing alone will satisfy it: an
arrest."
"Hang it all! Hang it all! We can't arrest the first person that comes
along!"
"Even that would be better than arresting nobody," said Valenglay, with
a laugh. "Come, have a good look round! Are you sure of Edwards,
Kesselbach's servant?"
"Absolutely sure. Besides . . . No, Monsieur le Président, it would be
dangerous and ridiculous; and I am sure that Mr. Attorney-General
himself . . . There are only two people whom we have the right to
arrest: the murderer--I don't know who he is--and Arsène Lupin."
"Well?"
"There is no question of arresting Arsène Lupin, or, at least, it
requires time, a whole series of measures, which I have not yet had the
leisure to contrive, because I looked upon Lupin as settled down . . .
or dead."
Valenglay stamped his foot with the impatience of a man who likes to see
his wishes realized on the spot:
"And yet . . . and yet, my dear Lenormand, something must be done . . .
if only for your own sake. You know as well as I do that you have
powerful enemies . . . and that, if I were not there . . . In short,
Lenormand, you can't be allowed to get out of it like this. What are you
doing about the accomplices? There are others besides Lupin. There is
Marco; and there's the rogue who impersonated Mr. Kesselbach in order
to visit the cellars of the Crédit Lyonnais."
"Would you be satisfied if you got him, Monsieur le Président?"
"Would I be satisfied? Heavens alive, I should think I would!"
"Well, give me seven days."
"Seven days! Why, it's not a question of days, my dear Lenormand! It's a
question of hours!"
"How many will you give me, Monsieur le Président?"
Valenglay took out his watch and chuckled:
"I will give you ten minutes, my dear Lenormand!"
The chief took out his, and emphasizing each syllable, said calmly:
"That is four minutes more than I want, Monsieur le Président."
Valenglay looked at him in amazement.
"Four minutes more than you want? What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, Monsieur le Président, that the ten minutes which you allow me
are superfluous. I want six, and not one minute more."
"Oh, but look here, Lenormand . . . if you imagine that this is the time
for joking . . ."
The chief detective went to the window and beckoned to two men who were
walking round the courtyard.
Then he returned:
"Mr. Attorney-General, would you have the kindness to sign a warrant for
the arrest of Auguste Maximin Philippe Daileron, aged forty-seven? You
might leave the profession open."
He went to the door:
"Come in, Gourel. You, too, Dieuzy."
Gourel entered, accompanied by Inspector Dieuzy.
"Have you the handcuffs, Gourel?"
"Yes, chief."
M. Lenormand went up to Valenglay:
"Monsieur le Président, everything is ready. But I entreat you most
urgently to forego this arrest. It upsets all my plans; it may render
them abortive; and, for the sake of what, after all, is a very trifling
satisfaction, it exposes us to the risk of jeopardizing the whole
business."
"M. Lenormand, let me remark that you have only eighty seconds left."
The chief suppressed a gesture of annoyance, strode across the room and,
leaning on his stick, sat down angrily, as though he had decided not to
speak. Then, suddenly making up his mind:
"Monsieur le Président, the first person who enters this room will be
the man whose arrest you asked for . . . against my wish, as I insist on
pointing out to you."
"Fifteen seconds, Lenormand!"
"Gourel . . . Dieuzy . . . the first person, do you understand? . . .
Mr. Attorney, have you signed the warrant?"
"Ten seconds, Lenormand!"
"Monsieur le Président, would you be so good as to ring the bell?"
Valenglay rang.
The messenger appeared in the doorway and waited.
Valenglay turned to the chief:
"Well, Lenormand, he's waiting for your orders. Whom is he to show in?"
"No one."
"But the rogue whose arrest you promised us? The six minutes are more
than past."
"Yes, but the rogue is here!"
"Here? I don't understand. No one has entered the room!"
"I beg your pardon."
"Oh, I say. . . . Look here, Lenormand, you're making fun of us. I tell
you again that no one has entered the room."
"There were six of us in this room, Monsieur le Président; there are
seven now. Consequently, some one has entered the room."
Valenglay started:
"Eh! But this is madness! . . . What! You mean to say . . ."
The two detectives had slipped between the messenger and the door. M.
Lenormand walked up to the messenger, clapped his hand on his shoulder
and, in a loud voice:
"In the name of the law, Auguste Maximin Philippe Daileron, chief
messenger at the Ministry of the Interior, I arrest you."
Valenglay burst out laughing.
"Oh, what a joke! What a joke! That infernal Lenormand! Of all the
first-rate notions! Well done, Lenormand! It's long since I enjoyed so
good a laugh."
M. Lenormand turned to the attorney-general:
"Mr. Attorney, you won't forget to fill in Master Daileron's profession
on the warrant, will you? Chief messenger at the Ministry of the
Interior."
"Oh, good! . . . Oh, capital! . . . Chief messenger at the Ministry of
the Interior!" spluttered Valenglay, holding his sides. "Oh, this
wonderful Lenormand gets hold of ideas that would never occur to anybody
else! The public is clamoring for an arrest. . . . Whoosh, he flings at
its head my chief messenger . . . Auguste . . . the model servant!
Well, Lenormand, my dear fellow, I knew you had a certain gift of
imagination, but I never suspected that it would go so far as this! The
impertinence of it!"
From the commencement of this scene, Auguste had not stirred a limb and
seemed to understand nothing of what was going on around him. His face,
the typical face of a good, loyal, faithful serving-man, seemed
absolutely bewildered. He looked at the gentlemen turn and turn about,
with a visible effort to catch the meaning of their words.
M. Lenormand said a few words to Gourel, who went out. Then, going up to
Auguste and speaking with great decision, he said:
"There's no way out of it. You're caught. The best thing to do, when the
game is lost, is to throw down your cards. What were you doing on
Tuesday?"
"I? Nothing. I was here."
"You lie. You were off duty. You went out for the day."
"Oh, yes . . . I remember . . . I had a friend to see me from the
country. . . . We went for a walk in the Bois."
"Your friend's name was Marco. And you went for a walk in the cellars of
the Crédit Lyonnais."
"I? What an idea! . . . Marco! . . . I don't know any one by that name."
"And these? Do you know these?" cried the chief, thrusting a pair of
gold-rimmed spectacles under his nose.
"No . . . certainly not. . . . I don't wear spectacles. . . ."
"Yes, you do; you wear them when you go to the Crédit Lyonnais and when
you pass yourself off as Mr. Kesselbach. These come from your room, the
room which you occupy, under the name of M. Jérôme, at No. 50 Rue du
Colisee."
"My room? _My_ room? I sleep here, at the office."
"But you change your clothes over there, to play your parts in Lupin's
gang."
A blow in the chest made him stagger back. Auguste reached the window at
a bound, climbed over the balcony and jumped into the courtyard.
"Dash it all!" shouted Valenglay. "The scoundrel!"
He rang the bell, ran to the window, wanted to call out. M. Lenormand,
with the greatest calm, said:
"Don't excite yourself, Monsieur le Président . . ."
"But that blackguard of an Auguste . . ."
"One second, please. . . . I foresaw this ending . . . in fact, I
allowed for it. . . . It's the best confession we could have. . . ."
Yielding in the presence of this coolness, Valenglay resumed his seat.
In a moment, Gourel entered, with his hand on the collar of Master
Auguste Maximin Philippe Daileron, _alias_ Jérôme, chief messenger at
the Ministry of the Interior.
"Bring him, Gourel!" said M. Lenormand, as who should say, "Fetch it!
Bring it!" to a good retriever carrying the game in its jaws. "Did he
come quietly?"
"He bit me a little, but I held tight," replied the sergeant, showing
his huge, sinewy hand.
"Very well, Gourel. And now take this chap off to the Dépôt in a cab.
Good-bye for the present, M. Jérôme."
Valenglay was immensely amused. He rubbed his hands and laughed. The
idea that his chief messenger was one of Lupin's accomplices struck him
as a most delightfully ludicrous thing.
"Well done, my dear Lenormand; this is wonderful! But how on earth did
you manage it?"
"Oh, in the simplest possible fashion. I knew that Mr. Kesselbach was
employing the Barbareux agency and that Lupin had called on him,
pretending to come from the agency. I hunted in that direction and
discovered that, when the indiscretion was committed to the prejudice of
Mr. Kesselbach and of Barbareux, it could only have been to the
advantage of one Jérôme, a friend of one of the clerks at the agency. If
you had not ordered me to hustle things, I should have watched the
messenger and caught Marco and then Lupin."
"You'll catch them, Lenormand, you'll catch them, I assure you. And we
shall be assisting at the most exciting spectacle in the world: the
struggle between Lupin and yourself. I shall bet on you."
* * * * *
The next morning the newspapers published the following letter:
"_Open Letter to M. Lenormand, Chief of the
Detective-service._
"All my congratulations, dear sir and dear friend, on
your arrest of Jérôme the messenger. It was a smart
piece of work, well executed and worthy of you.
"All my compliments, also, on the ingenious manner in
which you proved to the prime minister that I was not
Mr. Kesselbach's murderer. Your demonstration was
clear, logical, irrefutable and, what is more,
truthful. As you know, I do not kill people. Thank you
for proving it on this occasion. The esteem of my
contemporaries and of yourself, dear sir and dear
friend, are indispensable to my happiness.
"In return, allow me to assist you in the pursuit of
the monstrous assassin and to give you a hand with the
Kesselbach case, a very interesting case, believe me:
so interesting and so worthy of my attention that I
have determined to issue from the retirement in which
I have been living for the past four years, between my
books and my good dog Sherlock, to beat all my
comrades to arms and to throw myself once more into
the fray.
"What unexpected turns life sometimes takes! Here am
I, your fellow-worker! Let me assure you, dear sir and
dear friend, that I congratulate myself upon it, and
that I appreciate this favor of destiny at its true
value.
"ARSÈNE LUPIN.
"P.S.--One word more, of which I feel sure that you
will approve. As it is not right and proper that a
gentleman who has had the glorious privilege of
fighting under my banner should languish on the straw
of your prisons, I feel it my duty to give you fair
warning that, in five weeks' time, on Friday, the 31st
of May, I shall set at liberty Master Jérôme, promoted
by me to the rank of chief messenger at the Ministry
of the Interior. Don't forget the date: Friday, the
31st of May.
"A. L."