bears yesterday's date, with the words, 'Evening edition.' Also, you
will see here, pasted to the paper, a bit of one of those yellow
wrappers in which the subscribers' copies are sent out. These copies are
always delivered by the nine o'clock post. Therefore, it was after nine
o'clock. I said, a well-dressed man. Please observe that this tiny piece
of glass has the round hole of a single eyeglass at one of the edges and
that the single eyeglass is an essentially aristocratic article of wear.
This well-dressed man walked into a pastry-cook's shop. Here is the very
thin cardboard, shaped like a box, and still showing a little of the
cream of the meringues and eclairs which were packed in it in the usual
way. Having got his parcel, the gentleman with the eyeglass joined a
young person whose eccentricity in the matter of dress is pretty clearly
indicated by this bright-red silk scarf. Having joined her, for some
reason as yet unknown he first stabbed her with a knife and then
strangled her with the help of this same scarf. Take your magnifying
glass, chief-inspector, and you will see, on the silk, stains of a
darker red which are, here, the marks of a knife wiped on the scarf and,
there, the marks of a hand, covered with blood, clutching the material.
Having committed the murder, his next business is to leave no trace
behind him. So he takes from his pocket, first, the newspaper to which
he subscribes--a racing-paper, as you will see by glancing at the
contents of this scrap; and you will have no difficulty in discovering
the title--and, secondly, a cord, which, on inspection, turns out to be
a length of whip-cord. These two details prove--do they not?--that our
man is interested in racing and that he himself rides. Next, he picks up
the fragments of his eyeglass, the cord of which has been broken in the
struggle. He takes a pair of scissors--observe the hacking of the
scissors--and cuts off the stained part of the scarf, leaving the other
end, no doubt, in his victim's clenched hands. He makes a ball of the
confectioner's cardboard box. He also puts in certain things that would
have betrayed him, such as the knife, which must have slipped into the
Seine. He wraps everything in the newspaper, ties it with the cord and
fastens this cut-glass inkstand to it, as a make-weight. Then he makes
himself scarce. A little later, the parcel falls into the waterman's
barge. And there you are. Oof, it's hot work!... What do you say to the
story?"
He looked at Ganimard to see what impression his speech had produced on
the inspector. Ganimard did not depart from his attitude of silence.
Lupin began to laugh:
"As a matter of fact, you're annoyed and surprised. But you're
suspicious as well: 'Why should that confounded Lupin hand the business
over to me,' say you, 'instead of keeping it for himself, hunting down
the murderer and rifling his pockets, if there was a robbery?' The
question is quite logical, of course. But--there is a 'but'--I have no
time, you see. I am full up with work at the present moment: a burglary
in London, another at Lausanne, an exchange of children at Marseilles,
to say nothing of having to save a young girl who is at this moment
shadowed by death. That's always the way: it never rains but it pours.
So I said to myself, 'Suppose I handed the business over to my dear old
Ganimard? Now that it is half-solved for him, he is quite capable of
succeeding. And what a service I shall be doing him! How magnificently
he will be able to distinguish himself!' No sooner said than done. At
eight o'clock in the morning, I sent the joker with the orange-peel to
meet you. You swallowed the bait; and you were here by nine, all on edge
and eager for the fray."
Lupin rose from his chair. He went over to the inspector and, with his
eyes in Ganimard's, said:
"That's all. You now know the whole story. Presently, you will know the
victim: some ballet-dancer, probably, some singer at a music-hall. On
the other hand, the chances are that the criminal lives near the
Pont-Neuf, most likely on the left bank. Lastly, here are all the
exhibits. I make you a present of them. Set to work. I shall only keep
this end of the scarf. If ever you want to piece the scarf together,
bring me the other end, the one which the police will find round the
victim's neck. Bring it me in four weeks from now to the day, that is to
say, on the 29th of December, at ten o'clock in the morning. You can be
sure of finding me here. And don't be afraid: this is all perfectly
serious, friend of my youth; I swear it is. No humbug, honour bright.
You can go straight ahead. Oh, by the way, when you arrest the fellow
with the eyeglass, be a bit careful: he is left-handed! Good-bye, old
dear, and good luck to you!"
Lupin spun round on his heel, went to the door, opened it and
disappeared before Ganimard had even thought of taking a decision. The
inspector rushed after him, but at once found that the handle of the
door, by some trick of mechanism which he did not know, refused to turn.
It took him ten minutes to unscrew the lock and ten minutes more to
unscrew the lock of the hall-door. By the time that he had scrambled
down the three flights of stairs, Ganimard had given up all hope of
catching Arsene Lupin.
Besides, he was not thinking of it. Lupin inspired him with a queer,
complex feeling, made up of fear, hatred, involuntary admiration and
also the vague instinct that he, Ganimard, in spite of all his efforts,
in spite of the persistency of his endeavours, would never get the
better of this particular adversary. He pursued him from a sense of duty
and pride, but with the continual dread of being taken in by that
formidable hoaxer and scouted and fooled in the face of a public that
was always only too willing to laugh at the chief-inspector's mishaps.
This business of the red scarf, in particular, struck him as most
suspicious. It was interesting, certainly, in more ways than one, but
so very improbable! And Lupin's explanation, apparently so logical,
would never stand the test of a severe examination!
"No," said Ganimard, "this is all swank: a parcel of suppositions and
guesswork based upon nothing at all. I'm not to be caught with chaff."
* * * * *
When he reached the headquarters of police, at 36 Quai des Orfevres, he
had quite made up his mind to treat the incident as though it had never
happened.
He went up to the Criminal Investigation Department. Here, one of his
fellow-inspectors said:
"Seen the chief?"
"No."
"He was asking for you just now."
"Oh, was he?"
"Yes, you had better go after him."
"Where?"
"To the Rue de Berne ... there was a murder there last night."
"Oh! Who's the victim?"
"I don't know exactly ... a music-hall singer, I believe."
Ganimard simply muttered:
"By Jove!"
Twenty minutes later he stepped out of the underground railway-station
and made for the Rue de Berne.
The victim, who was known in the theatrical world by her stage-name of
Jenny Saphir, occupied a small flat on the second floor of one of the
houses. A policeman took the chief-inspector upstairs and showed him the
way, through two sitting-rooms, to a bedroom, where he found the
magistrates in charge of the inquiry, together with the divisional
surgeon and M. Dudouis, the head of the detective-service.
Ganimard started at the first glance which he gave into the room. He
saw, lying on a sofa, the corpse of a young woman whose hands clutched a
strip of red silk! One of the shoulders, which appeared above the
low-cut bodice, bore the marks of two wounds surrounded with clotted
blood. The distorted and almost blackened features still bore an
expression of frenzied terror.
The divisional surgeon, who had just finished his examination, said:
"My first conclusions are very clear. The victim was twice stabbed with
a dagger and afterward strangled. The immediate cause of death was
asphyxia."
"By Jove!" thought Ganimard again, remembering Lupin's words and the
picture which he had drawn of the crime.
The examining-magistrate objected:
"But the neck shows no discoloration."
"She may have been strangled with a napkin or a handkerchief," said the
doctor.
"Most probably," said the chief detective, "with this silk scarf, which
the victim was wearing and a piece of which remains, as though she had
clung to it with her two hands to protect herself."
"But why does only that piece remain?" asked the magistrate. "What has
become of the other?"
"The other may have been stained with blood and carried off by the
murderer. You can plainly distinguish the hurried slashing of the
scissors."
"By Jove!" said Ganimard, between his teeth, for the third time. "That
brute of a Lupin saw everything without seeing a thing!"
"And what about the motive of the murder?" asked the magistrate. "The
locks have been forced, the cupboards turned upside down. Have you
anything to tell me, M. Dudouis?"
The chief of the detective-service replied:
"I can at least suggest a supposition, derived from the statements made
by the servant. The victim, who enjoyed a greater reputation on account
of her looks than through her talent as a singer, went to Russia, two
years ago, and brought back with her a magnificent sapphire, which she
appears to have received from some person of importance at the court.
Since then, she went by the name of Jenny Saphir and seems generally to
have been very proud of that present, although, for prudence sake, she
never wore it. I daresay that we shall not be far out if we presume the
theft of the sapphire to have been the cause of the crime."
"But did the maid know where the stone was?"
"No, nobody did. And the disorder of the room would tend to prove that
the murderer did not know either."
"We will question the maid," said the examining-magistrate.
M. Dudouis took the chief-inspector aside and said:
"You're looking very old-fashioned, Ganimard. What's the matter? Do you
suspect anything?"
"Nothing at all, chief."
"That's a pity. We could do with a bit of showy work in the department.
This is one of a number of crimes, all of the same class, of which we
have failed to discover the perpetrator. This time we want the criminal
... and quickly!"
"A difficult job, chief."
"It's got to be done. Listen to me, Ganimard. According to what the maid
says, Jenny Saphir led a very regular life. For a month past she was in
the habit of frequently receiving visits, on her return from the
music-hall, that is to say, at about half-past ten, from a man who would
stay until midnight or so. 'He's a society man,' Jenny Saphir used to
say, 'and he wants to marry me.' This society man took every precaution
to avoid being seen, such as turning up his coat-collar and lowering the
brim of his hat when he passed the porter's box. And Jenny Saphir always
made a point of sending away her maid, even before he came. This is the
man whom we have to find."
"Has he left no traces?"
"None at all. It is obvious that we have to deal with a very clever
scoundrel, who prepared his crime beforehand and committed it with every
possible chance of escaping unpunished. His arrest would be a great
feather in our cap. I rely on you, Ganimard."
"Ah, you rely on me, chief?" replied the inspector. "Well, we shall see
... we shall see.... I don't say no.... Only...."
He seemed in a very nervous condition, and his agitation struck M.
Dudouis.
"Only," continued Ganimard, "only I swear ... do you hear, chief? I
swear...."
"What do you swear?"
"Nothing.... We shall see, chief ... we shall see...."
Ganimard did not finish his sentence until he was outside, alone. And
he finished it aloud, stamping his foot, in a tone of the most violent
anger:
"Only, I swear to Heaven that the arrest shall be effected by my own
means, without my employing a single one of the clues with which that
villain has supplied me. Ah, no! Ah, no!..."
Railing against Lupin, furious at being mixed up in this business and
resolved, nevertheless, to get to the bottom of it, he wandered
aimlessly about the streets. His brain was seething with irritation; and
he tried to adjust his ideas a little and to discover, among the chaotic
facts, some trifling detail, unperceived by all, unsuspected by Lupin
himself, that might lead him to success.
He lunched hurriedly at a bar, resumed his stroll and suddenly stopped,
petrified, astounded and confused. He was walking under the gateway of
the very house in the Rue de Surene to which Lupin had enticed him a few
hours earlier! A force stronger than his own will was drawing him there
once more. The solution of the problem lay there. There and there alone
were all the elements of the truth. Do and say what he would, Lupin's
assertions were so precise, his calculations so accurate, that, worried
to the innermost recesses of his being by so prodigious a display of
perspicacity, he could not do other than take up the work at the point
where his enemy had left it.
Abandoning all further resistance, he climbed the three flights of
stairs. The door of the flat was open. No one had touched the exhibits.
He put them in his pocket and walked away.
From that moment, he reasoned and acted, so to speak, mechanically,
under the influence of the master whom he could not choose but obey.
Admitting that the unknown person whom he was seeking lived in the
neighbourhood of the Pont-Neuf, it became necessary to discover,
somewhere between that bridge and the Rue de Berne, the first-class
confectioner's shop, open in the evenings, at which the cakes were
bought. This did not take long to find. A pastry-cook near the Gare
Saint-Lazare showed him some little cardboard boxes, identical in
material and shape with the one in Ganimard's possession. Moreover, one
of the shop-girls remembered having served, on the previous evening, a
gentleman whose face was almost concealed in the collar of his fur coat,
but whose eyeglass she had happened to notice.
"That's one clue checked," thought the inspector. "Our man wears an
eyeglass."
He next collected the pieces of the racing-paper and showed them to a
newsvendor, who easily recognized the _Turf Illustre_. Ganimard at once
went to the offices of the _Turf_ and asked to see the list of
subscribers. Going through the list, he jotted down the names and
addresses of all those who lived anywhere near the Pont-Neuf and
principally--because Lupin had said so--those on the left bank of the
river.
He then went back to the Criminal Investigation Department, took half a
dozen men and packed them off with the necessary instructions.
At seven o'clock in the evening, the last of these men returned and
brought good news with him. A certain M. Prevailles, a subscriber to the
_Turf_, occupied an entresol flat on the Quai des Augustins. On the
previous evening, he left his place, wearing a fur coat, took his
letters and his paper, the _Turf Illustre_, from the porter's wife,
walked away and returned home at midnight. This M. Prevailles wore a
single eyeglass. He was a regular race-goer and himself owned several
hacks which he either rode himself or jobbed out.
The inquiry had taken so short a time and the results obtained were so
exactly in accordance with Lupin's predictions that Ganimard felt quite
overcome on hearing the detective's report. Once more he was measuring
the prodigious extent of the resources at Lupin's disposal. Never in the
course of his life--and Ganimard was already well-advanced in years--had
he come across such perspicacity, such a quick and far-seeing mind.
He went in search of M. Dudouis.
"Everything's ready, chief. Have you a warrant?"
"Eh?"
"I said, everything is ready for the arrest, chief."
"You know the name of Jenny Saphir's murderer?"
"Yes."
"But how? Explain yourself."
Ganimard had a sort of scruple of conscience, blushed a little and
nevertheless replied:
"An accident, chief. The murderer threw everything that was likely to
compromise him into the Seine. Part of the parcel was picked up and
handed to me."
"By whom?"
"A boatman who refused to give his name, for fear of getting into
trouble. But I had all the clues I wanted. It was not so difficult as I
expected."
And the inspector described how he had gone to work.
"And you call that an accident!" cried M. Dudouis. "And you say that it
was not difficult! Why, it's one of your finest performances! Finish it
yourself, Ganimard, and be prudent."
Ganimard was eager to get the business done. He went to the Quai des
Augustins with his men and distributed them around the house. He
questioned the portress, who said that her tenant took his meals out of
doors, but made a point of looking in after dinner.
A little before nine o'clock, in fact, leaning out of her window, she
warned Ganimard, who at once gave a low whistle. A gentleman in a tall
hat and a fur coat was coming along the pavement beside the Seine. He
crossed the road and walked up to the house.
Ganimard stepped forward:
"M. Prevailles, I believe?"
"Yes, but who are you?"
"I have a commission to...."
He had not time to finish his sentence. At the sight of the men
appearing out of the shadow, Prevailles quickly retreated to the wall
and faced his adversaries, with his back to the door of a shop on the
ground-floor, the shutters of which were closed.
"Stand back!" he cried. "I don't know you!"
His right hand brandished a heavy stick, while his left was slipped
behind him and seemed to be trying to open the door.
Ganimard had an impression that the man might escape through this way
and through some secret outlet:
"None of this nonsense," he said, moving closer to him. "You're
caught.... You had better come quietly."
But, just as he was laying hold of Prevailles' stick, Ganimard
remembered the warning which Lupin gave him: Prevailles was left-handed;
and it was his revolver for which he was feeling behind his back.
The inspector ducked his head. He had noticed the man's sudden movement.
Two reports rang out. No one was hit.
A second later, Prevailles received a blow under the chin from the
butt-end of a revolver, which brought him down where he stood. He was
entered at the Depot soon after nine o'clock.
* * * * *
Ganimard enjoyed a great reputation even at that time. But this capture,
so quickly effected, by such very simple means, and at once made public
by the police, won him a sudden celebrity. Prevailles was forthwith
saddled with all the murders that had remained unpunished; and the
newspapers vied with one another in extolling Ganimard's prowess.
The case was conducted briskly at the start. It was first of all
ascertained that Prevailles, whose real name was Thomas Derocq, had
already been in trouble. Moreover, the search instituted in his rooms,
while not supplying any fresh proofs, at least led to the discovery of a
ball of whip-cord similar to the cord used for doing up the parcel and
also to the discovery of daggers which would have produced a wound
similar to the wounds on the victim.
But, on the eighth day, everything was changed. Until then Prevailles
had refused to reply to the questions put to him; but now, assisted by
his counsel, he pleaded a circumstantial alibi and maintained that he
was at the Folies-Bergere on the night of the murder.
As a matter of fact, the pockets of his dinner-jacket contained the
counterfoil of a stall-ticket and a programme of the performance, both
bearing the date of that evening.
"An alibi prepared in advance," objected the examining-magistrate.
"Prove it," said Prevailles.
The prisoner was confronted with the witnesses for the prosecution. The
young lady from the confectioner's "thought she knew" the gentleman with
the eyeglass. The hall-porter in the Rue de Berne "thought he knew" the
gentleman who used to come to see Jenny Saphir. But nobody dared to make
a more definite statement.
The examination, therefore, led to nothing of a precise character,
provided no solid basis whereon to found a serious accusation.
The judge sent for Ganimard and told him of his difficulty.
"I can't possibly persist, at this rate. There is no evidence to support
the charge."
"But surely you are convinced in your own mind, monsieur le juge
d'instruction! Prevailles would never have resisted his arrest unless he
was guilty."
"He says that he thought he was being assaulted. He also says that he
never set eyes on Jenny Saphir; and, as a matter of fact, we can find no
one to contradict his assertion. Then again, admitting that the sapphire
has been stolen, we have not been able to find it at his flat."
"Nor anywhere else," suggested Ganimard.
"Quite true, but that is no evidence against him. I'll tell you what we
shall want, M. Ganimard, and that very soon: the other end of this red
scarf."
"The other end?"
"Yes, for it is obvious that, if the murderer took it away with him, the
reason was that the stuff is stained with the marks of the blood on his
fingers."
Ganimard made no reply. For several days he had felt that the
whole business was tending to this conclusion. There was no
other proof possible. Given the silk scarf--and in no other
circumstances--Prevailles' guilt was certain. Now Ganimard's position
required that Prevailles' guilt should be established. He was
responsible for the arrest, it had cast a glamour around him, he had
been praised to the skies as the most formidable adversary of criminals;
and he would look absolutely ridiculous if Prevailles were released.
Unfortunately, the one and only indispensable proof was in Lupin's
pocket. How was he to get hold of it?
Ganimard cast about, exhausted himself with fresh investigations, went
over the inquiry from start to finish, spent sleepless nights in turning
over the mystery of the Rue de Berne, studied the records of Prevailles'
life, sent ten men hunting after the invisible sapphire. Everything was
useless.
On the 28th of December, the examining-magistrate stopped him in one of
the passages of the Law Courts:
"Well, M. Ganimard, any news?"
"No, monsieur le juge d'instruction."
"Then I shall dismiss the case."
"Wait one day longer."
"What's the use? We want the other end of the scarf; have you got it?"
"I shall have it to-morrow."
"To-morrow!"
"Yes, but please lend me the piece in your possession."
"What if I do?"
"If you do, I promise to let you have the whole scarf complete."
"Very well, that's understood."
Ganimard followed the examining-magistrate to his room and came out with
the piece of silk:
"Hang it all!" he growled. "Yes, I will go and fetch the proof and I
shall have it too ... always presuming that Master Lupin has the courage
to keep the appointment."
In point of fact, he did not doubt for a moment that Master Lupin would
have this courage, and that was just what exasperated him. Why had Lupin
insisted on this meeting? What was his object, in the circumstances?
Anxious, furious and full of hatred, he resolved to take every
precaution necessary not only to prevent his falling into a trap
himself, but to make his enemy fall into one, now that the opportunity
offered. And, on the next day, which was the 29th of December, the date
fixed by Lupin, after spending the night in studying the old manor-house
in the Rue de Surene and convincing himself that there was no other
outlet than the front door, he warned his men that he was going on a
dangerous expedition and arrived with them on the field of battle.
He posted them in a cafe and gave them formal instructions: if he showed
himself at one of the third-floor windows, or if he failed to return
within an hour, the detectives were to enter the house and arrest any
one who tried to leave it.
The chief-inspector made sure that his revolver was in working order and
that he could take it from his pocket easily. Then he went upstairs.
He was surprised to find things as he had left them, the doors open and
the locks broken. After ascertaining that the windows of the principal
room looked out on the street, he visited the three other rooms that
made up the flat. There was no one there.
"Master Lupin was afraid," he muttered, not without a certain
satisfaction.
"Don't be silly," said a voice behind him.
Turning round, he saw an old workman, wearing a house-painter's long
smock, standing in the doorway.
"You needn't bother your head," said the man. "It's I, Lupin. I have
been working in the painter's shop since early morning. This is when we
knock off for breakfast. So I came upstairs."
He looked at Ganimard with a quizzing smile and cried:
"'Pon my word, this is a gorgeous moment I owe you, old chap! I wouldn't
sell it for ten years of your life; and yet you know how I love you!
What do you think of it, artist? Wasn't it well thought out and well
foreseen? Foreseen from alpha to omega? Did I understand the business?
Did I penetrate the mystery of the scarf? I'm not saying that there were
no holes in my argument, no links missing in the chain.... But what a
masterpiece of intelligence! Ganimard, what a reconstruction of events!
What an intuition of everything that had taken place and of everything
that was going to take place, from the discovery of the crime to your
arrival here in search of a proof! What really marvellous divination!
Have you the scarf?"
"Yes, half of it. Have you the other?"
"Here it is. Let's compare."
They spread the two pieces of silk on the table. The cuts made by the
scissors corresponded exactly. Moreover, the colours were identical.
"But I presume," said Lupin, "that this was not the only thing you came
for. What you are interested in seeing is the marks of the blood. Come
with me, Ganimard: it's rather dark in here."
They moved into the next room, which, though it overlooked the
courtyard, was lighter; and Lupin held his piece of silk against the
window-pane:
"Look," he said, making room for Ganimard.
The inspector gave a start of delight. The marks of the five fingers and
the print of the palm were distinctly visible. The evidence was
undeniable. The murderer had seized the stuff in his bloodstained hand,
in the same hand that had stabbed Jenny Saphir, and tied the scarf round
her neck.
"And it is the print of a left hand," observed Lupin. "Hence my warning,
which had nothing miraculous about it, you see. For, though I admit,
friend of my youth, that you may look upon me as a superior
intelligence, I won't have you treat me as a wizard."
Ganimard had quickly pocketed the piece of silk. Lupin nodded his head
in approval: