At three o’clock in the morning, there were still half a dozen carriages
in front of one of those small houses which form only the side of the
boulevard Berthier. The door of that house opened, and a number of
guests, male and female, emerged. The majority of them entered their
carriages and were quickly driven away, leaving behind only two men who
walked down Courcelles, where they parted, as one of them lived in that
street. The other decided to return on foot as far as the Porte-Maillot.
It was a beautiful winter’s night, clear and cold; a night on which a
brisk walk is agreeable and refreshing.
But, at the end of a few minutes, he had the disagreeable impression
that he was being followed. Turning around, he saw a man skulking amongst
the trees. He was not a coward; yet he felt it advisable to increase his
speed. Then his pursuer commenced to run; and he deemed it prudent to
draw his revolver and face him. But he had no time. The man rushed at
him and attacked him violently. Immediately, they were engaged in a
desperate struggle, wherein he felt that his unknown assailant had the
advantage. He called for help, struggled, and was thrown down on a pile
of gravel, seized by the throat, and gagged with a handkerchief that his
assailant forced into his mouth. His eyes closed, and the man who
was smothering him with his weight arose to defend himself against an
unexpected attack. A blow from a cane and a kick from a boot; the
man uttered two cries of pain, and fled, limping and cursing. Without
deigning to pursue the fugitive, the new arrival stooped over the
prostrate man and inquired:
“Are you hurt, monsieur?”
He was not injured, but he was dazed and unable to stand. His rescuer
procured a carriage, placed him in it, and accompanied him to his house
on the avenue de la Grande-Armée. On his arrival there, quite recovered,
he overwhelmed his saviour with thanks.
“I owe you my life, monsieur, and I shall not forget it. I do not wish
to alarm my wife at this time of night, but, to-morrow, she will be
pleased to thank you personally. Come and breakfast with us. My name is
Ludovic Imbert. May I ask yours?”
“Certainly, monsieur.”
And he handed Mon. Imbert a card bearing the name: “Arsène Lupin.”
* * * * *
At that time, Arsène Lupin did not enjoy the celebrity which the Cahorn
affair, his escape from the Prison de la Santé, and other brilliant
exploits, afterwards gained for him. He had not even used the name of
Arsène Lupin. The name was specially invented to designate the rescuer
of Mon. Imbert; that is to say, it was in that affair that Arsène
Lupin was baptized. Fully armed and ready for the fray, it is true, but
lacking the resources and authority which command success, Arsène Lupin
was then merely an apprentice in a profession wherein he soon became a
master.
With what a thrill of joy he recalled the invitation he received that
night! At last, he had reached his goal! At last, he had undertaken
a task worthy of his strength and skill! The Imbert millions! What a
magnificent feast for an appetite like his!
He prepared a special toilet for the occasion; a shabby frock-coat,
baggy trousers, a frayed silk hat, well-worn collar and cuffs, all quite
correct in form, but bearing the unmistakable stamp of poverty. His
cravat was a black ribbon pinned with a false diamond. Thus accoutred,
he descended the stairs of the house in which he lived at Montmartre. At
the third floor, without stopping, he rapped on a closed door with the
head of his cane. He walked to the exterior boulevards. A tram-car was
passing. He boarded it, and some one who had been following him took a
seat beside him. It was the lodger who occupied the room on the third
floor. A moment later, this man said to Lupin:
“Well, governor?”
“Well, it is all fixed.”
“How?”
“I am going there to breakfast.”
“You breakfast--there!”
“Certainly. Why not? I rescued Mon. Ludovic Imbert from certain death
at your hands. Mon. Imbert is not devoid of gratitude. He invited me to
breakfast.”
There was a brief silence. Then the other said:
“But you are not going to throw up the scheme?”
“My dear boy,” said Lupin, “When I arranged that little case of assault
and battery, when I took the trouble at three o’clock in the morning, to
rap you with my cane and tap you with my boot at the risk of injuring
my only friend, it was not my intention to forego the advantages to be
gained from a rescue so well arranged and executed. Oh! no, not at all.”
“But the strange rumors we hear about their fortune?”
“Never mind about that. For six months, I have worked on this affair,
investigated it, studied it, questioned the servants, the money-lenders
and men of straw; for six months, I have shadowed the husband and wife.
Consequently, I know what I am talking about. Whether the fortune came
to them from old Brawford, as they pretend, or from some other source,
I do not care. I know that it is a reality; that it exists. And some day
it will be mine.”
“Bigre! One hundred millions!”
“Let us say ten, or even five--that is enough! They have a safe full
of bonds, and there will be the devil to pay if I can’t get my hands on
them.”
The tram-car stopped at the Place de l’Etoile. The man whispered to
Lupin:
“What am I to do now?”
“Nothing, at present. You will hear from me. There is no hurry.”
Five minutes later, Arsène Lupin was ascending the magnificent flight
of stairs in the Imbert mansion, and Mon. Imbert introduced him to
his wife. Madame Gervaise Imbert was a short plump woman, and very
talkative. She gave Lupin a cordial welcome.
“I desired that we should be alone to entertain our saviour,” she said.
From the outset, they treated “our saviour” as an old and valued friend.
By the time dessert was served, their friendship was well cemented, and
private confidences were being exchanged. Arsène related the story of
his life, the life of his father as a magistrate, the sorrows of his
childhood, and his present difficulties. Gervaise, in turn, spoke of
her youth, her marriage, the kindness of the aged Brawford, the hundred
millions that she had inherited, the obstacles that prevented her from
obtaining the enjoyment of her inheritance, the moneys she had been
obliged to borrow at an exorbitant rate of interest, her endless
contentions with Brawford’s nephews, and the litigation! the
injunctions! in fact, everything!
“Just think of it, Monsieur Lupin, the bonds are there, in my husband’s
office, and if we detach a single coupon, we lose everything! They are
there, in our safe, and we dare not touch them.”
Monsieur Lupin shivered at the bare idea of his proximity to so much
wealth. Yet he felt quite certain that Monsieur Lupin would never suffer
from the same difficulty as his fair hostess who declared she dare not
touch the money.
“Ah! they are there!” he repeated, to himself; “they are there!”
A friendship formed under such circumstances soon led to closer
relations. When discreetly questioned, Arsène Lupin confessed his
poverty and distress. Immediately, the unfortunate young man was
appointed private secretary to the Imberts, husband and wife, at a
salary of one hundred francs a month. He was to come to the house every
day and receive orders for his work, and a room on the second floor
was set apart as his office. This room was directly over Mon. Imbert’s
office.
Arsène soon realized that his position as secretary was essentially
a sinecure. During the first two months, he had only four important
letters to recopy, and was called only once to Mon. Imbert’s office;
consequently, he had only one opportunity to contemplate, officially,
the Imbert safe. Moreover, he noticed that the secretary was not invited
to the social functions of the employer. But he did not complain, as he
preferred to remain, modestly, in the shade and maintain his peace and
freedom.
However, he was not wasting any time. From the beginning, he made
clandestine visits to Mon. Imbert’s office, and paid his respects to the
safe, which was hermetically closed. It was an immense block of iron and
steel, cold and stern in appearance, which could not be forced open
by the ordinary tools of the burglar’s trade. But Arsène Lupin was not
discouraged.
“Where force fails, cunning prevails,” he said to himself. “The
essential thing is to be on the spot when the opportunity occurs. In the
meantime, I must watch and wait.”
He made immediately some preliminary preparations. After careful
soundings made upon the floor of his room, he introduced a lead pipe
which penetrated the ceiling of Mon. Imbert’s office at a point between
the two screeds of the cornice. By means of this pipe, he hoped to see
and hear what transpired in the room below.
Henceforth, he passed his days stretched at full length upon the floor.
He frequently saw the Imberts holding a consultation in front of the
safe, investigating books and papers. When they turned the combination
lock, he tried to learn the figures and the number of turns they made to
the right and left. He watched their movements; he sought to catch their
words. There was also a key necessary to complete the opening of the
safe. What did they do with it? Did they hide it?
One day, he saw them leave the room without locking the safe. He
descended the stairs quickly, and boldly entered the room. But they had
returned.
“Oh! excuse me,” he said, “I made a mistake in the door.”
“Come in, Monsieur Lupin, come in,” cried Madame Imbert, “are you not at
home here? We want your advice. What bonds should we sell? The foreign
securities or the government annuities?”
“But the injunction?” said Lupin, with surprise.
“Oh! it doesn’t cover all the bonds.”
She opened the door of the safe and withdrew a package of bonds. But her
husband protested.
“No, no, Gervaise, it would be foolish to sell the foreign bonds. They
are going up, whilst the annuities are as high as they ever will be.
What do you think, my dear friend?”
The dear friend had no opinion; yet he advised the sacrifice of the
annuities. Then she withdrew another package and, from it, she took
a paper at random. It proved to be a three-per-cent annuity worth two
thousand francs. Ludovic placed the package of bonds in his pocket.
That afternoon, accompanied by his secretary, he sold the annuities to a
stock-broker and realized forty-six thousand francs.
Whatever Madame Imbert might have said about it, Arsène Lupin did not
feel at home in the Imbert house. On the contrary, his position there
was a peculiar one. He learned that the servants did not even know his
name. They called him “monsieur.” Ludovic always spoke of him in the
same way: “You will tell monsieur. Has monsieur arrived?” Why that
mysterious appellation?
Moreover, after their first outburst of enthusiasm, the Imberts seldom
spoke to him, and, although treating him with the consideration due to
a benefactor, they gave him little or no attention. They appeared to
regard him as an eccentric character who did not like to be disturbed,
and they respected his isolation as if it were a stringent rule on his
part. On one occasion, while passing through the vestibule, he heard
Madame Imbert say to the two gentlemen:
“He is such a barbarian!”
“Very well,” he said to himself, “I am a barbarian.”
And, without seeking to solve the question of their strange conduct, he
proceeded with the execution of his own plans. He had decided that he
could not depend on chance, nor on the negligence of Madame Imbert, who
carried the key of the safe, and who, on locking the safe, invariably
scattered the letters forming the combination of the lock. Consequently,
he must act for himself.
Finally, an incident precipitated matters; it was the vehement campaign
instituted against the Imberts by certain newspapers that accused
the Imberts of swindling. Arsène Lupin was present at certain family
conferences when this new vicissitude was discussed. He decided that if
he waited much longer, he would lose everything. During the next five
days, instead of leaving the house about six o’clock, according to his
usual habit, he locked himself in his room. It was supposed that he had
gone out. But he was lying on the floor surveying the office of Mon.
Imbert. During those five evenings, the favorable opportunity that he
awaited did not take place. He left the house about midnight by a side
door to which he held the key.
But on the sixth day, he learned that the Imberts, actuated by the
malevolent insinuations of their enemies, proposed to make an inventory
of the contents of the safe.
“They will do it to-night,” thought Lupin.
And truly, after dinner, Imbert and his wife retired to the office and
commenced to examine the books of account and the securities contained
in the safe. Thus, one hour after another passed away. He heard the
servants go upstairs to their rooms. No one now remained on the first
floor. Midnight! The Imberts were still at work.
“I must get to work,” murmured Lupin.
He opened his window. It opened on a court. Outside, everything was
dark and quiet. He took from his desk a knotted rope, fastened it to
the balcony in front of his window, and quietly descended as far as the
window below, which was that of the of Imbert’s office. He stood upon
the balcony for a moment, motionless, with attentive ear and watchful
eye, but the heavy curtains effectually concealed the interior of the
room. He cautiously pushed on the double window. If no one had examined
it, it ought to yield to the slightest pressure, for, during the
afternoon, he had so fixed the bolt that it would not enter the staple.
The window yielded to his touch. Then, with infinite care, he pushed
it open sufficiently to admit his head. He parted the curtains a few
inches, looked in, and saw Mon. Imbert and his wife sitting in front
of the safe, deeply absorbed in their work and speaking softly to each
other at rare intervals.
He calculated the distance between him and them, considered the exact
movements he would require to make in order to overcome them, one after
the other, before they could call for help, and he was about to rush
upon them, when Madame Imbert said:
“Ah! the room is getting quite cold. I am going to bed. And you, my
dear?”
“I shall stay and finish.”
“Finish! Why, that will take you all night.”
“Not at all. An hour, at the most.”
She retired. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes passed. Arsène pushed the
window a little farther open. The curtains shook. He pushed once more.
Mon. Imbert turned, and, seeing the curtains blown by the wind, he rose
to close the window.
There was not a cry, not the trace of struggle. With a few precise
moments, and without causing him the least injury, Arsène stunned him,
wrapped the curtain about his head, bound him hand and foot, and did it
all in such a manner that Mon. Imbert had no opportunity to recognize
his assailant.
Quickly, he approached the safe, seized two packages that he placed
under his arm, left the office, and opened the servants’ gate. A
carriage was stationed in the street.
“Take that, first--and follow me,” he said to the coachman. He returned
to the office, and, in two trips, they emptied the safe. Then Arsène
went to his own room, removed the rope, and all other traces of his
clandestine work.
A few hours later, Arsène Lupin and his assistant examined the stolen
goods. Lupin was not disappointed, as he had foreseen that the wealth of
the Imberts had been greatly exaggerated. It did not consist of hundreds
of millions, nor even tens of millions. Yet it amounted to a very
respectable sum, and Lupin expressed his satisfaction.
“Of course,” he said, “there will be a considerable loss when we come
to sell the bonds, as we will have to dispose of them surreptitiously
at reduced prices. In the meantime, they will rest quietly in my desk
awaiting a propitious moment.”
Arsène saw no reason why he should not go to the Imbert house the next
day. But a perusal of the morning papers revealed this startling fact:
Ludovic and Gervaise Imbert had disappeared.
When the officers of the law seized the safe and opened it, they found
there what Arsène Lupin had left--nothing.
* * * * *
Such are the facts; and I learned the sequel to them, one day, when
Arsène Lupin was in a confidential mood. He was pacing to and fro in my
room, with a nervous step and a feverish eye that were unusual to him.
“After all,” I said to him, “it was your most successful venture.”
Without making a direct reply, he said:
“There are some impenetrable secrets connected with that affair; some
obscure points that escape my comprehension. For instance: What
caused their flight? Why did they not take advantage of the help I
unconsciously gave them? It would have been so simple to say: ‘The
hundred millions were in the safe. They are no longer there, because
they have been stolen.’”
“They lost their nerve.”
“Yes, that is it--they lost their nerve...On the other hand, it is
true---”
“What is true?”
“Oh! nothing.”
What was the meaning of Lupin’s reticence? It was quite obvious that he
had not told me everything; there was something he was loath to tell.
His conduct puzzled me. It must indeed be a very serious matter to cause
such a man as Arsène Lupin even a momentary hesitation. I threw out a
few questions at random.
“Have you seen them since?”
“No.”
“And have you never experienced the slightest degree of pity for those
unfortunate people?”
“I!” he exclaimed, with a start.
His sudden excitement astonished me. Had I touched him on a sore spot? I
continued:
“Of course. If you had not left them alone, they might have been able to
face the danger, or, at least, made their escape with full pockets.”
“What do you mean?” he said, indignantly. “I suppose you have an idea
that my soul should be filled with remorse?”
“Call it remorse or regrets--anything you like---”
“They are not worth it.”
“Have you no regrets or remorse for having stolen their fortune?”
“What fortune?”
“The packages of bonds you took from their safe.”
“Oh! I stole their bonds, did I? I deprived them of a portion of their
wealth? Is that my crime? Ah! my dear boy, you do not know the truth.
You never imagined that those bonds were not worth the paper they were
written on. Those bonds were false--they were counterfeit--every one of
them--do you understand? THEY WERE COUNTERFEIT!”