“Bernard d’Andrézy died in Macedonia three years ago.”
“If Bernard d’Andrézy were dead, I should not be here. But you are
mistaken. Here are my papers.”
“They are his; and I can tell you exactly how they came into your
possession.”
“You are a fool!” I exclaimed. “Arsène Lupin sailed under the name of
R---”
“Yes, another of your tricks; a false scent that deceived them at Havre.
You play a good game, my boy, but this time luck is against you.”
I hesitated a moment. Then he hit me a sharp blow on the right arm,
which caused me to utter a cry of pain. He had struck the wound, yet
unhealed, referred to in the telegram.
I was obliged to surrender. There was no alternative. I turned to Miss
Nelly, who had heard everything. Our eyes met; then she glanced at the
Kodak I had placed in her hands, and made a gesture that conveyed to me
the impression that she understood everything. Yes, there, between the
narrow folds of black leather, in the hollow centre of the small object
that I had taken the precaution to place in her hands before Ganimard
arrested me, it was there I had deposited Rozaine’s twenty thousand
francs and Lady Jerland’s pearls and diamonds.
Oh! I pledge my oath that, at that solemn moment, when I was in the
grasp of Ganimard and his two assistants, I was perfectly indifferent to
everything, to my arrest, the hostility of the people, everything
except this one question: what will Miss Nelly do with the things I had
confided to her?
In the absence of that material and conclusive proof, I had nothing
to fear; but would Miss Nelly decide to furnish that proof? Would she
betray me? Would she act the part of an enemy who cannot forgive, or
that of a woman whose scorn is softened by feelings of indulgence and
involuntary sympathy?
She passed in front of me. I said nothing, but bowed very low. Mingled
with the other passengers, she advanced to the gangway with my Kodak
in her hand. It occurred to me that she would not dare to expose me
publicly, but she might do so when she reached a more private place.
However, when she had passed only a few feet down the gangway, with
a movement of simulated awkwardness, she let the camera fall into the
water between the vessel and the pier. Then she walked down the gangway,
and was quickly lost to sight in the crowd. She had passed out of my
life forever.
For a moment, I stood motionless. Then, to Ganimard’s great
astonishment, I muttered:
“What a pity that I am not an honest man!”
Such was the story of his arrest as narrated to me by Arsène Lupin
himself. The various incidents, which I shall record in writing at a
later day, have established between us certain ties.... shall I say of
friendship? Yes, I venture to believe that Arsène Lupin honors me with
his friendship, and that it is through friendship that he occasionally
calls on me, and brings, into the silence of my library, his youthful
exuberance of spirits, the contagion of his enthusiasm, and the mirth of
a man for whom destiny has naught but favors and smiles.
His portrait? How can I describe him? I have seen him twenty times and
each time he was a different person; even he himself said to me on one
occasion: “I no longer know who I am. I cannot recognize myself in the
mirror.” Certainly, he was a great actor, and possessed a marvelous
faculty for disguising himself. Without the slightest effort, he could
adopt the voice, gestures and mannerisms of another person.
“Why,” said he, “why should I retain a definite form and feature? Why
not avoid the danger of a personality that is ever the same? My actions
will serve to identify me.”
Then he added, with a touch of pride:
“So much the better if no one can ever say with absolute certainty:
There is Arsène Lupin! The essential point is that the public may be
able to refer to my work and say, without fear of mistake: Arsène Lupin
did that!”