PARBURY-RIBEIRA-ALTENHEIM
The girls were playing in the garden, under the supervision of Mlle.
Charlotte, Geneviève's new assistant. Mme. Ernemont came out,
distributed some cakes among them and then went back to the room which
served as a drawing-room and parlor in one, sat down before a
writing-desk and began to arrange her papers and account-books.
Suddenly, she felt the presence of a stranger in the room. She turned
round in alarm:
"You!" she cried. "Where have you come from? How did you get in?"
"Hush!" said Prince Sernine. "Listen to me and do not let us waste a
minute: Geneviève?"
"Calling on Mrs. Kesselbach."
"When will she be here?"
"Not before an hour."
"Then I will let the brothers Doudeville come. I have an appointment
with them. How is Geneviève?"
"Very well."
"How often has she seen Pierre Leduc since I went away, ten days ago?"
"Three times; and she is to meet him to-day at Mrs. Kesselbach's, to
whom she introduced him, as you said she must. Only, I may as well tell
you that I don't think much of this Pierre Leduc of yours. Geneviève
would do better to find some good fellow in her own class of life. For
instance, there's the schoolmaster."
"You're mad! Geneviève marry a schoolmaster!"
"Oh, if you considered Geneviève's happiness first. . . ."
"Shut up, Victoire. You're boring me with your cackle. I have no time to
waste on sentiment. I'm playing a game of chess; and I move my men
without troubling about what they think. When I have won the game, I
will go into the question whether the knight, Pierre Leduc, and the
queen, Geneviève, have a heart or not."
She interrupted him:
"Did you hear? A whistle. . . ."
"It's the two Doudevilles. Go and bring them in; and then leave us."
As soon as the two brothers were in the room, he questioned them with
his usual precision:
"I know what the newspapers have said about the disappearance of
Lenormand and Gourel. Do you know any more?"
"No. The deputy-chief, M. Weber, has taken the case in hand. We have
been searching the garden of the House of Retreat for the past week; and
nobody is able to explain how they can have disappeared. The whole force
is in a flutter. . . . No one has ever seen the like . . . a chief of
the detective-service disappearing, without leaving a trace behind him!"
"The two maids?"
"Gertrude has gone. She is being looked for."
"Her sister Suzanne?"
"M. Weber and M. Formerie have questioned her. There is nothing against
her."
"Is that all you have to tell me?"
"Oh, no, there are other things, all the things which we did not tell
the papers."
They then described the incidents that had marked M. Lenormand's last
two days: the night visit of the two ruffians to Pierre Leduc's villa;
next day, Ribeira's attempt to kidnap Geneviève and the chase through
the Saint-Cucufa woods; old Steinweg's arrival, his examination at the
detective-office in Mrs. Kesselbach's presence, his escape from the
Palais. . . .
"And no one knows these details except yourselves?"
"Dieuzy knows about the Steinweg incident: he told us of it."
"And they still trust you at the Prefecture of Police?"
"So much so that they employ us openly. M. Weber swears by us."
"Come," said the prince, "all is not lost. If M. Lenormand has committed
an imprudence that has cost him his life, as I suppose he did, at any
rate he performed some good work first; and we have only to continue it.
The enemy has the start of us, but we will catch him up."
"It won't be an easy job, governor."
"Why not? It is only a matter of finding old Steinweg again, for the
answer to the riddle is in his hands."
"Yes, but where has Ribeira got old Steinweg tucked away?"
"At his own place, of course."
"Then we should have to know where Ribeira hangs out."
"Well, of course!"
He dismissed them and went to the House of Retreat. Motor-cars were
awaiting outside the door and two men were walking up and down, as
though mounting guard.
In the garden, near Mrs. Kesselbach's house, he saw Geneviève sitting on
a bench with Pierre Leduc and a thick-set gentleman wearing a single
eye-glass. The three were talking and none of them saw him. But several
people came out of the house: M. Formerie, M. Weber, a magistrate's
clerk, and two inspectors. Geneviève went indoors and the gentleman with
the eye-glass went up and spoke to the examining-magistrate and the
deputy-chief of the detective-service and walked away with them slowly.
Sernine came beside the bench where Pierre Leduc was sitting and
whispered:
"Don't move, Pierre Leduc; it's I."
"You! . . . you! . . ."
It was the third time that the young man saw Sernine since the awful
night at Versailles; and each time it upset him.
"Tell me . . . who is the fellow with the eye-glass?"
Pierre Leduc turned pale and jabbered. Sernine pinched his arm:
"Answer me, confound it! Who is he?"
"Baron Altenheim."
"Where does he come from?"
"He was a friend of Mr. Kesselbach's. He arrived from Austria, six days
ago, and placed himself at Mrs. Kesselbach's disposal."
The police authorities had, meanwhile, gone out of the garden; Baron
Altenheim also.
The prince rose and, turning towards the Pavillon de l'Impératrice,
continued:
"Has the baron asked you many questions?"
"Yes, a great many. He is interested in my case. He wants to help me
find my family. He appealed to my childhood memories."
"And what did you say?"
"Nothing, because I know nothing. What memories have I? You put me in
another's place and I don't even know who that other is."
"No more do I!" chuckled the prince. "And that's just what makes your
case so quaint."
"Oh, it's all very well for you to laugh . . . you're always laughing!
. . . But I'm beginning to have enough of it. . . . I'm mixed up in a
heap of nasty matters . . . to say nothing of the danger which I run in
pretending to be somebody that I am not."
"What do you mean . . . that you are not? You're quite as much a duke as
I am a prince . . . perhaps even more so. . . . Besides, if you're not a
duke, hurry up and become one, hang it all! Geneviève can't marry any
one but a duke! Look at her: isn't she worth selling your soul for?"
He did not even look at Leduc, not caring what he thought. They had
reached the house by this time; and Geneviève appeared at the foot of
the steps, comely and smiling:
"So you have returned?" she said to the prince. "Ah, that's a good
thing! I am so glad. . . . Do you want to see Dolores?"
After a moment, she showed him into Mrs. Kesselbach's room. The prince
was taken aback. Dolores was paler still and thinner than on the day
when he saw her last. Lying on a sofa, wrapped up in white stuffs, she
looked like one of those sick people who have ceased to struggle against
death. As for her, she had ceased to struggle against life, against the
fate that was overwhelming her with its blows.
Sernine gazed at her with deep pity and with an emotion which he did not
strive to conceal. She thanked him for the sympathy which he showed her.
She also spoke of Baron Altenheim, in friendly terms.
"Did you know him before?" he asked.
"Yes, by name, and through his intimacy with my husband."
"I have met an Altenheim who lives in the Rue de Rivoli. Do you think
it's the same?"
"Oh, no, this one lives in . . . As a matter of fact, I don't quite
know; he gave me his address, but I can't say that I remember it. . . ."
After a few minutes' conversation, Sernine took his leave. Geneviève was
waiting for him in the hall:
"I want to speak to you," she said eagerly, "on a serious matter. . . .
Did you see him?"
"Whom?"
"Baron Altenheim. . . . But that's not his name . . . or, at least, he
has another. . . . I recognized him . . . he does not know it."
She dragged him out of doors and walked on in great excitement.
"Calm yourself, Geneviève. . . ."
"He's the man who tried to carry me off. . . . But for that poor M.
Lenormand, I should have been done for. . . . Come, you must know, for
you know everything. . . ."
"Then his real name is . . ."
"Ribeira."
"Are you sure?"
"It was no use his changing his appearance, his accent, his manner: I
knew him at once, by the horror with which he inspires me. But I said
nothing . . . until you returned."
"You said nothing to Mrs. Kesselbach either?"
"No. She seemed so happy at meeting a friend of her husband's. But you
will speak to her about it, will you not? You will protect her. . . . I
don't know what he is preparing against her, against myself. . . . Now
that M. Lenormand is no longer there, he has nothing to fear, he does as
he pleases. Who can unmask him?"
"I can. I will be responsible for everything. But not a word to
anybody."
They had reached the porter's lodge. The gate was opened. The prince
said:
"Good-bye, Geneviève, and be quite easy in your mind. I am there."
He shut the gate, turned round and gave a slight start. Opposite him
stood the man with the eye-glass, Baron Altenheim, with his head held
well up, his broad shoulders, his powerful frame.
They looked at each other for two or three seconds, in silence. The
baron smiled.
Then the baron said:
"I was waiting for you, Lupin."
For all his self-mastery, Sernine felt a thrill pass over him. He had
come to unmask his adversary; and his adversary had unmasked him at the
first onset. And, at the same time, the adversary was accepting the
contest boldly, brazenly, as though he felt sure of victory. It was a
swaggering thing to do and gave evidence of no small amount of pluck.
The two men, violently hostile one to the other, took each other's
measure with their eyes.
"And what then?" asked Sernine.
"What then? Don't you think we have occasion for a meeting?"
"Why?"
"I want to talk to you."
"What day will suit you?"
"To-morrow. Let us lunch together at a restaurant."
"Why not at your place?"
"You don't know my address."
"Yes, I do."
With a swift movement, the prince pulled out a newspaper protruding from
Altenheim's pocket, a paper still in its addressed wrapper, and said:
"No. 29, Villa Dupont."
"Well played!" said the other. "Then we'll say, to-morrow, at my place."
"To-morrow, at your place. At what time?"
"One o'clock."
"I shall be there. Good-bye."
They were about to walk away. Altenheim stopped:
"Oh, one word more, prince. Bring a weapon with you."
"Why?"
"I keep four men-servants and you will be alone."
"I have my fists," said Sernine. "We shall be on even terms."
He turned his back on him and then, calling him back:
"Oh, one word more, baron. Engage four more servants."
"Why?"
"I have thought it over. I shall bring my whip."
* * * * *
At one o'clock the next day, precisely, a horseman rode through the gate
of the so-called Villa Dupont, a peaceful, countrified private road,
the only entrance to which is in the Rue Pergolèse, close to the Avenue
du Bois.
It is lined with gardens and handsome private houses; and, right at the
end, it is closed by a sort of little park containing a large old house,
behind which runs the Paris circular railway. It was here, at No. 29,
that Baron Altenheim lived.
Sernine flung the reins of his horse to a groom whom he had sent on
ahead and said:
"Bring him back at half-past two."
He rang the bell. The garden-gate opened and he walked to the front-door
steps, where he was awaited by two tall men in livery who ushered him
into an immense, cold, stone hall, devoid of any ornament. The door
closed behind him with a heavy thud; and, great and indomitable as his
courage was, he nevertheless underwent an unpleasant sensation at
feeling himself alone, surrounded by enemies, in that isolated prison.
"Say Prince Sernine."
The drawing-room was near and he was shown straight in.
"Ah, there you are, my dear prince!" said the baron, coming toward him.
"Well, will you believe--Dominique, lunch in twenty minutes. Until then,
don't let us be interrupted--will you believe, my dear prince, that I
hardly expected to see you?"
"Oh, really? Why?"
"Well, your declaration of war, this morning, is so plain that an
interview becomes superfluous."
"My declaration of war?"
The baron unfolded a copy of the _Grand Journal_ and pointed to a
paragraph which ran as follows:
"We are authoritatively informed that M. Lenormand's
disappearance has roused Arsène Lupin into taking
action. After a brief enquiry and following on his
proposal to clear up the Kesselbach case, Arsène Lupin
has decided that he will find M. Lenormand, alive or
dead, and that he will deliver the author or authors
of that heinous series of crimes to justice."
"This authoritative pronouncement comes from you, my dear prince, of
course?"
"Yes, it comes from me."
"Therefore, I was right: it means war."
"Yes."
Altenheim gave Sernine a chair, sat down himself and said, in a
conciliatory tone:
"Well, no, I cannot allow that. It is impossible that two men like
ourselves should fight and injure each other. We have only to come to an
explanation, to seek the means: you and I were made to understand each
other."
"I think, on the contrary, that two men like ourselves are not made to
understand each other."
The baron suppressed a movement of impatience and continued:
"Listen to me, Lupin. . . . By the way, do you mind my calling you
Lupin?"
"What shall I call you? Altenheim, Ribeira, or Parbury?"
"Oho! I see that you are even better posted than I thought! . . . Hang
it all, but you're jolly smart! . . . All the more reason why we should
agree." And, bending toward him, "Listen, Lupin, and ponder my words
well; I have weighed them carefully, every one. Look here. . . . We two
are evenly matched. . . . Does that make you smile? You are wrong: it
may be that you possess resources which I do not; but I have others of
which you know nothing. Moreover, as you are aware, I have few scruples,
some skill and a capacity for changing my personality which an expert
like yourself ought to appreciate. In short, the two adversaries are
each as good as the other. But one question remains unanswered: why are
we adversaries? We are pursuing the same object, you will say? And what
then? Do you know what will come of our rivalry? Each of us will
paralyze the efforts and destroy the work of the other; and we shall
both miss our aim! And for whose benefit? Some Lenormand or other, a
third rogue! . . . It's really too silly."
"It's really too silly, as you say," Sernine admitted. "But there is a
remedy."
"What is that?"
"For you to withdraw."
"Don't chaff. I am serious. The proposal which I am going to make is not
one to be rejected without examination. Here it is, in two words: let's
be partners!"
"I say!"
"Of course, each of us will continue free where his own affairs are
concerned. But, for the business in question, let us combine our
efforts. Does that suit you? Hand in hand and share alike."
"What do you bring?"
"I?"
"Yes, you know what I'm worth; I've delivered my proofs. In the alliance
which you are proposing, you know the figure, so to speak of my
marriage-portion. What's yours?"
"Steinweg."
"That's not much."
"It's immense. Through Steinweg, we learn the truth about Pierre Leduc.
Through Steinweg, we get to know what the famous Kesselbach plan is all
about."
Sernine burst out laughing:
"And you need me for that?"
"I don't understand."
"Come, old chap, your offer is childish. You have Steinweg in your
hands. If you wish for my collaboration, it is because you have not
succeeded in making him speak. But for that fact, you would do without
my services."
"Well, what of it?"
"I refuse."
The two men stood up to each other once more, violent and implacable.
"I refuse," said Sernine. "Lupin requires nobody, in order to act. I am
one of those who walk alone. If you were my equal, as you pretend, the
idea of a partnership would never have entered your head. The man who
has the stature of a leader commands. Union implies obedience. I do not
obey."
"You refuse? You refuse?" repeated Altenheim, turning pale under the
insult.
"All that I can do for you, old chap, is to offer you a place in my
band. You'll be a private soldier, to begin with. Under my orders, you
shall see how a general wins a battle . . . and how he pockets the
booty, by himself and for himself. Does that suit you . . . Tommy?"
Altenheim was beside himself with fury. He gnashed his teeth:
"You are making a mistake, Lupin," he mumbled, "you are making a
mistake. . . . I don't want anybody either; and this business gives me
no more difficulty than plenty of others which I have pulled off. . . .
What I said was said in order to effect our object more quickly and
without inconveniencing each other."
"You're not inconveniencing me," said Lupin, scornfully.
"Look here! If we don't combine, only one of us will succeed."
"That's good enough for me."
"And he will only succeed by passing over the other's body. Are you
prepared for that sort of duel, Lupin? A duel to the death, do you
understand? . . . The knife is a method which you despise; but suppose
you received one, Lupin, right in the throat?"
"Aha! So, when all is said, that's what you propose?"
"No, I am not very fond of shedding blood. . . . Look at my fists: I
strike . . . and my man falls. . . . I have special blows of my own.
. . . But _the other one_ kills . . . remember . . . the little wound in
the throat. . . . Ah, Lupin, beware of him, beware of that one! . . . He
is terrible, he is implacable. . . . Nothing stops him."
He spoke these words in a low voice and with such excitement that
Sernine shuddered at the hideous thought of the unknown murderer:
"Baron," he sneered, "one would think you were afraid of your
accomplice!"
"I am afraid for the others, for those who bar our road, for you,
Lupin. Accept, or you are lost. I shall act myself, if necessary. The
goal is too near . . . I have my hand on it. . . . Get out of my way,
Lupin!"
He was all energy and exasperated will. He spoke forcibly and so
brutally that he seemed ready to strike his enemy then and there.
Sernine shrugged his shoulders:
"Lord, how hungry I am!" he said, yawning. "What a time to lunch at!"
The door opened.
"Lunch is served, sir," said the butler.
"Ah, that's good hearing!"
In the doorway, Altenheim caught Sernine by the arm and, disregarding
the servant's presence:
"If you take my advice . . . accept. This is a serious moment in your
life . . . and you will do better, I swear to you, you will do better
. . . to accept. . . ."
"Caviare!" cried Sernine. "Now, that's too sweet of you. . . . You
remembered that you were entertaining a Russian prince!"
They sat down facing each other, with the baron's greyhound, a large
animal with long, silver hair, between them.
"Let me introduce Sirius, my most faithful friend."
"A fellow-countryman," said Sernine. "I shall never forget the one which
the Tsar was good enough to give me when I had the honor to save his
life."
"Ah, you had that honor . . . a terrorist conspiracy, no doubt?"
"Yes, a conspiracy got up by myself. You must know, this dog--its name,
by the way, was Sebastopol. . . ."
The lunch continued merrily. Altenheim had recovered his good humor and
the two men vied with each other in wit and politeness. Sernine told
anecdotes which the baron capped with others; and it was a succession of
stories of hunting, sport and travel, in which the oldest names in
Europe were constantly cropping up: Spanish grandees, English lords,
Hungarian magyars, Austrian archdukes.
"Ah," said Sernine, "what a fine profession is ours! It brings us into
touch with all the best people. Here, Sirius, a bit of this truffled
chicken!"
The dog did not take his eyes off him, and snapped at everything that
Sernine gave it.
"A glass of Chambertin, prince?"
"With pleasure, baron."
"I can recommend it. It comes from King Leopold's cellar."
"A present?"
"Yes, a present I made myself."
"It's delicious. . . . What a bouquet! . . . With this _pâté de foie
gras_, it's simply wonderful! . . . I must congratulate you, baron; you
have a first-rate chef."
"My chef is a woman-cook, prince. I bribed her with untold gold to leave
Levraud, the socialist deputy. I say, try this hot chocolate-ice; and
let me call your special attention to the little dry cakes that go with
it. They're an invention of genius, those cakes."
"The shape is charming, in any case," said Sernine, helping himself. "If
they taste as good as they look. . . . Here, Sirius, you're sure to like
this. Locusta herself could not have done better."
He took one of the cakes and gave it to the dog. Sirius swallowed it at
a gulp, stood motionless for two or three seconds, as though dazed,
then turned in a circle and fell to the floor dead.
Sernine started back from his chair, lest one of the footmen should fall
upon him unawares. Then he burst out laughing:
"Look here, baron, next time you want to poison one of your friends, try
to steady your voice and to keep your hands from shaking. . . .
Otherwise, people suspect you. . . . But I thought you disliked murder?"
"With the knife, yes," said Altenheim, quite unperturbed. "But I have
always had a wish to poison some one. I wanted to see what it was like."
"By Jove, old chap, you choose your subjects well! A Russian prince!"
He walked up to Altenheim and, in a confidential tone, said:
"Do you know what would have happened if you had succeeded, that is to
say, if my friends had not seen me return at three o'clock at the
latest? Well, at half-past three the prefect of police would have known
exactly all that there was to know about the so-called Baron Altenheim;
and the said baron would have been copped before the day was out and
clapped into jail."
"Pooh!" said Altenheim. "Prison one escapes from . . . whereas one does
not come back from the kingdom where I was sending you."
"True, but you would have to send me there first; and that's not so
easy."
"I only wanted a mouthful of one of those cakes."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Try."
"One thing's certain, my lad: you haven't the stuff yet which great
adventurers are made of; and I doubt if you'll ever have it,
considering the sort of traps you lay for me. A man who thinks himself
worthy of leading the life which you and I have the honor to lead must
also be fit to lead it, and, for that, must be prepared for every
eventuality: he must even be prepared not to die if some ragamuffin or
other tries to poison him. . . . An undaunted soul in an unassailable
body: that is the ideal which he must set before himself . . . and
attain. Try away, old chap. As for me, I am undaunted and unassailable.
Remember King Mithridates!"
He went back to his chair:
"Let's finish our lunch. But as I like proving the virtues to which I
lay claim, and as, on the other hand, I don't want to hurt your cook's
feelings, just pass me that plate of cakes."
He took one of them, broke it in two and held out one half to the baron:
"Eat that!"
The other gave a movement of recoil.
"Funk!" said Sernine.
And, before the wondering eyes of the baron and his satellites, he began
to eat the first and then the second half of the cake, quietly,
conscientiously, as a man eats a dainty of which he would hate to miss
the smallest morsel.
* * * * *
They met again.
That same evening, Prince Sernine invited Baron Altenheim to dinner at
the Cabaret Vatel, with a party consisting of a poet, a musician, a
financier and two pretty actresses, members of the Théâtre Français.
The next day, they lunched together in the Bois and, at night, they met
at the Opéra.
They saw each other every day for a week. One would have thought that
they could not do without each other and that they were united by a
great friendship, built up of mutual confidence, sympathy and esteem.
They had a capital time, drinking good wine, smoking excellent cigars,
and laughing like two madmen.
In reality, they were watching each other fiercely. Mortal enemies,
separated by a merciless hatred, each feeling sure of winning and
longing for victory with an unbridled will, they waited for the
propitious moment: Altenheim to do away with Sernine; and Sernine to
hurl Altenheim into the pit which he was digging for him.
Each knew that the catastrophe could not be long delayed. One or other
of them must meet with his doom; and it was a question of hours, or, at
most, of days.
It was an exciting tragedy, and one of which a man like Sernine was
bound to relish the strange and powerful zest. To know your adversary
and to live by his side; to feel that death is waiting for you at the
least false step, at the least act of thoughtlessness: what a joy, what
a delight!
One evening, they were alone together in the garden of the Rue Cambon
Club, to which Altenheim also belonged. It was the hour before dusk, in
the month of June, at which men begin to dine before the members come in
for the evening's card-play. They were strolling round a little lawn,
along which ran a wall lined with shrubs. Beyond the shrubs was a small
door. Suddenly, while Altenheim was speaking, Sernine received the
impression that his voice became less steady, that it was almost
trembling. He watched him out of the corner of his eye. Altenheim had
his hand in the pocket of his jacket; and Sernine _saw_ that hand,
through the cloth, clutch the handle of a dagger, hesitating, wavering,
resolute and weak by turns.
O exquisite moment! Was he going to strike? Which would gain the day:
the timid instinct that dare not, or the conscious will, intense upon
the act of killing?
His chest flung out, his arms behind his back, Sernine waited, with
alternate thrills of pleasure and of pain. The baron had ceased talking;
and they now walked on in silence, side by side.
"Well, why don't you strike?" cried the prince, impatiently. He had
stopped and, turning to his companion: "Strike!" he said. "This is the
time or never. There is no one to see you. You can slip out through that
little door; the key happens to be hanging on the wall; and good-bye,
baron . . . unseen and unknown! . . . But, of course, all this was
arranged . . . you brought me here. . . . And you're hesitating! Why on
earth don't you strike?"
He looked him straight in the eyes. The other was livid, quivering with
impotent strength.
"You milksop!" Sernine sneered. "I shall never make anything of you.
Shall I tell you the truth? Well, you're afraid of me. Yes, old chap,
you never feel quite sure what may happen to you when you're face to
face with me. You want to act, whereas it's my acts, my possible acts
that govern the situation. No, it's quite clear that you're not the man
yet to put out my star!"
He had not finished speaking when he felt himself seized round the
throat and dragged backward. Some one hiding in the shrubbery, near the
little door, had caught him by the head. He saw a hand raised, armed
with a knife with a gleaming blade. The hand fell; the point of the
knife caught him right in the throat.
At the same moment Altenheim sprang upon him to finish him off; and they
rolled over into the flower-borders. It was a matter of twenty or thirty
seconds at most. Powerful and experienced wrestler as he was, Altenheim
yielded almost immediately, uttering a cry of pain. Sernine rose and ran
to the little door, which had just closed upon a dark form. It was too
late. He heard the key turn in the lock. He was unable to open it.
"Ah, you scoundrel!" he said. "The day on which I catch you will be the
day on which I shed my first blood! That I swear to God! . . ."
He went back, stooped and picked up the pieces of the knife, which had
broken as it struck him.
Altenheim was beginning to move. Sernine asked:
"Well, baron, feeling better? You didn't know that blow, eh? It's what I
call the direct blow in the solar plexus; that is to say, it snuffs out
your vital sun like a candle. It's clean, quick, painless . . . and
infallible. Whereas a blow with a dagger . . . ? Pooh! A man has only to
wear a little steel-wove gorget, as I do, and he can set the whole world
at defiance, especially your little pal in black, seeing that he always
strikes at the throat, the silly monster! . . . Here, look at his
favorite plaything . . . smashed to atoms!"
He offered him his hand:
"Come, get up, baron. You shall dine with me. And do please remember
the secret of my superiority: an undaunted soul in an unassailable
body."
He went back to the club rooms, reserved a table for two, sat down on a
sofa, and while waiting for dinner, soliloquized, under his breath:
"It's certainly an amusing game, but it's becoming dangerous. I must get
it over . . . otherwise those beggars will send me to Paradise earlier
than I want to go. The nuisance is that I can't do anything before I
find old Steinweg, for, when all is said, old Steinweg is the only
interesting factor in the whole business; and my one reason for sticking
to the baron is that I keep on hoping to pick up some clue or other.
What the devil have they done with him? Altenheim is in daily
communication with him: that is beyond a doubt; it is equally beyond a
doubt that he is doing his utmost to drag out of him what he knows about
the Kesselbach scheme. But where does he see him? Where has he got him
shut up? With friends? In his own house, at 29, Villa Dupont?"
He reflected for some time, then lit a cigarette, took three puffs at it
and threw it away. This was evidently a signal, for two young men came
and sat down beside him. He did not seem to know them, but he conversed
with them by stealth. It was the brothers Doudeville, got up that day
like men of fashion.
"What is it, governor?"
"Take six of our men, go to 29, Villa Dupont and make your way in."
"The devil! How?"
"In the name of the law. Are you not detective-inspectors? A search.
. . ."
"But we haven't the right. . . ."
"Take it."
"And the servants? If they resist?"
"There are only four of them."
"If they call out?"
"They won't call out."
"If Altenheim returns?"
"He won't return before ten o'clock. I'll see to it. That gives you two
hours and a half, which is more than you require to explore the house
from top to bottom. If you find old Steinweg, come and tell me."
Baron Altenheim came up. Sernine went to meet him:
"Let's have some dinner, shall we? That little incident in the garden
has made me feel hungry. By the way, my dear baron, I have a few bits of
advice to give you. . . ."
They sat down to table.
After dinner, Sernine suggested a game of billiards. Altenheim accepted.
When the game was over, they went to the baccarat-room. The croupier was
just shouting:
"There are fifty louis in the bank. Any bids?"
"A hundred louis," said Altenheim.
Sernine looked at his watch. Ten o'clock. The Doudevilles had not
returned. The search, therefore, had been fruitless.
"Banco," he said.
Altenheim sat down and dealt the cards:
"I give."
"No."
"Seven."
"Six. I lose," said Sernine. "Shall I double the stakes?"
"Very well," said the baron.
He dealt out the cards.
"Eight," said Sernine.
"Nine," said the baron, laying his cards down.
Sernine turned on his heels, muttering:
"That costs me three hundred louis, but I don't mind; it fixes him
here."
Ten minutes later his motor set him down in front of 29, Villa Dupont;
and he found the Doudevilles and their men collected in the hall:
"Have you hunted out the old boy?"
"No."
"Dash it! But he must be somewhere or other. Where are the four
servants?"
"Over there, in the pantry, tied up, with the cook as well."
"Good. I would as soon they did not see me. Go all you others. Jean,
stay outside and keep watch: Jacques, show me over the house."
He quickly ran through the cellar, the ground floor, the first and
second floors and the attic. He practically stopped nowhere, knowing
that he would not discover in a few minutes what his men had not been
able to discover in three hours. But he carefully noted the shape and
the arrangement of the rooms, and looked for some little detail which
would put him on the scent.
When he had finished, he returned to a bedroom which Doudeville had told
him was Altenheim's, and examined it attentively:
"This will do," he said, raising a curtain that concealed a dark closet,
full of clothes. "From here I can see the whole of the room."
"But if the baron searches the house?"
"Why should he?"
"He will know that we have been here, through his servants."
"Yes, but he will never dream that one of us is putting up here for the
night. He will think that the attempt failed, that is all, so I shall
stay."
"And how will you get out?"
"Oh, that's asking me more than I can tell you! The great thing was to
get in. Here I am, and here I stay. Go, Doudeville, and shut the doors
as you go."
He sat down on a little box at the back of the cupboard. Four rows of
hanging clothes protected him. Except in the case of a close
investigation, he was evidently quite safe.
Two hours passed. He heard the dull sound of a horse's hoofs and the
tinkling of a collar-bell. A carriage stopped, the front door slammed
and almost immediately he heard voices, exclamations, a regular outcry
that increased, probably, as each of the prisoners was released from his
gag.
"They are explaining the thing to him," he thought. "The baron must be
in a tearing rage. He now understands the reason for my conduct at the
club to-night and sees that I have dished him nicely. . . . Dished? That
depends. . . . After all, I haven't got Steinweg yet. . . . That is the
first thing that he will want to know: did they get Steinweg? To find
this out, he will go straight to the hiding-place. If he goes up, it
means that the hiding-place is upstairs. If he goes down, then it is in
the basement."
He listened. The sound of voices continued in the rooms on the ground
floor, but it did not seem as if any one were moving. Altenheim must be
cross-examining his confederates. It was half an hour before Sernine
heard steps mounting the staircase.
"Then it must be upstairs," he said to himself. "But why did they wait
so long?"
"Go to bed, all of you," said Altenheim's voice.
The baron entered his room with one of his men and shut the door:
"And I am going to bed, too, Dominique. We should be no further if we
sat arguing all night."
"My opinion is," said the other, "that he came to fetch Steinweg."
"That is my opinion, too; and that's why I'm really enjoying myself,
seeing that Steinweg isn't here."
"But where is he, after all? What have you done with him?"
"That's my secret; and you know I keep my secrets to myself. All that I
can tell you is that he is in safe keeping, and that he won't get out
before he has spoken."
"So the prince is sold?"
"Sold is the word. And he has had to fork out to attain this fine
result! Oh, I've had a good time to-night! . . . Poor prince!"
"For all that," said the other, "we shall have to get rid of him."
"Make your mind easy, old man; that won't take long. Before a week's out
you shall have a present of a pocket-book made out of Lupin-skin. But
let me go to bed now. I'm dropping with sleep."
There was a sound of the door closing. Then Sernine heard the baron push
the bolt, empty his pockets, wind up his watch and undress. He seemed in
a gay mood, whistling and singing, and even talking aloud:
"Yes, a Lupin-skin pocket-book . . . in less than a week . . . in less
than four days! . . . Otherwise he'll eat us up, the bully! . . . No
matter, he missed his shot to-night. . . . His calculation was right
enough, though . . . Steinweg was bound to be here. . . . Only, there
you are! . . ."
He got into bed and at once switched off the light.
Sernine had come forward as far as the dividing curtain, which he now
lifted slightly, and he saw the vague light of the night filtering
through the windows, leaving the bed in profound darkness.
He hesitated. Should he leap out upon the baron, take him by the throat
and obtain from him by force and threats what he had not been able to
obtain by craft? Absurd? Altenheim would never allow himself to be
intimidated.
"I say, he's snoring now," muttered Sernine. "Well, I'm off. At the
worst, I shall have wasted a night."
He did not go. He felt that it would be impossible for him to go, that
he must wait, that chance might yet serve his turn.
With infinite precautions, he took four or five coats and great-coats
from their hooks, laid them on the floor, made himself comfortable and,
with his back to the wall, went peacefully to sleep.
The baron was not an early riser. A clock outside was striking nine when
he got out of bed and rang for his servant.
He read the letters which his man brought him, splashed about in his
tub, dressed without saying a word and sat down to his table to write,
while Dominique was carefully hanging up the clothes of the previous day
in the cupboard and Sernine asking himself, with his fists ready to
strike:
"I wonder if I shall have to stave in this fellow's solar plexus?"
At ten o'clock the baron was ready:
"Leave me," said he to the servant.
"There's just this waistcoat. . . ."
"Leave me, I say. Come back when I ring . . . not before."
He shut the door himself, like a man who does not trust others, went to
a table on which a telephone was standing and took down the receiver:
"Hullo! . . . Put me on to Garches, please, mademoiselle. . . . Very
well, I'll wait till you ring me up. . . ."
He sat down to the instrument.
The telephone-bell rang.
"Hullo!" said Altenheim. "Is that Garches? . . . Yes, that's right.
. . . Give me number 38, please, mademoiselle. . . ."
A few seconds later, in a lower voice, as low and as distinct as he
could make it, he began:
"Are you 38? . . . It's I speaking; no useless words. . . . Yesterday?
. . . Yes, you missed him in the garden. . . . Another time, of course;
but the thing's becoming urgent. . . . He had the house searched last
night. . . . I'll tell you about it. . . . Found nothing, of course.
. . . What? . . . Hullo! . . . No, old Steinweg refuses to speak. . . .
Threats, promises, nothing's any good. . . . Hullo! . . . Yes, of
course, he sees that we can do nothing. . . . We know just a part of the
Kesselbach scheme and of the story of Pierre Leduc. . . . He's the only
one who has the answer to the riddle. . . . Oh, he'll speak all right;
that I'll answer for . . . this very night, too . . . If not . . . What?
. . . Well, what can we do? Anything rather than let him escape! Do you
want the prince to bag him from us? As for the prince, we shall have to
cook his goose in three days from now. . . . You have an idea? . . .
Yes, that's a good idea. . . . Oh, oh, excellent! I'll see to it. . . .
When shall we meet? Will Tuesday do? Right you are. I'll come on Tuesday
. . . at two o'clock. . . . Good-bye."
He replaced the receiver and went out.
A few hours later, while the servants were at lunch, Prince Sernine
strolled quietly out of the Villa Dupont, feeling rather faint in the
head and weak in the knees, and, while making for the nearest
restaurant, he thus summed up the situation:
"So, on Tuesday next, Altenheim and the Palace Hotel murderer have an
appointment at Garches, in a house with the telephone number 38. On
Tuesday, therefore, I shall hand over the two criminals to the police
and set M. Lenormand at liberty. In the evening, it will be old
Steinweg's turn; and I shall learn, at last, whether Pierre Leduc is the
son of a pork-butcher or not and whether he will make a suitable husband
for Geneviève. So be it!"
* * * * *
At eleven o'clock on Tuesday morning Valenglay, the prime minister, sent
for the prefect of police and M. Weber, the deputy-chief of the
detective-service, and showed them an express letter which he had just
received:
"MONSIEUR LE PRÉSIDENT DU CONSEIL,
"Knowing the interest which you take in M. Lenormand,
I am writing to inform you of certain facts which
chance has revealed to me.
"M. Lenormand is locked up in the cellars of the Villa
des Glycines at Garches, near the House of Retreat.
"The ruffians of the Palace Hotel have resolved to
murder him at two o'clock to-day.
"If the police require my assistance, they will find
me at half-past one in the garden of the House of
Retreat, or at the garden-house occupied by Mrs.
Kesselbach, whose friend I have the honor to be.
"I am, Monsieur le Président du Conseil,
"Your obedient servant,
"PRINCE SERNINE."
"This is an exceedingly grave matter, my dear M. Weber," said Valenglay.
"I may add that we can have every confidence in the accuracy of Prince
Sernine's statements. I have often met him at dinner. He is a serious,
intelligent man. . . ."
"Will you allow me, Monsieur le Président," asked the deputy-chief
detective, "to show you another letter which I also received this
morning?"
"About the same case?"
"Yes."
"Let me see it."
He took the letter and read:
"SIR,
"This is to inform you that Prince Paul Sernine, who
calls himself Mrs. Kesselbach's friend, is really
Arsène Lupin.
"One proof will be sufficient: _Paul Sernine_ is the
anagram of _Arsène Lupin_. Not a letter more, not a
letter less.
"L. M."
And M. Weber added, while Valenglay stood amazed:
"This time, our friend Lupin has found an adversary who is a match for
him. While he denounces the other, the other betrays him to us. And the
fox is caught in the trap."
"What do you propose to do?"
"Monsieur le Président, I shall take two hundred men with me!"