M. LENORMAND AT WORK
On the morning of the 31st of May, all the newspapers reminded their
readers that Lupin, in a letter addressed to M. Lenormand, had announced
the escape of the messenger Jérôme for that date. And one of them summed
up the situation, as it then stood, in very able terms:
"The horrible carnage at the Palace Hotel took place
as far back as the 17th of April. What has been
discovered since? Nothing.
"There were three clues: the cigarette-case, the
initials L and M and the parcel of clothes left behind
in the office of the hotel. What advantage has been
taken of these clues? None.
"It appears that the police suspect one of the
visitors who was staying on the first floor and who
disappeared in a doubtful manner. Have they found him?
Have they established his identity? No.
"The tragedy, therefore, remains as mysterious as at
the beginning, the gloom is impenetrable.
"To complete the picture, we are told that dissension
prevails between the prefect of police and his
subordinate, M. Lenormand, and that the latter,
finding himself less vigorously supported by the prime
minister, virtually sent in his resignation several
days ago. According to our information, the conduct of
the Kesselbach case is now in the hands of the
deputy-chief of the detective-service, M. Weber, a
personal enemy of M. Lenormand's.
"In short, disorder and confusion reign; and this in
the face of Lupin, who stands for method, energy and
steadfastness of mind.
"What conclusion do we draw from these facts? Briefly,
this: Lupin will release his accomplice to-day, the
31st of May, as he foretold."
This conclusion, which was echoed in all the other newspapers, was also
the conclusion at which the general public had arrived. And we must take
it that the threat was not considered devoid of importance in high
places, for the prefect of police and, in the absence of M. Lenormand,
who was said to be unwell, the deputy-chief of the detective-service, M.
Weber, had adopted the most stringent measures, both at the Palais de
Justice and at the Santé Prison, where the prisoner was confined.
They did not dare, for sheer reasons of shame, to suspend on that
particular day the examinations conducted daily by M. Formerie; but,
from the prison to the Boulevard du Palais, a regular mobilization of
police-forces guarded the streets along the line.
To the intense astonishment of one and all, the 31st of May passed and
the threatened escape did not take place.
One thing did happen, an attempt to execute the plan, as was betrayed by
a block of tramway-cars, omnibuses and drays along the road taken by the
prison-van and the unaccountable breaking of one of the wheels of the
van itself. But the attempt assumed no more definite form.
Lupin, therefore, had met with a check. The public felt almost
disappointed and the police triumphed loudly.
On the next day, Saturday, an incredible rumour spread through the
Palais and the newspaper-offices: Jérôme the messenger had disappeared.
Was it possible? Although the special editions confirmed the news,
people refused to believe it. But, at six o'clock, a note published by
the _Dépêche du Soir_ made it official:
"We have received the following communication signed
by Arsène Lupin. The special stamp affixed to it, in
accordance with the circular which Lupin recently sent
to the press, guarantees the genuineness of the
document:
"'_To the Editor of the_ Dépêche du Soir.
"SIR,
"'Pray make my apologies to the public for not keeping
my word yesterday. I remembered, at the last moment,
that the 31st of May fell on a Friday! Could I set my
friend at liberty on a Friday? I did not think it
right to assume that responsibility.
"'I must also apologize for not on this occasion
explaining, with my customary frankness, how this
little event was managed. My process is so ingenious
and so simple that I fear lest, if I revealed it,
every criminal should be inspired by it. How surprised
people will be on the day when I am free to speak! "Is
that all?" I shall be asked. That is all; but it had
to be thought of.
"'Permit me to be, Sir,
"'Your obedient servant,
"'ARSÈNE LUPIN.'"
An hour later, M. Lenormand was rung up on the telephone and informed
that Valenglay, the prime minister, wished to see him at the Ministry of
the Interior.
* * * * *
"How well you're looking, my dear Lenormand! And I who thought that you
were ill and dared not leave your room!"
"I am not ill, Monsieur le Président."
"So you were sulking in your tent! . . . But you were always a
bad-tempered fellow."
"I confess to the bad temper, Monsieur le Président, but not to the
sulking."
"But you stay at home! And Lupin takes advantage of it to release his
friends. . . ."
"How could I stop him?"
"How? Why, Lupin's trick was of the plainest. In accordance with his
usual method, he announced the date of the escape beforehand; everybody
believed in it; an apparent attempt was planned; the escape was not
made; and, on the next day, when nobody is thinking about
it--whoosh!--the bird takes flight."
"Monsieur le Président," said the chief of the detective-service,
solemnly, "Lupin disposes of such means that we are not in a position to
prevent what he has decided on. The escape was mathematically certain. I
preferred to pass the hand . . . and leave the laughter for others to
face."
Valenglay chuckled:
"It's a fact that Monsieur le Préfet de Police and M. Weber cannot be
enjoying themselves at the present moment. . . . But, when all is said,
can you explain to me, M. Lenormand . . ."
"All that we know, Monsieur le Président, is that the escape took place
from the Palais de Justice. The prisoner was brought in a prison-van and
taken to M. Formerie's room. He left M. Formerie's room, but he did not
leave the Palais de Justice. And yet nobody knows what became of him."
"It's most bewildering."
"Most bewildering."
"And has nothing else been discovered?"
"Yes. The inner corridor leading to the examining magistrates' rooms was
blocked by an absolutely unprecedented crowd of prisoners, warders,
counsel and doorkeepers; and it was discovered that all those people had
received forged notices to appear at the same hour. On the other hand,
not one of the examining-magistrates who were supposed to have summoned
them sat in his room that day; and this because of forged notices from
the public prosecutor's office, sending them to every part of Paris
. . . and of the outskirts."
"Is that all?"
"No. Two municipal guards and a prisoner were seen to cross the
courtyards. A cab was waiting for them outside and all three stepped in.
"And your supposition, Lenormand, your opinion. . . ."
"My supposition, Monsieur le Président, is that the two municipal guards
were accomplices who, profiting by the disorder in the corridor, took
the place of the three warders. And my opinion is that this escape
succeeded only through such special circumstances and so strange a
combination of facts that we must look upon the most unlikely cases of
complicity as absolutely certain. Lupin, for that matter, has
connections at the Palais that balk all our calculations. He has agents
in your ministry. He has agents at the Prefecture of Police. He has
agents around me. It is a formidable organization, a detective-service a
thousand times more clever, more daring, more varied and more supple
than that under my own orders."
"And you stand this, Lenormand?"
"No, I do not."
"Then why this slackness on your part since the beginning of the case?
What have you done against Lupin?"
"I have prepared for the struggle."
"Ah, capital! And, while you were preparing, he was acting."
"So was I."
"And do you know anything?"
"I know a great deal."
"What? Speak!"
Leaning on his stick, M. Lenormand took a little contemplative walk
across the spacious room. Then he sat down opposite Valenglay, brushed
the facings of his olive-green coat with his finger-tips, settled his
spectacles on his nose and said, plainly:
"M. le Président, I hold three trump-cards in my hand. First, I know the
name under which Arsène Lupin is hiding at this moment, the name under
which he lived on the Boulevard Haussmann, receiving his assistants
daily, reconstructing and directing his gang."
"But then why, in heaven's name, don't you arrest him?"
"I did not receive these particulars until later. The prince--let us
call him Prince Dash--has disappeared. He is abroad, on other
business."
"And, if he does not return . . ."
"The position which he occupies, the manner in which he has flung
himself into the Kesselbach case, necessitate his return and under the
same name."
"Nevertheless . . ."
"Monsieur le Président, I come to my second trump. I have at last
discovered Pierre Leduc."
"Nonsense!"
"Or rather Lupin discovered him, and before disappearing, settled him in
a little villa in the neighborhood of Paris."
"By Jove! But how did you know . . ."
"Oh, easily! Lupin has placed two of his accomplices with Pierre Leduc,
to watch him and defend him. Now these accomplices are two of my own
detectives, two brothers whom I employ in the greatest secrecy and who
will hand him over to me at the first opportunity!"
"Well done you! So that . . ."
"So that, as Pierre Leduc, we may say, is the central point of the
efforts of all those who are trying to solve the famous Kesselbach
secret, I shall, sooner or later, through Pierre Leduc, catch, first,
the author of the treble murder, because that miscreant substituted
himself for Mr. Kesselbach in the accomplishment of an immense scheme
and because Mr. Kesselbach had to find Pierre Leduc in order to be able
to accomplish that scheme; and, secondly, Arsène Lupin, because Arsène
Lupin is pursuing the same object."
"Splendid! Pierre Leduc is the bait which you are throwing to the
enemy."
"And the fish is biting, Monsieur le Président. I have just had word
that a suspicious person was seen, a short time ago, prowling round the
little villa where Pierre Leduc is living under the protection of my
officers. I shall be on the spot in four hours."
"And the third trump, Lenormand?"
"Monsieur le Président, a letter arrived yesterday, addressed to Mr.
Rudolf Kesselbach, which I intercepted. . . ."
"Intercepted, eh? You're getting on!"
"Yes, I intercepted it, opened it and kept it for myself. Here it is. It
is dated two months back. It bears the Capetown postmark and contains
these words: 'My dear Rudolf, I shall be in Paris on the 1st of June and
in just as wretched a plight as when you came to my assistance. But I
have great hopes of this Pierre Leduc affair of which I told you. What a
strange story it is! Have you found the man I mean? Where do we stand? I
am most anxious to know.' The letter is signed, 'Steinweg.' The first of
June," continued M. Lenormand, "is to-day. I have ordered one of my
inspectors to hunt me out this Steinweg. I have no doubt that he will
succeed."
"Nor I, no doubt at all," cried Valenglay, rising from his chair, "and I
make you every apology, my dear Lenormand, and my humble confession: I
was on the point of letting you slide . . . for good and all! To-morrow
I was expecting the prefect of police and M. Weber."
"I knew that, Monsieur le Président."
"Impossible!"
"But for that, should I have put myself out? You now see my plan of
campaign. On the one side, I am setting traps in which the murderer will
be caught sooner or later. Pierre Leduc or Steinweg will deliver him
into my hands. On the other side, I am on Arsène Lupin's heels. Two of
his agents are in my pay and he believes them to be his most devoted
helpers. In addition to this, he is working for me, because he is
pursuing the perpetrator of the threefold crime as I am. Only, he
imagines that he is dishing me, whereas it is I who am dishing him. So I
shall succeed, but on one condition. . . ."
"What is that?"
"That I am given free scope and allowed to act according to the needs of
the moment, without troubling about the public, who are growing
impatient, or my superiors, who are intriguing against me."
"I agree."
"In that case, Monsieur le Président, in a few days from this I shall be
the victor . . . or I shall be dead."
* * * * *
At Saint-Cloud. A little villa situated on one of the highest points of
the upland, in an unfrequented road.
It was eleven o'clock at night. M. Lenormand left his car at Saint-Cloud
and walked cautiously along the road. A shadow appeared.
"Is that you, Gourel?"
"Yes, chief."
"Did you tell the brothers Doudeville that I was coming?"
"Yes, your room is ready, you can go to bed and sleep . . . unless they
try to carry off Pierre Leduc to-night, which would not surprise me,
considering the behavior of the fellow whom the Doudevilles saw."
They walked across the garden, softly entered the house and went up to
the first floor. The two brothers, Jean and Jacques Doudeville, were
there.
"No news of Prince Sernine?" asked Lenormand.
"No, chief."
"What about Pierre Leduc?"
"He spends the whole day lying flat on his back in his room on the
ground-floor, or else in the garden. He never comes up to see us."
"Is he better?"
"Much better. The rest has made a great change in his appearance."
"Is he wholly devoted to Lupin?"
"To Prince Sernine, rather, for he does not suspect that the two are one
and the same man. At least, I suppose so. One never knows, with him. He
does not speak at all. Oh, he's a queer fish! There's only one person
who has the gift of cheering him up, of making him talk and even laugh.
That's a young girl from Garches, to whom Prince Sernine introduced him.
Geneviève Ernemont her name is. She has been here three times already
. . . she was here to-day." He added, jestingly, "I believe there's a
little flirting going on. . . . It's like his highness Prince Sernine
and Mrs. Kesselbach. . . . It seems he's making eyes at her! . . . That
devil of a Lupin!"
M. Lenormand did not reply. But it was obvious that all these details,
to which he seemed to attach no importance, were noted in the recesses
of his memory, to be used whenever he might need to draw the logical
inferences from them. He lit a cigar, chewed it without smoking it, lit
it again and dropped it.
He asked two or three more questions and then, dressed as he was, threw
himself on his bed:
"If the least thing happens, let me be awakened. . . . If not, I shall
sleep through the night. . . . Go to your posts, all of you."
The others left the room.
An hour passed, two hours.
Suddenly, M. Lenormand felt some one touch him and Gourel said to him:
"Get up, chief; they have opened the gate."
"One man or two?"
"I only saw one . . . the moon appeared just then . . . he crouched down
against a hedge."
"And the brothers Doudeville?"
"I sent them out by the back. They will cut off his retreat when the
time comes."
Gourel took M. Lenormand's hand, led him downstairs and then into a
little dark room:
"Don't stir, chief; we are in Pierre Leduc's dressing-room. I am opening
the door of the recess in which his bed stands. . . . Don't be afraid
. . . he has taken his veronal as he does every evening . . . nothing
can wake him. Come this way. . . . It's a good hiding-place, isn't it?
. . . These are the curtains of his bed. . . . From here you can see the
window and the whole side of the room between the window and the bed."
The casement stood open and admitted a vague light, which became very
precise at times, when the moon burst through her veil of clouds. The
two men did not take their eyes from the empty window-frame, feeling
certain that the event which they were awaiting would come from that
side.
A slight, creaking noise . . .
"He is climbing the trellis," whispered Gourel.
"Is it high?"
"Six feet or so."
The creaking became more distinct.
"Go, Gourel," muttered M. Lenormand, "find the Doudevilles, bring them
back to the foot of the wall and bar the road to any one who tries to
get down this way."
Gourel went. At the same moment, a head appeared at the level of the
window. Then a leg was flung over the balcony. M. Lenormand
distinguished a slenderly-built man, below the middle height, dressed in
dark colours and without a hat.
The man turned and, leaning over the balcony, looked for a few seconds
into space, as though to make sure that no danger threatened him. Then
he stooped down and lay at full length on the floor. He appeared
motionless. But soon M. Lenormand realized that the still blacker shadow
which he formed against the surrounding darkness was coming forward,
nearer.
It reached the bed.
M. Lenormand had an impression that he could hear the man's breathing
and, at the same time, that he could just see his eyes, keen, glittering
eyes, which pierced the darkness like shafts of fire and which
themselves could see through that same darkness.
Pierre Leduc gave a deep sigh and turned over.
A fresh silence. . . .
The man had glided along the bed with imperceptible movements and his
dark outline now stood out against the whiteness of the sheets that hung
down to the floor.
M. Lenormand could have touched him by putting out his arm. This time,
he clearly distinguished the breathing, which alternated with that of
the sleeper, and he had the illusion that he also heard the sound of a
heart beating.
Suddenly, a flash of light. . . . The man had pressed the spring of an
electric lantern; and Pierre Leduc was lit full in the face, but the man
remained in the shade, so that M. Lenormand was unable to see his
features.
All that he saw was something that shone in the bright space; and he
shuddered. It was the blade of a knife; and that thin, tapering knife,
more like a stiletto than a dagger, seemed to him identical with the
weapon which he had picked up by the body of Chapman, Mr. Kesselbach's
secretary.
He put forth all his will-power to restrain himself from springing upon
the man. He wanted first to know what the man had come to do.
The hand was raised. Was he going to strike? M. Lenormand calculated the
distance in order to stop the blow. . . . But no, it was not a murderous
gesture, but one of caution. The hand would only fall if Pierre Leduc
stirred or tried to call out. And the man bent over the sleeper, as
though he were examining something.
"The right cheek," thought M. Lenormand, "the scar on the right cheek.
. . . He wants to make sure that it is really Pierre Leduc."
The man had turned a little to one side, so that only his shoulders were
visible. But his clothes, his overcoat, were so near that they brushed
against the curtains behind which M. Lenormand was hiding.
"One movement on his part," thought the chief detective, "a thrill of
alarm; and I shall collar him."
But the man, entirely absorbed in his examination, did not stir. At
last, after shifting the dagger to the hand that held the lantern, he
raised the sheet, at first hardly at all, then a little more, then more
still, until the sleeper's left arm was uncovered and the hand laid
bare. The flash of the lantern shone upon the hand. The fingers lay
outspread. The little finger was cut on the second joint.
Again Pierre Leduc made a movement. The light was immediately put out;
and, for an instant, the man remained beside the bed, motionless,
standing straight up. Would he make up his mind to strike? M. Lenormand
underwent the agony of the crime which he could so easily prevent, but
which he did not want to forestall before the very last second.
A long, a very long silence. Suddenly, he saw or rather fancied that he
saw an arm uplifted. Instinctively he moved, stretching his hand above
the sleeper. In making this gesture, he hit against the man.
A dull cry. The fellow struck out at space, defended himself at random
and fled toward the window. But M. Lenormand had leapt upon him and had
his two arms around the man's shoulders.
He at once felt him yielding and, as the weaker of the two, powerless in
Lenormand's hands, trying to avoid the struggle and to slip from between
his arms. Lenormand, exerting all his strength, held him flat against
his chest, bent him in two and stretched him on his back on the floor.
"Ah, I've got him, I've got him!" he muttered triumphantly.
And he felt a singular elation at imprisoning that terrifying criminal,
that unspeakable monster, in his irresistible grip. He felt him living
and quivering, enraged and desperate, their two lives mingled, their
breaths blended:
"Who are you?" he asked. "Who are you? . . . You'll have to speak.
. . ."
And he clasped the enemy's body with still greater force, for he had an
impression that that body was diminishing between his arms, that it was
vanishing. He gripped harder . . . and harder. . . .
And suddenly he shuddered from head to foot. He had felt, he still felt
a tiny prick in the throat. . . . In his exasperation, he gripped harder
yet: the pain increased! And he observed that the man had succeeded in
twisting one arm round, slipping his hand to his chest and holding the
dagger on end. The arm, it was true, was incapable of motion; but the
closer M. Lenormand tightened his grip, the deeper did the point of the
dagger enter the proffered flesh.
He flung back his head a little to escape the point: the point followed
the movement and the wound widened.
Then he moved no more, remembering the three crimes and all the
alarming, atrocious and prophetic things represented by that same little
steel needle which was piercing his skin and which, in its turn, was
implacably penetrating. . . .
Suddenly, he let go and gave a leap backwards. Then, at once, he tried
to resume the offensive. It was too late. The man flung his legs across
the window-sill and jumped.
"Look out, Gourel!" he cried, knowing that Gourel was there, ready to
catch the fugitive.
He leant out. A crunching of pebbles . . . a shadow between two trees,
the slam of the gate. . . . And no other sound . . . no interference.
. . .
Without giving a thought to Pierre Leduc, he called:
"Gourel! . . . Doudeville!"
No answer. The great silence of the countryside at night. . . .
In spite of himself, he continued to think of the treble murder, the
steel dagger. But no, it was impossible, the man had not had time, had
not even had the need to strike, as he had found the road clear.
M. Lenormand jumped out in his turn and, switching on his lantern,
recognized Gourel lying on the ground:
"Damn it!" he swore. "If they've killed him, they'll have to pay dearly
for it."
But Gourel was not dead, only stunned; and, a few minutes later, he came
to himself and growled:
"Only a blow of the fist, chief . . . just a blow of the fist which
caught me full in the chest. But what a fellow!"
"There were two of them then?"
"Yes, a little one, who went up, and another, who took me unawares while
I was watching."
"And the Doudevilles?"
"Haven't seen them."
One of them, Jacques, was found near the gate, bleeding from a punch in
the jaw; the other a little farther, gasping for breath from a blow full
on the chest.
"What is it? What happened?" asked M. Lenormand.
Jacques said that his brother and he had knocked up against an
individual who had crippled them before they had time to defend
themselves.
"Was he alone?"
"No; when he passed near us, he had a pal with him, shorter than
himself."
"Did you recognize the man who struck you?"
"Judging by the breadth of his shoulders, I thought he might be the
Englishman of the Palace Hotel, the one who left the hotel and whose
traces we lost."
"The major?"
"Yes, Major Parbury."
After a moment's reflection, M. Lenormand said:
"There is no doubt possible. There were two of them in the Kesselbach
case: the man with the dagger, who committed the murders, and his
accomplice, the major."
"That is what Prince Sernine thinks," muttered Jacques Doudeville.
"And to-night," continued the chief detective, "it is they again: the
same two." And he added, "So much the better. The chance of catching two
criminals is a hundred times greater than the chance of catching one."
M. Lenormand attended to his men, had them put to bed and looked to see
if the assailants had dropped anything or left any traces. He found
nothing and went back to bed again himself.
In the morning, as Gourel and the Doudevilles felt none the worse for
their injuries, he told the two brothers to scour the neighborhood and
himself set out with Gourel for Paris, in order to hurry matters on and
give his orders.
* * * * *
He lunched in his office. At two o'clock, he heard good news. One of his
best detectives, Dieuzy, had picked up Steinweg, Rudolf Kesselbach's
correspondent, as the German was stepping out of a train from
Marseilles.
"Is Dieuzy there?"
"Yes, chief," said Gourel. "He's here with the German."
"Have them brought in to me."
At that moment, the telephone-bell rang. It was Jean Doudeville,
speaking from the post-office at Garches. The conversation did not take
long:
"Is that you, Jean? Any news?"
"Yes, chief, Major Parbury. . . ."
"Well?"
"We have found him. He has become a Spaniard and has darkened his skin.
We have just seen him. He was entering the Garches free-school. He was
received by that young lady . . . you know, the girl who knows Prince
Sernine, Geneviève Ernemont."
"Thunder!"
M. Lenormand let go the receiver, made a grab at his hat, flew into the
passage, met Dieuzy and the German, shouted to them to meet him in his
office at six o'clock, rushed down the stairs, followed by Gourel and
two inspectors whom he picked up on the way, and dived into a taxi-cab:
"Quick as you can to Garches . . . ten francs for yourself!"
He stopped the car a little before the Parc de Villeneuve, at the turn
of the lane that led to the school. Jean Doudeville was waiting for him
and at once exclaimed:
"He slipped away, ten minutes ago, by the other end of the lane."
"Alone?"
"No, with the girl."
M. Lenormand took Doudeville by the collar:
"Wretch! You let him go! But you ought to have . . . you ought to have
. . ."
"My brother is on his track."
"A lot of good that will do us! He'll stick your brother. You're no
match for him, either of you!"
He himself took the steering-wheel of the taxi, and resolutely drove
into the lane, regardless of the cart-ruts and of the bushes on each
side. They soon emerged on a parish-road, which took them to a crossway
where five roads met. M. Lenormand, without hesitation chose the one on
the left, the Saint-Cucufa Road. As a matter of fact, at the top of the
slope that runs down to the lake, they met the other Doudeville brother,
who shouted:
"They are in a carriage . . . half a mile away."
The chief did not stop. He sent the car flying down the incline, rushed
along the bends, drove round the lake and suddenly uttered an
exclamation of triumph. Right at the top of a little hill that stood in
front of them, he had seen the hood of a carriage.
Unfortunately, he had taken the wrong road and had to back the machine.
When he reached the place where the roads branched, the carriage was
still there, stationary. And, suddenly, while he was turning, he saw a
girl spring from the carriage. A man appeared on the step. The girl
stretched out her arm. Two reports rang out.
She had taken bad aim, without a doubt, for a head looked round the
other side of the hood and the man, catching sight of the motor-cab,
gave his horse a great lash with the whip and it started off at a
gallop. The next moment, a turn of the road hid the carriage from sight.
M. Lenormand finished his tacking in a few seconds, darted straight up
the incline, passed the girl without stopping and turned round boldly.
He found himself on a steep, pebbly forest road, which ran down between
dense woods and which could only be followed very slowly and with the
greatest caution. But what did he care! Twenty yards in front of him,
the carriage, a sort of two-wheeled cabriolet, was dancing over the
stones, drawn, or rather held back, by a horse which knew enough only to
go very carefully, feeling its way and taking no risks. There was
nothing to fear; escape was impossible.
And the two conveyances went shaking and jolting down-hill. At one
moment, they were so close together that M. Lenormand thought of
alighting and running with his men. But he felt the danger of putting on
the brake on so steep a slope; and he went on, pressing the enemy
closely, like a prey which one keeps within sight, within touch. . . .
"We've got him, chief, we've got him!" muttered the inspectors, excited
by the unexpected nature of the chase.
At the bottom, the way flattened out into a road that ran towards the
Seine, towards Bougival. The horse, on reaching level ground, set off at
a jog-trot, without hurrying itself and keeping to the middle of the
road.
A violent effort shook the taxi. It appeared, instead of rolling, to
proceed by bounds, like a darting fawn, and, slipping by the roadside
slope, ready to smash any obstacle, it caught up the carriage, came
level with it, passed it. . . .
An oath from M. Lenormand . . . shouts of fury. . . . The carriage was
empty!
The carriage was empty. The horse was going along peacefully, with the
reins on its back, no doubt returning to the stable of some inn in the
neighborhood, where it had been hired for the day. . . .
Suppressing his inward rage, the chief detective merely said:
"The major must have jumped out during the few seconds when we lost
sight of the carriage, at the top of the descent."
"We have only to beat the woods, chief, and we are sure . . ."
"To return empty-handed. The beggar is far away by this time. He's not
one of those who are caught twice in one day. Oh, hang it all, hang it
all!"
They went back to the young girl, whom they found in the company of
Jacques Doudeville and apparently none the worse for her adventure. M.
Lenormand introduced himself, offered to take her back home and at once
questioned her about the English major, Parbury.
She expressed astonishment:
"He is neither English nor a major; and his name is not Parbury."
"Then what is his name?"
"Juan Ribeira. He is a Spaniard sent by his government to study the
working of the French schools."
"As you please. His name and his nationality are of no importance. He is
the man we are looking for. Have you known him long?"
"A fortnight or so. He had heard about a school which I have founded at
Garches and he interested himself in my experiment to the extent of
proposing to make me an annual grant, on the one condition that he might
come from time to time to observe the progress of my pupils. I had not
the right to refuse. . . ."
"No, of course not; but you should have consulted your acquaintances. Is
not Prince Sernine a friend of yours? He is a man of good counsel."
"Oh, I have the greatest confidence in him; but he is abroad at
present."
"Did you not know his address?"
"No. And, besides, what could I have said to him? That gentleman behaved
very well. It was not until to-day . . . But I don't know if . . ."
"I beg you, mademoiselle, speak frankly. You can have confidence in me
also."
"Well, M. Ribeira came just now. He told me that he had been sent by a
French lady who was paying a short visit to Bougival, that this lady
had a little girl whose education she would like to entrust to me and
that she wished me to come and see her without delay. The thing seemed
quite natural. And, as this is a holiday and as M. Ribeira had hired a
carriage which was waiting for him at the end of the road, I made no
difficulty about accepting a seat in it."
"But what was his object, after all?"
She blushed and said:
"To carry me off, quite simply. He confessed it to me after half an
hour. . . ."
"Do you know nothing about him?"
"No."
"Does he live in Paris?"
"I suppose so."
"Has he ever written to you? Do you happen to have a few lines in his
handwriting, anything which he left behind, that may serve us as a
clue?"
"No clue at all. . . . Oh, wait a minute . . . but I don't think that
has any importance. . . ."
"Speak, speak . . . please. . . ."
"Well, two days ago, the gentleman asked permission to use my
typewriting machine; and he typed out--with difficulty, for he evidently
had no practice--a letter of which I saw the address by accident."
"What was the address?"
"He was writing to the _Journal_ and he put about twenty stamps into the
envelope."
"Yes . . . the agony-column, no doubt," said M. Lenormand.
"I have to-day's number with me, chief," said Gourel.
M. Lenormand unfolded the sheet and looked at the eighth page.
Presently, he gave a start. He had read the following sentence, printed
with the usual abbreviation:[4]
"To any person knowing Mr. Steinweg. Advertiser wishes
to know if he is in Paris and his address. Reply
through this column."
[Footnote 4: Personal advertisements in the French newspapers are
charged by the line, not by the word; and consequently nearly every word
is clipped down to two, three or four letters.--_Translator's Note._]
"Steinweg!" exclaimed Gourel. "But that's the very man whom Dieuzy is
bringing to you!"
"Yes, yes," said M. Lenormand, to himself, "it's the man whose letter to
Mr. Kesselbach I intercepted, the man who put Kesselbach on the track of
Pierre Leduc. . . . So they, too, want particulars about Pierre Leduc
and his past? . . . They, too, are groping in the dark? . . ."
He rubbed his hands: Steinweg was at his disposal. In less than an hour,
Steinweg would have spoken. In less than an hour, the murky veil which
oppressed him and which made the Kesselbach case the most agonizing and
the most impenetrable that he had ever had in hand: that veil would be
torn asunder.