LUPIN'S GREAT SCHEME
Contrary to his expectations, Lupin had no sort of annoyance to undergo
in consequence of his assault on M. Formerie.
The examining-magistrate came to the Santé in person, two days later,
and told him, with some embarrassment and with an affectation of
kindness, that he did not intend to pursue the matter further.
"Nor I, either," retorted Lupin.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean that I shall send no communication to the press about this
particular matter nor do anything that might expose you to ridicule,
Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction. The scandal shall not be made public, I
promise. That is what you want, is it not?"
M. Formerie blushed and, without replying, continued:
"Only, henceforth, your examinations will take place here."
"It's quite right that the law should put itself out for Lupin!" said
that gentleman.
The announcement of this decision, which interrupted his almost daily
meetings with the Doudevilles, did not disturb Lupin. He had taken his
precautions from the first day, by giving the Doudevilles all the
necessary instructions and, now that the preparations were nearly
completed, reckoned upon being able to turn old Steinweg's confidences
to the best account without delay and to obtain his liberty by one of
the most extraordinary and ingenious schemes that had ever entered his
brain.
His method of correspondence was a simple one; and he had devised it at
once. Every morning he was supplied with sheets of paper in numbered
packets. He made these into envelopes; and, every evening, the
envelopes, duly folded and gummed, were fetched away. Now Lupin,
noticing that his packet always bore the same number, had drawn the
inference that the distribution of the numbered packets was always
affected in the same order among the prisoners who had chosen that
particular kind of work. Experience showed that he was right.
It only remained for the Doudevilles to bribe one of the employees of
the private firm entrusted with the supply and dispatch of the
envelopes. This was easily done; and, thenceforward, Lupin, sure of
success, had only to wait quietly until the sign agreed upon between him
and his friends appeared upon the top sheet of the packet.
On the sixth day, he gave an exclamation of delight:
"At last!" he said.
He took a tiny bottle from a hiding-place, uncorked it, moistened the
tip of his forefinger with the liquid which it contained and passed his
finger over the third sheet in the packet.
In a moment, strokes appeared, then letters, then words and sentences.
He read:
"All well. Steinweg free. Hiding in country. Geneviève
Ernemont good health. Often goes Hôtel Bristol to see
Mrs. Kesselbach, who is ill. Meets Pierre Leduc there
every time. Answer by same means. No danger."
So communications were established with the outside. Once more, Lupin's
efforts were crowned with success. All that he had to do now was to
execute his plan and lead the press campaign which he had prepared in
the peaceful solitude of his prison.
Three days later, these few lines appeared in the _Grand Journal_:
"Quite apart from Prince Bismarck's _Memoirs_, which,
according to well-informed people, contain merely the
official history of the events in which the great
chancellor was concerned, there exists a series of
confidential letters of no little interest.
"These letters have been recently discovered. We hear,
on good authority, that they will be published almost
immediately."
My readers will remember the noise which these mysterious sentences made
throughout the civilized world, the comments in which people indulged,
the suggestions put forward and, in particular, the controversy that
followed in the German press. Who had inspired those lines? What were
the letters in question? Who had written them to the chancellor or who
had received them from him? Was it an act of posthumous revenge? Or was
it an indiscretion committed by one of Bismarck's correspondents?
A second note settled public opinion as to certain points, but, at the
same time, worked it up to a strange pitch of excitement. It ran as
follows:
"_To the Editor of the Grand Journal_,
"SANTÉ PALACE,
"Cell 14, Second Division.
"SIR,
"You inserted in your issue of Tuesday last a
paragraph based upon a few words which I let fall, the
other evening, in the course of a lecture, which I was
delivering at the Santé on foreign politics. Your
correspondent's paragraph, although accurate in all
essential particulars, requires a slight correction.
The letters exist, as stated, and it is impossible to
deny their exceptional importance, seeing that, for
ten years, they have been the object of an
uninterrupted search on the part of the government
interested. But nobody knows where they are hidden and
nobody knows a single word of what they contain.
"The public, I am convinced, will bear me no ill-will
if I keep it waiting for some time before satisfying
its legitimate curiosity. Apart from the fact that I
am not in possession of all the elements necessary for
the pursuit of the truth, my present occupation does
not allow me to devote so much time as I could wish to
this matter.
"All that I can say for the moment is that the letters
were entrusted by the dying statesman to one of his
most faithful friends and that this friend had
eventually to suffer the serious consequences of his
loyalty. Constant spying, domiciliary visits, nothing
was spared him.
"I have given orders to two of the best agents of my
secret police to take up this scent from the start in
a position to get to the bottom of this exciting
mystery.
"I have the honor to be Sir,
"Your obedient servant,
"ARSÈNE LUPIN."
So it was Arsène Lupin who was conducting the case! It was he who, from
his prison cell, was stage-managing the comedy or the tragedy announced
in the first note. What luck! Everybody was delighted. With an artist
like Lupin, the spectacle could not fail to be both picturesque and
startling.
Three days later the _Grand Journal_ contained the following letter from
Arsène Lupin:
"The name of the devoted friend to whom I referred has
been imparted to me. It was the Grand-Duke Hermann
III., reigning (although dispossessed) sovereign of
the Grand-duchy of Zweibrucken-Veldenz and a confidant
of Prince Bismarck, whose entire friendship he
enjoyed.
"A thorough search was made of his house by Count von
W----, at the head of twelve men. The result of this
search was purely negative, but the grand-duke was
nevertheless proved to be in possession of the papers.
"Where had he hidden them? This was a problem which
probably nobody in the world would be able to solve at
the present moment.
"I must ask for twenty-four hours in which to solve
it.
"ARSÈNE LUPIN."
And, twenty-four hours later, the promised note appeared:
"The famous letters are hidden in the feudal castle of
Veldenz, the capital of the Grand-duchy of
Zweibrucken. The castle was partly destroyed in the
course of the nineteenth century.
"Where exactly are they hidden? And what are the
letters precisely? These are the two problems which I
am now engaged in unravelling; and I shall publish the
solution in four days' time.
"ARSÈNE LUPIN."
On the day stated, men scrambled to obtain copies of the _Grand
Journal_. To the general disappointment, the promised information was
not given. The same silence followed on the next day and the day after.
What had happened?
It leaked out through an indiscretion at the Prefecture of Police. The
governor of the Santé, it appeared, had been warned that Lupin was
communicating with his accomplices by means of the packets of envelopes
which he made. Nothing had been discovered; but it was thought best, in
any case, to forbid all work to the insufferable prisoner.
To this the insufferable prisoner replied:
"As I have nothing to do now, I may as well attend to my trial. Please
let my counsel, Maître Quimbel, know."
It was true. Lupin, who, hitherto, had refused to hold any intercourse
with Maître Quimbel, now consented to see him and to prepare his
defence.
On the next day Maître Quimbel, in cheery tones, asked for Lupin to be
brought to the barristers' room. He was an elderly man, wearing a pair
of very powerful spectacles, which made his eyes seem enormous. He put
his hat on the table, spread out his brief-case and at once began to put
a series of questions which he had carefully prepared.
Lupin replied with extreme readiness and even volunteered a host of
particulars, which Maître Quimbel took down, as he spoke, on slips
pinned one to the other.
"And so you say," continued the barrister, with his head over his
papers, "that, at that time . . ."
"I say that, at that time . . ." Lupin answered.
Little by little, with a series of natural and hardly perceptible
movements, he leant elbows on the table. He gradually lowered his arms,
slipped his hand under Maître Quimbel's hat, put his finger into the
leather band and took out one of those strips of paper, folded
lengthwise, which the hatter inserts between the leather and the lining
when the hat is a trifle too large.
He unfolded the paper. It was a message from Doudeville, written in a
cipher agreed upon beforehand:
"I am engaged as indoor servant at Maître Quimbel's.
You can answer by the same means without fear.
"It was L. M., the murderer, who gave away the
envelope trick. A good thing that you foresaw this
move!"
Hereupon followed a minute report of all the facts and comments caused
by Lupin's revelations.
Lupin took from his pocket a similar strip of paper containing his
instructions, quietly substituted it in the place of the other and drew
his hand back again. The trick was played.
And Lupin's correspondence with the _Grand Journal_ was resumed without
further delay.
"I apologize to the public for not keeping my promise.
The postal arrangements at the Santé Palace are
woefully inadequate.
"However, we are near the end. I have in hand all the
documents that establish the truth upon an
indisputable basis. I shall not publish them for the
moment. Nevertheless, I will say this: among the
letters are some that were addressed to the chancellor
by one who, at that time, declared himself his
disciple and his admirer and who was destined, several
years after, to rid himself of that irksome tutor and
to govern alone.
"I trust that I make myself sufficiently clear."
And, on the next day:
"The letters were written during the late Emperor's
illness. I need hardly add more to prove their
importance."
Four days of silence, and then this final note, which caused a stir that
has not yet been forgotten:
"My investigation is finished. I now know everything.
"By dint of reflection, I have guessed the secret of
the hiding-place.
"My friends are going to Veldenz and, in spite of
every obstacle, will enter the castle by a way which I
am pointing out to them.
"The newspapers will then publish photographs of the
letters, of which I already know the tenor; but I
prefer to reproduce the whole text.
"This certain, inevitable publication will take place
in a fortnight from to-day precisely, on the 22nd of
August next.
"Between this and then I will keep silence . . . and
wait."
The communications to the _Grand Journal_ did, in fact, stop for a time,
but Lupin never ceased corresponding with his friends, "_via_ the hat,"
as they said among themselves. It was so simple! There was no danger.
Who could ever suspect that Maître Quimbel's hat served Lupin as a
letter-box?
Every two or three mornings, whenever he called, in fact, the celebrated
advocate faithfully brought his client's letters: letters from Paris,
letters from the country, letters from Germany; all reduced and
condensed by Doudeville into a brief form and cipher language. And, an
hour later, Maître Quimbel solemnly walked away, carrying Lupin's
orders.
* * * * *
Now, one day, the governor of the Santé received a telephone message,
signed, "L. M.," informing him that Maître Quimbel was, in all
probability, serving Lupin as his unwitting postman and that it would be
advisable to keep an eye upon the worthy man's visits. The governor told
Maître Quimbel, who thereupon resolved to bring his junior with him.
So, once again, in spite of all Lupin's efforts, in spite of his fertile
powers of invention, in spite of the marvels of ingenuity which he
renewed after each defeat, once again Lupin found himself cut off from
communication with the outside world by the infernal genius of his
formidable adversary. And he found himself thus cut off at the most
critical moment, at the solemn minute when, from his cell, he was
playing his last trump-card against the coalesced forces that were
overwhelming him so terribly.
* * * * *
On the 13th of August, as he sat facing the two counsels, his attention
was attracted by a newspaper in which some of Maître Quimbel's papers
were wrapped up.
He saw a heading in very large type
"813"
The sub-headings were:
"A FRESH MURDER
"THE EXCITEMENT IN GERMANY
"HAS THE SECRET OF THE 'APOON' BEEN DISCOVERED?"
Lupin turned pale with anguish. Below he read the words:
"Two sensational telegrams reach us at the moment of
going to press.
"The body of an old man has been found near Augsburg,
with his throat cut with a knife. The police have
succeeded in identifying the victim: it is Steinweg,
the man mentioned in the Kesselbach case.
"On the other hand, a correspondent telegraphs that
the famous English detective, Holmlock Shears, has
been hurriedly summoned to Cologne. He will there meet
the Emperor; and they will both proceed to Veldenz
Castle.
"Holmlock Shears is said to have undertaken to
discover the secret of the 'APOON.'
"If he succeeds, it will mean the pitiful failure of
the incomprehensible campaign which Arsène Lupin has
been conducting for the past month in so strange a
fashion."
* * * * *
Perhaps public curiosity was never so much stirred as by the duel
announced to take place between Shears and Lupin, an invisible duel in
the circumstances, an anonymous duel, one might say, in which everything
would happen in the dark, in which people would be able to judge only by
the final results, and yet an impressive duel, because of all the
scandal that circled around the adventure and because of the stakes in
dispute between the two irreconcilable enemies, now once more opposed to
each other.
And it was a question not of small private interests, of insignificant
burglaries, of trumpery individual passions, but of a matter of really
world-wide importance, involving the politics of the three great western
nations and capable of disturbing the peace of the world.
People waited anxiously; and no one knew exactly what he was waiting
for. For, after all, if the detective came out victorious in the duel,
if he found the letters, who would ever know? What proof would any one
have of his triumph?
In the main, all hopes were centred on Lupin, on his well-known habit
of calling the public to witness his acts. What was he going to do? How
could he avert the frightful danger that threatened him? Was he even
aware of it?
Those were the questions which men asked themselves.
* * * * *
Between the four walls of his cell, prisoner 14 asked himself pretty
nearly the same questions; and he for his part, was not stimulated by
idle curiosity, but by real uneasiness, by constant anxiety. He felt
himself irrevocably alone, with impotent hands, an impotent will, an
impotent brain. It availed him nothing that he was able, ingenious,
fearless, heroic. The struggle was being carried on without him. His
part was now finished. He had joined all the pieces and set all the
springs of the great machine that was to produce, that was, in a manner
of speaking, automatically to manufacture his liberty; and it was
impossible for him to make a single movement to improve and supervise
his handiwork.
At the date fixed, the machine would start working. Between now and
then, a thousand adverse incidents might spring up, a thousand obstacles
arise, without his having the means to combat those incidents or remove
those obstacles.
Lupin spent the unhappiest hours of his life at that time. He doubted
himself. He wondered whether his existence would be buried for good in
the horror of a jail. Had he not made a mistake in his calculations? Was
it not childish to believe that the event that was to set him free would
happen on the appointed date?
"Madness!" he cried. "My argument is false. . . . How can I expect such
a concurrence of circumstances? There will be some little fact that
will destroy all . . . the inevitable grain of sand. . . ."
Steinweg's death and the disappearance of the documents which the old
man was to make over to him did not trouble him greatly. The documents
he could have done without in case of need; and, with the few words
which Steinweg had told him, he was able, by dint of guess-work and his
native genius, to reconstruct what the Emperor's letters contained and
to draw up the plan of battle that would lead to victory. But he thought
of Holmlock Shears, who was over there now, in the very centre of the
battlefield, and who was seeking and who would find the letters, thus
demolishing the edifice so patiently built up.
And he thought of "the other one," the implacable enemy, lurking round
the prison, hidden in the prison, perhaps, who guessed his most secret
plans even before they were hatched in the mystery of his thought.
* * * * *
The 17th of August! . . . The 18th of August! . . . The 19th! . . . Two
more days. . . . Two centuries rather! Oh, the interminable minutes!
. . .
Lupin, usually so calm, so entirely master of himself, so ingenious at
providing matter for his own amusement, was feverish, exultant and
depressed by turns, powerless against the enemy, mistrusting everything
and everybody, morose.
* * * * *
The 20th of August! . . . .
* * * * *
He would have wished to act and he could not. Whatever he did, it was
impossible for him to hasten the hour of the catastrophe. This
catastrophe would take place or would not take place; but Lupin would
not know for certain until the last hour of the last day was spent to
the last minute. Then--and then alone--he would know of the definite
failure of his scheme.
"The inevitable failure," he kept on repeating to himself. "Success
depends upon circumstances far too subtle and can be obtained only by
methods far too psychological. . . . There is no doubt that I am
deceiving myself as to the value and the range of my weapons. . . . And
yet . . ."
Hope returned to him. He weighed his chances. They suddenly seemed to
him real and formidable. The fact was going to happen as he had foreseen
it happening and for the very reasons which he had expected. It was
inevitable. . . .
Yes, inevitable. Unless, indeed, Shears discovered the hiding-place.
. . .
And again he thought of Shears; and again an immense sense of
discouragement overwhelmed him.
* * * * *
The last day. . . .
He woke late, after a night of bad dreams.
He saw nobody that day, neither the examining magistrate nor his
counsel.
The afternoon dragged along slowly and dismally, and the evening came,
the murky evening of the cells. . . . He was in a fever. His heart beat
in his chest like the clapper of a bell.
And the minutes passed, irretrievably. . . .
At nine o'clock, nothing. At ten o'clock, nothing.
With all his nerves tense as the string of a bow, he listened to the
vague prison sounds, tried to catch through those inexorable walls all
that might trickle in from the life outside.
Oh, how he would have liked to stay the march of time and to give
destiny a little more leisure!
But what was the good? Was everything not finished? . . .
"Oh," he cried, "I am going mad! If all this were only over . . . that
would be better. I can begin again, differently. . . . I shall try
something else . . . but I can't go on like this, I can't go on. . . ."
He held his head in his hands, pressing it with all his might, locking
himself within himself and concentrating his whole mind upon one
subject, as though he wished to provoke, as though he wished to create
the formidable, stupefying, inadmissible event to which he had attached
his independence and his fortune:
"It must happen," he muttered, "it must; and it must, not because I wish
it, but because it is logical. And it shall happen . . . it shall
happen. . . ."
He beat his skull with his fists; and delirious words rose to his lips.
. . .
The key grated in the lock. In his frenzy, he had not heard the sound of
footsteps in the corridor; and now, suddenly, a ray of light penetrated
into his cell and the door opened.
Three men entered.
Lupin had not a moment of surprise.
The unheard-of miracle was being worked; and this at once seemed to him
natural and normal, in perfect agreement with truth and justice.
But a rush of pride flooded his whole being. At this minute he really
received a clear sensation of his own strength and intelligence. . . .
* * * * *
"Shall I switch on the light?" asked one of the three men, in whom
Lupin recognized the governor of the prison.
"No," replied the taller of his companions, speaking in a foreign
accent. "This lantern will do."
"Shall I go?"
"Act according to your duty, sir," said the same individual.
"My instructions from the prefect of police are to comply entirely with
your wishes."
"In that case, sir, it would be preferable that you should withdraw."
M. Borély went away, leaving the door half open, and remained outside,
within call.
The visitor exchanged a few words with the one who had not yet spoken;
and Lupin vainly tried to distinguish his features in the shade. He saw
only two dark forms, clad in wide motoring-cloaks and wearing caps with
the flaps lowered.
"Are you Arsène Lupin?" asked the man, turning the light of the lantern
full on his face.
He smiled:
"Yes, I am the person known as Arsène Lupin, at present a prisoner in
the Santé, cell 14, second division."
"Was it you," continued the visitor, "who published in the _Grand
Journal_ a series of more or less fanciful notes, in which there is a
question of a so-called collection of letters . . . ?"
Lupin interrupted him.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but, before pursuing this conversation, the
object of which, between ourselves, is none too clear to me, I should be
much obliged if you would tell me to whom I have the honour of
speaking."
"Absolutely unnecessary," replied the stranger.
"Absolutely essential," declared Lupin.
"Why?"
"For reasons of politeness, sir. You know my name and I do not know
yours; this implies a disregard of good form which I cannot suffer."
The stranger lost patience:
"The mere fact that the governor of the prison brought us here shows
. . ."
"That M. Borély does not know his manners," said Lupin. "M. Borély
should have introduced us to each other. We are equals here, sir: it is
no case of a superior and an inferior, of a prisoner and a visitor who
condescends to come and see him. There are two men here; and one of
those two men has a hat on his head, which he ought not to have."
"Now look here . . ."
"Take the lesson as you please, sir," said Lupin.
The stranger came closer to him and tried to speak.
"The hat first," said Lupin, "the hat. . . ."
"You shall listen to me!"
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
Matters were becoming virulent, stupidly. The second stranger, the one
who had kept silent, placed his hand on his companion's shoulder and
said, in German:
"Leave him to me."
"Why, it was understood . . ."
"Hush . . . and go away!"
"Leaving you alone?"
"Yes."
"But the door?"
"Shut it and walk away."
"But this man . . . you know who he is. . . . Arsène Lupin. . . ."
"Go away!"
The other went out, cursing under his breath.
"Pull the door!" cried the second visitor. "Harder than that. . . .
Altogether! . . . That's right. . . ."
Then he turned, took the lantern and raised it slowly:
"Shall I tell you who I am?" he asked.
"No," replied Lupin.
"And why?"
"Because I know."
"Ah!"
"You are the visitor I was expecting."
"I?"
"Yes, Sire."