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[Illustration: "_Suddenly he rushed at her and caught her by the arm_"]
THE INTERNATIONAL
ADVENTURE LIBRARY
THREE OWLS EDITION
THE CONFESSIONS
OF ARSENE LUPIN
An Adventure Story
BY
MAURICE LEBLANC
Author of "Arsene Lupin"
W. R. CALDWELL & CO.
NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1912, 1913, by_
Maurice Leblanc
_All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND FRANCS REWARD! 1
II. THE WEDDING-RING 36
III. THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 66
IV. THE INFERNAL TRAP 101
V. THE RED SILK SCARF 138
VI. SHADOWED BY DEATH 177
VII. A TRAGEDY IN THE FOREST OF MORGUES 210
VIII. LUPIN'S MARRIAGE 228
IX. THE INVISIBLE PRISONER 266
X. EDITH SWAN-NECK 291
THE CONFESSIONS OF ARSENE LUPIN
THE CONFESSIONS OF ARSENE LUPIN
I
TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND FRANCS REWARD!...
"Lupin," I said, "tell me something about yourself."
"Why, what would you have me tell you? Everybody knows my life!" replied
Lupin, who lay drowsing on the sofa in my study.
"Nobody knows it!" I protested. "People know from your letters in the
newspapers that you were mixed up in this case, that you started that
case. But the part which you played in it all, the plain facts of the
story, the upshot of the mystery: these are things of which they know
nothing."
"Pooh! A heap of uninteresting twaddle!"
"What! Your present of fifty thousand francs to Nicolas Dugrival's wife!
Do you call that uninteresting? And what about the way in which you
solved the puzzle of the three pictures?"
Lupin laughed:
"Yes, that was a queer puzzle, certainly. I can suggest a title for you
if you like: what do you say to _The Sign of the Shadow_?"
"And your successes in society and with the fair sex?" I continued. "The
dashing Arsene's love-affairs!... And the clue to your good actions?
Those chapters in your life to which you have so often alluded under the
names of _The Wedding-ring_, _Shadowed by Death_, and so on!... Why
delay these confidences and confessions, my dear Lupin?... Come, do what
I ask you!..."
It was at the time when Lupin, though already famous, had not yet fought
his biggest battles; the time that preceded the great adventures of _The
Hollow Needle_ and _813_. He had not yet dreamt of annexing the
accumulated treasures of the French Royal House[A] nor of changing the
map of Europe under the Kaiser's nose[B]: he contented himself with
milder surprises and humbler profits, making his daily effort, doing
evil from day to day and doing a little good as well, naturally and for
the love of the thing, like a whimsical and compassionate Don Quixote.
[A] _The Hollow Needle._ By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexander
Teixeira de Mattos (Eveleigh Nash).
[B] _813._ By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexander Teixeira de
Mattos (Mills & Boon).
He was silent; and I insisted:
"Lupin, I wish you would!"
To my astonishment, he replied:
"Take a sheet of paper, old fellow, and a pencil."
I obeyed with alacrity, delighted at the thought that he at last meant
to dictate to me some of those pages which he knows how to clothe with
such vigour and fancy, pages which I, unfortunately, am obliged to spoil
with tedious explanations and boring developments.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Quite."
"Write down, 20, 1, 11, 5, 14, 15."
"What?"
"Write it down, I tell you."
He was now sitting up, with his eyes turned to the open window and his
fingers rolling a Turkish cigarette. He continued:
"Write down, 21, 14, 14, 5...."
He stopped. Then he went on:
"3, 5, 19, 19 ..."
And, after a pause:
"5, 18, 25 ..."
Was he mad? I looked at him hard and, presently, I saw that his eyes
were no longer listless, as they had been a little before, but keen and
attentive and that they seemed to be watching, somewhere, in space, a
sight that apparently captivated them.
Meanwhile, he dictated, with intervals between each number:
"18, 9, 19, 11, 19 ..."
There was hardly anything to be seen through the window but a patch of
blue sky on the right and the front of the building opposite, an old
private house, whose shutters were closed as usual. There was nothing
particular about all this, no detail that struck me as new among those
which I had had before my eyes for years....
"1, 2...."
And suddenly I understood ... or rather I thought I understood, for how
could I admit that Lupin, a man so essentially level-headed under his
mask of frivolity, could waste his time upon such childish nonsense?
What he was counting was the intermittent flashes of a ray of sunlight
playing on the dingy front of the opposite house, at the height of the
second floor!
"15, 22 ..." said Lupin.
The flash disappeared for a few seconds and then struck the house again,
successively, at regular intervals, and disappeared once more.
I had instinctively counted the flashes and I said, aloud:
"5...."
"Caught the idea? I congratulate you!" he replied, sarcastically.
He went to the window and leant out, as though to discover the exact
direction followed by the ray of light. Then he came and lay on the sofa
again, saying:
"It's your turn now. Count away!"
The fellow seemed so positive that I did as he told me. Besides, I could
not help confessing that there was something rather curious about the
ordered frequency of those gleams on the front of the house opposite,
those appearances and disappearances, turn and turn about, like so many
flash signals.
They obviously came from a house on our side of the street, for the sun
was entering my windows slantwise. It was as though some one were
alternately opening and shutting a casement, or, more likely, amusing
himself by making sunlight flashes with a pocket-mirror.
"It's a child having a game!" I cried, after a moment or two, feeling a
little irritated by the trivial occupation that had been thrust upon me.
"Never mind, go on!"
And I counted away.... And I put down rows of figures.... And the sun
continued to play in front of me, with mathematical precision.
"Well?" said Lupin, after a longer pause than usual.
"Why, it seems finished.... There has been nothing for some
minutes...."
We waited and, as no more light flashed through space, I said,
jestingly:
"My idea is that we have been wasting our time. A few figures on paper:
a poor result!"
Lupin, without stirring from his sofa, rejoined:
"Oblige me, old chap, by putting in the place of each of those numbers
the corresponding letter of the alphabet. Count A as 1, B as 2 and so
on. Do you follow me?"
"But it's idiotic!"
"Absolutely idiotic, but we do such a lot of idiotic things in this
life.... One more or less, you know!..."
I sat down to this silly work and wrote out the first letters:
"_Take no...._"
I broke off in surprise:
"Words!" I exclaimed. "Two English words meaning...."
"Go on, old chap."
And I went on and the next letters formed two more words, which I
separated as they appeared. And, to my great amazement, a complete
English sentence lay before my eyes.
"Done?" asked Lupin, after a time.
"Done!... By the way, there are mistakes in the spelling...."
"Never mind those and read it out, please.... Read slowly."
Thereupon I read out the following unfinished communication, which I
will set down as it appeared on the paper in front of me:
"_Take no unnecessery risks. Above all, avoid atacks, approach
ennemy with great prudance and...._"
I began to laugh:
"And there you are! _Fiat lux!_ We're simply dazed with light! But,
after all, Lupin, confess that this advice, dribbled out by a
kitchen-maid, doesn't help you much!"
Lupin rose, without breaking his contemptuous silence, and took the
sheet of paper.
I remembered soon after that, at this moment, I happened to look at the
clock. It was eighteen minutes past five.
Lupin was standing with the paper in his hand; and I was able at my ease
to watch, on his youthful features, that extraordinary mobility of
expression which baffles all observers and constitutes his great
strength and his chief safeguard. By what signs can one hope to identify
a face which changes at pleasure, even without the help of make-up, and
whose every transient expression seems to be the final, definite
expression?... By what signs? There was one which I knew well, an
invariable sign: Two little crossed wrinkles that marked his forehead
whenever he made a powerful effort of concentration. And I saw it at
that moment, saw the tiny tell-tale cross, plainly and deeply scored.
He put down the sheet of paper and muttered:
"Child's play!"
The clock struck half-past five.
"What!" I cried. "Have you succeeded?... In twelve minutes?..."
He took a few steps up and down the room, lit a cigarette and said:
"You might ring up Baron Repstein, if you don't mind, and tell him I
shall be with him at ten o'clock this evening."
"Baron Repstein?" I asked. "The husband of the famous baroness?"
"Yes."
"Are you serious?"
"Quite serious."
Feeling absolutely at a loss, but incapable of resisting him, I opened
the telephone-directory and unhooked the receiver. But, at that moment,
Lupin stopped me with a peremptory gesture and said, with his eyes on
the paper, which he had taken up again:
"No, don't say anything.... It's no use letting him know.... There's
something more urgent ... a queer thing that puzzles me.... Why on
earth wasn't the last sentence finished? Why is the sentence...."
He snatched up his hat and stick:
"Let's be off. If I'm not mistaken, this is a business that requires
immediate solution; and I don't believe I _am_ mistaken."
He put his arm through mine, as we went down the stairs, and said:
"I know what everybody knows. Baron Repstein, the company-promoter and
racing-man, whose colt Etna won the Derby and the Grand Prix this year,
has been victimized by his wife. The wife, who was well known for her
fair hair, her dress and her extravagance, ran away a fortnight ago,
taking with her a sum of three million francs, stolen from her husband,
and quite a collection of diamonds, pearls and jewellery which the
Princesse de Berny had placed in her hands and which she was supposed to
buy. For two weeks the police have been pursuing the baroness across
France and the continent: an easy job, as she scatters gold and jewels
wherever she goes. They think they have her every moment. Two days ago,
our champion detective, the egregious Ganimard, arrested a visitor at a
big hotel in Belgium, a woman against whom the most positive evidence
seemed to be heaped up. On enquiry, the lady turned out to be a
notorious chorus-girl called Nelly Darbal. As for the baroness, she has
vanished. The baron, on his side, has offered a reward of two hundred
thousand francs to whosoever finds his wife. The money is in the hands
of a solicitor. Moreover, he has sold his racing-stud, his house on the
Boulevard Haussmann and his country-seat of Roquencourt in one lump, so
that he may indemnify the Princesse de Berny for her loss."
"And the proceeds of the sale," I added, "are to be paid over at once.
The papers say that the princess will have her money to-morrow. Only,
frankly, I fail to see the connection between this story, which you have
told very well, and the puzzling sentence...."
Lupin did not condescend to reply.
We had been walking down the street in which I live and had passed some
four or five houses, when he stepped off the pavement and began to
examine a block of flats, not of the latest construction, which looked
as if it contained a large number of tenants:
"According to my calculations," he said, "this is where the signals came
from, probably from that open window."
"On the third floor?"
"Yes."
He went to the portress and asked her:
"Does one of your tenants happen to be acquainted with Baron Repstein?"
"Why, of course!" replied the woman. "We have M. Lavernoux here, such a
nice gentleman; he is the baron's secretary and agent. I look after his
flat."
"And can we see him?"
"See him?... The poor gentleman is very ill."
"Ill?"
"He's been ill a fortnight ... ever since the trouble with the
baroness.... He came home the next day with a temperature and took to
his bed."
"But he gets up, surely?"
"Ah, that I can't say!"
"How do you mean, you can't say?"
"No, his doctor won't let any one into his room. He took my key from
me."
"Who did?"
"The doctor. He comes and sees to his wants, two or three times a day.
He left the house only twenty minutes ago ... an old gentleman with a
grey beard and spectacles.... Walks quite bent.... But where are you
going sir?"
"I'm going up, show me the way," said Lupin, with his foot on the
stairs. "It's the third floor, isn't it, on the left?"
"But I mustn't!" moaned the portress, running after him. "Besides, I
haven't the key ... the doctor...."
They climbed the three flights, one behind the other. On the landing,
Lupin took a tool from his pocket and, disregarding the woman's
protests, inserted it in the lock. The door yielded almost immediately.
We went in.
At the back of a small dark room we saw a streak of light filtering
through a door that had been left ajar. Lupin ran across the room and,
on reaching the threshold, gave a cry:
"Too late! Oh, hang it all!"
The portress fell on her knees, as though fainting.
I entered the bedroom, in my turn, and saw a man lying half-dressed on
the carpet, with his legs drawn up under him, his arms contorted and his
face quite white, an emaciated, fleshless face, with the eyes still
staring in terror and the mouth twisted into a hideous grin.
"He's dead," said Lupin, after a rapid examination.
"But why?" I exclaimed. "There's not a trace of blood!"
"Yes, yes, there is," replied Lupin, pointing to two or three drops that
showed on the chest, through the open shirt. "Look, they must have taken
him by the throat with one hand and pricked him to the heart with the
other. I say, 'pricked,' because really the wound can't be seen. It
suggests a hole made by a very long needle."
[Illustration: "_Lupin took a tool from his pocket ... and inserted it
in the lock_"]
He looked on the floor, all round the corpse. There was nothing to
attract his attention, except a little pocket-mirror, the little mirror
with which M. Lavernoux had amused himself by making the sunbeams dance
through space.
But, suddenly, as the portress was breaking into lamentations and
calling for help, Lupin flung himself on her and shook her:
"Stop that!... Listen to me ... you can call out later.... Listen to me
and answer me. It is most important. M. Lavernoux had a friend living in
this street, had he not? On the same side, to the right? An intimate
friend?"
"Yes."
"A friend whom he used to meet at the cafe in the evening and with whom
he exchanged the illustrated papers?"
"Yes."
"Was the friend an Englishman?"
"Yes."
"What's his name?"
"Mr. Hargrove."
"Where does he live?"
"At No. 92 in this street."
"One word more: had that old doctor been attending him long?"
"No. I did not know him. He came on the evening when M. Lavernoux was
taken ill."
Without another word, Lupin dragged me away once more, ran down the
stairs and, once in the street, turned to the right, which took us past
my flat again. Four doors further, he stopped at No. 92, a small,
low-storied house, of which the ground-floor was occupied by the
proprietor of a dram-shop, who stood smoking in his doorway, next to the
entrance-passage. Lupin asked if Mr. Hargrove was at home.
"Mr. Hargrove went out about half-an-hour ago," said the publican. "He
seemed very much excited and took a taxi-cab, a thing he doesn't often
do."
"And you don't know...."
"Where he was going? Well, there's no secret about it He shouted it loud
enough! 'Prefecture of Police' is what he said to the driver...."
Lupin was himself just hailing a taxi, when he changed his mind; and I
heard him mutter:
"What's the good? He's got too much start of us...."
He asked if any one called after Mr. Hargrove had gone.
"Yes, an old gentleman with a grey beard and spectacles. He went up to
Mr. Hargrove's, rang the bell, and went away again."
"I am much obliged," said Lupin, touching his hat.
He walked away slowly without speaking to me, wearing a thoughtful air.
There was no doubt that the problem struck him as very difficult, and
that he saw none too clearly in the darkness through which he seemed to
be moving with such certainty.
He himself, for that matter, confessed to me:
"These are cases that require much more intuition than reflection. But
this one, I may tell you, is well worth taking pains about."
We had now reached the boulevards. Lupin entered a public reading-room
and spent a long time consulting the last fortnight's newspapers. Now
and again, he mumbled:
"Yes ... yes ... of course ... it's only a guess, but it explains
everything.... Well, a guess that answers every question is not far from
being the truth...."
It was now dark. We dined at a little restaurant and I noticed that
Lupin's face became gradually more animated. His gestures were more
decided. He recovered his spirits, his liveliness. When we left, during
the walk which he made me take along the Boulevard Haussmann, towards
Baron Repstein's house, he was the real Lupin of the great occasions,
the Lupin who had made up his mind to go in and win.
We slackened our pace just short of the Rue de Courcelles. Baron
Repstein lived on the left-hand side, between this street and the
Faubourg Saint-Honore, in a three-storied private house of which we
could see the front, decorated with columns and caryatides.
"Stop!" said Lupin, suddenly.
"What is it?"
"Another proof to confirm my supposition...."
"What proof? I see nothing."
"I do.... That's enough...."
He turned up the collar of his coat, lowered the brim of his soft hat
and said:
"By Jove, it'll be a stiff fight! Go to bed, my friend. I'll tell you
about my expedition to-morrow ... if it doesn't cost me my life."
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, I know what I'm saying! I'm risking a lot. First of all, getting
arrested, which isn't much. Next, getting killed, which is worse.
But...." He gripped my shoulder. "But there's a third thing I'm risking,
which is getting hold of two millions.... And, once I possess a capital
of two millions, I'll show people what I can do! Good-night, old chap,
and, if you never see me again...." He spouted Musset's lines:
"Plant a willow by my grave,
The weeping willow that I love...."
I walked away. Three minutes later--I am continuing the narrative as he
told it to me next day--three minutes later, Lupin rang at the door of
the Hotel Repstein.
* * * * *
"Is monsieur le baron at home?"
"Yes," replied the butler, examining the intruder with an air of
surprise, "but monsieur le baron does not see people as late as this."
"Does monsieur le baron know of the murder of M. Lavernoux, his
land-agent?"
"Certainly."
"Well, please tell monsieur le baron that I have come about the murder
and that there is not a moment to lose."
A voice called from above:
"Show the gentleman up, Antoine."
In obedience to this peremptory order, the butler led the way to the
first floor. In an open doorway stood a gentleman whom Lupin recognized
from his photograph in the papers as Baron Repstein, husband of the
famous baroness and owner of Etna, the horse of the year.
He was an exceedingly tall, square-shouldered man. His clean-shaven face
wore a pleasant, almost smiling expression, which was not affected by
the sadness of his eyes. He was dressed in a well-cut morning-coat, with
a tan waistcoat and a dark tie fastened with a pearl pin, the value of
which struck Lupin as considerable.
He took Lupin into his study, a large, three-windowed room, lined with
book-cases, sets of pigeonholes, an American desk and a safe. And he at
once asked, with ill-concealed eagerness:
"Do you know anything?"
"Yes, monsieur le baron."
"About the murder of that poor Lavernoux?"
"Yes, monsieur le baron, and about madame le baronne also."
"Do you really mean it? Quick, I entreat you...."
He pushed forward a chair. Lupin sat down and began:
"Monsieur le baron, the circumstances are very serious. I will be
brief."
"Yes, do, please."
"Well, monsieur le baron, in a few words, it amounts to this: five or
six hours ago, Lavernoux, who, for the last fortnight, had been kept in
a sort of enforced confinement by his doctor, Lavernoux--how shall I put
it?--telegraphed certain revelations by means of signals which were
partly taken down by me and which put me on the track of this case. He
himself was surprised in the act of making this communication and was
murdered."
"But by whom? By whom?"
"By his doctor."
"Who is this doctor?"
"I don't know. But one of M. Lavernoux's friends, an Englishman called
Hargrove, the friend, in fact, with whom he was communicating, is bound
to know and is also bound to know the exact and complete meaning of the
communication, because, without waiting for the end, he jumped into a
motor-cab and drove to the Prefecture of Police."
"Why? Why?... And what is the result of that step?"
"The result, monsieur le baron, is that your house is surrounded. There
are twelve detectives under your windows. The moment the sun rises, they
will enter in the name of the law and arrest the criminal."
"Then is Lavernoux's murderer concealed in my house? Who is he? One of
the servants? But no, for you were speaking of a doctor!..."
"I would remark, monsieur le baron, that when this Mr. Hargrove went to
the police to tell them of the revelations made by his friend Lavernoux,
he was not aware that his friend Lavernoux was going to be murdered. The
step taken by Mr Hargrove had to do with something else...."
"With what?"
"With the disappearance of madame la baronne, of which he knew the
secret, thanks to the communication made by Lavernoux."
"What! They know at last! They have found the baroness! Where is she?
And the jewels? And the money she robbed me of?"
Baron Repstein was talking in a great state of excitement. He rose and,
almost shouting at Lupin, cried:
"Finish your story, sir! I can't endure this suspense!"
Lupin continued, in a slow and hesitating voice:
"The fact is ... you see ... it is rather difficult to explain ... for
you and I are looking at the thing from a totally different point of
view."
"I don't understand."
"And yet you ought to understand, monsieur le baron.... We begin by
saying--I am quoting the newspapers--by saying, do we not, that Baroness
Repstein knew all the secrets of your business and that she was able to
open not only that safe over there, but also the one at the Credit
Lyonnais in which you kept your securities locked up?"
"Yes."
"Well, one evening, a fortnight ago, while you were at your club,
Baroness Repstein, who, unknown to yourself, had converted all those
securities into cash, left this house with a travelling-bag, containing
your money and all the Princesse de Berny's jewels?"
"Yes."
"And, since then, she has not been seen?"
"No."
"Well, there is an excellent reason why she has not been seen."
"What reason?"
"This, that Baroness Repstein has been murdered...."
"Murdered!... The baroness!... But you're mad!"
"Murdered ... and probably that same evening."
"I tell you again, you are mad! How can the baroness have been murdered,
when the police are following her tracks, so to speak, step by step?"
"They are following the tracks of another woman."
"What woman?"
"The murderer's accomplice."
"And who is the murderer?"
"The same man who, for the last fortnight, knowing that Lavernoux,
through the situation which he occupied in this house, had discovered
the truth, kept him imprisoned, forced him to silence, threatened him,
terrorized him; the same man who, finding Lavernoux in the act of
communicating with a friend, made away with him in cold blood by
stabbing him to the heart."
"The doctor, therefore?"
"Yes."
"But who is this doctor? Who is this malevolent genius, this infernal
being who appears and disappears, who slays in the dark and whom nobody
suspects?"
"Can't you guess?"
"No."
"And do you want to know?"
"Do I want to know?... Why, speak, man, speak!... You know where he is
hiding?"
"Yes."
"In this house?"
"Yes."
"And it is he whom the police are after?"
"Yes."
"And I know him?"
"Yes."
"Who is it?"
"You!"
"I!..."
Lupin had not been more than ten minutes with the baron; and the duel
was commencing. The accusation was hurled, definitely, violently,
implacably.
Lupin repeated:
"You yourself, got up in a false beard and a pair of spectacles, bent in
two, like an old man. In short, you, Baron Repstein; and it is you for
a very good reason, of which nobody has thought, which is that, if it
was not you who contrived the whole plot, the case becomes inexplicable.
Whereas, taking you as the criminal, you as murdering the baroness in
order to get rid of her and run through those millions with another
woman, you as murdering Lavernoux, your agent, in order to suppress an
unimpeachable witness, oh, then the whole case is explained! Well, is it
pretty clear? And are not you yourself convinced?"
The baron, who, throughout this conversation, had stood bending over his
visitor, waiting for each of his words with feverish avidity, now drew
himself up and looked at Lupin as though he undoubtedly had to do with a
madman. When Lupin had finished speaking, the baron stepped back two or
three paces, seemed on the point of uttering words which he ended by not
saying, and then, without taking his eyes from his strange visitor, went
to the fireplace and rang the bell.
Lupin did not make a movement. He waited smiling.
The butler entered. His master said:
"You can go to bed, Antoine. I will let this gentleman out."
"Shall I put out the lights, sir?"
"Leave a light in the hall."
Antoine left the room and the baron, after taking a revolver from his
desk, at once came back to Lupin, put the weapon in his pocket and said,
very calmly:
"You must excuse this little precaution, sir. I am obliged to take it in
case you should be mad, though that does not seem likely. No, you are
not mad. But you have come here with an object which I fail to grasp;
and you have sprung upon me an accusation of so astounding a character
that I am curious to know the reason. I have experienced so much
disappointment and undergone so much suffering that an outrage of this
kind leaves me indifferent. Continue, please."
His voice shook with emotion and his sad eyes seemed moist with tears.
Lupin shuddered. Had he made a mistake? Was the surmise which his
intuition had suggested to him and which was based upon a frail
groundwork of slight facts, was this surmise wrong?
His attention was caught by a detail: through the opening in the baron's
waistcoat he saw the point of the pin fixed in the tie and was thus able
to realize the unusual length of the pin. Moreover, the gold stem was
triangular and formed a sort of miniature dagger, very thin and very
delicate, yet formidable in an expert hand.
And Lupin had no doubt but that the pin attached to that magnificent
pearl was the weapon which had pierced the heart of the unfortunate M.
Lavernoux.
He muttered:
"You're jolly clever, monsieur le baron!"
The other, maintaining a rather scornful gravity, kept silence, as
though he did not understand and as though waiting for the explanation
to which he felt himself entitled. And, in spite of everything, this
impassive attitude worried Arsene Lupin. Nevertheless, his conviction
was so profound and, besides, he had staked so much on the adventure
that he repeated:
"Yes, jolly clever, for it is evident that the baroness only obeyed your
orders in realizing your securities and also in borrowing the princess's
jewels on the pretence of buying them. And it is evident that the person
who walked out of your house with a bag was not your wife, but an
accomplice, that chorus-girl probably, and that it is your chorus-girl
who is deliberately allowing herself to be chased across the continent
by our worthy Ganimard. And I look upon the trick as marvellous. What
does the woman risk, seeing that it is the baroness who is being looked
for? And how could they look for any other woman than the baroness,
seeing that you have promised a reward of two hundred thousand francs to
the person who finds the baroness?... Oh, that two hundred thousand
francs lodged with a solicitor: what a stroke of genius! It has dazzled
the police! It has thrown dust in the eyes of the most clear-sighted! A
gentleman who lodges two hundred thousand francs with a solicitor is a
gentleman who speaks the truth.... So they go on hunting the baroness!
And they leave you quietly to settle your affairs, to sell your stud and
your two houses to the highest bidder and to prepare your flight!
Heavens, what a joke!"
The baron did not wince. He walked up to Lupin and asked, without
abandoning his imperturbable coolness:
"Who are you?"
Lupin burst out laughing.
"What can it matter who I am? Take it that I am an emissary of fate,
looming out of the darkness for your destruction!"
He sprang from his chair, seized the baron by the shoulder and jerked
out:
"Yes, for your destruction, my bold baron! Listen to me! Your wife's
three millions, almost all the princess's jewels, the money you received
to-day from the sale of your stud and your real estate: it's all there,
in your pocket, or in that safe. Your flight is prepared. Look, I can
see the leather of your portmanteau behind that hanging. The papers on
your desk are in order. This very night, you would have done a guy.
This very night, disguised beyond recognition, after taking all your
precautions, you would have joined your chorus-girl, the creature for
whose sake you have committed murder, that same Nelly Darbal, no doubt,
whom Ganimard arrested in Belgium. But for one sudden, unforeseen
obstacle: the police, the twelve detectives who, thanks to Lavernoux's
revelations, have been posted under your windows. They've cooked your
goose, old chap!... Well, I'll save you. A word through the telephone;
and, by three or four o'clock in the morning, twenty of my friends will
have removed the obstacle, polished off the twelve detectives, and you
and I will slip away quietly. My conditions? Almost nothing; a trifle to
you: we share the millions and the jewels. Is it a bargain?"
He was leaning over the baron, thundering at him with irresistible
energy. The baron whispered:
"I'm beginning to understand. It's blackmail...."
"Blackmail or not, call it what you please, my boy, but you've got to go
through with it and do as I say. And don't imagine that I shall give way
at the last moment. Don't say to yourself, 'Here's a gentleman whom the
fear of the police will cause to think twice. If I run a big risk in
refusing, he also will be risking the handcuffs, the cells and the rest
of it, seeing that we are both being hunted down like wild beasts.' That
would be a mistake, monsieur le baron. I can always get out of it. It's
a question of yourself, of yourself alone.... Your money or your life,
my lord! Share and share alike ... if not, the scaffold! Is it a
bargain?"
A quick movement. The baron released himself, grasped his revolver and
fired.
But Lupin was prepared for the attack, the more so as the baron's face
had lost its assurance and gradually, under the slow impulse of rage and
fear, acquired an expression of almost bestial ferocity that heralded
the rebellion so long kept under control.
He fired twice. Lupin first flung himself to one side and then dived at
the baron's knees, seized him by both legs and brought him to the
ground. The baron freed himself with an effort. The two enemies rolled
over in each other's grip; and a stubborn, crafty, brutal, savage
struggle followed.
Suddenly, Lupin felt a pain at his chest:
"You villain!" he yelled. "That's your Lavernoux trick; the tie-pin!"
Stiffening his muscles with a desperate effort, he overpowered the baron
and clutched him by the throat victorious at last and omnipotent.
"You ass!" he cried. "If you hadn't shown your cards, I might have
thrown up the game! You have such a look of the honest man about you!
But what a biceps, my lord!... I thought for a moment.... But it's all
over, now!... Come, my friend, hand us the pin and look cheerful.... No,
that's what I call pulling a face.... I'm holding you too tight,
perhaps? My lord's at his last gasp?... Come, be good!... That's it,
just a wee bit of string round the wrists; do you allow me?... Why, you
and I are agreeing like two brothers! It's touching!... At heart, you
know, I'm rather fond of you.... And now, my bonnie lad, mind yourself!
And a thousand apologies!..."
Half raising himself, with all his strength he caught the other a
terrible blow in the pit of the stomach. The baron gave a gurgle and lay
stunned and unconscious.
"That comes of having a deficient sense of logic, my friend," said
Lupin. "I offered you half your money. Now I'll give you none at all ...
provided I know where to find any of it. For that's the main thing.
Where has the beggar hidden his dust? In the safe? By George, it'll be a
tough job! Luckily, I have all the night before me...."
He began to feel in the baron's pockets, came upon a bunch of keys,
first made sure that the portmanteau behind the curtain held no papers
or jewels, and then went to the safe.
But, at that moment, he stopped short: he heard a noise somewhere. The
servants? Impossible. Their attics were on the top floor. He listened.
The noise came from below. And, suddenly, he understood: the detectives,
who had heard the two shots, were banging at the front door, as was
their duty, without waiting for daybreak. Then an electric bell rang,
which Lupin recognized as that in the hall:
"By Jupiter!" he said. "Pretty work! Here are these jokers coming ...
and just as we were about to gather the fruits of our laborious efforts!
Tut, tut, Lupin, keep cool! What's expected of you? To open a safe, of
which you don't know the secret, in thirty seconds. That's a mere trifle
to lose your head about! Come, all you have to do is to discover the
secret! How many letters are there in the word? Four?"
He went on thinking, while talking and listening to the noise outside.
He double-locked the door of the outer room and then came back to the
safe:
"Four ciphers.... Four letters ... four letters.... Who can lend me a
hand?... Who can give me just a tiny hint?... Who? Why, Lavernoux, of
course! That good Lavernoux, seeing that he took the trouble to indulge
in optical telegraphy at the risk of his life.... Lord, what a fool I
am!... Why, of course, why, of course, that's it!... By Jove, this is
too exciting!... Lupin, you must count ten and suppress that distracted
beating of your heart. If not, it means bad work."
He counted ten and, now quite calm, knelt in front of the safe. He
turned the four knobs with careful attention. Next, he examined the
bunch of keys, selected one of them, then another, and attempted, in
vain, to insert them in the lock:
"There's luck in odd numbers," he muttered, trying a third key.
"Victory! This is the right one! Open Sesame, good old Sesame, open!"
The lock turned. The door moved on its hinges. Lupin pulled it to him,
after taking out the bunch of keys:
"The millions are ours," he said. "Baron, I forgive you!"
And then he gave a single bound backward, hiccoughing with fright. His
legs staggered beneath him. The keys jingled together in his fevered
hand with a sinister sound. And, for twenty, for thirty seconds, despite
the din that was being raised and the electric bells that kept ringing
through the house, he stood there, wild-eyed, gazing at the most
horrible, the most abominable sight: a woman's body, half-dressed, bent
in two in the safe, crammed in, like an over-large parcel ... and fair
hair hanging down ... and blood ... clots of blood ... and livid flesh,
blue in places, decomposing, flaccid.
"The baroness!" he gasped. "The baroness!... Oh, the monster!..."
He roused himself from his torpor, suddenly, to spit in the murderer's
face and pound him with his heels:
"Take that, you wretch!... Take that, you villain!... And, with it, the
scaffold, the bran-basket!..."
Meanwhile, shouts came from the upper floors in reply to the detectives'
ringing. Lupin heard footsteps scurrying down the stairs. It was time to
think of beating a retreat.
In reality, this did not trouble him greatly. During his conversation
with the baron, the enemy's extraordinary coolness had given him the
feeling that there must be a private outlet. Besides, how could the
baron have begun the fight, if he were not sure of escaping the police?
Lupin went into the next room. It looked out on the garden. At the
moment when the detectives were entering the house, he flung his legs
over the balcony and let himself down by a rain-pipe. He walked round
the building. On the opposite side was a wall lined with shrubs. He
slipped in between the shrubs and the wall and at once found a little
door which he easily opened with one of the keys on the bunch. All that
remained for him to do was to walk across a yard and pass through the
empty rooms of a lodge; and in a few moments he found himself in the Rue
du Faubourg Saint-Honore. Of course--and this he had reckoned on--the
police had not provided for this secret outlet.
* * * * *
"Well, what do you think of Baron Repstein?" cried Lupin, after giving
me all the details of that tragic night. "What a dirty scoundrel! And
how it teaches one to distrust appearances! I swear to you, the fellow
looked a thoroughly honest man!"
"But what about the millions?" I asked. "The princess's jewels?"
"They were in the safe. I remember seeing the parcel."
"Well?"
"They are there still."
"Impossible!"
"They are, upon my word! I might tell you that I was afraid of the
detectives, or else plead a sudden attack of delicacy. But the truth is
simpler ... and more prosaic: the smell was too awful!..."
"What?"
"Yes, my dear fellow, the smell that came from that safe ... from that
coffin.... No, I couldn't do it ... my head swam.... Another second and
I should have been ill.... Isn't it silly?... Look, this is all I got
from my expedition: the tie-pin.... The bed-rock value of the pearl is
thirty thousand francs.... But all the same, I feel jolly well annoyed.
What a sell!"
"One more question," I said. "The word that opened the safe!"
"Well?"
"How did you guess it?"
"Oh, quite easily! In fact, I am surprised that I didn't think of it
sooner."
"Well, tell me."
"It was contained in the revelations telegraphed by that poor
Lavernoux."
"What?"
"Just think, my dear chap, the mistakes in spelling...."
"The mistakes in spelling?"
"Why, of course! They were deliberate. Surely, you don't imagine that
the agent, the private secretary of the baron--who was a
company-promoter, mind you, and a racing-man--did not know English
better than to spell 'necessery' with an 'e,' 'atack' with one 't,'
'ennemy' with two 'n's' and 'prudance' with an 'a'! The thing struck me
at once. I put the four letters together and got 'Etna,' the name of the
famous horse."
"And was that one word enough?"
"Of course! It was enough to start with, to put me on the scent of the
Repstein case, of which all the papers were full, and, next, to make me
guess that it was the key-word of the safe, because, on the one hand,
Lavernoux knew the gruesome contents of the safe and, on the other, he
was denouncing the baron. And it was in the same way that I was led to
suppose that Lavernoux had a friend in the street, that they both
frequented the same cafe, that they amused themselves by working out the
problems and cryptograms in the illustrated papers and that they had
contrived a way of exchanging telegrams from window to window."
"That makes it all quite simple!" I exclaimed.
"Very simple. And the incident once more shows that, in the discovery of
crimes, there is something much more valuable than the examination of
facts, than observations, deductions, inferences and all that stuff and
nonsense. What I mean is, as I said before, intuition ... intuition and
intelligence.... And Arsene Lupin, without boasting, is deficient in
neither one nor the other!..."
II
THE WEDDING-RING
Yvonne d'Origny kissed her son and told him to be good:
"You know your grandmother d'Origny is not very fond of children. Now
that she has sent for you to come and see her, you must show her what a
sensible little boy you are." And, turning to the governess, "Don't
forget, Fraeulein, to bring him home immediately after dinner.... Is
monsieur still in the house?"
"Yes, madame, monsieur le comte is in his study."
As soon as she was alone, Yvonne d'Origny walked to the window to catch
a glimpse of her son as he left the house. He was out in the street in a
moment, raised his head and blew her a kiss, as was his custom every
day. Then the governess took his hand with, as Yvonne remarked to her
surprise, a movement of unusual violence. Yvonne leant further out of
the window and, when the boy reached the corner of the boulevard, she
suddenly saw a man step out of a motor-car and go up to him. The man, in
whom she recognized Bernard, her husband's confidential servant, took
the child by the arm, made both him and the governess get into the car,
and ordered the chauffeur to drive off.
The whole incident did not take ten seconds.
Yvonne, in her trepidation, ran to her bedroom, seized a wrap and went
to the door. The door was locked; and there was no key in the lock.
She hurried back to the boudoir. The door of the boudoir also was
locked.
Then, suddenly, the image of her husband appeared before her, that
gloomy face which no smile ever lit up, those pitiless eyes in which,
for years, she had felt so much hatred and malice.
"It's he ... it's he!" she said to herself. "He has taken the child....
Oh, it's horrible!"
She beat against the door with her fists, with her feet, then flew to
the mantelpiece and pressed the bell fiercely.
The shrill sound rang through the house from top to bottom. The servants
would be sure to come. Perhaps a crowd would gather in the street. And,
impelled by a sort of despairing hope, she kept her finger on the
button.
A key turned in the lock.... The door was flung wide open. The count
appeared on the threshold of the boudoir. And the expression of his
face was so terrible that Yvonne began to tremble.
He entered the room. Five or six steps separated him from her. With a
supreme effort, she tried to stir, but all movement was impossible; and,
when she attempted to speak, she could only flutter her lips and emit
incoherent sounds. She felt herself lost. The thought of death unhinged
her. Her knees gave way beneath her and she sank into a huddled heap,
with a moan.
The count rushed at her and seized her by the throat:
"Hold your tongue ... don't call out!" he said, in a low voice. "That
will be best for you!..."
Seeing that she was not attempting to defend herself, he loosened his
hold of her and took from his pocket some strips of canvas ready rolled
and of different lengths. In a few minutes, Yvonne was lying on a sofa,
with her wrists and ankles bound and her arms fastened close to her
body.
It was now dark in the boudoir. The count switched on the electric light
and went to a little writing-desk where Yvonne was accustomed to keep
her letters. Not succeeding in opening it, he picked the lock with a
bent wire, emptied the drawers and collected all the contents into a
bundle, which he carried off in a cardboard file:
"Waste of time, eh?" he grinned. "Nothing but bills and letters of no
importance.... No proof against you.... Tah! I'll keep my son for all
that; and I swear before Heaven that I will not let him go!"
As he was leaving the room, he was joined, near the door, by his man
Bernard. The two stopped and talked, in a low voice; but Yvonne heard
these words spoken by the servant:
"I have had an answer from the working jeweller. He says he holds
himself at my disposal."
And the count replied:
"The thing is put off until twelve o'clock midday, to-morrow. My mother
has just telephoned to say that she could not come before."
Then Yvonne heard the key turn in the lock and the sound of steps going
down to the ground-floor, where her husband's study was.
She long lay inert, her brain reeling with vague, swift ideas that burnt
her in passing, like flames. She remembered her husband's infamous
behaviour, his humiliating conduct to her, his threats, his plans for a
divorce; and she gradually came to understand that she was the victim of
a regular conspiracy, that the servants had been sent away until the
following evening by their master's orders, that the governess had
carried off her son by the count's instructions and with Bernard's
assistance, that her son would not come back and that she would never
see him again.
"My son!" she cried. "My son!..."
Exasperated by her grief, she stiffened herself, with every nerve, with
every muscle tense, to make a violent effort. And she was astonished to
find that her right hand, which the count had fastened too hurriedly,
still retained a certain freedom.
Then a mad hope invaded her; and, slowly, patiently, she began the work
of self-deliverance.
It was long in the doing. She needed a deal of time to widen the knot
sufficiently and a deal of time afterward, when the hand was released,
to undo those other bonds which tied her arms to her body and those
which fastened her ankles.
Still, the thought of her son sustained her; and the last shackle fell
as the clock struck eight. She was free!
She was no sooner on her feet than she flew to the window and flung back
the latch, with the intention of calling the first passer-by. At that
moment a policeman came walking along the pavement. She leant out. But
the brisk evening air, striking her face, calmed her. She thought of the
scandal, of the judicial investigation, of the cross-examination, of her
son. O Heaven! What could she do to get him back? How could she escape?
The count might appear at the least sound. And who knew but that, in a
moment of fury ...?
She shivered from head to foot, seized with a sudden terror. The horror
of death mingled, in her poor brain, with the thought of her son; and
she stammered, with a choking throat:
"Help!... Help!..."
She stopped and said to herself, several times over, in a low voice,
"Help!... Help!..." as though the word awakened an idea, a memory within
her, and as though the hope of assistance no longer seemed to her
impossible. For some minutes she remained absorbed in deep meditation,
broken by fears and starts. Then, with an almost mechanical series of
movements, she put out her arm to a little set of shelves hanging over
the writing-desk, took down four books, one after the other, turned the
pages with a distraught air, replaced them and ended by finding, between
the pages of the fifth, a visiting-card on which her eyes spelt the
name:
HORACE VELMONT,
followed by an address written in pencil:
CERCLE DE LA RUE ROYALE.
And her memory conjured up the strange thing which that man had said to
her, a few years before, in that same house, on a day when she was at
home to her friends:
"If ever a danger threatens you, if you need help, do not hesitate; post
this card, which you see me put into this book; and, whatever the hour,
whatever the obstacles, I will come."
With what a curious air he had spoken these words and how well he had
conveyed the impression of certainty, of strength, of unlimited power,
of indomitable daring!
Abruptly, unconsciously, acting under the impulse of an irresistible
determination, the consequences of which she refused to anticipate,
Yvonne, with the same automatic gestures, took a pneumatic-delivery
envelope, slipped in the card, sealed it, directed it to "Horace
Velmont, Cercle de la Rue Royale" and went to the open window. The
policeman was walking up and down outside. She flung out the envelope,
trusting to fate. Perhaps it would be picked up, treated as a lost
letter and posted.
She had hardly completed this act when she realized its absurdity. It
was mad to suppose that the message would reach the address and madder
still to hope that the man to whom she was sending could come to her
assistance, "whatever the hour, whatever the obstacles."
A reaction followed which was all the greater inasmuch as the effort had
been swift and violent. Yvonne staggered, leant against a chair and,
losing all energy, let herself fall.