yourself: 'M. Arsene Lupin is petitioning the Council of State for
permission to add his wife's name to his own and to be known henceforth
as Lupin de Sarzeau-Vendome.'"
And, the next day, he read:
"As the young bride, by virtue of an unrepealed decree of Charles
X, bears the title and arms of the Bourbon-Condes, of whom she is
the heiress-of-line, the eldest son of the Lupins de
Sarzeau-Vendome will be styled Prince de Bourbon-Conde."
And, the day after, an advertisement.
"Exhibition of Mlle. de Sarzeau-Vendome's trousseau at Messrs.
----'s Great Linen Warehouse. Each article marked with initials L.
S. V."
Then an illustrated paper published a photographic scene: the duke, his
daughter and his son-in-law sitting at a table playing three-handed
auction-bridge.
And the date also was announced with a great flourish of trumpets: the
4th of May.
And particulars were given of the marriage-settlement. Lupin showed
himself wonderfully disinterested. He was prepared to sign, the
newspapers said, with his eyes closed, without knowing the figure of the
dowry.
All these things drove the old duke crazy. His hatred of Lupin assumed
morbid proportions. Much as it went against the grain, he called on the
prefect of police, who advised him to be on his guard:
"We know the gentleman's ways; he is employing one of his favourite
dodges. Forgive the expression, monsieur le duc, but he is 'nursing'
you. Don't fall into the trap."
"What dodge? What trap?" asked the duke, anxiously.
"He is trying to make you lose your head and to lead you, by
intimidation, to do something which you would refuse to do in cold
blood."
"Still, M. Arsene Lupin can hardly hope that I will offer him my
daughter's hand!"
"No, but he hopes that you will commit, to put it mildly, a blunder."
"What blunder?"
"Exactly that blunder which he wants you to commit."
"Then you think, monsieur le prefet ...?"
"I think the best thing you can do, monsieur le duc, is to go home, or,
if all this excitement worries you, to run down to the country and stay
there quietly, without upsetting yourself."
This conversation only increased the old duke's fears. Lupin appeared to
him in the light of a terrible person, who employed diabolical methods
and kept accomplices in every sphere of society. Prudence was the
watchword.
And life, from that moment, became intolerable. The duke grew more
crabbed and silent than ever and denied his door to all his old friends
and even to Angelique's three suitors, her Cousins de Mussy, d'Emboise
and de Caorches, who were none of them on speaking terms with the
others, in consequence of their rivalry, and who were in the habit of
calling, turn and turn about, every week.
For no earthly reason, he dismissed his butler and his coachman. But he
dared not fill their places, for fear of engaging creatures of Arsene
Lupin's; and his own man, Hyacinthe, in whom he had every confidence,
having had him in his service for over forty years, had to take upon
himself the laborious duties of the stables and the pantry.
"Come, father," said Angelique, trying to make him listen to
common-sense. "I really can't see what you are afraid of. No one can
force me into this ridiculous marriage."
"Well, of course, that's not what I'm afraid of."
"What then, father?"
"How can I tell? An abduction! A burglary! An act of violence! There is
no doubt that the villain is scheming something; and there is also no
doubt that we are surrounded by spies."
One afternoon, he received a newspaper in which the following paragraph
was marked in red pencil:
"The signing of the marriage-contract is fixed for this evening, at
the Sarzeau-Vendome town-house. It will be quite a private ceremony
and only a few privileged friends will be present to congratulate
the happy pair. The witnesses to the contract on behalf of Mlle. de
Sarzeau-Vendome, the Prince de la Rochefoucauld-Limours and the
Comte de Chartres, will be introduced by M. Arsene Lupin to the two
gentlemen who have claimed the honour of acting as his groomsmen,
namely, the prefect of police and the governor of the Sante
Prison."
Ten minutes later, the duke sent his servant Hyacinthe to the post with
three express messages. At four o'clock, in Angelique's presence, he saw
the three cousins: Mussy, fat, heavy, pasty-faced; d'Emboise, slender,
fresh-coloured and shy: Caorches, short, thin and unhealthy-looking: all
three, old bachelors by this time, lacking distinction in dress or
appearance.
The meeting was a short one. The duke had worked out his whole plan of
campaign, a defensive campaign, of which he set forth the first stage in
explicit terms:
"Angelique and I will leave Paris to-night for our place in Brittany. I
rely on you, my three nephews, to help us get away. You, d'Emboise, will
come and fetch us in your car, with the hood up. You, Mussy, will bring
your big motor and kindly see to the luggage with Hyacinthe, my man.
You, Caorches, will go to the Gare d'Orleans and book our berths in the
sleeping-car for Vannes by the 10.40 train. Is that settled?"
The rest of the day passed without incident. The duke, to avoid any
accidental indiscretion, waited until after dinner to tell Hyacinthe to
pack a trunk and a portmanteau. Hyacinthe was to accompany them, as well
as Angelique's maid.
At nine o'clock, all the other servants went to bed, by their master's
order. At ten minutes to ten, the duke, who was completing his
preparations, heard the sound of a motor-horn. The porter opened the
gates of the courtyard. The duke, standing at the window, recognized
d'Emboise's landaulette:
"Tell him I shall be down presently," he said to Hyacinthe, "and let
mademoiselle know."
In a few minutes, as Hyacinthe did not return, he left his room. But he
was attacked on the landing by two masked men, who gagged and bound him
before he could utter a cry. And one of the men said to him, in a low
voice:
"Take this as a first warning, monsieur le duc. If you persist in
leaving Paris and refusing your consent, it will be a more serious
matter."
And the same man said to his companion:
"Keep an eye on him. I will see to the young lady."
By that time, two other confederates had secured the lady's maid; and
Angelique, herself gagged, lay fainting on a couch in her boudoir.
She came to almost immediately, under the stimulus of a bottle of salts
held to her nostrils; and, when she opened her eyes, she saw bending
over her a young man, in evening-clothes, with a smiling and friendly
face, who said:
"I implore your forgiveness, mademoiselle. All these happenings are a
trifle sudden and this behaviour rather out of the way. But
circumstances often compel us to deeds of which our conscience does not
approve. Pray pardon me."
He took her hand very gently and slipped a broad gold ring on the girl's
finger, saying:
"There, now we are engaged. Never forget the man who gave you this ring.
He entreats you not to run away from him ... and to stay in Paris and
await the proofs of his devotion. Have faith in him."
He said all this in so serious and respectful a voice, with so much
authority and deference, that she had not the strength to resist. Their
eyes met. He whispered:
"The exquisite purity of your eyes! It would be heavenly to live with
those eyes upon one. Now close them...."
He withdrew. His accomplices followed suit. The car drove off, and the
house in the Rue de Varennes remained still and silent until the moment
when Angelique, regaining complete consciousness, called out for the
servants.
They found the duke, Hyacinthe, the lady's maid and the porter and his
wife all tightly bound. A few priceless ornaments had disappeared, as
well as the duke's pocket-book and all his jewellery; tie pins, pearl
studs, watch and so on.
The police were advised without delay. In the morning it appeared that,
on the evening before, d'Emboise, when leaving his house in the
motor-car, was stabbed by his own chauffeur and thrown, half-dead, into
a deserted street. Mussy and Caorches had each received a
telephone-message, purporting to come from the duke, countermanding
their attendance.
Next week, without troubling further about the police investigation,
without obeying the summons of the examining-magistrate, without even
reading Arsene Lupin's letters to the papers on "the Varennes Flight,"
the duke, his daughter and his valet stealthily took a slow train for
Vannes and arrived one evening, at the old feudal castle that towers
over the headland of Sarzeau. The duke at once organized a defence with
the aid of the Breton peasants, true mediaeval vassals to a man. On the
fourth day, Mussy arrived; on the fifth, Caorches; and, on the seventh,
d'Emboise, whose wound was not as severe as had been feared.
The duke waited two days longer before communicating to those about him
what, now that his escape had succeeded in spite of Lupin, he called the
second part of his plan. He did so, in the presence of the three
cousins, by a dictatorial order to Angelique, expressed in these
peremptory terms:
"All this bother is upsetting me terribly. I have entered on a struggle
with this man whose daring you have seen for yourself; and the struggle
is killing me. I want to end it at all costs. There is only one way of
doing so, Angelique, and that is for you to release me from all
responsibility by accepting the hand of one of your cousins. Before a
month is out, you must be the wife of Mussy, Caorches or d'Emboise. You
have a free choice. Make your decision."
For four whole days Angelique wept and entreated her father, but in
vain. She felt that he would be inflexible and that she must end by
submitting to his wishes. She accepted:
"Whichever you please, father. I love none of them. So I may as well be
unhappy with one as with the other."
Thereupon a fresh discussion ensued, as the duke wanted to compel her to
make her own choice. She stood firm. Reluctantly and for financial
considerations, he named d'Emboise.
The banns were published without delay.
From that moment, the watch in and around the castle was increased
twofold, all the more inasmuch as Lupin's silence and the sudden
cessation of the campaign which he had been conducting in the press
could not but alarm the Duc de Sarzeau-Vendome. It was obvious that the
enemy was getting ready to strike and would endeavour to oppose the
marriage by one of his characteristic moves.
Nevertheless, nothing happened: nothing two days before the ceremony,
nothing on the day before, nothing on the morning itself. The marriage
took place in the mayor's office, followed by the religious celebration
in church; and the thing was done.
Then and not till then, the duke breathed freely. Notwithstanding his
daughter's sadness, notwithstanding the embarrassed silence of his
son-in-law, who found the situation a little trying, he rubbed his hands
with an air of pleasure, as though he had achieved a brilliant victory:
"Tell them to lower the drawbridge," he said to Hyacinthe, "and to admit
everybody. We have nothing more to fear from that scoundrel."
After the wedding-breakfast, he had wine served out to the peasants and
clinked glasses with them. They danced and sang.
At three o'clock, he returned to the ground-floor rooms. It was the hour
for his afternoon nap. He walked to the guard-room at the end of the
suite. But he had no sooner placed his foot on the threshold than he
stopped suddenly and exclaimed:
"What are you doing here, d'Emboise? Is this a joke?"
D'Emboise was standing before him, dressed as a Breton fisherman, in a
dirty jacket and breeches, torn, patched and many sizes too large for
him.
The duke seemed dumbfounded. He stared with eyes of amazement at that
face which he knew and which, at the same time, roused memories of a
very distant past within his brain. Then he strode abruptly to one of
the windows overlooking the castle-terrace and called:
"Angelique!"
"What is it, father?" she asked, coming forward.
"Where's your husband?"
"Over there, father," said Angelique, pointing to d'Emboise, who was
smoking a cigarette and reading, some way off.
The duke stumbled and fell into a chair, with a great shudder of fright:
"Oh, I shall go mad!"
But the man in the fisherman's garb knelt down before him and said:
"Look at me, uncle. You know me, don't you? I'm your nephew, the one who
used to play here in the old days, the one whom you called Jacquot....
Just think a minute.... Here, look at this scar...."
"Yes, yes," stammered the duke, "I recognize you. It's Jacques. But the
other one...."
He put his hands to his head:
"And yet, no, it can't be ... Explain yourself.... I don't
understand.... I don't want to understand...."
There was a pause, during which the newcomer shut the window and closed
the door leading to the next room. Then he came up to the old duke,
touched him gently on the shoulder, to wake him from his torpor, and
without further preface, as though to cut short any explanation that was
not absolutely necessary, spoke as follows:
"Four years ago, that is to say, in the eleventh year of my voluntary
exile, when I settled in the extreme south of Algeria, I made the
acquaintance, in the course of a hunting-expedition arranged by a big
Arab chief, of a man whose geniality, whose charm of manner, whose
consummate prowess, whose indomitable pluck, whose combined humour and
depth of mind fascinated me in the highest degree. The Comte d'Andresy
spent six weeks as my guest. After he left, we kept up a correspondence
at regular intervals. I also often saw his name in the papers, in the
society and sporting columns. He was to come back and I was preparing to
receive him, three months ago, when, one evening as I was out riding, my
two Arab attendants flung themselves upon me, bound me, blindfolded me
and took me, travelling day and night, for a week, along deserted roads,
to a bay on the coast, where five men awaited them. I was at once
carried on board a small steam-yacht, which weighed anchor without
delay. There was nothing to tell me who the men were nor what their
object was in kidnapping me. They had locked me into a narrow cabin,
secured by a massive door and lighted by a port-hole protected by two
iron cross-bars. Every morning, a hand was inserted through a hatch
between the next cabin and my own and placed on my bunk two or three
pounds of bread, a good helping of food and a flagon of wine and removed
the remains of yesterday's meals, which I put there for the purpose.
From time to time, at night, the yacht stopped and I heard the sound of
the boat rowing to some harbour and then returning, doubtless with
provisions. Then we set out once more, without hurrying, as though on a
cruise of people of our class, who travel for pleasure and are not
pressed for time. Sometimes, standing on a chair, I would see the
coastline, through my port-hole, too indistinctly, however, to locate
it. And this lasted for weeks. One morning, in the ninth week, I
perceived that the hatch had been left unfastened and I pushed it open.
The cabin was empty at the time. With an effort, I was able to take a
nail-file from a dressing-table. Two weeks after that, by dint of
patient perseverance, I had succeeded in filing through the bars of my
port-hole and I could have escaped that way, only, though I am a good
swimmer, I soon grow tired. I had therefore to choose a moment when the
yacht was not too far from the land. It was not until yesterday that,
perched on my chair, I caught sight of the coast; and, in the evening,
at sunset, I recognized, to my astonishment, the outlines of the
Chateau de Sarzeau, with its pointed turrets and its square keep. I
wondered if this was the goal of my mysterious voyage. All night long,
we cruised in the offing. The same all day yesterday. At last, this
morning, we put in at a distance which I considered favourable, all the
more so as we were steaming through rocks under cover of which I could
swim unobserved. But, just as I was about to make my escape, I noticed
that the shutter of the hatch, which they thought they had closed, had
once more opened of itself and was flapping against the partition. I
again pushed it ajar from curiosity. Within arm's length was a little
cupboard which I managed to open and in which my hand, groping at
random, laid hold of a bundle of papers. This consisted of letters,
letters containing instructions addressed to the pirates who held me
prisoner. An hour later, when I wriggled through the port-hole and
slipped into the sea, I knew all: the reasons for my abduction, the
means employed, the object in view and the infamous scheme plotted
during the last three months against the Duc de Sarzeau-Vendome and his
daughter. Unfortunately, it was too late. I was obliged, in order not to
be seen from the yacht, to crouch in the cleft of a rock and did not
reach land until mid-day. By the time that I had been to a fisherman's
cabin, exchanged my clothes for his and come on here, it was three
o'clock. On my arrival. I learnt that Angelique's marriage was
celebrated this morning."
The old duke had not spoken a word. With his eyes riveted on the
stranger's, he was listening in ever-increasing dismay. At times, the
thought of the warnings given him by the prefect of police returned to
his mind:
"They're nursing you, monsieur le duc, they are nursing you."
He said, in a hollow voice:
"Speak on ... finish your story.... All this is ghastly.... I don't
understand it yet ... and I feel nervous...."
The stranger resumed:
"I am sorry to say, the story is easily pieced together and is summed up
in a few sentences. It is like this: the Comte d'Andresy remembered
several things from his stay with me and from the confidences which I
was foolish enough to make to him. First of all, I was your nephew and
yet you had seen comparatively little of me, because I left Sarzeau when
I was quite a child, and since then our intercourse was limited to the
few weeks which I spent here, fifteen years ago, when I proposed for the
hand of my Cousin Angelique; secondly, having broken with the past, I
received no letters; lastly, there was a certain physical resemblance
between d'Andresy and myself which could be accentuated to such an
extent as to become striking. His scheme was built up on those three
points. He bribed my Arab servants to give him warning in case I left
Algeria. Then he went back to Paris, bearing my name and made up to look
exactly like me, came to see you, was invited to your house once a
fortnight and lived under my name, which thus became one of the many
aliases beneath which he conceals his real identity. Three months ago,
when 'the apple was ripe,' as he says in his letters, he began the
attack by a series of communications to the press; and, at the same
time, fearing no doubt that some newspaper would tell me in Algeria the
part that was being played under my name in Paris, he had me assaulted
by my servants and kidnapped by his confederates. I need not explain any
more in so far as you are concerned, uncle."
The Duc de Sarzeau-Vendome was shaken with a fit of nervous trembling.
The awful truth to which he refused to open his eyes appeared to him in
its nakedness and assumed the hateful countenance of the enemy. He
clutched his nephew's hands and said to him, fiercely, despairingly:
"It's Lupin, is it not?"
"Yes, uncle."
"And it's to him ... it's to him that I have given my daughter!"
"Yes, uncle, to him, who has stolen my name of Jacques d'Emboise from me
and stolen your daughter from you. Angelique is the wedded wife of
Arsene Lupin; and that in accordance with your orders. This letter in
his handwriting bears witness to it. He has upset your whole life,
thrown you off your balance, besieging your hours of waking and your
nights of dreaming, rifling your town-house, until the moment when,
seized with terror, you took refuge here, where, thinking that you would
escape his artifices and his rapacity, you told your daughter to choose
one of her three cousins, Mussy, d'Emboise or Caorches, as her husband.
"But why did she select that one rather than the others?"
"It was you who selected him, uncle."
"At random ... because he had the biggest income...."
"No, not at random, but on the insidious, persistent and very clever
advice of your servant Hyacinthe."
The duke gave a start:
"What! Is Hyacinthe an accomplice?"
"No, not of Arsene Lupin, but of the man whom he believes to be
d'Emboise and who promised to give him a hundred thousand francs within
a week after the marriage."
"Oh, the villain!... He planned everything, foresaw everything...."
"Foresaw everything, uncle, down to shamming an attempt upon his life so
as to avert suspicion, down to shamming a wound received in your
service."
"But with what object? Why all these dastardly tricks?"
"Angelique has a fortune of eleven million francs. Your solicitor in
Paris was to hand the securities next week to the counterfeit d'Emboise,
who had only to realize them forthwith and disappear. But, this very
morning, you yourself were to hand your son-in-law, as a personal
wedding-present, five hundred thousand francs' worth of bearer-stock,
which he has arranged to deliver to one of his accomplices at nine
o'clock this evening, outside the castle, near the Great Oak, so that
they may be negotiated to-morrow morning in Brussels."
The Duc de Sarzeau-Vendome had risen from his seat and was stamping
furiously up and down the room:
"At nine o'clock this evening?" he said. "We'll see about that.... We'll
see about that.... I'll have the gendarmes here before then...."
"Arsene Lupin laughs at gendarmes."
"Let's telegraph to Paris."
"Yes, but how about the five hundred thousand francs?... And, still
worse, uncle, the scandal?... Think of this: your daughter, Angelique de
Sarzeau-Vendome, married to that swindler, that thief.... No, no, it
would never do...."
"What then?"
"What?..."
The nephew now rose and, stepping to a gun-rack, took down a rifle and
laid it on the table, in front of the duke:
"Away in Algeria, uncle, on the verge of the desert, when we find
ourselves face to face with a wild beast, we do not send for the
gendarmes. We take our rifle and we shoot the wild beast. Otherwise, the
beast would tear us to pieces with its claws."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that, over there, I acquired the habit of dispensing with the
gendarmes. It is a rather summary way of doing justice, but it is the
best way, believe me, and to-day, in the present case, it is the only
way. Once the beast is killed, you and I will bury it in some corner,
unseen and unknown."
"And Angelique?"
"We will tell her later."
"What will become of her?"
"She will be my wife, the wife of the real d'Emboise. I desert her
to-morrow and return to Algeria. The divorce will be granted in two
months' time."
The duke listened, pale and staring, with set jaws. He whispered:
"Are you sure that his accomplices on the yacht will not inform him of
your escape?"
"Not before to-morrow."
"So that ...?"
"So that inevitably, at nine o'clock this evening, Arsene Lupin, on his
way to the Great Oak, will take the patrol-path that follows the old
ramparts and skirts the ruins of the chapel. I shall be there, in the
ruins."
"I shall be there too," said the Duc de Sarzeau-Vendome, quietly, taking
down a gun.
It was now five o'clock. The duke talked some time longer to his nephew,
examined the weapons, loaded them with fresh cartridges. Then, when
night came, he took d'Emboise through the dark passages to his bedroom
and hid him in an adjoining closet.
Nothing further happened until dinner. The duke forced himself to keep
calm during the meal. From time to time, he stole a glance at his
son-in-law and was surprised at the likeness between him and the real
d'Emboise. It was the same complexion, the same cast of features, the
same cut of hair. Nevertheless, the look of the eye was different,
keener in this case and brighter; and gradually the duke discovered
minor details which had passed unperceived till then and which proved
the fellow's imposture.
The party broke up after dinner. It was eight o'clock. The duke went to
his room and released his nephew. Ten minutes later, under cover of the
darkness, they slipped into the ruins, gun in hand.