The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-burglar, by Maurice Leblanc (2024)

I. The Arrest of Arsène Lupin

It was a strange ending to a voyage that had commenced in a most auspiciousmanner. The transatlantic steamship ‘La Provence’ was a swift andcomfortable vessel, under the command of a most affable man. The passengersconstituted a select and delightful society. The charm of new acquaintances andimprovised amusem*nts served to make the time pass agreeably. We enjoyed thepleasant sensation of being separated from the world, living, as it were, uponan unknown island, and consequently obliged to be sociable with each other.

Have you ever stopped to consider how much originality and spontaneity emanatefrom these various individuals who, on the preceding evening, did not even knoweach other, and who are now, for several days, condemned to lead a life ofextreme intimacy, jointly defying the anger of the ocean, the terribleonslaught of the waves, the violence of the tempest and the agonizing monotonyof the calm and sleepy water? Such a life becomes a sort of tragic existence,with its storms and its grandeurs, its monotony and its diversity; and that iswhy, perhaps, we embark upon that short voyage with mingled feelings ofpleasure and fear.

But, during the past few years, a new sensation had been added to the life ofthe transatlantic traveler. The little floating island is now attached to theworld from which it was once quite free. A bond united them, even in the veryheart of the watery wastes of the Atlantic. That bond is the wirelesstelegraph, by means of which we receive news in the most mysterious manner. Weknow full well that the message is not transported by the medium of a hollowwire. No, the mystery is even more inexplicable, more romantic, and we musthave recourse to the wings of the air in order to explain this new miracle.During the first day of the voyage, we felt that we were being followed,escorted, preceded even, by that distant voice, which, from time to time,whispered to one of us a few words from the receding world. Two friends spoketo me. Ten, twenty others sent gay or somber words of parting to otherpassengers.

On the second day, at a distance of five hundred miles from the French coast,in the midst of a violent storm, we received the following message by means ofthe wireless telegraph:

“Arsène Lupin is on your vessel, first cabin, blonde hair, wound rightfore-arm, traveling alone under name of R........”

At that moment, a terrible flash of lightning rent the stormy skies. Theelectric waves were interrupted. The remainder of the dispatch never reachedus. Of the name under which Arsène Lupin was concealing himself, we knew onlythe initial.

If the news had been of some other character, I have no doubt that the secretwould have been carefully guarded by the telegraphic operator as well as by theofficers of the vessel. But it was one of those events calculated to escapefrom the most rigorous discretion. The same day, no one knew how, the incidentbecame a matter of current gossip and every passenger was aware that the famousArsène Lupin was hiding in our midst.

Arsène Lupin in our midst! the irresponsible burglar whose exploits had beennarrated in all the newspapers during the past few months! the mysteriousindividual with whom Ganimard, our shrewdest detective, had been engaged in animplacable conflict amidst interesting and picturesque surroundings. ArsèneLupin, the eccentric gentleman who operates only in the châteaux and salons,and who, one night, entered the residence of Baron Schormann, but emergedempty-handed, leaving, however, his card on which he had scribbled these words:“Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar, will return when the furniture isgenuine.” Arsène Lupin, the man of a thousand disguises: in turn achauffer, detective, bookmaker, Russian physician, Spanish bull-fighter,commercial traveler, robust youth, or decrepit old man.

Then consider this startling situation: Arsène Lupin was wandering about withinthe limited bounds of a transatlantic steamer; in that very small corner of theworld, in that dining saloon, in that smoking room, in that music room! ArsèneLupin was, perhaps, this gentleman.... or that one.... my neighbor at thetable.... the sharer of my stateroom....

“And this condition of affairs will last for five days!” exclaimedMiss Nelly Underdown, next morning. “It is unbearable! I hope he will bearrested.”

Then, addressing me, she added:

“And you, Monsieur d’Andrézy, you are on intimate terms with thecaptain; surely you know something?”

I should have been delighted had I possessed any information that wouldinterest Miss Nelly. She was one of those magnificent creatures who inevitablyattract attention in every assembly. Wealth and beauty form an irresistiblecombination, and Nelly possessed both.

Educated in Paris under the care of a French mother, she was now going to visither father, the millionaire Underdown of Chicago. She was accompanied by one ofher friends, Lady Jerland.

At first, I had decided to open a flirtation with her; but, in the rapidlygrowing intimacy of the voyage, I was soon impressed by her charming manner andmy feelings became too deep and reverential for a mere flirtation. Moreover,she accepted my attentions with a certain degree of favor. She condescended tolaugh at my witticisms and display an interest in my stories. Yet I felt that Ihad a rival in the person of a young man with quiet and refined tastes; and itstruck me, at times, that she preferred his taciturn humor to my Parisianfrivolity. He formed one in the circle of admirers that surrounded Miss Nellyat the time she addressed to me the foregoing question. We were all comfortablyseated in our deck-chairs. The storm of the preceding evening had cleared thesky. The weather was now delightful.

“I have no definite knowledge, mademoiselle,” I replied, “butcan not we, ourselves, investigate the mystery quite as well as the detectiveGanimard, the personal enemy of Arsène Lupin?”

“Oh! oh! you are progressing very fast, monsieur.”

“Not at all, mademoiselle. In the first place, let me ask, do you findthe problem a complicated one?”

“Very complicated.”

“Have you forgotten the key we hold for the solution to theproblem?”

“What key?”

“In the first place, Lupin calls himself MonsieurR———-.”

“Rather vague information,” she replied.

“Secondly, he is traveling alone.”

“Does that help you?” she asked.

“Thirdly, he is blonde.”

“Well?”

“Then we have only to peruse the passenger-list, and proceed by processof elimination.”

I had that list in my pocket. I took it out and glanced through it. Then Iremarked:

“I find that there are only thirteen men on the passenger-list whosenames begin with the letter R.”

“Only thirteen?”

“Yes, in the first cabin. And of those thirteen, I find that nine of themare accompanied by women, children or servants. That leaves only four who aretraveling alone. First, the Marquis de Raverdan——”

“Secretary to the American Ambassador,” interrupted Miss Nelly.“I know him.”

“Major Rawson,” I continued.

“He is my uncle,” some one said.

“Mon. Rivolta.”

“Here!” exclaimed an Italian, whose face was concealed beneath aheavy black beard.

Miss Nelly burst into laughter, and exclaimed: “That gentleman canscarcely be called a blonde.”

“Very well, then,” I said, “we are forced to the conclusionthat the guilty party is the last one on the list.”

“What is his name?”

“Mon. Rozaine. Does anyone know him?”

No one answered. But Miss Nelly turned to the taciturn young man, whoseattentions to her had annoyed me, and said:

“Well, Monsieur Rozaine, why do you not answer?”

All eyes were now turned upon him. He was a blonde. I must confess that Imyself felt a shock of surprise, and the profound silence that followed herquestion indicated that the others present also viewed the situation with afeeling of sudden alarm. However, the idea was an absurd one, because thegentleman in question presented an air of the most perfect innocence.

“Why do I not answer?” he said. “Because, considering myname, my position as a solitary traveler and the color of my hair, I havealready reached the same conclusion, and now think that I should bearrested.”

He presented a strange appearance as he uttered these words. His thin lips weredrawn closer than usual and his face was ghastly pale, whilst his eyes werestreaked with blood. Of course, he was joking, yet his appearance and attitudeimpressed us strangely.

“But you have not the wound?” said Miss Nelly, naively.

“That is true,” he replied, “I lack the wound.”

Then he pulled up his sleeve, removing his cuff, and showed us his arm. Butthat action did not deceive me. He had shown us his left arm, and I was on thepoint of calling his attention to the fact, when another incident diverted ourattention. Lady Jerland, Miss Nelly’s friend, came running towards us ina state of great excitement, exclaiming:

“My jewels, my pearls! Some one has stolen them all!”

No, they were not all gone, as we soon found out. The thief had taken only partof them; a very curious thing. Of the diamond sunbursts, jeweled pendants,bracelets and necklaces, the thief had taken, not the largest but the finestand most valuable stones. The mountings were lying upon the table. I saw themthere, despoiled of their jewels, like flowers from which the beautiful coloredpetals had been ruthlessly plucked. And this theft must have been committed atthe time Lady Jerland was taking her tea; in broad daylight, in a stateroomopening on a much frequented corridor; moreover, the thief had been obliged toforce open the door of the stateroom, search for the jewel-case, which washidden at the bottom of a hat-box, open it, select his booty and remove it fromthe mountings.

Of course, all the passengers instantly reached the same conclusion; it was thework of Arsène Lupin.

That day, at the dinner table, the seats to the right and left of Rozaineremained vacant; and, during the evening, it was rumored that the captain hadplaced him under arrest, which information produced a feeling of safety andrelief. We breathed once more. That evening, we resumed our games and dances.Miss Nelly, especially, displayed a spirit of thoughtless gayety whichconvinced me that if Rozaine’s attentions had been agreeable to her inthe beginning, she had already forgotten them. Her charm and good-humorcompleted my conquest. At midnight, under a bright moon, I declared my devotionwith an ardor that did not seem to displease her.

But, next day, to our general amazement, Rozaine was at liberty. We learnedthat the evidence against him was not sufficient. He had produced documentsthat were perfectly regular, which showed that he was the son of a wealthymerchant of Bordeaux. Besides, his arms did not bear the slightest trace of awound.

“Documents! Certificates of birth!” exclaimed the enemies ofRozaine, “of course, Arsène Lupin will furnish you as many as you desire.And as to the wound, he never had it, or he has removed it.”

Then it was proven that, at the time of the theft, Rozaine was promenading onthe deck. To which fact, his enemies replied that a man like Arsène Lupin couldcommit a crime without being actually present. And then, apart from all othercirc*mstances, there remained one point which even the most skeptical could notanswer: Who except Rozaine, was traveling alone, was a blonde, and bore a namebeginning with R? To whom did the telegram point, if it were not Rozaine?

And when Rozaine, a few minutes before breakfast, came boldly toward our group,Miss Nelly and Lady Jerland arose and walked away.

An hour later, a manuscript circular was passed from hand to hand amongst thesailors, the stewards, and the passengers of all classes. It announced thatMon. Louis Rozaine offered a reward of ten thousand francs for the discovery ofArsène Lupin or other person in possession of the stolen jewels.

“And if no one assists me, I will unmask the scoundrel myself,”declared Rozaine.

Rozaine against Arsène Lupin, or rather, according to current opinion, ArsèneLupin himself against Arsène Lupin; the contest promised to be interesting.

Nothing developed during the next two days. We saw Rozaine wandering about, dayand night, searching, questioning, investigating. The captain, also, displayedcommendable activity. He caused the vessel to be searched from stem to stern;ransacked every stateroom under the plausible theory that the jewels might beconcealed anywhere, except in the thief’s own room.

“I suppose they will find out something soon,” remarked Miss Nellyto me. “He may be a wizard, but he cannot make diamonds and pearls becomeinvisible.”

“Certainly not,” I replied, “but he should examine the liningof our hats and vests and everything we carry with us.”

Then, exhibiting my Kodak, a 9x12 with which I had been photographing her invarious poses, I added: “In an apparatus no larger than that, a personcould hide all of Lady Jerland’s jewels. He could pretend to takepictures and no one would suspect the game.”

“But I have heard it said that every thief leaves some clue behindhim.”

“That may be generally true,” I replied, “but there is oneexception: Arsène Lupin.”

“Why?”

“Because he concentrates his thoughts not only on the theft, but on allthe circ*mstances connected with it that could serve as a clue to hisidentity.”

“A few days ago, you were more confident.”

“Yes, but since then I have seen him at work.”

“And what do you think about it now?” she asked.

“Well, in my opinion, we are wasting our time.”

And, as a matter of fact, the investigation had produced no result. But, in themeantime, the captain’s watch had been stolen. He was furious. Hequickened his efforts and watched Rozaine more closely than before. But, on thefollowing day, the watch was found in the second officer’s collar box.

This incident caused considerable astonishment, and displayed the humorous sideof Arsène Lupin, burglar though he was, but dilettante as well. He combinedbusiness with pleasure. He reminded us of the author who almost died in a fitof laughter provoked by his own play. Certainly, he was an artist in hisparticular line of work, and whenever I saw Rozaine, gloomy and reserved, andthought of the double role that he was playing, I accorded him a certainmeasure of admiration.

On the following evening, the officer on deck duty heard groans emanating fromthe darkest corner of the ship. He approached and found a man lying there, hishead enveloped in a thick gray scarf and his hands tied together with a heavycord. It was Rozaine. He had been assaulted, thrown down and robbed. A card,pinned to his coat, bore these words: “Arsène Lupin accepts with pleasurethe ten thousand francs offered by Mon. Rozaine.” As a matter of fact,the stolen pocket-book contained twenty thousand francs.

Of course, some accused the unfortunate man of having simulated this attack onhimself. But, apart from the fact that he could not have bound himself in thatmanner, it was established that the writing on the card was entirely differentfrom that of Rozaine, but, on the contrary, resembled the handwriting of ArsèneLupin as it was reproduced in an old newspaper found on board.

Thus it appeared that Rozaine was not Arsène Lupin; but was Rozaine, the son ofa Bordeaux merchant. And the presence of Arsène Lupin was once more affirmed,and that in a most alarming manner.

Such was the state of terror amongst the passengers that none would remainalone in a stateroom or wander singly in unfrequented parts of the vessel. Weclung together as a matter of safety. And yet the most intimate acquaintanceswere estranged by a mutual feeling of distrust. Arsène Lupin was, now, anybodyand everybody. Our excited imaginations attributed to him miraculous andunlimited power. We supposed him capable of assuming the most unexpecteddisguises; of being, by turns, the highly respectable Major Rawson or the nobleMarquis de Raverdan, or even—for we no longer stopped with the accusingletter of R—or even such or such a person well known to all of us, andhaving wife, children and servants.

The first wireless dispatches from America brought no news; at least, thecaptain did not communicate any to us. The silence was not reassuring.

Our last day on the steamer seemed interminable. We lived in constant fear ofsome disaster. This time, it would not be a simple theft or a comparativelyharmless assault; it would be a crime, a murder. No one imagined that ArsèneLupin would confine himself to those two trifling offenses. Absolute master ofthe ship, the authorities powerless, he could do whatever he pleased; ourproperty and lives were at his mercy.

Yet those were delightful hours for me, since they secured to me the confidenceof Miss Nelly. Deeply moved by those startling events and being of a highlynervous nature, she spontaneously sought at my side a protection and securitythat I was pleased to give her. Inwardly, I blessed Arsène Lupin. Had he notbeen the means of bringing me and Miss Nelly closer to each other? Thanks tohim, I could now indulge in delicious dreams of love and happiness—dreamsthat, I felt, were not unwelcome to Miss Nelly. Her smiling eyes authorized meto make them; the softness of her voice bade me hope.

As we approached the American shore, the active search for the thief wasapparently abandoned, and we were anxiously awaiting the supreme moment inwhich the mysterious enigma would be explained. Who was Arsène Lupin? Underwhat name, under what disguise was the famous Arsène Lupin concealing himself?And, at last, that supreme moment arrived. If I live one hundred years, I shallnot forget the slightest details of it.

“How pale you are, Miss Nelly,” I said to my companion, as sheleaned upon my arm, almost fainting.

“And you!” she replied, “ah! you are so changed.”

“Just think! this is a most exciting moment, and I am delighted to spendit with you, Miss Nelly. I hope that your memory will sometimesrevert—-”

But she was not listening. She was nervous and excited. The gangway was placedin position, but, before we could use it, the uniformed customs officers cameon board. Miss Nelly murmured:

“I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that Arsène Lupin escaped fromthe vessel during the voyage.”

“Perhaps he preferred death to dishonor, and plunged into the Atlanticrather than be arrested.”

“Oh, do not laugh,” she said.

Suddenly I started, and, in answer to her question, I said:

“Do you see that little old man standing at the bottom of thegangway?”

“With an umbrella and an olive-green coat?”

“It is Ganimard.”

“Ganimard?”

“Yes, the celebrated detective who has sworn to capture Arsène Lupin. Ah!I can understand now why we did not receive any news from this side of theAtlantic. Ganimard was here! and he always keeps his business secret.”

“Then you think he will arrest Arsène Lupin?”

“Who can tell? The unexpected always happens when Arsène Lupin isconcerned in the affair.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, with that morbid curiosity peculiar to women,“I should like to see him arrested.”

“You will have to be patient. No doubt, Arsène Lupin has already seen hisenemy and will not be in a hurry to leave the steamer.”

The passengers were now leaving the steamer. Leaning on his umbrella, with anair of careless indifference, Ganimard appeared to be paying no attention tothe crowd that was hurrying down the gangway. The Marquis de Raverdan, MajorRawson, the Italian Rivolta, and many others had already left the vessel beforeRozaine appeared. Poor Rozaine!

“Perhaps it is he, after all,” said Miss Nelly to me. “Whatdo you think?”

“I think it would be very interesting to have Ganimard and Rozaine in thesame picture. You take the camera. I am loaded down.”

I gave her the camera, but too late for her to use it. Rozaine was alreadypassing the detective. An American officer, standing behind Ganimard, leanedforward and whispered in his ear. The French detective shrugged his shouldersand Rozaine passed on. Then, my God, who was Arsène Lupin?

“Yes,” said Miss Nelly, aloud, “who can it be?”

Not more than twenty people now remained on board. She scrutinized them one byone, fearful that Arsène Lupin was not amongst them.

“We cannot wait much longer,” I said to her.

She started toward the gangway. I followed. But we had not taken ten steps whenGanimard barred our passage.

“Well, what is it?” I exclaimed.

“One moment, monsieur. What’s your hurry?”

“I am escorting mademoiselle.”

“One moment,” he repeated, in a tone of authority. Then, gazinginto my eyes, he said:

“Arsène Lupin, is it not?”

I laughed, and replied: “No, simply Bernard d’Andrézy.”

“Bernard d’Andrézy died in Macedonia three years ago.”

“If Bernard d’Andrézy were dead, I should not be here. But you aremistaken. Here are my papers.”

“They are his; and I can tell you exactly how they came into yourpossession.”

“You are a fool!” I exclaimed. “Arsène Lupin sailed under thename 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, whichcaused 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 hadplaced in her hands, and made a gesture that conveyed to me the impression thatshe understood everything. Yes, there, between the narrow folds of blackleather, in the hollow centre of the small object that I had taken theprecaution to place in her hands before Ganimard arrested me, it was there Ihad deposited Rozaine’s twenty thousand francs and Lady Jerland’spearls and diamonds.

Oh! I pledge my oath that, at that solemn moment, when I was in the grasp ofGanimard and his two assistants, I was perfectly indifferent to everything, tomy 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? Wouldshe act the part of an enemy who cannot forgive, or that of a woman whose scornis softened by feelings of indulgence and involuntary sympathy?

She passed in front of me. I said nothing, but bowed very low. Mingled with theother passengers, she advanced to the gangway with my Kodak in her hand. Itoccurred to me that she would not dare to expose me publicly, but she might doso when she reached a more private place. However, when she had passed only afew feet down the gangway, with a movement of simulated awkwardness, she letthe camera fall into the water between the vessel and the pier. Then she walkeddown the gangway, and was quickly lost to sight in the crowd. She had passedout 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. Thevarious incidents, which I shall record in writing at a later day, haveestablished between us certain ties.... shall I say of friendship? Yes, Iventure to believe that Arsène Lupin honors me with his friendship, and that itis through friendship that he occasionally calls on me, and brings, into thesilence of my library, his youthful exuberance of spirits, the contagion of hisenthusiasm, and the mirth of a man for whom destiny has naught but favors andsmiles.

His portrait? How can I describe him? I have seen him twenty times and eachtime 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 themirror.” Certainly, he was a great actor, and possessed a marvelousfaculty for disguising himself. Without the slightest effort, he could adoptthe voice, gestures and mannerisms of another person.

“Why,” said he, “why should I retain a definite form andfeature? Why not avoid the danger of a personality that is ever the same? Myactions 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: Thereis Arsène Lupin! The essential point is that the public may be able to refer tomy work and say, without fear of mistake: Arsène Lupin did that!”

II. Arsène Lupin in Prison

There is no tourist worthy of the name who does not know the banks of theSeine, and has not noticed, in passing, the little feudal castle of theMalaquis, built upon a rock in the centre of the river. An arched bridgeconnects it with the shore. All around it, the calm waters of the great riverplay peacefully amongst the reeds, and the wagtails flutter over the moistcrests of the stones.

The history of the Malaquis castle is stormy like its name, harsh like itsoutlines. It has passed through a long series of combats, sieges, assaults,rapines and massacres. A recital of the crimes that have been committed therewould cause the stoutest heart to tremble. There are many mysterious legendsconnected with the castle, and they tell us of a famous subterranean tunnelthat formerly led to the abbey of Jumieges and to the manor of Agnes Sorel,mistress of Charles VII.

In that ancient habitation of heroes and brigands, the Baron Nathan Cahorn nowlived; or Baron Satan as he was formerly called on the Bourse, where he hadacquired a fortune with incredible rapidity. The lords of Malaquis, absolutelyruined, had been obliged to sell the ancient castle at a great sacrifice. Itcontained an admirable collection of furniture, pictures, wood carvings, andfaience. The Baron lived there alone, attended by three old servants. No oneever enters the place. No one had ever beheld the three Rubens that hepossessed, his two Watteau, his Jean Goujon pulpit, and the many othertreasures that he had acquired by a vast expenditure of money at public sales.

Baron Satan lived in constant fear, not for himself, but for the treasures thathe had accumulated with such an earnest devotion and with so much perspicacitythat the shrewdest merchant could not say that the Baron had ever erred in histaste or judgment. He loved them—his bibelots. He loved them intensely,like a miser; jealously, like a lover. Every day, at sunset, the iron gates ateither end of the bridge and at the entrance to the court of honor are closedand barred. At the least touch on these gates, electric bells will ringthroughout the castle.

One Thursday in September, a letter-carrier presented himself at the gate atthe head of the bridge, and, as usual, it was the Baron himself who partiallyopened the heavy portal. He scrutinized the man as minutely as if he were astranger, although the honest face and twinkling eyes of the postman had beenfamiliar to the Baron for many years. The man laughed, as he said:

“It is only I, Monsieur le Baron. It is not another man wearing my capand blouse.”

“One can never tell,” muttered the Baron.

The man handed him a number of newspapers, and then said:

“And now, Monsieur le Baron, here is something new.”

“Something new?”

“Yes, a letter. A registered letter.”

Living as a recluse, without friends or business relations, the baron neverreceived any letters, and the one now presented to him immediately arousedwithin him a feeling of suspicion and distrust. It was like an evil omen. Whowas this mysterious correspondent that dared to disturb the tranquility of hisretreat?

“You must sign for it, Monsieur le Baron.”

He signed; then took the letter, waited until the postman had disappearedbeyond the bend in the road, and, after walking nervously to and fro for a fewminutes, he leaned against the parapet of the bridge and opened the envelope.It contained a sheet of paper, bearing this heading: Prison de la Santé, Paris.He looked at the signature: Arsène Lupin. Then he read:

“Monsieur le Baron:
“There is, in the gallery in your castle, a picture of Philippe deChampaigne, of exquisite finish, which pleases me beyond measure. Your Rubensare also to my taste, as well as your smallest Watteau. In the salon to theright, I have noticed the Louis XIII cadence-table, the tapestries of Beauvais,the Empire gueridon signed ‘Jacob,’ and the Renaissance chest. Inthe salon to the left, all the cabinet full of jewels and miniatures.
“For the present, I will content myself with those articles that canbe conveniently removed. I will therefore ask you to pack them carefully andship them to me, charges prepaid, to the station at Batignolles, within eightdays, otherwise I shall be obliged to remove them myself during the night of 27September; but, under those circ*mstances, I shall not content myself with thearticles above mentioned.
“Accept my apologies for any inconvenience I may cause you, andbelieve me to be your humble servant,

“Arsène Lupin.”

“P. S.—Please do not send the largest Watteau. Although you paidthirty thousand francs for it, it is only a copy, the original having beenburned, under the Directoire by Barras, during a night of debauchery. Consultthe memoirs of Garat.
“I do not care for the Louis XV chatelaine, as I doubt itsauthenticity.”

That letter completely upset the baron. Had it borne any other signature, hewould have been greatly alarmed—but signed by Arsène Lupin!

As an habitual reader of the newspapers, he was versed in the history of recentcrimes, and was therefore well acquainted with the exploits of the mysteriousburglar. Of course, he knew that Lupin had been arrested in America by hisenemy Ganimard and was at present incarcerated in the Prison de la Santé. Buthe knew also that any miracle might be expected from Arsène Lupin. Moreover,that exact knowledge of the castle, the location of the pictures and furniture,gave the affair an alarming aspect. How could he have acquired that informationconcerning things that no one had ever seen?

The baron raised his eyes and contemplated the stern outlines of the castle,its steep rocky pedestal, the depth of the surrounding water, and shrugged hisshoulders. Certainly, there was no danger. No one in the world could force anentrance to the sanctuary that contained his priceless treasures.

No one, perhaps, but Arsène Lupin! For him, gates, walls and drawbridges didnot exist. What use were the most formidable obstacles or the most carefulprecautions, if Arsène Lupin had decided to effect an entrance?

That evening, he wrote to the Procurer of the Republique at Rouen. He enclosedthe threatening letter and solicited aid and protection.

The reply came at once to the effect that Arsène Lupin was in custody in thePrison de la Santé, under close surveillance, with no opportunity to write sucha letter, which was, no doubt, the work of some imposter. But, as an act ofprecaution, the Procurer had submitted the letter to an expert in handwriting,who declared that, in spite of certain resemblances, the writing was not thatof the prisoner.

But the words “in spite of certain resemblances” caught theattention of the baron; in them, he read the possibility of a doubt whichappeared to him quite sufficient to warrant the intervention of the law. Hisfears increased. He read Lupin’s letter over and over again. “Ishall be obliged to remove them myself.” And then there was the fixeddate: the night of 27 September.

To confide in his servants was a proceeding repugnant to his nature; but now,for the first time in many years, he experienced the necessity of seekingcounsel with some one. Abandoned by the legal official of his own district, andfeeling unable to defend himself with his own resources, he was on the point ofgoing to Paris to engage the services of a detective.

Two days passed; on the third day, he was filled with hope and joy as he readthe following item in the ‘Réveil de Caudebec’, a newspaperpublished in a neighboring town:

“We have the pleasure of entertaining in our city, at the present time,the veteran detective Mon. Ganimard who acquired a world-wide reputation by hisclever capture of Arsène Lupin. He has come here for rest and recreation, and,being an enthusiastic fisherman, he threatens to capture all the fish in ourriver.”

Ganimard! Ah, here is the assistance desired by Baron Cahorn! Who could bafflethe schemes of Arsène Lupin better than Ganimard, the patient and astutedetective? He was the man for the place.

The baron did not hesitate. The town of Caudebec was only six kilometers fromthe castle, a short distance to a man whose step was accelerated by the hope ofsafety.

After several fruitless attempts to ascertain the detective’s address,the baron visited the office of the ‘Réveil,’ situated on the quai.There he found the writer of the article who, approaching the window,exclaimed:

“Ganimard? Why, you are sure to see him somewhere on the quai with hisfishing-pole. I met him there and chanced to read his name engraved on his rod.Ah, there he is now, under the trees.”

“That little man, wearing a straw hat?”

“Exactly. He is a gruff fellow, with little to say.”

Five minutes later, the baron approached the celebrated Ganimard, introducedhimself, and sought to commence a conversation, but that was a failure. Then hebroached the real object of his interview, and briefly stated his case. Theother listened, motionless, with his attention riveted on his fishing-rod. Whenthe baron had finished his story, the fisherman turned, with an air of profoundpity, and said:

“Monsieur, it is not customary for thieves to warn people they are aboutto rob. Arsène Lupin, especially, would not commit such a folly.”

“But—-”

“Monsieur, if I had the least doubt, believe me, the pleasure of againcapturing Arsène Lupin would place me at your disposal. But, unfortunately,that young man is already under lock and key.”

“He may have escaped.”

“No one ever escaped from the Santé.”

“But, he—-”

“He, no more than any other.”

“Yet—-”

“Well, if he escapes, so much the better. I will catch him again.Meanwhile, you go home and sleep soundly. That will do for the present. Youfrighten the fish.”

The conversation was ended. The baron returned to the castle, reassured to someextent by Ganimard’s indifference. He examined the bolts, watched theservants, and, during the next forty-eight hours, he became almost persuadedthat his fears were groundless. Certainly, as Ganimard had said, thieves do notwarn people they are about to rob.

The fateful day was close at hand. It was now the twenty-sixth of September andnothing had happened. But at three o’clock the bell rang. A boy broughtthis telegram:

“No goods at Batignolles station. Prepare everything for tomorrow night.Arsène.”

This telegram threw the baron into such a state of excitement that he evenconsidered the advisability of yielding to Lupin’s demands.

However, he hastened to Caudebec. Ganimard was fishing at the same place,seated on a campstool. Without a word, he handed him the telegram.

“Well, what of it?” said the detective.

“What of it? But it is tomorrow.”

“What is tomorrow?”

“The robbery! The pillage of my collections!”

Ganimard laid down his fishing-rod, turned to the baron, and exclaimed, in atone of impatience:

“Ah! Do you think I am going to bother myself about such a silly story asthat!”

“How much do you ask to pass tomorrow night in the castle?”

“Not a sou. Now, leave me alone.”

“Name your own price. I am rich and can pay it.”

This offer disconcerted Ganimard, who replied, calmly:

“I am here on a vacation. I have no right to undertake such work.”

“No one will know. I promise to keep it secret.”

“Oh! nothing will happen.”

“Come! three thousand francs. Will that be enough?”

The detective, after a moment’s reflection, said:

“Very well. But I must warn you that you are throwing your money out ofthe window.”

“I do not care.”

“In that case... but, after all, what do we know about this devil Lupin!He may have quite a numerous band of robbers with him. Are you sure of yourservants?”

“My faith—-”

“Better not count on them. I will telegraph for two of my men to help me.And now, go! It is better for us not to be seen together. Tomorrow eveningabout nine o’clock.”

The following day—the date fixed by Arsène Lupin—Baron Cahornarranged all his panoply of war, furbished his weapons, and, like a sentinel,paced to and fro in front of the castle. He saw nothing, heard nothing. Athalf-past eight o’clock in the evening, he dismissed his servants. Theyoccupied rooms in a wing of the building, in a retired spot, well removed fromthe main portion of the castle. Shortly thereafter, the baron heard the soundof approaching footsteps. It was Ganimard and his two assistants—great,powerful fellows with immense hands, and necks like bulls. After asking a fewquestions relating to the location of the various entrances and rooms, Ganimardcarefully closed and barricaded all the doors and windows through which onecould gain access to the threatened rooms. He inspected the walls, raised thetapestries, and finally installed his assistants in the central gallery whichwas located between the two salons.

“No nonsense! We are not here to sleep. At the slightest sound, open thewindows of the court and call me. Pay attention also to the water-side. Tenmetres of perpendicular rock is no obstacle to those devils.”

Ganimard locked his assistants in the gallery, carried away the keys, and saidto the baron:

“And now, to our post.”

He had chosen for himself a small room located in the thick outer wall, betweenthe two principal doors, and which, in former years, had been thewatchman’s quarters. A peep-hole opened upon the bridge; another on thecourt. In one corner, there was an opening to a tunnel.

“I believe you told me, Monsieur le Baron, that this tunnel is the onlysubterranean entrance to the castle and that it has been closed up for timeimmemorial?”

“Yes.”

“Then, unless there is some other entrance, known only to Arsène Lupin,we are quite safe.”

He placed three chairs together, stretched himself upon them, lighted his pipeand sighed:

“Really, Monsieur le Baron, I feel ashamed to accept your money for sucha sinecure as this. I will tell the story to my friend Lupin. He will enjoy itimmensely.”

The baron did not laugh. He was anxiously listening, but heard nothing save thebeating of his own heart. From time to time, he leaned over the tunnel and casta fearful eye into its depths. He heard the clock strike eleven, twelve, one.

Suddenly, he seized Ganimard’s arm. The latter leaped up, awakened fromhis sleep.

“Do you hear?” asked the baron, in a whisper.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I was snoring, I suppose.”

“No, no, listen.”

“Ah! yes, it is the horn of an automobile.”

“Well?”

“Well! it is very improbable that Lupin would use an automobile like abattering-ram to demolish your castle. Come, Monsieur le Baron, return to yourpost. I am going to sleep. Good-night.”

That was the only alarm. Ganimard resumed his interrupted slumbers, and thebaron heard nothing except the regular snoring of his companion. At break ofday, they left the room. The castle was enveloped in a profound calm; it was apeaceful dawn on the bosom of a tranquil river. They mounted the stairs, Cahornradiant with joy, Ganimard calm as usual. They heard no sound; they saw nothingto arouse suspicion.

“What did I tell you, Monsieur le Baron? Really, I should not haveaccepted your offer. I am ashamed.”

He unlocked the door and entered the gallery. Upon two chairs, with droopingheads and pendent arms, the detective’s two assistants were asleep.

“Tonnerre de nom d’un chien!” exclaimed Ganimard. At the samemoment, the baron cried out:

“The pictures! The credence!”

He stammered, choked, with arms outstretched toward the empty places, towardthe denuded walls where naught remained but the useless nails and cords. TheWatteau, disappeared! The Rubens, carried away! The tapestries taken down! Thecabinets, despoiled of their jewels!

“And my Louis XVI candelabra! And the Regent chandelier!...And mytwelfth-century Virgin!”

He ran from one spot to another in wildest despair. He recalled the purchaseprice of each article, added up the figures, counted his losses, pell-mell, inconfused words and unfinished phrases. He stamped with rage; he groaned withgrief. He acted like a ruined man whose only hope is suicide.

If anything could have consoled him, it would have been the stupefactiondisplayed by Ganimard. The famous detective did not move. He appeared to bepetrified; he examined the room in a listless manner. The windows?.... closed.The locks on the doors?.... intact. Not a break in the ceiling; not a hole inthe floor. Everything was in perfect order. The theft had been carried outmethodically, according to a logical and inexorable plan.

“Arsène Lupin....Arsène Lupin,” he muttered.

Suddenly, as if moved by anger, he rushed upon his two assistants and shookthem violently. They did not awaken.

“The devil!” he cried. “Can it be possible?”

He leaned over them and, in turn, examined them closely. They were asleep; buttheir response was unnatural.

“They have been drugged,” he said to the baron.

“By whom?”

“By him, of course, or his men under his discretion. That work bears hisstamp.”

“In that case, I am lost—nothing can be done.”

“Nothing,” assented Ganimard.

“It is dreadful; it is monstrous.”

“Lodge a complaint.”

“What good will that do?”

“Oh; it is well to try it. The law has some resources.”

“The law! Bah! it is useless. You represent the law, and, at this moment,when you should be looking for a clue and trying to discover something, you donot even stir.”

“Discover something with Arsène Lupin! Why, my dear monsieur, ArsèneLupin never leaves any clue behind him. He leaves nothing to chance. SometimesI think he put himself in my way and simply allowed me to arrest him inAmerica.”

“Then, I must renounce my pictures! He has taken the gems of mycollection. I would give a fortune to recover them. If there is no other way,let him name his own price.”

Ganimard regarded the baron attentively, as he said:

“Now, that is sensible. Will you stick to it?”

“Yes, yes. But why?”

“An idea that I have.”

“What is it?”

“We will discuss it later—if the official examination does notsucceed. But, not one word about me, if you wish my assistance.”

He added, between his teeth:

“It is true I have nothing to boast of in this affair.”

The assistants were gradually regaining consciousness with the bewildered airof people who come out of an hypnotic sleep. They opened their eyes and lookedabout them in astonishment. Ganimard questioned them; they remembered nothing.

“But you must have seen some one?”

“No.”

“Can’t you remember?”

“No, no.”

“Did you drink anything?”

They considered a moment, and then one of them replied:

“Yes, I drank a little water.”

“Out of that carafe?”

“Yes.”

“So did I,” declared the other.

Ganimard smelled and tasted it. It had no particular taste and no odor.

“Come,” he said, “we are wasting our time here. Onecan’t decide an Arsène Lupin problem in five minutes. But, morbleu! Iswear I will catch him again.”

The same day, a charge of burglary was duly performed by Baron Cahorn againstArsène Lupin, a prisoner in the Prison de la Santé.

The baron afterwards regretted making the charge against Lupin when he saw hiscastle delivered over to the gendarmes, the procureur, the judged’instruction, the newspaper reporters and photographers, and a throng ofidle curiosity-seekers.

The affair soon became a topic of general discussion, and the name of ArsèneLupin excited the public imagination to such an extent that the newspapersfilled their columns with the most fantastic stories of his exploits whichfound ready credence amongst their readers.

But the letter of Arsène Lupin that was published in the Echo de France(no once ever knew how the newspaper obtained it), that letter in which BaronCahorn was impudently warned of the coming theft, caused considerableexcitement. The most fabulous theories were advanced. Some recalled theexistence of the famous subterranean tunnels, and that was the line of researchpursued by the officers of the law, who searched the house from top to bottom,questioned every stone, studied the wainscoting and the chimneys, thewindow-frames and the girders in the ceilings. By the light of torches, theyexamined the immense cellars where the lords of Malaquis were wont to storetheir munitions and provisions. They sounded the rocky foundation to its verycentre. But it was all in vain. They discovered no trace of a subterraneantunnel. No secret passage existed.

But the eager public declared that the pictures and furniture could not vanishlike so many ghosts. They are substantial, material things and require doorsand windows for their exits and their entrances, and so do the people thatremove them. Who were those people? How did they gain access to the castle? Andhow did they leave it?

The police officers of Rouen, convinced of their own impotence, solicited theassistance of the Parisian detective force. Mon. Dudouis, chief of the Sûreté,sent the best sleuths of the iron brigade. He himself spent forty-eight hoursat the castle, but met with no success. Then he sent for Ganimard, whose pastservices had proved so useful when all else failed.

Ganimard listened, in silence, to the instructions of his superior; then,shaking his head, he said:

“In my opinion, it is useless to ransack the castle. The solution of theproblem lies elsewhere.”

“Where, then?”

“With Arsène Lupin.”

“With Arsène Lupin! To support that theory, we must admit hisintervention.”

“I do admit it. In fact, I consider it quite certain.”

“Come, Ganimard, that is absurd. Arsène Lupin is in prison.”

“I grant you that Arsène Lupin is in prison, closely guarded; but he musthave fetters on his feet, manacles on his wrists, and gag in his mouth before Ichange my opinion.”

“Why so obstinate, Ganimard?”

“Because Arsène Lupin is the only man in France of sufficient calibre toinvent and carry out a scheme of that magnitude.”

“Mere words, Ganimard.”

“But true ones. Look! What are they doing? Searching for subterraneanpassages, stones swinging on pivots, and other nonsense of that kind. But Lupindoesn’t employ such old-fashioned methods. He is a modern cracksman,right up to date.”

“And how would you proceed?”

“I should ask your permission to spend an hour with him.”

“In his cell?”

“Yes. During the return trip from America we became very friendly, and Iventure to say that if he can give me any information without compromisinghimself he will not hesitate to save me from incurring useless trouble.”

It was shortly after noon when Ganimard entered the cell of Arsène Lupin. Thelatter, who was lying on his bed, raised his head and uttered a cry of apparentjoy.

“Ah! This is a real surprise. My dear Ganimard, here!”

“Ganimard himself.”

“In my chosen retreat, I have felt a desire for many things, but myfondest wish was to receive you here.”

“Very kind of you, I am sure.”

“Not at all. You know I hold you in the highest regard.”

“I am proud of it.”

“I have always said: Ganimard is our best detective. He isalmost,—you see how candid I am!—he is almost as clever as SherlockHolmes. But I am sorry that I cannot offer you anything better than this hardstool. And no refreshments! Not even a glass of beer! Of course, you willexcuse me, as I am here only temporarily.”

Ganimard smiled, and accepted the proffered seat. Then the prisoner continued:

“Mon Dieu, how pleased I am to see the face of an honest man. I am sotired of those devils of spies who come here ten times a day to ransack mypockets and my cell to satisfy themselves that I am not preparing to escape.The government is very solicitous on my account.”

“It is quite right.”

“Why so? I should be quite contented if they would allow me to live in myown quiet way.”

“On other people’s money.”

“Quite so. That would be so simple. But here, I am joking, and you are,no doubt, in a hurry. So let us come to business, Ganimard. To what do I owethe honor of this visit?

“The Cahorn affair,” declared Ganimard, frankly.

“Ah! Wait, one moment. You see I have had so many affairs! First, let mefix in my mind the circ*mstances of this particular case....Ah! yes, now I haveit. The Cahorn affair, Malaquis castle, Seine-Inférieure....Two Rubens, aWatteau, and a few trifling articles.”

“Trifling!”

“Oh! ma foi, all that is of slight importance. But it suffices to knowthat the affair interests you. How can I serve you, Ganimard?”

“Must I explain to you what steps the authorities have taken in thematter?”

“Not at all. I have read the newspapers and I will frankly state that youhave made very little progress.”

“And that is the reason I have come to see you.”

“I am entirely at your service.”

“In the first place, the Cahorn affair was managed by you?”

“From A to Z.”

“The letter of warning? the telegram?”

“All mine. I ought to have the receipts somewhere.”

Arsène opened the drawer of a small table of plain white wood which, with thebed and stool, constituted all the furniture in his cell, and took therefromtwo scraps of paper which he handed to Ganimard.

“Ah!” exclaimed the detective, in surprise, “I thought youwere closely guarded and searched, and I find that you read the newspapers andcollect postal receipts.”

“Bah! these people are so stupid! They open the lining of my vest, theyexamine the soles of my shoes, they sound the walls of my cell, but they neverimagine that Arsène Lupin would be foolish enough to choose such a simplehiding place.”

Ganimard laughed, as he said:

“What a droll fellow you are! Really, you bewilder me. But, come now,tell me about the Cahorn affair.”

“Oh! oh! not quite so fast! You would rob me of all my secrets; exposeall my little tricks. That is a very serious matter.”

“Was I wrong to count on your complaisance?”

“No, Ganimard, and since you insist—-”

Arsène Lupin paced his cell two or three times, then, stopping before Ganimard,he asked:

“What do you think of my letter to the baron?”

“I think you were amusing yourself by playing to the gallery.”

“Ah! playing to the gallery! Come, Ganimard, I thought you knew mebetter. Do I, Arsène Lupin, ever waste my time on such puerilities? Would Ihave written that letter if I could have robbed the baron without writing tohim? I want you to understand that the letter was indispensable; it was themotor that set the whole machine in motion. Now, let us discuss together ascheme for the robbery of the Malaquis castle. Are you willing?”

“Yes, proceed.”

“Well, let us suppose a castle carefully closed and barricaded like thatof the Baron Cahorn. Am I to abandon my scheme and renounce the treasures thatI covet, upon the pretext that the castle which holds them isinaccessible?”

“Evidently not.”

“Should I make an assault upon the castle at the head of a band ofadventurers as they did in ancient times?”

“That would be foolish.”

“Can I gain admittance by stealth or cunning?”

“Impossible.”

“Then there is only one way open to me. I must have the owner of thecastle invite me to it.”

“That is surely an original method.”

“And how easy! Let us suppose that one day the owner receives a letterwarning him that a notorious burglar known as Arsène Lupin is plotting to robhim. What will he do?”

“Send a letter to the Procureur.”

“Who will laugh at him, because the said Arsène Lupin is actually inprison. Then, in his anxiety and fear, the simple man will ask theassistance of the first-comer, will he not?”

“Very likely.”

“And if he happens to read in a country newspaper that a celebrateddetective is spending his vacation in a neighboring town—-”

“He will seek that detective.”

“Of course. But, on the other hand, let us presume that, having foreseenthat state of affairs, the said Arsène Lupin has requested one of his friendsto visit Caudebec, make the acquaintance of the editor of the‘Réveil,’ a newspaper to which the baron is a subscriber, and letsaid editor understand that such person is the celebrated detective—then,what will happen?”

“The editor will announce in the ‘Réveil’ the presence inCaudebec of said detective.”

“Exactly; and one of two things will happen: either the fish—I meanCahorn—will not bite, and nothing will happen; or, what is more likely,he will run and greedily swallow the bait. Thus, behold my Baron Cahornimploring the assistance of one of my friends against me.”

“Original, indeed!”

“Of course, the pseudo-detective at first refuses to give any assistance.On top of that comes the telegram from Arsène Lupin. The frightened baronrushes once more to my friend and offers him a definite sum of money for hisservices. My friend accepts and summons two members of our band, who, duringthe night, whilst Cahorn is under the watchful eye of his protector, removescertain articles by way of the window and lowers them with ropes into a nicelittle launch chartered for the occasion. Simple, isn’t it?”

“Marvelous! Marvelous!” exclaimed Ganimard. “The boldness ofthe scheme and the ingenuity of all its details are beyond criticism. But whois the detective whose name and fame served as a magnet to attract the baronand draw him into your net?”

“There is only one name could do it—only one.”

“And that is?”

“Arsène Lupin’s personal enemy—the most illustriousGanimard.”

“I?”

“Yourself, Ganimard. And, really, it is very funny. If you go there, andthe baron decides to talk, you will find that it will be your duty to arrestyourself, just as you arrested me in America. Hein! the revenge is reallyamusing: I cause Ganimard to arrest Ganimard.”

Arsène Lupin laughed heartily. The detective, greatly vexed, bit his lips; tohim the joke was quite devoid of humor. The arrival of a prison guard gaveGanimard an opportunity to recover himself. The man brought ArsèneLupin’s luncheon, furnished by a neighboring restaurant. After depositingthe tray upon the table, the guard retired. Lupin broke his bread, ate a fewmorsels, and continued:

“But, rest easy, my dear Ganimard, you will not go to Malaquis. I cantell you something that will astonish you: the Cahorn affair is on the point ofbeing settled.”

“Excuse me; I have just seen the Chief of the Sureté.”

“What of that? Does Mon. Dudouis know my business better than I domyself? You will learn that Ganimard—excuse me—that thepseudo-Ganimard still remains on very good terms with the baron. The latter hasauthorized him to negotiate a very delicate transaction with me, and, at thepresent moment, in consideration of a certain sum, it is probable that thebaron has recovered possession of his pictures and other treasures. And ontheir return, he will withdraw his complaint. Thus, there is no longer anytheft, and the law must abandon the case.”

Ganimard regarded the prisoner with a bewildered air.

“And how do you know all that?”

“I have just received the telegram I was expecting.”

“You have just received a telegram?”

“This very moment, my dear friend. Out of politeness, I did not wish toread it in your presence. But if you will permit me—-”

“You are joking, Lupin.”

“My dear friend, if you will be so kind as to break that egg, you willlearn for yourself that I am not joking.”

Mechanically, Ganimard obeyed, and cracked the egg-shell with the blade of aknife. He uttered a cry of surprise. The shell contained nothing but a smallpiece of blue paper. At the request of Arsène he unfolded it. It was atelegram, or rather a portion of a telegram from which the post-marks had beenremoved. It read as follows:

“Contract closed. Hundred thousand balls delivered. All well.”

“One hundred thousand balls?” said Ganimard.

“Yes, one hundred thousand francs. Very little, but then, you know, theseare hard times....And I have some heavy bills to meet. If you only knew mybudget.... living in the city comes very high.”

Ganimard arose. His ill humor had disappeared. He reflected for a moment,glancing over the whole affair in an effort to discover a weak point; then, ina tone and manner that betrayed his admiration of the prisoner, he said:

“Fortunately, we do not have a dozen such as you to deal with; if we did,we would have to close up shop.”

Arsène Lupin assumed a modest air, as he replied:

“Bah! a person must have some diversion to occupy his leisure hours,especially when he is in prison.”

“What!” exclaimed Ganimard, “your trial, your defense, theexamination—isn’t that sufficient to occupy your mind?”

“No, because I have decided not to be present at my trial.”

“Oh! oh!”

Arsène Lupin repeated, positively:

“I shall not be present at my trial.”

“Really!”

“Ah! my dear monsieur, do you suppose I am going to rot upon the wetstraw? You insult me. Arsène Lupin remains in prison just as long as it pleaseshim, and not one minute more.”

“Perhaps it would have been more prudent if you had avoided gettingthere,” said the detective, ironically.

“Ah! monsieur jests? Monsieur must remember that he had the honor toeffect my arrest. Know then, my worthy friend, that no one, not even you, couldhave placed a hand upon me if a much more important event had not occupied myattention at that critical moment.”

“You astonish me.”

“A woman was looking at me, Ganimard, and I loved her. Do you fullyunderstand what that means: to be under the eyes of a woman that one loves? Icared for nothing in the world but that. And that is why I am here.”

“Permit me to say: you have been here a long time.”

“In the first place, I wished to forget. Do not laugh; it was adelightful adventure and it is still a tender memory. Besides, I have beensuffering from neurasthenia. Life is so feverish these days that it isnecessary to take the ‘rest cure’ occasionally, and I find thisspot a sovereign remedy for my tired nerves.”

“Arsène Lupin, you are not a bad fellow, after all.”

“Thank you,” said Lupin. “Ganimard, this is Friday. OnWednesday next, at four o’clock in the afternoon, I will smoke my cigarat your house in the rue Pergolese.”

“Arsène Lupin, I will expect you.”

They shook hands like two old friends who valued each other at their trueworth; then the detective stepped to the door.

“Ganimard!”

“What is it?” asked Ganimard, as he turned back.

“You have forgotten your watch.”

“My watch?”

“Yes, it strayed into my pocket.”

He returned the watch, excusing himself.

“Pardon me.... a bad habit. Because they have taken mine is no reason whyI should take yours. Besides, I have a chronometer here that satisfies mefairly well.”

He took from the drawer a large gold watch and heavy chain.

“From whose pocket did that come?” asked Ganimard.

Arsène Lupin gave a hasty glance at the initials engraved on the watch.

“J.B.....Who the devil can that be?....Ah! yes, I remember. JulesBouvier, the judge who conducted my examination. A charming fellow!....”

III. The Escape of Arsène Lupin

Arsène Lupin had just finished his repast and taken from his pocket anexcellent cigar, with a gold band, which he was examining with unusual care,when the door of his cell was opened. He had barely time to throw the cigarinto the drawer and move away from the table. The guard entered. It was thehour for exercise.

“I was waiting for you, my dear boy,” exclaimed Lupin, in hisaccustomed good humor.

They went out together. As soon as they had disappeared at a turn in thecorridor, two men entered the cell and commenced a minute examination of it.One was Inspector Dieuzy; the other was Inspector Folenfant. They wished toverify their suspicion that Arsène Lupin was in communication with hisaccomplices outside of the prison. On the preceding evening, the ‘GrandJournal’ had published these lines addressed to its court reporter:

“Monsieur:

“In a recent article you referred to me in most unjustifiable terms. Somedays before the opening of my trial I will call you to account. ArsèneLupin.”

The handwriting was certainly that of Arsène Lupin. Consequently, he sentletters; and, no doubt, received letters. It was certain that he was preparingfor that escape thus arrogantly announced by him.

The situation had become intolerable. Acting in conjunction with the examiningjudge, the chief of the Sûreté, Mon. Dudouis, had visited the prison andinstructed the gaoler in regard to the precautions necessary to insureLupin’s safety. At the same time, he sent the two men to examine theprisoner’s cell. They raised every stone, ransacked the bed, dideverything customary in such a case, but they discovered nothing, and wereabout to abandon their investigation when the guard entered hastily and said:

“The drawer.... look in the table-drawer. When I entered just now he wasclosing it.”

They opened the drawer, and Dieuzy exclaimed:

“Ah! we have him this time.”

Folenfant stopped him.

“Wait a moment. The chief will want to make an inventory.”

“This is a very choice cigar.”

“Leave it there, and notify the chief.”

Two minutes later Mon. Dudouis examined the contents of the drawer. First hediscovered a bundle of newspaper clippings relating to Arsène Lupin taken fromthe Argus de la Presse, then a tobacco-box, a pipe, some paper called“onion-peel,” and two books. He read the titles of the books. Onewas an English edition of Carlyle’s “Hero-worship”; the otherwas a charming elzevir, in modern binding, the “Manual ofEpictetus,” a German translation published at Leyden in 1634. Onexamining the books, he found that all the pages were underlined and annotated.Were they prepared as a code for correspondence, or did they simply express thestudious character of the reader? Then he examined the tobacco-box and thepipe. Finally, he took up the famous cigar with its gold band.

“Fichtre!” he exclaimed. “Our friend smokes a good cigar.It’s a Henry Clay.”

With the mechanical action of an habitual smoker, he placed the cigar close tohis ear and squeezed it to make it crack. Immediately he uttered a cry ofsurprise. The cigar had yielded under the pressure of his fingers. He examinedit more closely, and quickly discovered something white between the leaves oftobacco. Delicately, with the aid of a pin, he withdrew a roll of very thinpaper, scarcely larger than a toothpick. It was a letter. He unrolled it, andfound these words, written in a feminine handwriting:

“The basket has taken the place of the others. Eight out of ten areready. On pressing the outer foot the plate goes downward. From twelve tosixteen every day, H-P will wait. But where? Reply at once. Rest easy; yourfriend is watching over you.”

Mon. Dudouis reflected a moment, then said:

“It is quite clear.... the basket.... the eight compartments.... Fromtwelve to sixteen means from twelve to four o’clock.”

“But this H-P, that will wait?”

“H-P must mean automobile. H-P, horsepower, is the way they indicatestrength of the motor. A twenty-four H-P is an automobile of twenty-fourhorsepower.”

Then he rose, and asked:

“Had the prisoner finished his breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“And as he has not yet read the message, which is proved by the conditionof the cigar, it is probable that he had just received it.”

“How?”

“In his food. Concealed in his bread or in a potato, perhaps.”

“Impossible. His food was allowed to be brought in simply to trap him,but we have never found anything in it.”

“We will look for Lupin’s reply this evening. Detain him outsidefor a few minutes. I shall take this to the examining judge, and, if he agreeswith me, we will have the letter photographed at once, and in an hour you canreplace the letter in the drawer in a cigar similar to this. The prisoner musthave no cause for suspicion.”

It was not without a certain curiosity that Mon. Dudouis returned to the prisonin the evening, accompanied by Inspector Dieuzy. Three empty plates weresitting on the stove in the corner.

“He has eaten?”

“Yes,” replied the guard.

“Dieuzy, please cut that macaroni into very small pieces, and open thatbread-roll....Nothing?”

“No, chief.”

Mon. Dudouis examined the plates, the fork, the spoon, and the knife—anordinary knife with a rounded blade. He turned the handle to the left; then tothe right. It yielded and unscrewed. The knife was hollow, and served as ahiding-place for a sheet of paper.

“Peuh!” he said, “that is not very clever for a man likeArsène. But we mustn’t lose any time. You, Dieuzy, go and search therestaurant.”

Then he read the note:

“I trust to you, H-P will follow at a distance every day. I will goahead. Au revoir, dear friend.”

“At last,” cried Mon. Dudouis, rubbing his hands gleefully,“I think we have the affair in our own hands. A little strategy on ourpart, and the escape will be a success in so far as the arrest of hisconfederates are concerned.”

“But if Arsène Lupin slips through your fingers?” suggested theguard.

“We will have a sufficient number of men to prevent that. If, however, hedisplays too much cleverness, ma foi, so much the worse for him! As to his bandof robbers, since the chief refuses to speak, the others must.”

And, as a matter of fact, Arsène Lupin had very little to say. For severalmonths, Mon. Jules Bouvier, the examining judge, had exerted himself in vain.The investigation had been reduced to a few uninteresting arguments between thejudge and the advocate, Maître Danval, one of the leaders of the bar. From timeto time, through courtesy, Arsène Lupin would speak. One day he said:

“Yes, monsieur, le judge, I quite agree with you: the robbery of theCrédit Lyonnais, the theft in the rue de Babylone, the issue of the counterfeitbank-notes, the burglaries at the various châteaux, Armesnil, Gouret,Imblevain, Groseillers, Malaquis, all my work, monsieur, I did it all.”

“Then will you explain to me—-”

“It is useless. I confess everything in a lump, everything and even tentimes more than you know nothing about.”

Wearied by his fruitless task, the judge had suspended his examinations, but heresumed them after the two intercepted messages were brought to his attention;and regularly, at mid-day, Arsène Lupin was taken from the prison to the Dépôtin the prison-van with a certain number of other prisoners. They returned aboutthree or four o’clock.

Now, one afternoon, this return trip was made under unusual conditions. Theother prisoners not having been examined, it was decided to take back ArsèneLupin first, thus he found himself alone in the vehicle.

These prison-vans, vulgarly called “panniers à salade”—orsalad-baskets—are divided lengthwise by a central corridor from whichopen ten compartments, five on either side. Each compartment is so arrangedthat the occupant must assume and retain a sitting posture, and, consequently,the five prisoners are seated one upon the other, and yet separated one fromthe other by partitions. A municipal guard, standing at one end, watches overthe corridor.

Arsène was placed in the third cell on the right, and the heavy vehiclestarted. He carefully calculated when they left the quai de l’Horloge,and when they passed the Palais de Justice. Then, about the centre of thebridge Saint Michel, with his outer foot, that is to say, his right foot, hepressed upon the metal plate that closed his cell. Immediately somethingclicked, and the metal plate moved. He was able to ascertain that he waslocated between the two wheels.

He waited, keeping a sharp look-out. The vehicle was proceeding slowly alongthe boulevard Saint Michel. At the corner of Saint Germain it stopped. A truckhorse had fallen. The traffic having been interrupted, a vast throng of fiacresand omnibuses had gathered there. Arsène Lupin looked out. Another prison-vanhad stopped close to the one he occupied. He moved the plate still farther, puthis foot on one of the spokes of the wheel and leaped to the ground. A coachmansaw him, roared with laughter, then tried to raise an outcry, but his voice waslost in the noise of the traffic that had commenced to move again. Moreover,Arsène Lupin was already far away.

He had run for a few steps; but, once upon the sidewalk, he turned and lookedaround; he seemed to scent the wind like a person who is uncertain whichdirection to take. Then, having decided, he put his hands in his pockets, and,with the careless air of an idle stroller, he proceeded up the boulevard. Itwas a warm, bright autumn day, and the cafés were full. He took a seat on theterrace of one of them. He ordered a bock and a package of cigarettes. Heemptied his glass slowly, smoked one cigarette and lighted a second. Then heasked the waiter to send the proprietor to him. When the proprietor came,Arsène spoke to him in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone:

“I regret to say, monsieur, I have forgotten my pocketbook. Perhaps, onthe strength of my name, you will be pleased to give me credit for a few days.I am Arsène Lupin.”

The proprietor looked at him, thinking he was joking. But Arsène repeated:

“Lupin, prisoner at the Santé, but now a fugitive. I venture to assumethat the name inspires you with perfect confidence in me.”

And he walked away, amidst shouts of laughter, whilst the proprietor stoodamazed.

Lupin strolled along the rue Soufflot, and turned into the rue Saint Jacques.He pursued his way slowly, smoking his cigarettes and looking into theshop-windows. At the Boulevard de Port Royal he took his bearings, discoveredwhere he was, and then walked in the direction of the rue de la Santé. The highforbidding walls of the prison were now before him. He pulled his hat forwardto shade his face; then, approaching the sentinel, he asked:

“Is this the prison de la Santé?”

“Yes.”

“I wish to regain my cell. The van left me on the way, and I would notabuse—”

“Now, young man, move along—quick!” growled the sentinel.

“Pardon me, but I must pass through that gate. And if you prevent ArsèneLupin from entering the prison it will cost you dear, my friend.”

“Arsène Lupin! What are you talking about!”

“I am sorry I haven’t a card with me,” said Arsène, fumblingin his pockets.

The sentinel eyed him from head to foot, in astonishment. Then, without a word,he rang a bell. The iron gate was partly opened, and Arsène stepped inside.Almost immediately he encountered the keeper of the prison, gesticulating andfeigning a violent anger. Arsène smiled and said:

“Come, monsieur, don’t play that game with me. What! they take theprecaution to carry me alone in the van, prepare a nice little obstruction, andimagine I am going to take to my heels and rejoin my friends. Well, and whatabout the twenty agents of the Sûreté who accompanied us on foot, in fiacresand on bicycles? No, the arrangement did not please me. I should not have gotaway alive. Tell me, monsieur, did they count on that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, and added:

“I beg of you, monsieur, not to worry about me. When I wish to escape Ishall not require any assistance.”

On the second day thereafter, the Echo de France, which had apparentlybecome the official reporter of the exploits of Arsène Lupin,—it was saidthat he was one of its principal shareholders—published a most completeaccount of this attempted escape. The exact wording of the messages exchangedbetween the prisoner and his mysterious friend, the means by whichcorrespondence was constructed, the complicity of the police, the promenade onthe Boulevard Saint Michel, the incident at the café Soufflot, everything wasdisclosed. It was known that the search of the restaurant and its waiters byInspector Dieuzy had been fruitless. And the public also learned anextraordinary thing which demonstrated the infinite variety of resources thatLupin possessed: the prison-van, in which he was being carried, was preparedfor the occasion and substituted by his accomplices for one of the six vanswhich did service at the prison.

The next escape of Arsène Lupin was not doubted by anyone. He announced ithimself, in categorical terms, in a reply to Mon. Bouvier on the day followinghis attempted escape. The judge having made a jest about the affair, Arsène wasannoyed, and, firmly eyeing the judge, he said, emphatically:

“Listen to me, monsieur! I give you my word of honor that this attemptedflight was simply preliminary to my general plan of escape.”

“I do not understand,” said the judge.

“It is not necessary that you should understand.”

And when the judge, in the course of that examination which was reported atlength in the columns of the Echo de France, when the judge sought toresume his investigation, Arsène Lupin exclaimed, with an assumed air oflassitude:

“Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, what’s the use! All these questions are of noimportance!”

“What! No importance?” cried the judge.

“No; because I shall not be present at the trial.”

“You will not be present?”

“No; I have fully decided on that, and nothing will change mymind.”

Such assurance combined with the inexplicable indiscretions that Arsènecommitted every day served to annoy and mystify the officers of the law. Therewere secrets known only to Arsène Lupin; secrets that he alone could divulge.But for what purpose did he reveal them? And how?

Arsène Lupin was changed to another cell. The judge closed his preliminaryinvestigation. No further proceedings were taken in his case for a period oftwo months, during which time Arsène was seen almost constantly lying on hisbed with his face turned toward the wall. The changing of his cell seemed todiscourage him. He refused to see his advocate. He exchanged only a fewnecessary words with his keepers.

During the fortnight preceding his trial, he resumed his vigorous life. Hecomplained of want of air. Consequently, early every morning he was allowed toexercise in the courtyard, guarded by two men.

Public curiosity had not died out; every day it expected to be regaled withnews of his escape; and, it is true, he had gained a considerable amount ofpublic sympathy by reason of his verve, his gayety, his diversity, hisinventive genius and the mystery of his life. Arsène Lupin must escape. It washis inevitable fate. The public expected it, and was surprised that the eventhad been delayed so long. Every morning the Préfect of Police asked hissecretary:

“Well, has he escaped yet?”

“No, Monsieur le Préfect.”

“To-morrow, probably.”

And, on the day before the trial, a gentleman called at the office of the‘Grand Journal,’ asked to see the court reporter, threw his card inthe reporter’s face, and walked rapidly away. These words were written onthe card: “Arsène Lupin always keeps his promises.”

It was under these conditions that the trial commenced. An enormous crowdgathered at the court. Everybody wished to see the famous Arsène Lupin. Theyhad a gleeful anticipation that the prisoner would play some audacious pranksupon the judge. Advocates and magistrates, reporters and men of the world,actresses and society women were crowded together on the benches provided forthe public.

It was a dark, sombre day, with a steady downpour of rain. Only a dim lightpervaded the courtroom, and the spectators caught a very indistinct view of theprisoner when the guards brought him in. But his heavy, shambling walk, themanner in which he dropped into his seat, and his passive, stupid appearancewere not at all prepossessing. Several times his advocate—one of Mon.Danval’s assistants—spoke to him, but he simply shook his head andsaid nothing.

The clerk read the indictment, then the judge spoke:

“Prisoner at the bar, stand up. Your name, age, and occupation?”

Not receiving any reply, the judge repeated:

“Your name? I ask you your name?”

A thick, slow voice muttered:

“Baudru, Désiré.”

A murmur of surprise pervaded the courtroom. But the judge proceeded:

“Baudru, Désiré? Ah! a new alias! Well, as you have already assumed adozen different names and this one is, no doubt, as imaginary as the others, wewill adhere to the name of Arsène Lupin, by which you are more generallyknown.”

The judge referred to his notes, and continued:

“For, despite the most diligent search, your past history remainsunknown. Your case is unique in the annals of crime. We know not whom you are,whence you came, your birth and breeding—all is a mystery to us. Threeyears ago you appeared in our midst as Arsène Lupin, presenting to us a strangecombination of intelligence and perversion, immorality and generosity. Ourknowledge of your life prior to that date is vague and problematical. It may bethat the man called Rostat who, eight years ago, worked with Dickson, theprestidigitator, was none other than Arsène Lupin. It is probable that theRussian student who, six years ago, attended the laboratory of Doctor Altier atthe Saint Louis Hospital, and who often astonished the doctor by the ingenuityof his hypotheses on subjects of bacteriology and the boldness of hisexperiments in diseases of the skin, was none other than Arsène Lupin. It isprobable, also, that Arsène Lupin was the professor who introduced the Japaneseart of jiu-jitsu to the Parisian public. We have some reason to believe thatArsène Lupin was the bicyclist who won the Grand Prix de l’Exposition,received his ten thousand francs, and was never heard of again. Arsène Lupinmay have been, also, the person who saved so many lives through the littledormer-window at the Charity Bazaar; and, at the same time, picked theirpockets.”

The judge paused for a moment, then continued:

“Such is that epoch which seems to have been utilized by you in athorough preparation for the warfare you have since waged against society; amethodical apprenticeship in which you developed your strength, energy andskill to the highest point possible. Do you acknowledge the accuracy of thesefacts?”

During this discourse the prisoner had stood balancing himself, first on onefoot, then on the other, with shoulders stooped and arms inert. Under thestrongest light one could observe his extreme thinness, his hollow cheeks, hisprojecting cheek-bones, his earthen-colored face dotted with small red spotsand framed in a rough, straggling beard. Prison life had caused him to age andwither. He had lost the youthful face and elegant figure we had seen portrayedso often in the newspapers.

It appeared as if he had not heard the question propounded by the judge. Twiceit was repeated to him. Then he raised his eyes, seemed to reflect, then,making a desperate effort, he murmured:

“Baudru, Désiré.”

The judge smiled, as he said:

“I do not understand the theory of your defense, Arsène Lupin. If you areseeking to avoid responsibility for your crimes on the ground of imbecility,such a line of defense is open to you. But I shall proceed with the trial andpay no heed to your vagaries.”

He then narrated at length the various thefts, swindles and forgeries chargedagainst Lupin. Sometimes he questioned the prisoner, but the latter simplygrunted or remained silent. The examination of witnesses commenced. Some of theevidence given was immaterial; other portions of it seemed more important, butthrough all of it there ran a vein of contradictions and inconsistencies. Awearisome obscurity enveloped the proceedings, until Detective Ganimard wascalled as a witness; then interest was revived.

From the beginning the actions of the veteran detective appeared strange andunaccountable. He was nervous and ill at ease. Several times he looked at theprisoner, with obvious doubt and anxiety. Then, with his hands resting on therail in front of him, he recounted the events in which he had participated,including his pursuit of the prisoner across Europe and his arrival in America.He was listened to with great avidity, as his capture of Arsène Lupin was wellknown to everyone through the medium of the press. Toward the close of histestimony, after referring to his conversations with Arsène Lupin, he stopped,twice, embarrassed and undecided. It was apparent that he was possessed of somethought which he feared to utter. The judge said to him, sympathetically:

“If you are ill, you may retire for the present.”

“No, no, but—-”

He stopped, looked sharply at the prisoner, and said:

“I ask permission to scrutinize the prisoner at closer range. There issome mystery about him that I must solve.”

He approached the accused man, examined him attentively for several minutes,then returned to the witness-stand, and, in an almost solemn voice, he said:

“I declare, on oath, that the prisoner now before me is not ArsèneLupin.”

A profound silence followed the statement. The judge, nonplused for a moment,exclaimed:

“Ah! What do you mean? That is absurd!”

The detective continued:

“At first sight there is a certain resemblance, but if you carefullyconsider the nose, the mouth, the hair, the color of skin, you will see that itis not Arsène Lupin. And the eyes! Did he ever have those alcoholiceyes!”

“Come, come, witness! What do you mean? Do you pretend to say that we aretrying the wrong man?”

“In my opinion, yes. Arsène Lupin has, in some manner, contrived to putthis poor devil in his place, unless this man is a willing accomplice.”

This dramatic dénouement caused much laughter and excitement amongst thespectators. The judge adjourned the trial, and sent for Mon. Bouvier, thegaoler, and guards employed in the prison.

When the trial was resumed, Mon. Bouvier and the gaoler examined the accusedand declared that there was only a very slight resemblance between the prisonerand Arsène Lupin.

“Well, then!” exclaimed the judge, “who is this man? Wheredoes he come from? What is he in prison for?”

Two of the prison-guards were called and both of them declared that theprisoner was Arsène Lupin. The judged breathed once more.

But one of the guards then said:

“Yes, yes, I think it is he.”

“What!” cried the judge, impatiently, “you *think* it is he!What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I saw very little of the prisoner. He was placed in my charge inthe evening and, for two months, he seldom stirred, but laid on his bed withhis face to the wall.”

“What about the time prior to those two months?”

“Before that he occupied a cell in another part of the prison. He was notin cell 24.”

Here the head gaoler interrupted, and said:

“We changed him to another cell after his attempted escape.”

“But you, monsieur, you have seen him during those two months?”

“I had no occasion to see him. He was always quiet and orderly.”

“And this prisoner is not Arsène Lupin?”

“No.”

“Then who is he?” demanded the judge.

“I do not know.”

“Then we have before us a man who was substituted for Arsène Lupin, twomonths ago. How do you explain that?”

“I cannot.”

In absolute despair, the judge turned to the accused and addressed him in aconciliatory tone:

“Prisoner, can you tell me how, and since when, you became an inmate ofthe Prison de la Santé?”

The engaging manner of the judge was calculated to disarm the mistrust andawaken the understanding of the accused man. He tried to reply. Finally, underclever and gentle questioning, he succeeded in framing a few phrases from whichthe following story was gleaned: Two months ago he had been taken to the Dépôt,examined and released. As he was leaving the building, a free man, he wasseized by two guards and placed in the prison-van. Since then he had occupiedcell 24. He was contented there, plenty to eat, and he slept well—so hedid not complain.

All that seemed probable; and, amidst the mirth and excitement of thespectators, the judge adjourned the trial until the story could be investigatedand verified.

The following facts were at once established by an examination of the prisonrecords: Eight weeks before a man named Baudru Désiré had slept at the Dépôt.He was released the next day, and left the Dépôt at two o’clock in theafternoon. On the same day at two o’clock, having been examined for thelast time, Arsène Lupin left the Dépôt in a prison-van.

Had the guards made a mistake? Had they been deceived by the resemblance andcarelessly substituted this man for their prisoner?

Another question suggested itself: Had the substitution been arranged inadvance? In that event Baudru must have been an accomplice and must have causedhis own arrest for the express purpose of taking Lupin’s place. But then,by what miracle had such a plan, based on a series of improbable chances, beencarried to success?

Baudru Désiré was turned over to the anthropological service; they had neverseen anything like him. However, they easily traced his past history. He wasknown at Courbevois, at Asnières and at Levallois. He lived on alms and sleptin one of those rag-picker’s huts near the barrier de Ternes. He haddisappeared from there a year ago.

Had he been enticed away by Arsène Lupin? There was no evidence to that effect.And even if that was so, it did not explain the flight of the prisoner. Thatstill remained a mystery. Amongst twenty theories which sought to explain it,not one was satisfactory. Of the escape itself, there was no doubt; an escapethat was incomprehensible, sensational, in which the public, as well as theofficers of the law, could detect a carefully prepared plan, a combination ofcirc*mstances marvelously dove-tailed, whereof the dénouement fully justifiedthe confident prediction of Arsène Lupin: “I shall not be present at mytrial.”

After a month of patient investigation, the problem remained unsolved. The poordevil of a Baudru could not be kept in prison indefinitely, and to place him ontrial would be ridiculous. There was no charge against him. Consequently, hewas released; but the chief of the Sûrété resolved to keep him undersurveillance. This idea originated with Ganimard. From his point of view therewas neither complicity nor chance. Baudru was an instrument upon which ArsèneLupin had played with his extraordinary skill. Baudru, when set at liberty,would lead them to Arsène Lupin or, at least, to some of his accomplices. Thetwo inspectors, Folenfant and Dieuzy, were assigned to assist Ganimard.

One foggy morning in January the prison gates opened and Baudru Désiré steppedforth—a free man. At first he appeared to be quite embarrassed, andwalked like a person who has no precise idea whither he is going. He followedthe rue de la Santé and the rue Saint Jacques. He stopped in front of anold-clothes shop, removed his jacket and his vest, sold his vest on which herealized a few sous; then, replacing his jacket, he proceeded on his way. Hecrossed the Seine. At the Châtelet an omnibus passed him. He wished to enterit, but there was no place. The controller advised him to secure a number, sohe entered the waiting-room.

Ganimard called to his two assistants, and, without removing his eyes from thewaiting room, he said to them:

“Stop a carriage.... no, two. That will be better. I will go with one ofyou, and we will follow him.”

The men obeyed. Yet Baudru did not appear. Ganimard entered the waiting-room.It was empty.

“Idiot that I am!” he muttered, “I forgot there was anotherexit.”

There was an interior corridor extending from the waiting-room to the rue SaintMartin. Ganimard rushed through it and arrived just in time to observe Baudruupon the top of the Batignolles-Jardin de Plates omnibus as it was turning thecorner of the rue de Rivoli. He ran and caught the omnibus. But he had lost histwo assistants. He must continue the pursuit alone. In his anger he wasinclined to seize the man by the collar without ceremony. Was it not withpremeditation and by means of an ingenious ruse that his pretended imbecile hadseparated him from his assistants?

He looked at Baudru. The latter was asleep on the bench, his head rolling fromside to side, his mouth half-opened, and an incredible expression of stupidityon his blotched face. No, such an adversary was incapable of deceiving oldGanimard. It was a stroke of luck—nothing more.

At the Galleries-Lafayette, the man leaped from the omnibus and took the LaMuette tramway, following the boulevard Haussmann and the avenue Victor Hugo.Baudru alighted at La Muette station; and, with a nonchalant air, strolled intothe Bois de Boulogne.

He wandered through one path after another, and sometimes retraced his steps.What was he seeking? Had he any definite object? At the end of an hour, heappeared to be faint from fatigue, and, noticing a bench, he sat down. Thespot, not far from Auteuil, on the edge of a pond hidden amongst the trees, wasabsolutely deserted. After the lapse of another half-hour, Ganimard becameimpatient and resolved to speak to the man. He approached and took a seatbeside Baudru, lighted a cigarette, traced some figures in the sand with theend of his cane, and said:

“It’s a pleasant day.”

No response. But, suddenly the man burst into laughter, a happy, mirthfullaugh, spontaneous and irresistible. Ganimard felt his hair stand on end inhorror and surprise. It was that laugh, that infernal laugh he knew so well!

With a sudden movement, he seized the man by the collar and looked at him witha keen, penetrating gaze; and found that he no longer saw the man Baudru. To besure, he saw Baudru; but, at the same time, he saw the other, the real man,Lupin. He discovered the intense life in the eyes, he filled up the shrunkenfeatures, he perceived the real flesh beneath the flabby skin, the real mouththrough the grimaces that deformed it. Those were the eyes and mouth of theother, and especially his keen, alert, mocking expression, so clear andyouthful!

“Arsène Lupin, Arsène Lupin,” he stammered.

Then, in a sudden fit of rage, he seized Lupin by the throat and tried to holdhim down. In spite of his fifty years, he still possessed unusual strength,whilst his adversary was apparently in a weak condition. But the struggle was abrief one. Arsène Lupin made only a slight movement, and, as suddenly as he hadmade the attack, Ganimard released his hold. His right arm fell inert, useless.

“If you had taken lessons in jiu-jitsu at the quai des Orfèvres,”said Lupin, “you would know that that blow is called udi-shi-ghi inJapanese. A second more, and I would have broken your arm and that would havebeen just what you deserve. I am surprised that you, an old friend whom Irespect and before whom I voluntarily expose my incognito, should abuse myconfidence in that violent manner. It is unworthy—Ah! What’s thematter?”

Ganimard did not reply. That escape for which he deemed himselfresponsible—was it not he, Ganimard, who, by his sensational evidence,had led the court into serious error? That escape appeared to him like a darkcloud on his professional career. A tear rolled down his cheek to his graymoustache.

“Oh! mon Dieu, Ganimard, don’t take it to heart. If you had notspoken, I would have arranged for some one else to do it. I couldn’tallow poor Baudru Désiré to be convicted.”

“Then,” murmured Ganimard, “it was you that was there? Andnow you are here?”

“It is I, always I, only I.”

“Can it be possible?”

“Oh, it is not the work of a sorcerer. Simply, as the judge remarked atthe trial, the apprenticeship of a dozen years that equips a man to copesuccessfully with all the obstacles in life.”

“But your face? Your eyes?”

“You can understand that if I worked eighteen months with Doctor Altierat the Saint-Louis hospital, it was not out of love for the work. I consideredthat he, who would one day have the honor of calling himself Arsène Lupin,ought to be exempt from the ordinary laws governing appearance and identity.Appearance? That can be modified at will. For instance, a hypodermic injectionof paraffine will puff up the skin at the desired spot. Pyrogallic acid willchange your skin to that of an Indian. The juice of the greater celandine willadorn you with the most beautiful eruptions and tumors. Another chemicalaffects the growth of your beard and hair; another changes the tone of yourvoice. Add to that two months of dieting in cell 24; exercises repeated athousand times to enable me to hold my features in a certain grimace, to carrymy head at a certain inclination, and adapt my back and shoulders to a stoopingposture. Then five drops of atropine in the eyes to make them haggard and wild,and the trick is done.”

“I do not understand how you deceived the guards.”

“The change was progressive. The evolution was so gradual that theyfailed to notice it.”

“But Baudru Désiré?”

“Baudru exists. He is a poor, harmless fellow whom I met last year; and,really, he bears a certain resemblance to me. Considering my arrest as apossible event, I took charge of Baudru and studied the points wherein wediffered in appearance with a view to correct them in my own person. My friendscaused him to remain at the Dépôt overnight, and to leave there next day aboutthe same hour as I did—a coincidence easily arranged. Of course, it wasnecessary to have a record of his detention at the Dépôt in order to establishthe fact that such a person was a reality; otherwise, the police would havesought elsewhere to find out my identity. But, in offering to them thisexcellent Baudru, it was inevitable, you understand, inevitable that they wouldseize upon him, and, despite the insurmountable difficulties of a substitution,they would prefer to believe in a substitution than confess theirignorance.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Ganimard.

“And then,” exclaimed Arsène Lupin, “I held in my hands atrump-card: an anxious public watching and waiting for my escape. And that isthe fatal error into which you fell, you and the others, in the course of thatfascinating game pending between me and the officers of the law wherein thestake was my liberty. And you supposed that I was playing to the gallery; thatI was intoxicated with my success. I, Arsène Lupin, guilty of such weakness!Oh, no! And, no longer ago than the Cahorn affair, you said: “When ArsèneLupin cries from the housetops that he will escape, he has some object inview.” But, sapristi, you must understand that in order to escape I mustcreate, in advance, a public belief in that escape, a belief amounting to anarticle of faith, an absolute conviction, a reality as glittering as the sun.And I did create that belief that Arsène Lupin would escape, that Arsène Lupinwould not be present at his trial. And when you gave your evidence and said:“That man is not Arsène Lupin,” everybody was prepared to believeyou. Had one person doubted it, had any one uttered this simple restriction:Suppose it is Arsène Lupin?—from that moment, I was lost. If anyone hadscrutinized my face, not imbued with the idea that I was not Arsène Lupin, asyou and the others did at my trial, but with the idea that I might be ArsèneLupin; then, despite all my precautions, I should have been recognized. But Ihad no fear. Logically, psychologically, no once could entertain the idea thatI was Arsène Lupin.”

He grasped Ganimard’s hand.

“Come, Ganimard, confess that on the Wednesday after our conversation inthe prison de la Santé, you expected me at your house at four o’clock,exactly as I said I would go.”

“And your prison-van?” said Ganimard, evading the question.

“A bluff! Some of my friends secured that old unused van and wished tomake the attempt. But I considered it impractical without the concurrence of anumber of unusual circ*mstances. However, I found it useful to carry out thatattempted escape and give it the widest publicity. An audaciously plannedescape, though not completed, gave to the succeeding one the character ofreality simply by anticipation.”

“So that the cigar....”

“Hollowed by myself, as well as the knife.”

“And the letters?”

“Written by me.”

“And the mysterious correspondent?”

“Did not exist.”

Ganimard reflected a moment, then said:

“When the anthropological service had Baudru’s case underconsideration, why did they not perceive that his measurements coincided withthose of Arsène Lupin?”

“My measurements are not in existence.”

“Indeed!”

“At least, they are false. I have given considerable attention to thatquestion. In the first place, the Bertillon system records the visible marks ofidentification—and you have seen that they are not infallible—and,after that, the measurements of the head, the fingers, the ears, etc. Ofcourse, such measurements are more or less infallible.”

“Absolutely.”

“No; but it costs money to get around them. Before we left America, oneof the employees of the service there accepted so much money to insert falsefigures in my measurements. Consequently, Baudru’s measurements shouldnot agree with those of Arsène Lupin.”

After a short silence, Ganimard asked:

“What are you going to do now?”

“Now,” replied Lupin, “I am going to take a rest, enjoy thebest of food and drink and gradually recover my former healthy condition. It isall very well to become Baudru or some other person, on occasion, and to changeyour personality as you do your shirt, but you soon grow weary of the change. Ifeel exactly as I imagine the man who lost his shadow must have felt, and Ishall be glad to be Arsène Lupin once more.”

He walked to and fro for a few minutes, then, stopping in front of Ganimard, hesaid:

“You have nothing more to say, I suppose?”

“Yes. I should like to know if you intend to reveal the true state offacts connected with your escape. The mistake that I made—-”

“Oh! no one will ever know that it was Arsène Lupin who was discharged.It is to my own interest to surround myself with mystery, and therefore I shallpermit my escape to retain its almost miraculous character. So, have no fear onthat score, my dear friend. I shall say nothing. And now, good-bye. I am goingout to dinner this evening, and have only sufficient time to dress.”

“I though you wanted a rest.”

“Ah! there are duties to society that one cannot avoid. To-morrow, Ishall rest.”

“Where do you dine to-night?”

“With the British Ambassador!”

IV. The Mysterious Traveller

The evening before, I had sent my automobile to Rouen by the highway. I was totravel to Rouen by rail, on my way to visit some friends that live on the banksof the Seine.

At Paris, a few minutes before the train started, seven gentlemen entered mycompartment; five of them were smoking. No matter that the journey was a shortone, the thought of traveling with such a company was not agreeable to me,especially as the car was built on the old model, without a corridor. I pickedup my overcoat, my newspapers and my time-table, and sought refuge in aneighboring compartment.

It was occupied by a lady, who, at sight of me, made a gesture of annoyancethat did not escape my notice, and she leaned toward a gentleman who wasstanding on the step and was, no doubt, her husband. The gentleman scrutinizedme closely, and, apparently, my appearance did not displease him, for he smiledas he spoke to his wife with the air of one who reassures a frightened child.She smiled also, and gave me a friendly glance as if she now understood that Iwas one of those gallant men with whom a woman can remain shut up for two hoursin a little box, six feet square, and have nothing to fear.

Her husband said to her:

“I have an important appointment, my dear, and cannot wait any longer.Adieu.”

He kissed her affectionately and went away. His wife threw him a few kisses andwaved her handkerchief. The whistle sounded, and the train started.

At that precise moment, and despite the protests of the guards, the door wasopened, and a man rushed into our compartment. My companion, who was standingand arranging her luggage, uttered a cry of terror and fell upon the seat. I amnot a coward—far from it—but I confess that such intrusions at thelast minute are always disconcerting. They have a suspicious, unnatural aspect.

However, the appearance of the new arrival greatly modified the unfavorableimpression produced by his precipitant action. He was correctly and elegantlydressed, wore a tasteful cravat, correct gloves, and his face was refined andintelligent. But, where the devil had I seen that face before? Because, beyondall possible doubt, I had seen it. And yet the memory of it was so vague andindistinct that I felt it would be useless to try to recall it at that time.

Then, directing my attention to the lady, I was amazed at the pallor andanxiety I saw in her face. She was looking at her neighbor—they occupiedseats on the same side of the compartment—with an expression of intensealarm, and I perceived that one of her trembling hands was slowly glidingtoward a little traveling bag that was lying on the seat about twenty inchesfrom her. She finished by seizing it and nervously drawing it to her. Our eyesmet, and I read in hers so much anxiety and fear that I could not refrain fromspeaking to her:

“Are you ill, madame? Shall I open the window?”

Her only reply was a gesture indicating that she was afraid of our companion. Ismiled, as her husband had done, shrugged my shoulders, and explained to her,in pantomime, that she had nothing to fear, that I was there, and, besides, thegentleman appeared to be a very harmless individual. At that moment, he turnedtoward us, scrutinized both of us from head to foot, then settled down in hiscorner and paid us no more attention.

After a short silence, the lady, as if she had mustered all her energy toperform a desperate act, said to me, in an almost inaudible voice:

“Do you know who is on our train?”

“Who?”

“He.... he....I assure you....”

“Who is he?”

“Arsène Lupin!”

She had not taken her eyes off our companion, and it was to him rather than tome that she uttered the syllables of that disquieting name. He drew his hatover his face. Was that to conceal his agitation or, simply, to arrange himselffor sleep? Then I said to her:

“Yesterday, through contumacy, Arsène Lupin was sentenced to twentyyears’ imprisonment at hard labor. Therefore it is improbable that hewould be so imprudent, to-day, as to show himself in public. Moreover, thenewspapers have announced his appearance in Turkey since his escape from theSanté.”

“But he is on this train at the present moment,” the ladyproclaimed, with the obvious intention of being heard by our companion;“my husband is one of the directors in the penitentiary service, and itwas the stationmaster himself who told us that a search was being made forArsène Lupin.”

“They may have been mistaken—-”

“No; he was seen in the waiting-room. He bought a first-class ticket forRouen.”

“He has disappeared. The guard at the waiting-room door did not see himpass, and it is supposed that he had got into the express that leaves tenminutes after us.”

“In that case, they will be sure to catch him.”

“Unless, at the last moment, he leaped from that train to come here, intoour train.... which is quite probable.... which is almost certain.”

“If so, he will be arrested just the same; for the employees and guardswould no doubt observe his passage from one train to the other, and, when wearrive at Rouen, they will arrest him there.”

“Him—never! He will find some means of escape.”

“In that case, I wish him ‘bon voyage.’”

“But, in the meantime, think what he may do!”

“What?”

“I don’t know. He may do anything.”

She was greatly agitated, and, truly, the situation justified, to some extent,her nervous excitement. I was impelled to say to her:

“Of course, there are many strange coincidences, but you need have nofear. Admitting that Arsène Lupin is on this train, he will not commit anyindiscretion; he will be only too happy to escape the peril that alreadythreatens him.”

My words did not reassure her, but she remained silent for a time. I unfoldedmy newspapers and read reports of Arsène Lupin’s trial, but, as theycontained nothing that was new to me, I was not greatly interested. Moreover, Iwas tired and sleepy. I felt my eyelids close and my head drop.

“But, monsieur, you are not going to sleep!”

She seized my newspaper, and looked at me with indignation.

“Certainly not,” I said.

“That would be very imprudent.”

“Of course,” I assented.

I struggled to keep awake. I looked through the window at the landscape and thefleeting clouds, but in a short time all that became confused and indistinct;the image of the nervous lady and the drowsy gentleman were effaced from mymemory, and I was buried in the soothing depths of a profound sleep. Thetranquility of my response was soon disturbed by disquieting dreams, wherein acreature that had played the part and bore the name of Arsène Lupin held animportant place. He appeared to me with his back laden with articles of value;he leaped over walls, and plundered castles. But the outlines of that creature,who was no longer Arsène Lupin, assumed a more definite form. He came towardme, growing larger and larger, leaped into the compartment with incredibleagility, and landed squarely on my chest. With a cry of fright and pain, Iawoke. The man, the traveller, our companion, with his knee on my breast, heldme by the throat.

My sight was very indistinct, for my eyes were suffused with blood. I could seethe lady, in a corner of the compartment, convulsed with fright. I tried evennot to resist. Besides, I did not have the strength. My temples throbbed; I wasalmost strangled. One minute more, and I would have breathed my last. The manmust have realized it, for he relaxed his grip, but did not remove his hand.Then he took a cord, in which he had prepared a slip-knot, and tied my wriststogether. In an instant, I was bound, gagged, and helpless.

Certainly, he accomplished the trick with an ease and skill that revealed thehand of a master; he was, no doubt, a professional thief. Not a word, not anervous movement; only coolness and audacity. And I was there, lying on thebench, bound like a mummy, I—Arsène Lupin!

It was anything but a laughing matter, and yet, despite the gravity of thesituation, I keenly appreciated the humor and irony that it involved. ArsèneLupin seized and bound like a novice! robbed as if I were an unsophisticatedrustic—for, you must understand, the scoundrel had deprived me of mypurse and wallet! Arsène Lupin, a victim, duped, vanquished....What anadventure!

The lady did not move. He did not even notice her. He contented himself withpicking up her traveling-bag that had fallen to the floor and taking from itthe jewels, purse, and gold and silver trinkets that it contained. The ladyopened her eyes, trembled with fear, drew the rings from her fingers and handedthem to the man as if she wished to spare him unnecessary trouble. He took therings and looked at her. She swooned.

Then, quite unruffled, he resumed his seat, lighted a cigarette, and proceededto examine the treasure that he had acquired. The examination appeared to givehim perfect satisfaction.

But I was not so well satisfied. I do not speak of the twelve thousand francsof which I had been unduly deprived: that was only a temporary loss, because Iwas certain that I would recover possession of that money after a very briefdelay, together with the important papers contained in my wallet: plans,specifications, addresses, lists of correspondents, and compromising letters.But, for the moment, a more immediate and more serious question troubled me:How would this affair end? What would be the outcome of this adventure?

As you can imagine, the disturbance created by my passage through theSaint-Lazare station has not escaped my notice. Going to visit friends who knewme under the name of Guillaume Berlat, and amongst whom my resemblance toArsène Lupin was a subject of many innocent jests, I could not assume adisguise, and my presence had been remarked. So, beyond question, thecommissary of police at Rouen, notified by telegraph, and assisted by numerousagents, would be awaiting the train, would question all suspicious passengers,and proceed to search the cars.

Of course, I had foreseen all that, but it had not disturbed me, as I wascertain that the police of Rouen would not be any shrewder than the police ofParis and that I could escape recognition; would it not be sufficient for me tocarelessly display my card as “député,” thanks to which I hadinspired complete confidence in the gate-keeper at Saint-Lazare?—But thesituation was greatly changed. I was no longer free. It was impossible toattempt one of my usual tricks. In one of the compartments, the commissary ofpolice would find Mon. Arsène Lupin, bound hand and foot, as docile as a lamb,packed up, all ready to be dumped into a prison-van. He would have simply toaccept delivery of the parcel, the same as if it were so much merchandise or abasket of fruit and vegetables. Yet, to avoid that shameful dénouement, whatcould I do?—bound and gagged, as I was? And the train was rushing ontoward Rouen, the next and only station.

Another problem was presented, in which I was less interested, but the solutionof which aroused my professional curiosity. What were the intentions of myrascally companion? Of course, if I had been alone, he could, on our arrival atRouen, leave the car slowly and fearlessly. But the lady? As soon as the doorof the compartment should be opened, the lady, now so quiet and humble, wouldscream and call for help. That was the dilemma that perplexed me! Why had henot reduced her to a helpless condition similar to mine? That would have givenhim ample time to disappear before his double crime was discovered.

He was still smoking, with his eyes fixed upon the window that was now beingstreaked with drops of rain. Once he turned, picked up my time-table, andconsulted it.

The lady had to feign a continued lack of consciousness in order to deceive theenemy. But fits of coughing, provoked by the smoke, exposed her true condition.As to me, I was very uncomfortable, and very tired. And I meditated; I plotted.

The train was rushing on, joyously, intoxicated with its own speed.

Saint Etienne!....At that moment, the man arose and took two steps toward us,which caused the lady to utter a cry of alarm and fall into a genuine swoon.What was the man about to do? He lowered the window on our side. A heavy rainwas now falling, and, by a gesture, the man expressed his annoyance at his nothaving an umbrella or an overcoat. He glanced at the rack. The lady’sumbrella was there. He took it. He also took my overcoat and put it on.

We were now crossing the Seine. He turned up the bottoms of his trousers, thenleaned over and raised the exterior latch of the door. Was he going to throwhimself upon the track? At that speed, it would have been instant death. We nowentered a tunnel. The man opened the door half-way and stood on the upper step.What folly! The darkness, the smoke, the noise, all gave a fantastic appearanceto his actions. But suddenly, the train diminished its speed. A moment later itincreased its speed, then slowed up again. Probably, some repairs were beingmade in that part of the tunnel which obliged the trains to diminish theirspeed, and the man was aware of the fact. He immediately stepped down to thelower step, closed the door behind him, and leaped to the ground. He was gone.

The lady immediately recovered her wits, and her first act was to lament theloss of her jewels. I gave her an imploring look. She understood, and quicklyremoved the gag that stifled me. She wished to untie the cords that bound me,but I prevented her.

“No, no, the police must see everything exactly as it stands. I want themto see what the rascal did to us.”

“Suppose I pull the alarm-bell?”

“Too late. You should have done that when he made the attack onme.”

“But he would have killed me. Ah! monsieur, didn’t I tell you thathe was on this train. I recognized him from his portrait. And now he has goneoff with my jewels.”

“Don’t worry. The police will catch him.”

“Catch Arsène Lupin! Never.”

“That depends on you, madame. Listen. When we arrive at Rouen, be at thedoor and call. Make a noise. The police and the railway employees will come.Tell what you have seen: the assault made on me and the flight of Arsène Lupin.Give a description of him—soft hat, umbrella—yours—grayovercoat....”

“Yours,” said she.

“What! mine? Not at all. It was his. I didn’t have any.”

“It seems to me he didn’t have one when he came in.”

“Yes, yes.... unless the coat was one that some one had forgotten andleft in the rack. At all events, he had it when he went away, and that is theessential point. A gray overcoat—remember!....Ah! I forgot. You must tellyour name, first thing you do. Your husband’s official position willstimulate the zeal of the police.”

We arrived at the station. I gave her some further instructions in a ratherimperious tone:

“Tell them my name—Guillaume Berlat. If necessary, say that youknow me. That will save time. We must expedite the preliminary investigation.The important thing is the pursuit of Arsène Lupin. Your jewels, remember! Letthere be no mistake. Guillaume Berlat, a friend of your husband.”

“I understand....Guillaume Berlat.”

She was already calling and gesticulating. As soon as the train stopped,several men entered the compartment. The critical moment had come.

Panting for breath, the lady exclaimed:

“Arsène Lupin.... he attacked us.... he stole my jewels....I am MadameRenaud.... my husband is a director of the penitentiary service....Ah! here ismy brother, Georges Ardelle, director of the Crédit Rouennais.... you mustknow....”

She embraced a young man who had just joined us, and whom the commissarysaluted. Then she continued, weeping:

“Yes, Arsène Lupin.... while monsieur was sleeping, he seized him by thethroat....Mon. Berlat, a friend of my husband.”

The commissary asked:

“But where is Arsène Lupin?”

“He leaped from the train, when passing through the tunnel.”

“Are you sure that it was he?”

“Am I sure! I recognized him perfectly. Besides, he was seen at theSaint-Lazare station. He wore a soft hat—-”

“No, a hard felt, like that,” said the commissary, pointing to myhat.

“He had a soft hat, I am sure,” repeated Madame Renaud, “anda gray overcoat.”

“Yes, that is right,” replied the commissary, “the telegramsays he wore a gray overcoat with a black velvet collar.”

“Exactly, a black velvet collar,” exclaimed Madame Renaud,triumphantly.

I breathed freely. Ah! the excellent friend I had in that little woman.

The police agents had now released me. I bit my lips until they ran blood.Stooping over, with my handkerchief over my mouth, an attitude quite natural ina person who has remained for a long time in an uncomfortable position, andwhose mouth shows the bloody marks of the gag, I addressed the commissary, in aweak voice:

“Monsieur, it was Arsène Lupin. There is no doubt about that. If we makehaste, he can be caught yet. I think I may be of some service to you.”

The railway car, in which the crime occurred, was detached from the train toserve as a mute witness at the official investigation. The train continued onits way to Havre. We were then conducted to the station-master’s officethrough a crowd of curious spectators.

Then, I had a sudden access of doubt and discretion. Under some pretext orother, I must gain my automobile, and escape. To remain there was dangerous.Something might happen; for instance, a telegram from Paris, and I would belost.

Yes, but what about my thief? Abandoned to my own resources, in an unfamiliarcountry, I could not hope to catch him.

“Bah! I must make the attempt,” I said to myself. “It may bea difficult game, but an amusing one, and the stake is well worth thetrouble.”

And when the commissary asked us to repeat the story of the robbery, Iexclaimed:

“Monsieur, really, Arsène Lupin is getting the start of us. My automobileis waiting in the courtyard. If you will be so kind as to use it, we cantry....”

The commissary smiled, and replied:

“The idea is a good one; so good, indeed, that it is already beingcarried out. Two of my men have set out on bicycles. They have been gone forsome time.”

“Where did they go?”

“To the entrance of the tunnel. There, they will gather evidence, securewitnesses, and follow on the track of Arsène Lupin.”

I could not refrain from shrugging my shoulders, as I replied:

“Your men will not secure any evidence or any witnesses.”

“Really!”

“Arsène Lupin will not allow anyone to see him emerge from the tunnel. Hewill take the first road—-”

“To Rouen, where we will arrest him.”

“He will not go to Rouen.”

“Then he will remain in the vicinity, where his capture will be even morecertain.”

“He will not remain in the vicinity.”

“Oh! oh! And where will he hide?”

I looked at my watch, and said:

“At the present moment, Arsène Lupin is prowling around the station atDarnétal. At ten fifty, that is, in twenty-two minutes from now, he will takethe train that goes from Rouen to Amiens.”

“Do you think so? How do you know it?”

“Oh! it is quite simple. While we were in the car, Arsène Lupin consultedmy railway guide. Why did he do it? Was there, not far from the spot where hedisappeared, another line of railway, a station upon that line, and a trainstopping at that station? On consulting my railway guide, I found such to bethe case.”

“Really, monsieur,” said the commissary, “that is a marvelousdeduction. I congratulate you on your skill.”

I was now convinced that I had made a mistake in displaying so much cleverness.The commissary regarded me with astonishment, and I thought a slight suspicionentered his official mind....Oh! scarcely that, for the photographs distributedbroadcast by the police department were too imperfect; they presented an ArsèneLupin so different from the one he had before him, that he could not possiblyrecognize me by it. But, all the same, he was troubled, confused andill-at-ease.

“Mon Dieu! nothing stimulates the comprehension so much as the loss of apocketbook and the desire to recover it. And it seems to me that if you willgive me two of your men, we may be able....”

“Oh! I beg of you, monsieur le commissaire,” cried Madame Renaud,“listen to Mon. Berlat.”

The intervention of my excellent friend was decisive. Pronounced by her, thewife of an influential official, the name of Berlat became really my own, andgave me an identity that no mere suspicion could affect. The commissary arose,and said:

“Believe me, Monsieur Berlat, I shall be delighted to see you succeed. Iam as much interested as you are in the arrest of Arsène Lupin.”

He accompanied me to the automobile, and introduced two of his men, HonoréMassol and Gaston Delivet, who were assigned to assist me. My chauffer crankedup the car and I took my place at the wheel. A few seconds later, we left thestation. I was saved.

Ah! I must confess that in rolling over the boulevards that surrounded the oldNorman city, in my swift thirty-five horse-power Moreau-Lepton, I experienced adeep feeling of pride, and the motor responded, sympathetically to my desires.At right and left, the trees flew past us with startling rapidity, and I, free,out of danger, had simply to arrange my little personal affairs with the twohonest representatives of the Rouen police who were sitting behind me. ArsèneLupin was going in search of Arsène Lupin!

Modest guardians of social order—Gaston Delivet and HonoréMassol—how valuable was your assistance! What would I have done withoutyou? Without you, many times, at the cross-roads, I might have taken the wrongroute! Without you, Arsène Lupin would have made a mistake, and the other wouldhave escaped!

But the end was not yet. Far from it. I had yet to capture the thief andrecover the stolen papers. Under no circ*mstances must my two acolytes bepermitted to see those papers, much less to seize them. That was a point thatmight give me some difficulty.

We arrived at Darnétal three minutes after the departure of the train. True, Ihad the consolation of learning that a man wearing a gray overcoat with a blackvelvet collar had taken the train at the station. He had bought a second-classticket for Amiens. Certainly, my début as detective was a promising one.

Delivet said to me:

“The train is express, and the next stop is Montérolier-Buchy in nineteenminutes. If we do not reach there before Arsène Lupin, he can proceed toAmiens, or change for the train going to Clères, and, from that point, reachDieppe or Paris.”

“How far to Montérolier?”

“Twenty-three kilometres.”

“Twenty-three kilometres in nineteen minutes....We will be there ahead ofhim.”

We were off again! Never had my faithful Moreau-Repton responded to myimpatience with such ardor and regularity. It participated in my anxiety. Itindorsed my determination. It comprehended my animosity against that rascallyArsène Lupin. The knave! The traitor!

“Turn to the right,” cried Delivet, “then to the left.”

We fairly flew, scarcely touching the ground. The mile-stones looked likelittle timid beasts that vanished at our approach. Suddenly, at a turn of theroad, we saw a vortex of smoke. It was the Northern Express. For a kilometre,it was a struggle, side by side, but an unequal struggle in which the issue wascertain. We won the race by twenty lengths.

In three seconds we were on the platform standing before the second-classcarriages. The doors were opened, and some passengers alighted, but not mythief. We made a search through the compartments. No sign of Arsène Lupin.

“Sapristi!” I cried, “he must have recognized me in theautomobile as we were racing, side by side, and he leaped from thetrain.”

“Ah! there he is now! crossing the track.”

I started in pursuit of the man, followed by my two acolytes, or ratherfollowed by one of them, for the other, Massol, proved himself to be a runnerof exceptional speed and endurance. In a few moments, he had made anappreciable gain upon the fugitive. The man noticed it, leaped over a hedge,scampered across a meadow, and entered a thick grove. When we reached thisgrove, Massol was waiting for us. He went no farther, for fear of losing us.

“Quite right, my dear friend,” I said. “After such a run, ourvictim must be out of wind. We will catch him now.”

I examined the surroundings with the idea of proceeding alone in the arrest ofthe fugitive, in order to recover my papers, concerning which the authoritieswould doubtless ask many disagreeable questions. Then I returned to mycompanions, and said:

“It is all quite easy. You, Massol, take your place at the left; you,Delivet, at the right. From there, you can observe the entire posterior line ofthe bush, and he cannot escape without you seeing him, except by that ravine,and I shall watch it. If he does not come out voluntarily, I will enter anddrive him out toward one or the other of you. You have simply to wait. Ah! Iforgot: in case I need you, a pistol shot.”

Massol and Delivet walked away to their respective posts. As soon as they haddisappeared, I entered the grove with the greatest precaution so as to beneither seen nor heard. I encountered dense thickets, through which narrowpaths had been cut, but the overhanging boughs compelled me to adopt a stoopingposture. One of these paths led to a clearing in which I found footsteps uponthe wet grass. I followed them; they led me to the foot of a mound which wassurmounted by a deserted, dilapidated hovel.

“He must be there,” I said to myself. “It is a well-chosenretreat.”

I crept cautiously to the side of the building. A slight noise informed me thathe was there; and, then, through an opening, I saw him. His back was turnedtoward me. In two bounds, I was upon him. He tried to fire a revolver that heheld in his hand. But he had no time. I threw him to the ground, in such amanner that his arms were beneath him, twisted and helpless, whilst I held himdown with my knee on his breast.

“Listen, my boy,” I whispered in his ear. “I am Arsène Lupin.You are to deliver over to me, immediately and gracefully, my pocketbook andthe lady’s jewels, and, in return therefore, I will save you from thepolice and enroll you amongst my friends. One word: yes or no?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

“Very good. Your escape, this morning, was well planned. I congratulateyou.”

I arose. He fumbled in his pocket, drew out a large knife and tried to strikeme with it.

“Imbecile!” I exclaimed.

With one hand, I parried the attack; with the other, I gave him a sharp blow onthe carotid artery. He fell—stunned!

In my pocketbook, I recovered my papers and bank-notes. Out of curiosity, Itook his. Upon an envelope, addressed to him, I read his name: Pierre Onfrey.It startled me. Pierre Onfrey, the assassin of the rue Lafontaine at Auteuil!Pierre Onfrey, he who had cut the throats of Madame Delbois and her twodaughters. I leaned over him. Yes, those were the features which, in thecompartment, had evoked in me the memory of a face I could not then recall.

But time was passing. I placed in an envelope two bank-notes of one hundredfrancs each, with a card bearing these words: “Arsène Lupin to his worthycolleagues Honoré Massol and Gaston Delivet, as a slight token of hisgratitude.” I placed it in a prominent spot in the room, where they wouldbe sure to find it. Beside it, I placed Madame Renaud’s handbag. Whycould I not return it to the lady who had befriended me? I must confess that Ihad taken from it everything that possessed any interest or value, leavingthere only a shell comb, a stick of rouge Dorin for the lips, and an emptypurse. But, you know, business is business. And then, really, her husband isengaged in such a dishonorable vocation!

The man was becoming conscious. What was I to do? I was unable to save him orcondemn him. So I took his revolver and fired a shot in the air.

“My two acolytes will come and attend to his case,” I said tomyself, as I hastened away by the road through the ravine. Twenty minuteslater, I was seated in my automobile.

At four o’clock, I telegraphed to my friends at Rouen that an unexpectedevent would prevent me from making my promised visit. Between ourselves,considering what my friends must now know, my visit is postponed indefinitely.A cruel disillusion for them!

At six o’clock I was in Paris. The evening newspapers informed me thatPierre Onfrey had been captured at last.

Next day,—let us not despise the advantages of judiciousadvertising,—the Echo de France published this sensational item:

“Yesterday, near Buchy, after numerous exciting incidents, Arsène Lupineffected the arrest of Pierre Onfrey. The assassin of the rue Lafontaine hadrobbed Madame Renaud, wife of the director in the penitentiary service, in arailway carriage on the Paris-Havre line. Arsène Lupin restored to MadameRenaud the hand-bag that contained her jewels, and gave a generous recompenseto the two detectives who had assisted him in making that dramaticarrest.”

V. The Queen’s Necklace

Two or three times each year, on occasions of unusual importance, such as theballs at the Austrian Embassy or the soirées of Lady Billingstone, the Countessde Dreux-Soubise wore upon her white shoulders “The Queen’sNecklace.”

It was, indeed, the famous necklace, the legendary necklace that Bohmer andBassenge, court jewelers, had made for Madame Du Barry; the veritable necklacethat the Cardinal de Rohan-Soubise intended to give to Marie-Antoinette, Queenof France; and the same that the adventuress Jeanne de Valois, Countess de laMotte, had pulled to pieces one evening in February, 1785, with the aid of herhusband and their accomplice, Rétaux de Villette.

To tell the truth, the mounting alone was genuine. Rétaux de Villette had keptit, whilst the Count de la Motte and his wife scattered to the four winds ofheaven the beautiful stones so carefully chosen by Bohmer. Later, he sold themounting to Gaston de Dreux-Soubise, nephew and heir of the Cardinal, whor*-purchased the few diamonds that remained in the possession of the Englishjeweler, Jeffreys; supplemented them with other stones of the same size but ofmuch inferior quality, and thus restored the marvelous necklace to the form inwhich it had come from the hands of Bohmer and Bassenge.

For nearly a century, the house of Dreux-Soubise had prided itself upon thepossession of this historic jewel. Although adverse circ*mstances had greatlyreduced their fortune, they preferred to curtail their household expensesrather than part with this relic of royalty. More particularly, the presentcount clung to it as a man clings to the home of his ancestors. As a matter ofprudence, he had rented a safety-deposit box at the Crédit Lyonnais in which tokeep it. He went for it himself on the afternoon of the day on which his wifewished to wear it, and he, himself, carried it back next morning.

On this particular evening, at the reception given at the Palais de Castille,the Countess achieved a remarkable success; and King Christian, in whose honorthe fête was given, commented on her grace and beauty. The thousand facets ofthe diamond sparkled and shone like flames of fire about her shapely neck andshoulders, and it is safe to say that none but she could have borne the weightof such an ornament with so much ease and grace.

This was a double triumph, and the Count de Dreux was highly elated when theyreturned to their chamber in the old house of the faubourg Saint-Germain. Hewas proud of his wife, and quite as proud, perhaps, of the necklace that hadconferred added luster to his noble house for generations. His wife, also,regarded the necklace with an almost childish vanity, and it was not withoutregret that she removed it from her shoulders and handed it to her husband whoadmired it as passionately as if he had never seen it before. Then, havingplaced it in its case of red leather, stamped with the Cardinal’s arms,he passed into an adjoining room which was simply an alcove or cabinet that hadbeen cut off from their chamber, and which could be entered only by means of adoor at the foot of their bed. As he had done on previous occasions, he hid iton a high shelf amongst hat-boxes and piles of linen. He closed the door, andretired.

Next morning, he arose about nine o’clock, intending to go to the CréditLyonnais before breakfast. He dressed, drank a cup of coffee, and went to thestables to give his orders. The condition of one of the horses worried him. Hecaused it to be exercised in his presence. Then he returned to his wife, whohad not yet left the chamber. Her maid was dressing her hair. When her husbandentered, she asked:

“Are you going out?”

“Yes, as far as the bank.”

“Of course. That is wise.”

He entered the cabinet; but, after a few seconds, and without any sign ofastonishment, he asked:

“Did you take it, my dear?”

“What?....No, I have not taken anything.”

“You must have moved it.”

“Not at all. I have not even opened that door.”

He appeared at the door, disconcerted, and stammered, in a scarcelyintelligible voice:

“You haven’t....It wasn’t you?....Then....”

She hastened to his assistance, and, together, they made a thorough search,throwing the boxes to the floor and overturning the piles of linen. Then thecount said, quite discouraged:

“It is useless to look any more. I put it here, on this shelf.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“No, no, it was on this shelf—nowhere else.”

They lighted a candle, as the room was quite dark, and then carried out all thelinen and other articles that the room contained. And, when the room wasemptied, they confessed, in despair, that the famous necklace had disappeared.Without losing time in vain lamentations, the countess notified the commissaryof police, Mon. Valorbe, who came at once, and, after hearing their story,inquired of the count:

“Are you sure that no one passed through your chamber during thenight?”

“Absolutely sure, as I am a very light sleeper. Besides, the chamber doorwas bolted, and I remember unbolting it this morning when my wife rang for hermaid.”

“And there is no other entrance to the cabinet?”

“None.”

“No windows?”

“Yes, but it is closed up.”

“I will look at it.”

Candles were lighted, and Mon. Valorbe observed at once that the lower half ofthe window was covered by a large press which was, however, so narrow that itdid not touch the casem*nt on either side.

“On what does this window open?”

“A small inner court.”

“And you have a floor above this?”

“Two; but, on a level with the servant’s floor, there is a closegrating over the court. That is why this room is so dark.”

When the press was moved, they found that the window was fastened, which wouldnot have been the case if anyone had entered that way.

“Unless,” said the count, “they went out through ourchamber.”

“In that case, you would have found the door unbolted.”

The commissary considered the situation for a moment, then asked the countess:

“Did any of your servants know that you wore the necklace lastevening?”

“Certainly; I didn’t conceal the fact. But nobody knew that it washidden in that cabinet.”

“No one?”

“No one.... unless....”

“Be quite sure, madam, as it is a very important point.”

She turned to her husband, and said:

“I was thinking of Henriette.”

“Henriette? She didn’t know where we kept it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Who is this woman Henriette?” asked Mon. Valorbe.

“A school-mate, who was disowned by her family for marrying beneath her.After her husband’s death, I furnished an apartment in this house for herand her son. She is clever with her needle and has done some work forme.”

“What floor is she on?”

“Same as ours.... at the end of the corridor.... and I think.... thewindow of her kitchen....”

“Opens on this little court, does it not?”

“Yes, just opposite ours.”

Mon. Valorbe then asked to see Henriette. They went to her apartment; she wassewing, whilst her son Raoul, about six years old, was sitting beside her,reading. The commissary was surprised to see the wretched apartment that hadbeen provided for the woman. It consisted of one room without a fireplace, anda very small room that served as a kitchen. The commissary proceeded toquestion her. She appeared to be overwhelmed on learning of the theft. Lastevening she had herself dressed the countess and placed the necklace upon hershoulders.

“Good God!” she exclaimed, “it can’t bepossible!”

“And you have no idea? Not the least suspicion? Is it possible that thethief may have passed through your room?”

She laughed heartily, never supposing that she could be an object of suspicion.

“But I have not left my room. I never go out. And, perhaps, you have notseen?”

She opened the kitchen window, and said:

“See, it is at least three metres to the ledge of the oppositewindow.”

“Who told you that we supposed the theft might have been committed inthat way?”

“But.... the necklace was in the cabinet, wasn’t it?”

“How do you know that?”

“Why, I have always known that it was kept there at night. It had beenmentioned in my presence.”

Her face, though still young, bore unmistakable traces of sorrow andresignation. And it now assumed an expression of anxiety as if some dangerthreatened her. She drew her son toward her. The child took her hand, andkissed it affectionately.

When they were alone again, the count said to the commissary:

“I do not suppose you suspect Henriette. I can answer for her. She ishonesty itself.”

“I quite agree with you,” replied Mon. Valorbe. “At most, Ithought there might have been an unconscious complicity. But I confess thateven that theory must be abandoned, as it does not help solve the problem nowbefore us.”

The commissary of police abandoned the investigation, which was now taken upand completed by the examining judge. He questioned the servants, examined thecondition of the bolt, experimented with the opening and closing of the cabinetwindow, and explored the little court from top to bottom. All was in vain. Thebolt was intact. The window could not be opened or closed from the outside.

The inquiries especially concerned Henriette, for, in spite of everything, theyalways turned in her direction. They made a thorough investigation of her pastlife, and ascertained that, during the last three years, she had left the houseonly four times, and her business, on those occasions, was satisfactorilyexplained. As a matter of fact, she acted as chambermaid and seamstress to thecountess, who treated her with great strictness and even severity.

At the end of a week, the examining judge had secured no more definiteinformation than the commissary of police. The judge said:

“Admitting that we know the guilty party, which we do not, we areconfronted by the fact that we do not know how the theft was committed. We arebrought face to face with two obstacles: a door and a window—both closedand fastened. It is thus a double mystery. How could anyone enter, and,moreover, how could any one escape, leaving behind him a bolted door and afastened window?”

At the end of four months, the secret opinion of the judge was that the countand countess, being hard pressed for money, which was their normal condition,had sold the Queen’s Necklace. He closed the investigation.

The loss of the famous jewel was a severe blow to the Dreux-Soubise. Theircredit being no longer propped up by the reserve fund that such a treasureconstituted, they found themselves confronted by more exacting creditors andmoney-lenders. They were obliged to cut down to the quick, to sell or mortgageevery article that possessed any commercial value. In brief, it would have beentheir ruin, if two large legacies from some distant relatives had not savedthem.

Their pride also suffered a downfall, as if they had lost a quartering fromtheir escutcheon. And, strange to relate, it was upon her former schoolmate,Henriette, that the countess vented her spleen. Toward her, the countessdisplayed the most spiteful feelings, and even openly accused her. First,Henriette was relegated to the servants’ quarters, and, next day,discharged.

For some time, the count and countess passed an uneventful life. They traveleda great deal. Only one incident of record occurred during that period. Somemonths after the departure of Henriette, the countess was surprised when shereceived and read the following letter, signed by Henriette:

“Madame,”

“I do not know how to thank you; for it was you, was it not, who sent methat? It could not have been anyone else. No one but you knows where I live. IfI am wrong, excuse me, and accept my sincere thanks for your pastfavors....”

What did the letter mean? The present or past favors of the countess consistedprincipally of injustice and neglect. Why, then, this letter of thanks?

When asked for an explanation, Henriette replied that she had received aletter, through the mails, enclosing two bank-notes of one thousand francseach. The envelope, which she enclosed with her reply, bore the Parispost-mark, and was addressed in a handwriting that was obviously disguised.Now, whence came those two thousand francs? Who had sent them? And why had theysent them?

Henriette received a similar letter and a like sum of money twelve monthslater. And a third time; and a fourth; and each year for a period of six years,with this difference, that in the fifth and sixth years the sum was doubled.There was another difference: the post-office authorities having seized one ofthe letters under the pretext that it was not registered, the last two letterswere duly sent according to the postal regulations, the first dated fromSaint-Germain, the other from Suresnes. The writer signed the first one,“Anquety”; and the other, “Péchard.” The addresses thathe gave were false.

At the end of six years, Henriette died, and the mystery remained unsolved.

All these events are known to the public. The case was one of those whichexcite public interest, and it was a strange coincidence that this necklace,which had caused such a great commotion in France at the close of theeighteenth century, should create a similar commotion a century later. But whatI am about to relate is known only to the parties directly interested and a fewothers from whom the count exacted a promise of secrecy. As it is probable thatsome day or other that promise will be broken, I have no hesitation in rendingthe veil and thus disclosing the key to the mystery, the explanation of theletter published in the morning papers two days ago; an extraordinary letterwhich increased, if possible, the mists and shadows that envelope thisinscrutable drama.

Five days ago, a number of guests were dining with the Count de Dreux-Soubise.There were several ladies present, including his two nieces and his cousin, andthe following gentlemen: the president of Essaville, the deputy Bochas, thechevalier Floriani, whom the count had known in Sicily, and General Marquis deRouzières, an old club friend.

After the repast, coffee was served by the ladies, who gave the gentlemenpermission to smoke their cigarettes, provided they would not desert the salon.The conversation was general, and finally one of the guests chanced to speak ofcelebrated crimes. And that gave the Marquis de Rouzières, who delighted totease the count, an opportunity to mention the affair of the Queen’sNecklace, a subject that the count detested.

Each one expressed his own opinion of the affair; and, of course, their varioustheories were not only contradictory but impossible.

“And you, monsieur,” said the countess to the chevalier Floriani,“what is your opinion?”

“Oh! I—I have no opinion, madame.”

All the guests protested; for the chevalier had just related in an entertainingmanner various adventures in which he had participated with his father, amagistrate at Palermo, and which established his judgment and taste in suchmanners.

“I confess,” said he, “I have sometimes succeeded inunraveling mysteries that the cleverest detectives have renounced; yet I do notclaim to be Sherlock Holmes. Moreover, I know very little about the affair ofthe Queen’s Necklace.”

Everybody now turned to the count, who was thus obliged, quite unwillingly, tonarrate all the circ*mstances connected with the theft. The chevalier listened,reflected, asked a few questions, and said:

“It is very strange.... at first sight, the problem appears to be a verysimple one.”

The count shrugged his shoulders. The others drew closer to the chevalier, whocontinued, in a dogmatic tone:

“As a general rule, in order to find the author of a crime or a theft, itis necessary to determine how that crime or theft was committed, or, at least,how it could have been committed. In the present case, nothing is more simple,because we are face to face, not with several theories, but with one positivefact, that is to say: the thief could only enter by the chamber door or thewindow of the cabinet. Now, a person cannot open a bolted door from theoutside. Therefore, he must have entered through the window.”

“But it was closed and fastened, and we found it fastenedafterward,” declared the count.

“In order to do that,” continued Floriani, without heeding theinterruption, “he had simply to construct a bridge, a plank or a ladder,between the balcony of the kitchen and the ledge of the window, and as thejewel-case—-”

“But I repeat that the window was fastened,” exclaimed the count,impatiently.

This time, Floriani was obliged to reply. He did so with the greatesttranquility, as if the objection was the most insignificant affair in theworld.

“I will admit that it was; but is there not a transom in the upper partof the window?”

“How do you know that?”

“In the first place, that was customary in houses of that date; and, inthe second place, without such a transom, the theft cannot be explained.”

“Yes, there is one, but it was closed, the same as the window.Consequently, we did not pay attention to it.”

“That was a mistake; for, if you had examined it, you would have foundthat it had been opened.”

“But how?”

“I presume that, like all others, it opens by means of a wire with a ringon the lower end.”

“Yes, but I do not see—-”

“Now, through a hole in the window, a person could, by the aid of someinstrument, let us say a poker with a hook at the end, grip the ring, pulldown, and open the transom.”

The count laughed and said:

“Excellent! excellent! Your scheme is very cleverly constructed, but youoverlook one thing, monsieur, there is no hole in the window.”

“There was a hole.”

“Nonsense, we would have seen it.”

“In order to see it, you must look for it, and no one has looked. Thehole is there; it must be there, at the side of the window, in the putty. In avertical direction, of course.”

The count arose. He was greatly excited. He paced up and down the room, two orthree times, in a nervous manner; then, approaching Floriani, said:

“Nobody has been in that room since; nothing has been changed.”

“Very well, monsieur, you can easily satisfy yourself that my explanationis correct.”

“It does not agree with the facts established by the examining judge. Youhave seen nothing, and yet you contradict all that we have seen and all that weknow.”

Floriani paid no attention to the count’s petulance. He simply smiled andsaid:

“Mon Dieu, monsieur, I submit my theory; that is all. If I am mistaken,you can easily prove it.”

“I will do so at once....I confess that your assurance—-”

The count muttered a few more words; then suddenly rushed to the door andpassed out. Not a word was uttered in his absence; and this profound silencegave the situation an air of almost tragic importance. Finally, the countreturned. He was pale and nervous. He said to his friends, in a tremblingvoice:

“I beg your pardon.... the revelations of the chevalier were sounexpected....I should never have thought....”

His wife questioned him, eagerly:

“Speak.... what is it?”

He stammered: “The hole is there, at the very spot, at the side of thewindow—-”

He seized the chevalier’s arm, and said to him in an imperious tone:

“Now, monsieur, proceed. I admit that you are right so far, but now....that is not all.... go on.... tell us the rest of it.”

Floriani disengaged his arm gently, and, after a moment, continued:

“Well, in my opinion, this is what happened. The thief, knowing that thecountess was going to wear the necklace that evening, had prepared his gangwayor bridge during your absence. He watched you through the window and saw youhide the necklace. Afterward, he cut the glass and pulled the ring.”

“Ah! but the distance was so great that it would be impossible for him toreach the window-fastening through the transom.”

“Well, then, if he could not open the window by reaching through thetransom, he must have crawled through the transom.”

“Impossible; it is too small. No man could crawl through it.”

“Then it was not a man,” declared Floriani.

“What!”

“If the transom is too small to admit a man, it must have been achild.”

“A child!”

“Did you not say that your friend Henriette had a son?”

“Yes; a son named Raoul.”

“Then, in all probability, it was Raoul who committed the theft.”

“What proof have you of that?”

“What proof! Plenty of it....For instance—-”

He stopped, and reflected for a moment, then continued:

“For instance, that gangway or bridge. It is improbable that the childcould have brought it in from outside the house and carried it away againwithout being observed. He must have used something close at hand. In thelittle room used by Henriette as a kitchen, were there not some shelves againstthe wall on which she placed her pans and dishes?”

“Two shelves, to the best of my memory.”

“Are you sure that those shelves are really fastened to the woodenbrackets that support them? For, if they are not, we could be justified inpresuming that the child removed them, fastened them together, and thus formedhis bridge. Perhaps, also, since there was a stove, we might find the bentpoker that he used to open the transom.”

Without saying a word, the count left the room; and, this time, those presentdid not feel the nervous anxiety they had experienced the first time. They wereconfident that Floriani was right, and no one was surprised when the countreturned and declared:

“It was the child. Everything proves it.”

“You have seen the shelves and the poker?”

“Yes. The shelves have been unnailed, and the poker is there yet.”

But the countess exclaimed:

“You had better say it was his mother. Henriette is the guilty party. Shemust have compelled her son—-”

“No,” declared the chevalier, “the mother had nothing to dowith it.”

“Nonsense! they occupied the same room. The child could not have done itwithout the mother’s knowledge.”

“True, they lived in the same room, but all this happened in theadjoining room, during the night, while the mother was asleep.”

“And the necklace?” said the count. “It would have been foundamongst the child’s things.”

“Pardon me! He had been out. That morning, on which you found himreading, he had just come from school, and perhaps the commissary of police,instead of wasting his time on the innocent mother, would have been betteremployed in searching the child’s desk amongst his school-books.”

“But how do you explain those two thousand francs that Henriette receivedeach year? Are they not evidence of her complicity?”

“If she had been an accomplice, would she have thanked you for thatmoney? And then, was she not closely watched? But the child, being free, couldeasily go to a neighboring city, negotiate with some dealer and sell him onediamond or two diamonds, as he might wish, upon condition that the money shouldbe sent from Paris, and that proceeding could be repeated from year toyear.”

An indescribable anxiety oppressed the Dreux-Soubise and their guests. Therewas something in the tone and attitude of Floriani—something more thanthe chevalier’s assurance which, from the beginning, had so annoyed thecount. There was a touch of irony, that seemed rather hostile than sympathetic.But the count affected to laugh, as he said:

“All that is very ingenious and interesting, and I congratulate you uponyour vivid imagination.”

“No, not at all,” replied Floriani, with the utmost gravity,“I imagine nothing. I simply describe the events as they must haveoccurred.”

“But what do you know about them?”

“What you yourself have told me. I picture to myself the life of themother and child down there in the country; the illness of the mother, theschemes of and inventions of the child to sell the precious stones in order tosave his mother’s life, or, at least, soothe her dying moments. Herillness overcomes her. She dies. Years roll on. The child becomes a man; andthen—and now I will give my imagination a free rein—let us supposethat the man feels a desire to return to the home of his childhood, that hedoes so, and that he meets there certain people who suspect and accuse hismother.... do you realize the sorrow and anguish of such an interview in thevery house wherein the original drama was played?”

His words seemed to echo for a few seconds in the ensuing silence, and onecould read upon the faces of the Count and Countess de Dreux a bewilderedeffort to comprehend his meaning and, at the same time, the fear and anguish ofsuch a comprehension. The count spoke at last, and said:

“Who are you, monsieur?”

“I? The chevalier Floriani, whom you met at Palermo, and whom you havebeen gracious enough to invite to your house on several occasions.”

“Then what does this story mean?”

“Oh! nothing at all! It is simply a pastime, so far as I am concerned. Iendeavor to depict the pleasure that Henriette’s son, if he still lives,would have in telling you that he was the guilty party, and that he did itbecause his mother was unhappy, as she was on the point of losing the place ofa.... servant, by which she lived, and because the child suffered at sight ofhis mother’s sorrow.”

He spoke with suppressed emotion, rose partially and inclined toward thecountess. There could be no doubt that the chevalier Floriani wasHenriette’s son. His attitude and words proclaimed it. Besides, was itnot his obvious intention and desire to be recognized as such?

The count hesitated. What action would he take against the audacious guest?Ring? Provoke a scandal? Unmask the man who had once robbed him? But that was along time ago! And who would believe that absurd story about the guilty child?No; better far to accept the situation, and pretend not to comprehend the truemeaning of it. So the count, turning to Floriani, exclaimed:

“Your story is very curious, very entertaining; I enjoyed it much. Butwhat do you think has become of this young man, this model son? I hope he hasnot abandoned the career in which he made such a brilliant début.”

“Oh! certainly not.”

“After such a début! To steal the Queen’s Necklace at six years ofa*ge; the celebrated necklace that was coveted by Marie-Antoinette!”

“And to steal it,” remarked Floriani, falling in with thecount’s mood, “without costing him the slightest trouble, withoutanyone thinking to examine the condition of the window, or to observe that thewindow-sill was too clean—that window-sill which he had wiped in order toefface the marks he had made in the thick dust. We must admit that it wassufficient to turn the head of a boy at that age. It was all so easy. He hadsimply to desire the thing, and reach out his hand to get it.”

“And he reached out his hand.”

“Both hands,” replied the chevalier, laughing.

His companions received a shock. What mystery surrounded the life of theso-called Floriani? How wonderful must have been the life of that adventurer, athief at six years of age, and who, to-day, in search of excitement or, atmost, to gratify a feeling of resentment, had come to brave his victim in herown house, audaciously, foolishly, and yet with all the grace and delicacy of acourteous guest!

He arose and approached the countess to bid her adieu. She recoiled,unconsciously. He smiled.

“Oh! Madame, you are afraid of me! Did I pursue my role ofparlor-magician a step too far?”

She controlled herself, and replied, with her accustomed ease:

“Not at all, monsieur. The legend of that dutiful son interested me verymuch, and I am pleased to know that my necklace had such a brilliant destiny.But do you not think that the son of that woman, that Henriette, was the victimof hereditary influence in the choice of his vocation?”

He shuddered, feeling the point, and replied:

“I am sure of it; and, moreover, his natural tendency to crime must havebeen very strong or he would have been discouraged.”

“Why so?”

“Because, as you must know, the majority of the diamonds were false. Theonly genuine stones were the few purchased from the English jeweler, the othershaving been sold, one by one, to meet the cruel necessities of life.”

“It was still the Queen’s Necklace, monsieur,” replied thecountess, haughtily, “and that is something that he, Henriette’sson, could not appreciate.”

“He was able to appreciate, madame, that, whether true or false, thenecklace was nothing more that an object of parade, an emblem of senselesspride.”

The count made a threatening gesture, but his wife stopped him.

“Monsieur,” she said, “if the man to whom you allude has theslightest sense of honor—-”

She stopped, intimidated by Floriani’s cool manner.

“If that man has the slightest sense of honor,” he repeated.

She felt that she would not gain anything by speaking to him in that manner,and in spite of her anger and indignation, trembling as she was from humiliatedpride, she said to him, almost politely:

“Monsieur, the legend says that Rétaux de Villette, when in possession ofthe Queen’s Necklace, did not disfigure the mounting. He understood thatthe diamonds were simply the ornament, the accessory, and that the mounting wasthe essential work, the creation of the artist, and he respected itaccordingly. Do you think that this man had the same feeling?”

“I have no doubt that the mounting still exists. The child respectedit.”

“Well, monsieur, if you should happen to meet him, will you tell him thathe unjustly keeps possession of a relic that is the property and pride of acertain family, and that, although the stones have been removed, theQueen’s necklace still belongs to the house of Dreux-Soubise. It belongsto us as much as our name or our honor.”

The chevalier replied, simply:

“I shall tell him, madame.”

He bowed to her, saluted the count and the other guests, and departed.

Four days later, the countess de Dreux found upon the table in her chamber ared leather case bearing the cardinal’s arms. She opened it, and foundthe Queen’s Necklace.

But as all things must, in the life of a man who strives for unity and logic,converge toward the same goal—and as a little advertising never does anyharm—on the following day, the Echo de France published thesesensational lines:

“The Queen’s Necklace, the famous historical jewelry stolen fromthe family of Dreux-Soubise, has been recovered by Arsène Lupin, who hastenedto restore it to its rightful owner. We cannot too highly commend such adelicate and chivalrous act.”

VI. The Seven of Hearts

I am frequently asked this question: “How did you make the acquaintanceof Arsène Lupin?”

My connection with Arsène Lupin was well known. The details that I gatherconcerning that mysterious man, the irrefutable facts that I present, the newevidence that I produce, the interpretation that I place on certain acts ofwhich the public has seen only the exterior manifestations without being ableto discover the secret reasons or the invisible mechanism, all establish, ifnot an intimacy, at least amicable relations and regular confidences.

But how did I make his acquaintance? Why was I selected to be hishistoriographer? Why I, and not some one else?

The answer is simple: chance alone presided over my choice; my merit was notconsidered. It was chance that put me in his way. It was by chance that I wasparticipant in one of his strangest and most mysterious adventures; and bychance that I was an actor in a drama of which he was the marvelous stagedirector; an obscure and intricate drama, bristling with such thrilling eventsthat I feel a certain embarrassment in undertaking to describe it.

The first act takes place during that memorable night of 22 June, of which somuch has already been said. And, for my part, I attribute the anomalous conductof which I was guilty on that occasion to the unusual frame of mind in which Ifound myself on my return home. I had dined with some friends at the Cascaderestaurant, and, the entire evening, whilst we smoked and the orchestra playedmelancholy waltzes, we talked only of crimes and thefts, and dark and frightfulintrigues. That is always a poor overture to a night’s sleep.

The Saint-Martins went away in an automobile. Jean Daspry—thatdelightful, heedless Daspry who, six months later, was killed in such a tragicmanner on the frontier of Morocco—Jean Daspry and I returned on footthrough the dark, warm night. When we arrived in front of the little house inwhich I had lived for a year at Neuilly, on the boulevard Maillot, he said tome:

“Are you afraid?”

“What an idea!”

“But this house is so isolated.... no neighbors.... vacantlots....Really, I am not a coward, and yet—-”

“Well, you are very cheering, I must say.”

“Oh! I say that as I would say anything else. The Saint-Martins haveimpressed me with their stories of brigands and thieves.”

We shook hands and said good-night. I took out my key and opened the door.

“Well, that is good,” I murmured, “Antoine has forgotten tolight a candle.”

Then I recalled the fact that Antoine was away; I had given him a short leaveof absence. Forthwith, I was disagreeably oppressed by the darkness and silenceof the night. I ascended the stairs on tiptoe, and reached my room as quicklyas possible; then, contrary to my usual habit, I turned the key and pushed thebolt.

The light of my candle restored my courage. Yet I was careful to take myrevolver from its case—a large, powerful weapon—and place it besidemy bed. That precaution completed my reassurance. I laid down and, as usual,took a book from my night-table to read myself to sleep. Then I received agreat surprise. Instead of the paper-knife with which I had marked my place onthe preceding, I found an envelope, closed with five seals of red wax. I seizedit eagerly. It was addressed to me, and marked: “Urgent.”

A letter! A letter addressed to me! Who could have put it in that place?Nervously, I tore open the envelope, and read:

“From the moment you open this letter, whatever happens, whatever you mayhear, do not move, do not utter one cry. Otherwise you are doomed.”

I am not a coward, and, quite as well as another, I can face real danger, orsmile at the visionary perils of imagination. But, let me repeat, I was in ananomalous condition of mind, with my nerves set on edge by the events of theevening. Besides, was there not, in my present situation, something startlingand mysterious, calculated to disturb the most courageous spirit?

My feverish fingers clutched the sheet of paper, and I read and re-read thosethreatening words: “Do not move, do not utter one cry. Otherwise, you aredoomed.”

“Nonsense!” I thought. “It is a joke; the work of somecheerful idiot.”

I was about to laugh—a good loud laugh. Who prevented me? What hauntingfear compressed my throat?

At least, I would blow out the candle. No, I could not do it. “Do notmove, or you are doomed,” were the words he had written.

These auto-suggestions are frequently more imperious than the most positiverealities; but why should I struggle against them? I had simply to close myeyes. I did so.

At that moment, I heard a slight noise, followed by crackling sounds,proceeding from a large room used by me as a library. A small room orantechamber was situated between the library and my bedchamber.

The approach of an actual danger greatly excited me, and I felt a desire to getup, seize my revolver, and rush into the library. I did not rise; I saw one ofthe curtains of the left window move. There was no doubt about it: the curtainhad moved. It was still moving. And I saw—oh! I saw quitedistinctly—in the narrow space between the curtains and the window, ahuman form; a bulky mass that prevented the curtains from hanging straight. Andit is equally certain that the man saw me through the large meshes of thecurtain. Then, I understood the situation. His mission was to guard me whilethe others carried away their booty. Should I rise and seize my revolver?Impossible! He was there! At the least movement, at the least cry, I wasdoomed.

Then came a terrific noise that shook the house; this was followed by lightersounds, two or three together, like those of a hammer that rebounded. At least,that was the impression formed in my confused brain. These were mingled withother sounds, thus creating a veritable uproar which proved that the intruderswere not only bold, but felt themselves secure from interruption.

They were right. I did not move. Was it cowardice? No, rather weakness, a totalinability to move any portion of my body, combined with discretion; for whyshould I struggle? Behind that man, there were ten others who would come to hisassistance. Should I risk my life to save a few tapestries and bibelots?

Throughout the night, my torture endured. Insufferable torture, terribleanguish! The noises had stopped, but I was in constant fear of their renewal.And the man! The man who was guarding me, weapon in hand. My fearful eyesremained cast in his direction. And my heart beat! And a profuse perspirationoozed from every pore of my body!

Suddenly, I experienced an immense relief; a milk-wagon, whose sound wasfamiliar to me, passed along the boulevard; and, at the same time, I had animpression that the light of a new day was trying to steal through the closedwindow-blinds.

At last, daylight penetrated the room; other vehicles passed along theboulevard; and all the phantoms of the night vanished. Then I put one arm outof the bed, slowly and cautiously. My eyes were fixed upon the curtain,locating the exact spot at which I must fire; I made an exact calculation ofthe movements I must make; then, quickly, I seized my revolver and fired.

I leaped from my bed with a cry of deliverance, and rushed to the window. Thebullet had passed through the curtain and the window-glass, but it had nottouched the man—for the very good reason that there was none there.Nobody! Thus, during the entire night, I had been hypnotized by a fold of thecurtain. And, during that time, the malefactors....Furiously, with anenthusiasm that nothing could have stopped, I turned the key, opened the door,crossed the antechamber, opened another door, and rushed into the library. Butamazement stopped me on the threshold, panting, astounded, more astonished thanI had been by the absence of the man. All the things that I supposed had beenstolen, furniture, books, pictures, old tapestries, everything was in itsproper place.

It was incredible. I could not believe my eyes. Notwithstanding that uproar,those noises of removal....I made a tour, I inspected the walls, I made amental inventory of all the familiar objects. Nothing was missing. And, whatwas more disconcerting, there was no clue to the intruders, not a sign, not achair disturbed, not the trace of a footstep.

“Well! Well!” I said to myself, pressing my hands on my bewilderedhead, “surely I am not crazy! I heard something!”

Inch by inch, I made a careful examination of the room. It was in vain. UnlessI could consider this as a discovery: Under a small Persian rug, I found acard—an ordinary playing card. It was the seven of hearts; it was likeany other seven of hearts in French playing-cards, with this slight but curiousexception: The extreme point of each of the seven red spots or hearts waspierced by a hole, round and regular as if made with the point of an awl.

Nothing more. A card and a letter found in a book. But was not that sufficientto affirm that I had not been the plaything of a dream?

Throughout the day, I continued my searches in the library. It was a largeroom, much too large for the requirements of such a house, and the decorationof which attested the bizarre taste of its founder. The floor was a mosaic ofmulticolored stones, formed into large symmetrical designs. The walls werecovered with a similar mosaic, arranged in panels, Pompeiian allegories,Byzantine compositions, frescoes of the Middle Ages. A Bacchus bestriding acask. An emperor wearing a gold crown, a flowing beard, and holding a sword inhis right hand.

Quite high, after the style of an artist’s studio, there was a largewindow—the only one in the room. That window being always open at night,it was probable that the men had entered through it, by the aid of a ladder.But, again, there was no evidence. The bottom of the ladder would have leftsome marks in the soft earth beneath the window; but there were none. Nor werethere any traces of footsteps in any part of the yard.

I had no idea of informing the police, because the facts I had before me wereso absurd and inconsistent. They would laugh at me. However, as I was then areporter on the staff of the ‘Gil Blas,’ I wrote a lengthy accountof my adventure and it was published in the paper on the second day thereafter.The article attracted some attention, but no one took it seriously. Theyregarded it as a work of fiction rather than a story of real life. TheSaint-Martins rallied me. But Daspry, who took an interest in such matters,came to see me, made a study of the affair, but reached no conclusion.

A few mornings later, the door-bell rang, and Antoine came to inform me that agentleman desired to see me. He would not give his name. I directed Antoine toshow him up. He was a man of about forty years of age with a very darkcomplexion, lively features, and whose correct dress, slightly frayed,proclaimed a taste that contrasted strangely with his rather vulgar manners.Without any preamble, he said to me—in a rough voice that confirmed mysuspicion as to his social position:

“Monsieur, whilst in a café, I picked up a copy of the ‘GilBlas,’ and read your article. It interested me very much.

“Thank you.”

“And here I am.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, to talk to you. Are all the facts related by you quitecorrect?”

“Absolutely so.”

“Well, in that case, I can, perhaps, give you some information.”

“Very well; proceed.”

“No, not yet. First, I must be sure that the facts are exactly as youhave related them.”

“I have given you my word. What further proof do you want?”

“I must remain alone in this room.”

“I do not understand,” I said, with surprise.

“It’s an idea that occurred to me when reading your article.Certain details established an extraordinary coincidence with another case thatcame under my notice. If I am mistaken, I shall say nothing more. And the onlymeans of ascertaining the truth is by my remaining in the room alone.”

What was at the bottom of this proposition? Later, I recalled that the man wasexceedingly nervous; but, at the same time, although somewhat astonished, Ifound nothing particularly abnormal about the man or the request he had made.Moreover, my curiosity was aroused; so I replied:

“Very well. How much time do you require?”

“Oh! three minutes—not longer. Three minutes from now, I willrejoin you.”

I left the room, and went downstairs. I took out my watch. One minute passed.Two minutes. Why did I feel so depressed? Why did those moments seem so solemnand weird? Two minutes and a half....Two minutes and three quarters. Then Iheard a pistol shot.

I bounded up the stairs and entered the room. A cry of horror escaped me. Inthe middle of the room, the man was lying on his left side, motionless. Bloodwas flowing from a wound in his forehead. Near his hand was a revolver, stillsmoking.

But, in addition to this frightful spectacle, my attention was attracted byanother object. At two feet from the body, upon the floor, I saw aplaying-card. It was the seven of hearts. I picked it up. The lower extremityof each of the seven spots was pierced with a small round hole.

A half-hour later, the commissary of police arrived, then the coroner and thechief of the Sûreté, Mon. Dudouis. I had been careful not to touch the corpse.The preliminary inquiry was very brief, and disclosed nothing. There were nopapers in the pockets of the deceased; no name upon his clothes; no initialupon his linen; nothing to give any clue to his identity. The room was in thesame perfect order as before. The furniture had not been disturbed. Yet thisman had not come to my house solely for the purpose of killing himself, orbecause he considered my place the most convenient one for his suicide! Theremust have been a motive for his act of despair, and that motive was, no doubt,the result of some new fact ascertained by him during the three minutes he wasalone.

What was that fact? What had he seen? What frightful secret had been revealedto him? There was no answer to these questions. But, at the last moment, anincident occurred that appeared to us of considerable importance. As twopolicemen were raising the body to place it on a stretcher, the left hand thusbeing disturbed, a crumpled card fell from it. The card bore these words:“Georges Andermatt, 37 Rue de Berry.”

What did that mean? Georges Andermatt was a rich banker in Paris, the founderand president of the Metal Exchange which had given such an impulse to themetallic industries in France. He lived in princely style; was the possessor ofnumerous automobiles, coaches, and an expensive racing-stable. His socialaffairs were very select, and Madame Andermatt was noted for her grace andbeauty.

“Can that be the man’s name?” I asked.———————

The chief of the Sûreté leaned over him.

“It is not he. Mon. Andermatt is a thin man, and slightly grey.”

“But why this card?”

“Have you a telephone, monsieur?”

“Yes, in the vestibule. Come with me.”

He looked in the directory, and then asked for number 415.21.

“Is Mon. Andermatt at home?....Please tell him that Mon. Dudouis wishedhim to come at once to 102 Boulevard Maillot. Very important.”

Twenty minutes later, Mon. Andermatt arrived in his automobile. After thecirc*mstances had been explained to him, he was taken in to see the corpse. Hedisplayed considerable emotion, and spoke, in a low tone, and apparentlyunwillingly:

“Etienne Varin,” he said.

“You know him?”

“No.... or, at least, yes.... by sight only. His brother....”

“Ah! he has a brother?”

“Yes, Alfred Varin. He came to see me once on some matter ofbusiness....I forget what it was.”

“Where does he live?”

“The two brothers live together—rue de Provence, I think.”

“Do you know any reason why he should commit suicide?”

“None.”

“He held a card in his hand. It was your card with your address.”

“I do not understand that. It must have been there by some chance thatwill be disclosed by the investigation.”

A very strange chance, I thought; and I felt that the others entertained thesame impression.

I discovered the same impression in the papers next day, and amongst all myfriends with whom I discussed the affair. Amid the mysteries that enveloped it,after the double discovery of the seven of hearts pierced with seven holes,after the two inscrutable events that had happened in my house, that visitingcard promised to throw some light on the affair. Through it, the truth may berevealed. But, contrary to our expectations, Mon. Andermatt furnished noexplanation. He said:

“I have told you all I know. What more can I do? I am greatly surprisedthat my card should be found in such a place, and I sincerely hope the pointwill be cleared up.”

It was not. The official investigation established that the Varin brothers wereof Swiss origin, had led a shifting life under various names, frequentinggambling resorts, associating with a band of foreigners who had been dispersedby the police after a series of robberies in which their participation wasestablished only by their flight. At number 24 rue de Provence, where the Varinbrothers had lived six years before, no one knew what had become of them.

I confess that, for my part, the case seemed to me so complicated and somysterious that I did not think the problem would ever be solved, so Iconcluded to waste no more time upon it. But Jean Daspry, whom I frequently metat that period, became more and more interested in it each day. It was he whopointed out to me that item from a foreign newspaper which was reproduced andcommented upon by the entire press. It was as follows:

“The first trial of a new model of submarine boat, which is expected torevolutionize naval warfare, will be given in presence of the former Emperor ata place that will be kept secret until the last minute. An indiscretion hasrevealed its name; it is called ‘The Seven-of-Hearts.’”

The Seven-of-Hearts! That presented a new problem. Could a connection beestablished between the name of the sub-marine and the incidents which we haverelated? But a connection of what nature? What had happened here could have nopossible relation with the sub-marine.

“What do you know about it?” said Daspry to me. “The mostdiverse effects often proceed from the same cause.”

Two days later, the following foreign news item was received and published:

“It is said that the plans of the new sub-marine‘Seven-of-Hearts’ were prepared by French engineers, who, havingsought, in vain, the support of their compatriots, subsequently entered intonegotiations with the British Admiralty, without success.”

I do not wish to give undue publicity to certain delicate matters which onceprovoked considerable excitement. Yet, since all danger of injury therefrom hasnow come to an end, I must speak of the article that appeared in the Echo deFrance, which aroused so much comment at that time, and which threwconsiderable light upon the mystery of the Seven-of-Hearts. This is the articleas it was published over the signature of Salvator:

“THE AFFAIR OF THE SEVEN-OF-HEARTS.
“A CORNER OF THE VEIL RAISED.

“We will be brief. Ten years ago, a young mining engineer, Louis Lacombe,wishing to devote his time and fortune to certain studies, resigned hisposition he then held, and rented number 102 boulevard Maillot, a small housethat had been recently built and decorated for an Italian count. Through theagency of the Varin brothers of Lausanne, one of whom assisted in thepreliminary experiments and the other acted as financial agent, the youngengineer was introduced to Georges Andermatt, the founder of the MetalExchange.
“After several interviews, he succeeded in interesting the banker ina sub-marine boat on which he was working, and it was agreed that as soon asthe invention was perfected, Mon. Andermatt would use his influence with theMinister of Marine to obtain a series of trials under the direction of thegovernment. For two years, Louis Lacombe was a frequent visitor atAndermatt’s house, and he submitted to the banker the variousimprovements he made upon his original plans, until one day, being satisfiedwith the perfection of his work, he asked Mon. Andermatt to communicate withthe Minister of Marine. That day, Louis Lacombe dined at Mon. Andermatt’shouse. He left there about half-past eleven at night. He has not been seensince.
“A perusal of the newspapers of that date will show that the youngman’s family caused every possible inquiry to be made, but withoutsuccess; and it was the general opinion that Louis Lacombe— who was knownas an original and visionary youth—had quietly left for partsunknown.
“Let us accept that theory—improbable, though it be,—andlet us consider another question, which is a most important one for ourcountry: What has become of the plans of the sub-marine? Did Louis Lacombecarry them away? Are they destroyed?
“After making a thorough investigation, we are able to assert,positively, that the plans are in existence, and are now in the possession ofthe two brothers Varin. How did they acquire such a possession? That is aquestion not yet determined; nor do we know why they have not tried to sellthem at an earlier date. Did they fear that their title to them would be calledin question? If so, they have lost that fear, and we can announce definitely,that the plans of Louis Lacombe are now the property of foreign power, and weare in a position to publish the correspondence that passed between the Varinbrothers and the representative of that power. The‘Seven-of-Hearts’ invented by Louis Lacombe has been actuallyconstructed by our neighbor.
“Will the invention fulfill the optimistic expectations of those whowere concerned in that treacherous act?”

And a post-script adds:

“Later.—Our special correspondent informs us that the preliminarytrial of the ‘Seven-of-Hearts’ has not been satisfactory. It isquite likely that the plans sold and delivered by the Varin brothers did notinclude the final document carried by Louis Lacombe to Mon. Andermatt on theday of his disappearance, a document that was indispensable to a thoroughunderstanding of the invention. It contained a summary of the final conclusionsof the inventor, and estimates and figures not contained in the other papers.Without this document, the plans are incomplete; on the other hand, without theplans, the document is worthless.
“Now is the time to act and recover what belongs to us. It may be adifficult matter, but we rely upon the assistance of Mon. Andermatt. It will beto his interest to explain his conduct which has hitherto been so strange andinscrutable. He will explain not only why he concealed these facts at the timeof the suicide of Etienne Varin, but also why he has never revealed thedisappearance of the paper—a fact well known to him. He will tell why,during the last six years, he paid spies to watch the movements of the Varinbrothers. We expect from him, not only words, but acts. And at once.Otherwise—-”

The threat was plainly expressed. But of what did it consist? What whip wasSalvator, the anonymous writer of the article, holding over the head of Mon.Andermatt?

An army of reporters attacked the banker, and ten interviewers announced thescornful manner in which they were treated. Thereupon, the Echo deFrance announced its position in these words:

“Whether Mon. Andermatt is willing or not, he will be, henceforth, ourcollaborator in the work we have undertaken.”

Daspry and I were dining together on the day on which that announcementappeared. That evening, with the newspapers spread over my table, we discussedthe affair and examined it from every point of view with that exasperation thata person feels when walking in the dark and finding himself constantly fallingover the same obstacles. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the dooropened and a lady entered. Her face was hidden behind a thick veil. I rose atonce and approached her.

“Is it you, monsieur, who lives here?” she asked.

“Yes, madame, but I do not understand—-”

“The gate was not locked,” she explained.

“But the vestibule door?”

She did not reply, and it occurred to me that she had used the servants’entrance. How did she know the way? Then there was a silence that was quiteembarrassing. She looked at Daspry, and I was obliged to introduce him. I askedher to be seated and explain the object of her visit. She raised her veil, andI saw that she was a brunette with regular features and, though not handsome,she was attractive—principally, on account of her sad, dark eyes.

“I am Madame Andermatt,” she said.

“Madame Andermatt!” I repeated, with astonishment.

After a brief pause, she continued with a voice and manner that were quite easyand natural:

“I have come to see you about that affair—you know. I thought Imight be able to obtain some information—-”

“Mon Dieu, madame, I know nothing but what has already appeared in thepapers. But if you will point out in what way I can help you....”

“I do not know....I do not know.”

Not until then did I suspect that her calm demeanor was assumed, and that somepoignant grief was concealed beneath that air of tranquility. For a moment, wewere silent and embarrassed. Then Daspry stepped forward, and said:

“Will you permit me to ask you a few questions?”

“Yes, yes,” she cried. “I will answer.”

“You will answer.... whatever those questions may be?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know Louis Lacombe?” he asked.

“Yes, through my husband.”

“When did you see him for the last time?”

“The evening he dined with us.”

“At that time, was there anything to lead you to believe that you wouldnever see him again?”

“No. But he had spoken of a trip to Russia—in a vague way.”

“Then you expected to see him again?”

“Yes. He was to dine with us, two days later.”

“How do you explain his disappearance?”

“I cannot explain it.”

“And Mon. Andermatt?”

“I do not know.”

“Yet the article published in the Echo de Franceindicates—-”

“Yes, that the Varin brothers had something to do with hisdisappearance.”

“Is that your opinion?”

“Yes.”

“On what do you base your opinion?”

“When he left our house, Louis Lacombe carried a satchel containing allthe papers relating to his invention. Two days later, my husband, in aconversation with one of the Varin brothers, learned that the papers were intheir possession.”

“And he did not denounce them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because there was something else in the satchel—something besidesthe papers of Louis Lacombe.”

“What was it?”

She hesitated; was on the point of speaking, but, finally, remained silent.Daspry continued:

“I presume that is why your husband has kept a close watch over theirmovements instead of informing the police. He hoped to recover the papers and,at the same time, that compromising article which has enabled the two brothersto hold over him threats of exposure and blackmail.”

“Over him, and over me.”

“Ah! over you, also?”

“Over me, in particular.”

She uttered the last words in a hollow voice. Daspry observed it; he paced toand fro for a moment, then, turning to her, asked:

“Had you written to Louis Lacombe?”

“Of course. My husband had business with him—”

“Apart from those business letters, had you written to Louis Lacombe....other letters? Excuse my insistence, but it is absolutely necessary that Ishould know the truth. Did you write other letters?”

“Yes,” she replied, blushing.

“And those letters came into the possession of the Varin brothers?”

“Yes.”

“Does Mon. Andermatt know it?”

“He has not seen them, but Alfred Varin has told him of their existenceand threatened to publish them if my husband should take any steps against him.My husband was afraid.... of a scandal.”

“But he has tried to recover the letters?”

“I think so; but I do not know. You see, after that last interview withAlfred Varin, and after some harsh words between me and my husband in which hecalled me to account—we live as strangers.”

“In that case, as you have nothing to lose, what do you fear?”

“I may be indifferent to him now, but I am the woman that he has loved,the one he would still love—oh! I am quite sure of that,” shemurmured, in a fervent voice, “he would still love me if he had not gothold of those cursed letters——”

“What! Did he succeed?....But the two brothers still defied him?”

“Yes, and they boasted of having a secure hiding-place.”

“Well?”

“I believe my husband discovered that hiding-place.”

“Ah! where was it?”

“Here.”

“Here!” I cried in alarm.

“Yes. I always had that suspicion. Louis Lacombe was very ingenious andamused himself in his leisure hours, by making safes and locks. No doubt, theVarin brothers were aware of that fact and utilized one of Lacombe’ssafes in which to conceal the letters.... and other things, perhaps.”

“But they did not live here,” I said.

“Before you came, four months ago, the house had been vacant for sometime. And they may have thought that your presence here would not interferewith them when they wanted to get the papers. But they did not count on myhusband, who came here on the night of 22 June, forced the safe, took what hewas seeking, and left his card to inform the two brothers that he feared themno more, and that their positions were now reversed. Two days later, afterreading the article in the ‘Gil Blas,’ Etienne Varin came here,remained alone in this room, found the safe empty, and.... killedhimself.”

After a moment, Daspry said:

“A very simple theory....Has Mon. Andermatt spoken to you sincethen?”

“No.”

“Has his attitude toward you changed in any way? Does he appear moregloomy, more anxious?”

“No, I haven’t noticed any change.”

“And yet you think he has secured the letters. Now, in my opinion, he hasnot got those letters, and it was not he who came here on the night of 22June.”

“Who was it, then?”

“The mysterious individual who is managing this affair, who holds all thethreads in his hands, and whose invisible but far-reaching power we have feltfrom the beginning. It was he and his friends who entered this house on 22June; it was he who discovered the hiding-place of the papers; it was he wholeft Mon. Andermatt’s card; it is he who now holds the correspondence andthe evidence of the treachery of the Varin brothers.”

“Who is he?” I asked, impatiently.

“The man who writes letters to the Echo de France.... Salvator!Have we not convincing evidence of that fact? Does he not mention in hisletters certain details that no one could know, except the man who had thusdiscovered the secrets of the two brothers?”

“Well, then,” stammered Madame Andermatt, in great alarm, “hehas my letters also, and it is he who now threatens my husband. Mon Dieu! Whatam I to do?”

“Write to him,” declared Daspry. “Confide in him withoutreserve. Tell him all you know and all you may hereafter learn. Your interestand his interest are the same. He is not working against Mon. Andermatt, butagainst Alfred Varin. Help him.”

“How?”

“Has your husband the document that completes the plans of LouisLacombe?”

“Yes.”

“Tell that to Salvator, and, if possible, procure the document for him.Write to him at once. You risk nothing.”

The advice was bold, dangerous even at first sight, but Madame Andermatt had nochoice. Besides, as Daspry had said, she ran no risk. If the unknown writerwere an enemy, that step would not aggravate the situation. If he were astranger seeking to accomplish a particular purpose, he would attach to thoseletters only a secondary importance. Whatever might happen, it was the onlysolution offered to her, and she, in her anxiety, was only too glad to act onit. She thanked us effusively, and promised to keep us informed.

In fact, two days later, she sent us the following letter that she had receivedfrom Salvator:

“Have not found the letters, but I will get them. Rest easy. I amwatching everything. S.”

I looked at the letter. It was in the same handwriting as the note I found inmy book on the night of 22 June.

Daspry was right. Salvator was, indeed, the originator of that affair.

We were beginning to see a little light coming out of the darkness thatsurrounded us, and an unexpected light was thrown on certain points; but otherpoints yet remained obscure—for instance, the finding of the twoseven-of-hearts. Perhaps I was unnecessarily concerned about those two cardswhose seven punctured spots had appeared to me under such startlingcirc*mstances! Yet I could not refrain from asking myself: What role will theyplay in the drama? What importance do they bear? What conclusion must be drawnfrom the fact that the submarine constructed from the plans of Louis Lacombebore the name of ‘Seven-of-Hearts’?

Daspry gave little thought to the other two cards; he devoted all his attentionto another problem which he considered more urgent; he was seeking the famoushiding-place.

“And who knows,” said he, “I may find the letters thatSalvator did not find—by inadvertence, perhaps. It is improbable that theVarin brothers would have removed from a spot, which they deemed inaccessible,the weapon which was so valuable to them.”

And he continued to search. In a short time, the large room held no moresecrets for him, so he extended his investigations to the other rooms. Heexamined the interior and the exterior, the stones of the foundation, thebricks in the walls; he raised the slates of the roof.

One day, he came with a pickaxe and a spade, gave me the spade, kept thepickaxe, pointed to the adjacent vacant lots, and said: “Come.”

I followed him, but I lacked his enthusiasm. He divided the vacant land intoseveral sections which he examined in turn. At last, in a corner, at the angleformed by the walls of two neighboring proprietors, a small pile of earth andgravel, covered with briers and grass, attracted his attention. He attacked it.I was obliged to help him. For an hour, under a hot sun, we labored withoutsuccess. I was discouraged, but Daspry urged me on. His ardor was as strong asever.

At last, Daspry’s pickaxe unearthed some bones—the remains of askeleton to which some scraps of clothing still hung. Suddenly, I turned pale.I had discovered, sticking in the earth, a small piece of iron cut in the formof a rectangle, on which I thought I could see red spots. I stooped and pickedit up. That little iron plate was the exact size of a playing-card, and the redspots, made with red lead, were arranged upon it in a manner similar to theseven-of-hearts, and each spot was pierced with a round hole similar to theperforations in the two playing cards.

“Listen, Daspry, I have had enough of this. You can stay if it interestsyou. But I am going.”

Was that simply the expression of my excited nerves? Or was it the result of alaborious task executed under a burning sun? I know that I trembled as I walkedaway, and that I went to bed, where I remained forty-eight hours, restless andfeverish, haunted by skeletons that danced around me and threw their bleedinghearts at my head.

Daspry was faithful to me. He came to my house every day, and remained three orfour hours, which he spent in the large room, ferreting, thumping, tapping.

“The letters are here, in this room,” he said, from time to time,“they are here. I will stake my life on it.”

On the morning of the third day I arose—feeble yet, but cured. Asubstantial breakfast cheered me up. But a letter that I received thatafternoon contributed, more than anything else, to my complete recovery, andaroused in me a lively curiosity. This was the letter:

“Monsieur,
“The drama, the first act of which transpired on the night of 22June, is now drawing to a close. Force of circ*mstances compel me to bring thetwo principal actors in that drama face to face, and I wish that meeting totake place in your house, if you will be so kind as to give me the use of itfor this evening from nine o’clock to eleven. It will be advisable togive your servant leave of absence for the evening, and, perhaps, you will beso kind as to leave the field open to the two adversaries. You will rememberthat when I visited your house on the night of 22 June, I took excellent careof your property. I feel that I would do you an injustice if I should doubt,for one moment, your absolute discretion in this affair. Your devoted,

“SALVATOR.”

I was amused at the facetious tone of his letter and also at the whimsicalnature of his request. There was a charming display of confidence and candor inhis language, and nothing in the world could have induced me to deceive him orrepay his confidence with ingratitude.

I gave my servant a theatre ticket, and he left the house at eighto’clock. A few minutes later, Daspry arrived. I showed him the letter.

“Well?” said he.

“Well, I have left the garden gate unlocked, so anyone can enter.”

“And you—are you going away?”

“Not at all. I intend to stay right here.”

“But he asks you to go—-”

“But I am not going. I will be discreet, but I am resolved to see whattakes place.”

“Ma foi!” exclaimed Daspry, laughing, “you are right, and Ishall stay with you. I shouldn’t like to miss it.”

We were interrupted by the sound of the door-bell.

“Here already?” said Daspry, “twenty minutes ahead of time!Incredible!”

I went to the door and ushered in the visitor. It was Madame Andermatt. She wasfaint and nervous, and in a stammering voice, she ejacul*ted:

“My husband.... is coming.... he has an appointment.... they intend togive him the letters....”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“By chance. A message came for my husband while we were at dinner. Theservant gave it to me by mistake. My husband grabbed it quickly, but he was toolate. I had read it.”

“You read it?”

“Yes. It was something like this: ‘At nine o’clock thisevening, be at Boulevard Maillot with the papers connected with the affair. Inexchange, the letters.’ So, after dinner, I hastened here.”

“Unknown to your husband?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think about it?” asked Daspry, turning to me.

“I think as you do, that Mon. Andermatt is one of the invitedguests.”

“Yes, but for what purpose?”

“That is what we are going to find out.”

I led them to a large room. The three of us could hide comfortably behind thevelvet chimney-mantle, and observe all that should happen in the room. Weseated ourselves there, with Madame Andermatt in the centre.

The clock struck nine. A few minutes later, the garden gate creaked upon itshinges. I confess that I was greatly agitated. I was about to learn the key tothe mystery. The startling events of the last few weeks were about to beexplained, and, under my eyes, the last battle was going to be fought. Daspryseized the hand of Madame Andermatt, and said to her:

“Not a word, not a movement! Whatever you may see or hear, keepquiet!”

Some one entered. It was Alfred Varin. I recognized him at once, owing to theclose resemblance he bore to his brother Etienne. There was the same slouchinggait; the same cadaverous face covered with a black beard.

He entered with the nervous air of a man who is accustomed to fear the presenceof traps and ambushes; who scents and avoids them. He glanced about the room,and I had the impression that the chimney, masked with a velvet portière, didnot please him. He took three steps in our direction, when something caused himto turn and walk toward the old mosaic king, with the flowing beard andflamboyant sword, which he examined minutely, mounting on a chair and followingwith his fingers the outlines of the shoulders and head and feeling certainparts of the face. Suddenly, he leaped from the chair and walked away from it.He had heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Mon. Andermatt appeared at thedoor.

“You! You!” exclaimed the banker. “Was it you who brought mehere?”

“I? By no means,” protested Varin, in a rough, jerky voice thatreminded me of his brother, “on the contrary, it was your letter thatbrought me here.”

“My letter?”

“A letter signed by you, in which you offered—-”

“I never wrote to you,” declared Mon. Andermatt.

“You did not write to me!”

Instinctively, Varin was put on his guard, not against the banker, but againstthe unknown enemy who had drawn him into this trap. A second time, he looked inour direction, then walked toward the door. But Mon. Andermatt barred hispassage.

“Well, where are you going, Varin?”

“There is something about this affair I don’t like. I am goinghome. Good evening.”

“One moment!”

“No need of that, Mon. Andermatt. I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I have something to say to you, and this is a good time to sayit.”

“Let me pass.”

“No, you will not pass.”

Varin recoiled before the resolute attitude of the banker, as he muttered:

“Well, then, be quick about it.”

One thing astonished me; and I have no doubt my two companions experienced asimilar feeling. Why was Salvator not there? Was he not a necessary party atthis conference? Or was he satisfied to let these two adversaries fight it outbetween themselves? At all events, his absence was a great disappointment,although it did not detract from the dramatic strength of the situation.

After a moment, Mon. Andermatt approached Varin and, face to face, eye to eye,said:

“Now, after all these years and when you have nothing more to fear, youcan answer me candidly: What have you done with Louis Lacombe?”

“What a question! As if I knew anything about him!”

“You do know! You and your brother were his constant companions, almostlived with him in this very house. You knew all about his plans and his work.And the last night I ever saw Louis Lacombe, when I parted with him at my door,I saw two men slinking away in the shadows of the trees. That, I am ready toswear to.”

“Well, what has that to do with me?”

“The two men were you and your brother.”

“Prove it.”

“The best proof is that, two days later, you yourself showed me thepapers and the plans that belonged to Lacombe and offered to sell them. How didthese papers come into your possession?”

“I have already told you, Mon. Andermatt, that we found them on LouisLacombe’s table, the morning after his disappearance.”

“That is a lie!”

“Prove it.”

“The law will prove it.”

“Why did you not appeal to the law?”

“Why? Ah! Why—-,” stammered the banker, with a slight displayof emotion.

“You know very well, Mon. Andermatt, if you had the least certainty ofour guilt, our little threat would not have stopped you.”

“What threat? Those letters? Do you suppose I ever gave those letters amoment’s thought?”

“If you did not care for the letters, why did you offer me thousands offrancs for their return? And why did you have my brother and me tracked likewild beasts?”

“To recover the plans.”

“Nonsense! You wanted the letters. You knew that as soon as you had theletters in your possession, you could denounce us. Oh! no, I couldn’tpart with them!”

He laughed heartily, but stopped suddenly, and said:

“But, enough of this! We are merely going over old ground. We make noheadway. We had better let things stand as they are.”

“We will not let them stand as they are,” said the banker,“and since you have referred to the letters, let me tell you that youwill not leave this house until you deliver up those letters.”

“I shall go when I please.”

“You will not.”

“Be careful, Mon. Andermatt. I warn you—-”

“I say, you shall not go.”

“We will see about that,” cried Varin, in such a rage that MadameAndermatt could not suppress a cry of fear. Varin must have heard it, for henow tried to force his way out. Mon. Andermatt pushed him back. Then I saw himput his hand into his coat pocket.

“For the last time, let me pass,” he cried.

“The letters, first!”

Varin drew a revolver and, pointing it at Mon. Andermatt, said:

“Yes or no?”

The banker stooped quickly. There was the sound of a pistol-shot. The weaponfell from Varin’s hand. I was amazed. The shot was fired close to me. Itwas Daspry who had fired it at Varin, causing him to drop the revolver. In amoment, Daspry was standing between the two men, facing Varin; he said to him,with a sneer:

“You were lucky, my friend, very lucky. I fired at your hand and struckonly the revolver.”

Both of them looked at him, surprised. Then he turned to the banker, and said:

“I beg your pardon, monsieur, for meddling in your business; but, really,you play a very poor game. Let me hold the cards.”

Turning again to Varin, Daspry said:

“It’s between us two, comrade, and play fair, if you please. Heartsare trumps, and I play the seven.”

Then Daspry held up, before Varin’s bewildered eyes, the little ironplate, marked with the seven red spots. It was a terrible shock to Varin. Withlivid features, staring eyes, and an air of intense agony, the man seemed to behypnotized at the sight of it.

“Who are you?” he gasped.

“One who meddles in other people’s business, down to the verybottom.”

“What do you want?”

“What you brought here tonight.”

“I brought nothing.”

“Yes, you did, or you wouldn’t have come. This morning, youreceived an invitation to come here at nine o’clock, and bring with youall the papers held by you. You are here. Where are the papers?”

There was in Daspry’s voice and manner a tone of authority that I did notunderstand; his manner was usually quite mild and conciliatory. Absolutelyconquered, Varin placed his hand on one of his pockets, and said:

“The papers are here.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“All that you took from Louis Lacombe and afterwards sold to Major vonLieben?”

“Yes.”

“Are these the copies or the originals?”

“I have the originals.”

“How much do you want for them?”

“One hundred thousand francs.”

“You are crazy,” said Daspry. “Why, the major gave you onlytwenty thousand, and that was like money thrown into the sea, as the boat was afailure at the preliminary trials.”

“They didn’t understand the plans.”

“The plans are not complete.”

“Then, why do you ask me for them?”

“Because I want them. I offer you five thousand francs—not a soumore.”

“Ten thousand. Not a sou less.”

“Agreed,” said Daspry, who now turned to Mon. Andermatt, and said:

“Monsieur will kindly sign a check for the amount.”

“But....I haven’t got—-”

“Your check-book? Here it is.”

Astounded, Mon. Andermatt examined the check-book that Daspry handed to him.

“It is mine,” he gasped. “How does that happen?”

“No idle words, monsieur, if you please. You have merely to sign.”

The banker took out his fountain pen, filled out the check and signed it. Varinheld out his hand for it.

“Put down your hand,” said Daspry, “there is somethingmore.” Then, to the banker, he said: “You asked for some letters,did you not?”

“Yes, a package of letters.”

“Where are they, Varin?”

“I haven’t got them.”

“Where are they, Varin?”

“I don’t know. My brother had charge of them.”

“They are hidden in this room.”

“In that case, you know where they are.”

“How should I know?”

“Was it not you who found the hiding-place? You appear to be as wellinformed.... as Salvator.”

“The letters are not in the hiding-place.”

“They are.”

“Open it.”

Varin looked at him, defiantly. Were not Daspry and Salvator the same person?Everything pointed to that conclusion. If so, Varin risked nothing indisclosing a hiding-place already known.

“Open it,” repeated Daspry.

“I have not got the seven of hearts.”

“Yes, here it is,” said Daspry, handing him the iron plate. Varinrecoiled in terror, and cried:

“No, no, I will not.”

“Never mind,” replied Daspry, as he walked toward the bearded king,climbed on a chair and applied the seven of hearts to the lower part of thesword in such a manner that the edges of the iron plate coincided exactly withthe two edges of the sword. Then, with the assistance of an awl which heintroduced alternately into each of the seven holes, he pressed upon seven ofthe little mosaic stones. As he pressed upon the seventh one, a clicking soundwas heard, and the entire bust of the King turned upon a pivot, disclosing alarge opening lined with steel. It was really a fire-proof safe.

“You can see, Varin, the safe is empty.”

“So I see. Then, my brother has taken out the letters.”

Daspry stepped down from the chair, approached Varin, and said:

“Now, no more nonsense with me. There is another hiding-place. Where isit?”

“There is none.”

“Is it money you want? How much?”

“Ten thousand.”

“Monsieur Andermatt, are those letters worth ten thousand francs toyou?”

“Yes,” said the banker, firmly.

Varin closed the safe, took the seven of hearts and placed it again on thesword at the same spot. He thrust the awl into each of the seven holes. Therewas the same clicking sound, but this time, strange to relate, it was only aportion of the safe that revolved on the pivot, disclosing quite a small safethat was built within the door of the larger one. The packet of letters washere, tied with a tape, and sealed. Varin handed the packet to Daspry. Thelatter turned to the banker, and asked:

“Is the check ready, Monsieur Andermatt?”

“Yes.”

“And you have also the last document that you received from LouisLacombe—the one that completes the plans of the sub-marine?”

“Yes.”

The exchange was made. Daspry pocketed the document and the checks, and offeredthe packet of letters to Mon. Andermatt.

“This is what you wanted, Monsieur.”

The banker hesitated a moment, as if he were afraid to touch those cursedletters that he had sought so eagerly. Then, with a nervous movement, he tookthem. Close to me, I heard a moan. I grasped Madame Andermatt’s hand. Itwas cold.

“I believe, monsieur,” said Daspry to the banker, “that ourbusiness is ended. Oh! no thanks. It was only by a mere chance that I have beenable to do you a good turn. Good-night.”

Mon. Andermatt retired. He carried with him the letters written by his wife toLouis Lacombe.

“Marvelous!” exclaimed Daspry, delighted. “Everything iscoming our way. Now, we have only to close our little affair, comrade. You havethe papers?”

“Here they are—all of them.”

Daspry examined them carefully, and then placed them in his pocket.

“Quite right. You have kept your word,” he said.

“But—-”

“But what?”

“The two checks? The money?” said Varin, eagerly.

“Well, you have a great deal of assurance, my man. How dare you ask sucha thing?”

“I ask only what is due to me.”

“Can you ask pay for returning papers that you stole? Well, I thinknot!”

Varin was beside himself. He trembled with rage; his eyes were bloodshot.

“The money.... the twenty thousand....” he stammered.

“Impossible! I need it myself.”

“The money!”

“Come, be reasonable, and don’t get excited. It won’t do youany good.”

Daspry seized his arm so forcibly, that Varin uttered a cry of pain. Dasprycontinued:

“Now, you can go. The air will do you good. Perhaps you want me to showyou the way. Ah! yes, we will go together to the vacant lot near here, and Iwill show you a little mound of earth and stones and under it—-”

“That is false! That is false!”

“Oh! no, it is true. That little iron plate with the seven spots on itcame from there. Louis Lacombe always carried it, and you buried it with thebody—and with some other things that will prove very interesting to ajudge and jury.”

Varin covered his face with his hands, and muttered:

“All right, I am beaten. Say no more. But I want to ask you one question.I should like to know—-”

“What is it?”

“Was there a little casket in the large safe?”

“Yes.”

“Was it there on the night of 22 June?”

“Yes.”

“What did it contain?”

“Everything that the Varin brothers had put in it—a very prettycollection of diamonds and pearls picked up here and there by the saidbrothers.”

“And did you take it?”

“Of course I did. Do you blame me?”

“I understand.... it was the disappearance of that casket that caused mybrother to kill himself.”

“Probably. The disappearance of your correspondence was not a sufficientmotive. But the disappearance of the casket....Is that all you wish to askme?”

“One thing more: your name?”

“You ask that with an idea of seeking revenge.”

“Parbleu! The tables may be turned. Today, you are on top.To-morrow—-”

“It will be you.”

“I hope so. Your name?”

“Arsène Lupin.”

“Arsène Lupin!”

The man staggered, as though stunned by a heavy blow. Those two words haddeprived him of all hope.

Daspry laughed, and said:

“Ah! did you imagine that a Monsieur Durand or Dupont could manage anaffair like this? No, it required the skill and cunning of Arsène Lupin. Andnow that you have my name, go and prepare your revenge. Arsène Lupin will waitfor you.”

Then he pushed the bewildered Varin through the door.

“Daspry! Daspry!” I cried, pushing aside the curtain. He ran to me.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Madame Andermatt is ill.”

He hastened to her, caused her to inhale some salts, and, while caring for her,questioned me:

“Well, what did it?”

“The letters of Louis Lacombe that you gave to her husband.”

He struck his forehead and said:

“Did she think that I could do such a thing!...But, of course she would.Imbecile that I am!”

Madame Andermatt was now revived. Daspry took from his pocket a small packageexactly similar to the one that Mon. Andermatt had carried away.

“Here are your letters, Madame. These are the genuine letters.”

“But.... the others?”

“The others are the same, rewritten by me and carefully worded. Yourhusband will not find anything objectionable in them, and will never suspectthe substitution since they were taken from the safe in his presence.”

“But the handwriting—-”

“There is no handwriting that cannot be imitated.”

She thanked him in the same words she might have used to a man in her ownsocial circle, so I concluded that she had not witnessed the final scenebetween Varin and Arsène Lupin. But the surprising revelation caused meconsiderable embarrassment. Lupin! My club companion was none other than ArsèneLupin. I could not realize it. But he said, quite at his ease:

“You can say farewell to Jean Daspry.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, Jean Daspry is going on a long journey. I shall send him toMorocco. There, he may find a death worthy of him. I may say that that is hisexpectation.”

“But Arsène Lupin will remain?”

“Oh! Decidedly. Arsène Lupin is simply at the threshold of his career,and he expects—-”

I was impelled by curiosity to interrupt him, and, leading him away from thehearing of Madame Andermatt, I asked:

“Did you discover the smaller safe yourself—the one that held theletters?”

“Yes, after a great deal of trouble. I found it yesterday afternoon whileyou were asleep. And yet, God knows it was simple enough! But the simplestthings are the ones that usually escape our notice.” Then, showing me theseven-of-hearts, he added: “Of course I had guessed that, in order toopen the larger safe, this card must be placed on the sword of the mosaicking.”

“How did you guess that?”

“Quite easily. Through private information, I knew that fact when I camehere on the evening of 22 June—-”

“After you left me—-”

“Yes, after turning the subject of our conversation to stories of crimeand robbery which were sure to reduce you to such a nervous condition that youwould not leave your bed, but would allow me to complete my searchuninterrupted.”

“The scheme worked perfectly.”

“Well, I knew when I came here that there was a casket concealed in asafe with a secret lock, and that the seven-of-hearts was the key to that lock.I had merely to place the card upon the spot that was obviously intended forit. An hour’s examination showed me where the spot was.”

“One hour!”

“Observe the fellow in mosaic.”

“The old emperor?”

“That old emperor is an exact representation of the king of hearts on allplaying cards.”

“That’s right. But how does the seven of hearts open the largersafe at one time and the smaller safe at another time? And why did you openonly the larger safe in the first instance? I mean on the night of 22June.”

“Why? Because I always placed the seven of hearts in the same way. Inever changed the position. But, yesterday, I observed that by reversing thecard, by turning it upside down, the arrangement of the seven spots on themosaic was changed.”

“Parbleu!”

“Of course, parbleu! But a person has to think of those things.”

“There is something else: you did not know the history of those lettersuntil Madame Andermatt—-”

“Spoke of them before me? No. Because I found in the safe, besides thecasket, nothing but the correspondence of the two brothers which disclosedtheir treachery in regard to the plans.”

“Then it was by chance that you were led, first, to investigate thehistory of the two brothers, and then to search for the plans and documentsrelating to the sub-marine?”

“Simply by chance.”

“For what purpose did you make the search?”

“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Daspry, laughing, “how deeplyinterested you are!”

“The subject fascinates me.”

“Very well, presently, after I have escorted Madame Andermatt to acarriage, and dispatched a short story to the Echo de France, I willreturn and tell you all about it.”

He sat down and wrote one of those short, clear-cut articles which served toamuse and mystify the public. Who does not recall the sensation that followedthat article produced throughout the entire world?

“Arsène Lupin has solved the problem recently submitted by Salvator.Having acquired possession of all the documents and original plans of theengineer Louis Lacombe, he has placed them in the hands of the Minister ofMarine, and he has headed a subscription list for the purpose of presenting tothe nation the first submarine constructed from those plans. His subscriptionis twenty thousand francs.”

“Twenty thousand francs! The checks of Mon. Andermatt?” Iexclaimed, when he had given me the paper to read.

“Exactly. It was quite right that Varin should redeem histreachery.”

And that is how I made the acquaintance of Arsène Lupin. That is how I learnedthat Jean Daspry, a member of my club, was none other than Arsène Lupin,gentleman-thief. That is how I formed very agreeable ties of friendship withthat famous man, and, thanks to the confidence with which he honored me, how Ibecame his very humble and faithful historiographer.

VII. Madame Imbert’s Safe

At three o’clock in the morning, there were still half a dozen carriagesin front of one of those small houses which form only the side of the boulevardBerthier. The door of that house opened, and a number of guests, male andfemale, emerged. The majority of them entered their carriages and were quicklydriven away, leaving behind only two men who walked down Courcelles, where theyparted, as one of them lived in that street. The other decided to return onfoot 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 hewas being followed. Turning around, he saw a man skulking amongst the trees. Hewas not a coward; yet he felt it advisable to increase his speed. Then hispursuer commenced to run; and he deemed it prudent to draw his revolver andface 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 thathis unknown assailant had the advantage. He called for help, struggled, and wasthrown down on a pile of gravel, seized by the throat, and gagged with ahandkerchief that his assailant forced into his mouth. His eyes closed, and theman who was smothering him with his weight arose to defend himself against anunexpected attack. A blow from a cane and a kick from a boot; the man utteredtwo cries of pain, and fled, limping and cursing. Without deigning to pursuethe 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 procureda carriage, placed him in it, and accompanied him to his house on the avenue dela Grande-Armée. On his arrival there, quite recovered, he overwhelmed hissaviour with thanks.

“I owe you my life, monsieur, and I shall not forget it. I do not wish toalarm my wife at this time of night, but, to-morrow, she will be pleased tothank 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. Thename was specially invented to designate the rescuer of Mon. Imbert; that is tosay, it was in that affair that Arsène Lupin was baptized. Fully armed andready for the fray, it is true, but lacking the resources and authority whichcommand success, Arsène Lupin was then merely an apprentice in a professionwherein he soon became a master.

With what a thrill of joy he recalled the invitation he received that night! Atlast, he had reached his goal! At last, he had undertaken a task worthy of hisstrength and skill! The Imbert millions! What a magnificent feast for anappetite like his!

He prepared a special toilet for the occasion; a shabby frock-coat, baggytrousers, a frayed silk hat, well-worn collar and cuffs, all quite correct inform, but bearing the unmistakable stamp of poverty. His cravat was a blackribbon pinned with a false diamond. Thus accoutred, he descended the stairs ofthe house in which he lived at Montmartre. At the third floor, withoutstopping, he rapped on a closed door with the head of his cane. He walked tothe exterior boulevards. A tram-car was passing. He boarded it, and some onewho had been following him took a seat beside him. It was the lodger whooccupied 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 atyour hands. Mon. Imbert is not devoid of gratitude. He invited me tobreakfast.”

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 caseof assault and battery, when I took the trouble at three o’clock in themorning, to rap you with my cane and tap you with my boot at the risk ofinjuring my only friend, it was not my intention to forego the advantages to begained 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 menof straw; for six months, I have shadowed the husband and wife. Consequently, Iknow what I am talking about. Whether the fortune came to them from oldBrawford, as they pretend, or from some other source, I do not care. I knowthat 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 fullof bonds, and there will be the devil to pay if I can’t get my hands onthem.”

The tram-car stopped at the Place de l’Etoile. The man whispered toLupin:

“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 stairsin the Imbert mansion, and Mon. Imbert introduced him to his wife. MadameGervaise Imbert was a short plump woman, and very talkative. She gave Lupin acordial welcome.

“I desired that we should be alone to entertain our saviour,” shesaid.

From the outset, they treated “our saviour” as an old and valuedfriend. By the time dessert was served, their friendship was well cemented, andprivate 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 hispresent difficulties. Gervaise, in turn, spoke of her youth, her marriage, thekindness of the aged Brawford, the hundred millions that she had inherited, theobstacles 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! theinjunctions! in fact, everything!

“Just think of it, Monsieur Lupin, the bonds are there, in myhusband’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 samedifficulty as his fair hostess who declared she dare not touch the money.

“Ah! they are there!” he repeated, to himself; “they arethere!”

A friendship formed under such circ*mstances soon led to closer relations. Whendiscreetly questioned, Arsène Lupin confessed his poverty and distress.Immediately, the unfortunate young man was appointed private secretary to theImberts, husband and wife, at a salary of one hundred francs a month. He was tocome to the house every day and receive orders for his work, and a room on thesecond 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, andwas called only once to Mon. Imbert’s office; consequently, he had onlyone opportunity to contemplate, officially, the Imbert safe. Moreover, henoticed that the secretary was not invited to the social functions of theemployer. But he did not complain, as he preferred to remain, modestly, in theshade and maintain his peace and freedom.

However, he was not wasting any time. From the beginning, he made clandestinevisits to Mon. Imbert’s office, and paid his respects to the safe, whichwas hermetically closed. It was an immense block of iron and steel, cold andstern in appearance, which could not be forced open by the ordinary tools ofthe 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. Inthe meantime, I must watch and wait.”

He made immediately some preliminary preparations. After careful soundings madeupon the floor of his room, he introduced a lead pipe which penetrated theceiling of Mon. Imbert’s office at a point between the two screeds of thecornice. By means of this pipe, he hoped to see and hear what transpired in theroom below.

Henceforth, he passed his days stretched at full length upon the floor. Hefrequently saw the Imberts holding a consultation in front of the safe,investigating books and papers. When they turned the combination lock, he triedto 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 akey 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 thestairs quickly, and boldly entered the room. But they had returned.

“Oh! excuse me,” he said, “I made a mistake in thedoor.”

“Come in, Monsieur Lupin, come in,” cried Madame Imbert, “areyou not at home here? We want your advice. What bonds should we sell? Theforeign 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 herhusband protested.

“No, no, Gervaise, it would be foolish to sell the foreign bonds. Theyare going up, whilst the annuities are as high as they ever will be. What doyou 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. Itproved to be a three-per-cent annuity worth two thousand francs. Ludovic placedthe package of bonds in his pocket. That afternoon, accompanied by hissecretary, he sold the annuities to a stock-broker and realized forty-sixthousand francs.

Whatever Madame Imbert might have said about it, Arsène Lupin did not feel athome in the Imbert house. On the contrary, his position there was a peculiarone. He learned that the servants did not even know his name. They called him“monsieur.” Ludovic always spoke of him in the same way: “Youwill tell monsieur. Has monsieur arrived?” Why that mysteriousappellation?

Moreover, after their first outburst of enthusiasm, the Imberts seldom spoke tohim, and, although treating him with the consideration due to a benefactor,they gave him little or no attention. They appeared to regard him as aneccentric character who did not like to be disturbed, and they respected hisisolation as if it were a stringent rule on his part. On one occasion, whilepassing 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, heproceeded with the execution of his own plans. He had decided that he could notdepend on chance, nor on the negligence of Madame Imbert, who carried the keyof the safe, and who, on locking the safe, invariably scattered the lettersforming the combination of the lock. Consequently, he must act for himself.

Finally, an incident precipitated matters; it was the vehement campaigninstituted against the Imberts by certain newspapers that accused the Imbertsof swindling. Arsène Lupin was present at certain family conferences when thisnew vicissitude was discussed. He decided that if he waited much longer, hewould lose everything. During the next five days, instead of leaving the houseabout six o’clock, according to his usual habit, he locked himself in hisroom. It was supposed that he had gone out. But he was lying on the floorsurveying the office of Mon. Imbert. During those five evenings, the favorableopportunity that he awaited did not take place. He left the house aboutmidnight by a side door to which he held the key.

But on the sixth day, he learned that the Imberts, actuated by the malevolentinsinuations of their enemies, proposed to make an inventory of the contents ofthe safe.

“They will do it to-night,” thought Lupin.

And truly, after dinner, Imbert and his wife retired to the office andcommenced to examine the books of account and the securities contained in thesafe. Thus, one hour after another passed away. He heard the servants goupstairs to their rooms. No one now remained on the first floor. Midnight! TheImberts were still at work.

“I must get to work,” murmured Lupin.

He opened his window. It opened on a court. Outside, everything was dark andquiet. He took from his desk a knotted rope, fastened it to the balcony infront of his window, and quietly descended as far as the window below, whichwas that of the of Imbert’s office. He stood upon the balcony for amoment, motionless, with attentive ear and watchful eye, but the heavy curtainseffectually concealed the interior of the room. He cautiously pushed on thedouble window. If no one had examined it, it ought to yield to the slightestpressure, for, during the afternoon, he had so fixed the bolt that it would notenter the staple.

The window yielded to his touch. Then, with infinite care, he pushed it opensufficiently 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 absorbedin their work and speaking softly to each other at rare intervals.

He calculated the distance between him and them, considered the exact movementshe would require to make in order to overcome them, one after the other, beforethey could call for help, and he was about to rush upon them, when MadameImbert said:

“Ah! the room is getting quite cold. I am going to bed. And you, mydear?”

“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 alittle farther open. The curtains shook. He pushed once more. Mon. Imbertturned, and, seeing the curtains blown by the wind, he rose to close thewindow.

There was not a cry, not the trace of struggle. With a few precise moments, andwithout causing him the least injury, Arsène stunned him, wrapped the curtainabout his head, bound him hand and foot, and did it all in such a manner thatMon. Imbert had no opportunity to recognize his assailant.

Quickly, he approached the safe, seized two packages that he placed under hisarm, left the office, and opened the servants’ gate. A carriage wasstationed in the street.

“Take that, first—and follow me,” he said to the coachman. Hereturned to the office, and, in two trips, they emptied the safe. Then Arsènewent to his own room, removed the rope, and all other traces of his clandestinework.

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 Imbertshad been greatly exaggerated. It did not consist of hundreds of millions, noreven tens of millions. Yet it amounted to a very respectable sum, and Lupinexpressed his satisfaction.

“Of course,” he said, “there will be a considerable loss whenwe come to sell the bonds, as we will have to dispose of them surreptitiouslyat reduced prices. In the meantime, they will rest quietly in my desk awaitinga propitious moment.”

Arsène saw no reason why he should not go to the Imbert house the next day. Buta perusal of the morning papers revealed this startling fact: Ludovic andGervaise Imbert had disappeared.

When the officers of the law seized the safe and opened it, they found therewhat Arsène Lupin had left—nothing.

Such are the facts; and I learned the sequel to them, one day, when ArsèneLupin was in a confidential mood. He was pacing to and fro in my room, with anervous step and a feverish eye that were unusual to him.

“After all,” I said to him, “it was your most successfulventure.”

Without making a direct reply, he said:

“There are some impenetrable secrets connected with that affair; someobscure points that escape my comprehension. For instance: What caused theirflight? 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 thesafe. 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 istrue—-”

“What is true?”

“Oh! nothing.”

What was the meaning of Lupin’s reticence? It was quite obvious that hehad not told me everything; there was something he was loath to tell. Hisconduct puzzled me. It must indeed be a very serious matter to cause such a manas Arsène Lupin even a momentary hesitation. I threw out a few questions atrandom.

“Have you seen them since?”

“No.”

“And have you never experienced the slightest degree of pity for thoseunfortunate people?”

“I!” he exclaimed, with a start.

His sudden excitement astonished me. Had I touched him on a sore spot? Icontinued:

“Of course. If you had not left them alone, they might have been able toface the danger, or, at least, made their escape with full pockets.”

“What do you mean?” he said, indignantly. “I suppose you havean 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 theirwealth? Is that my crime? Ah! my dear boy, you do not know the truth. You neverimagined that those bonds were not worth the paper they were written on. Thosebonds were false—they were counterfeit—every one of them—doyou understand? THEY WERE COUNTERFEIT!”

I looked at him, astounded.

“Counterfeit! The four or five millions?”

“Yes, counterfeit!” he exclaimed, in a fit of rage. “Only somany scraps of paper! I couldn’t raise a sou on the whole of them! Andyou ask me if I have any remorse. They are the ones who should haveremorse and pity. They played me for a simpleton; and I fell into their trap. Iwas their latest victim, their most stupid gull!”

He was affected by genuine anger—the result of malice and wounded pride.He continued:

“From start to finish, I got the worst of it. Do you know the part Iplayed in that affair, or rather the part they made me play? That of AndréBrawford! Yes, my boy, that is the truth, and I never suspected it. It was notuntil afterwards, on reading the newspapers, that the light finally dawned inmy stupid brain. Whilst I was posing as his “saviour,” as thegentleman who had risked his life to rescue Mon. Imbert from the clutches of anassassin, they were passing me off as Brawford. Wasn’t that splendid?That eccentric individual who had a room on the second floor, that barbarianthat was exhibited only at a distance, was Brawford, and Brawford was I! Thanksto me, and to the confidence that I inspired under the name of Brawford, theywere enabled to borrow money from the bankers and other money-lenders. Ha! whatan experience for a novice! And I swear to you that I shall profit by thelesson!”

He stopped, seized my arm, and said to me, in a tone of exasperation:

“My dear fellow, at this very moment, Gervaise Imbert owes me fifteenhundred francs.”

I could not refrain from laughter, his rage was so grotesque. He was making amountain out of a molehill. In a moment, he laughed himself, and said:

“Yes, my boy, fifteen hundred francs. You must know that I had notreceived one sou of my promised salary, and, more than that, she had borrowedfrom me the sum of fifteen hundred francs. All my youthful savings! And do youknow why? To devote the money to charity! I am giving you a straight story. Shewanted it for some poor people she was assisting—unknown to her husband.And my hard-earned money was wormed out of me by that silly pretense!Isn’t it amusing, hein? Arsène Lupin done out of fifteen hundred francsby the fair lady from whom he stole four millions in counterfeit bonds! Andwhat a vast amount of time and patience and cunning I expended to achieve thatresult! It was the first time in my life that I was played for a fool, and Ifrankly confess that I was fooled that time to the queen’s taste!”

VIII. The Black Pearl

A violent ringing of the bell awakened the concierge of number nine, avenueHoche. She pulled the doorstring, grumbling:

“I thought everybody was in. It must be three o’clock!”

“Perhaps it is some one for the doctor,” muttered her husband.

At that moment, a voice inquired:

“Doctor Harel .... what floor?”

“Third floor, left. But the doctor won’t go out at night.”

“He must go to-night.”

The visitor entered the vestibule, ascended to the first floor, the second, thethird, and, without stopping at the doctor’s door, he continued to thefifth floor. There, he tried two keys. One of them fitted the lock.

“Ah! good!” he murmured, “that simplifies the businesswonderfully. But before I commence work I had better arrange for my retreat.Let me see.... have I had sufficient time to rouse the doctor and be dismissedby him? Not yet.... a few minutes more.”

At the end of ten minutes, he descended the stairs, grumbling noisily about thedoctor. The concierge opened the door for him and heard it click behind him.But the door did not lock, as the man had quickly inserted a piece of iron inthe lock in such a manner that the bolt could not enter. Then, quietly, heentered the house again, unknown to the concierge. In case of alarm, hisretreat was assured. Noiselessly, he ascended to the fifth floor once more. Inthe antechamber, by the light of his electric lantern, he placed his hat andovercoat on one of the chairs, took a seat on another, and covered his heavyshoes with felt slippers.

“Ouf! Here I am—and how simple it was! I wonder why more people donot adopt the profitable and pleasant occupation of burglar. With a little careand reflection, it becomes a most delightful profession. Not too quiet andmonotonous, of course, as it would then become wearisome.”

He unfolded a detailed plan of the apartment.

“Let me commence by locating myself. Here, I see the vestibule in which Iam sitting. On the street front, the drawing-room, the boudoir and dining-room.Useless to waste any time there, as it appears that the countess has adeplorable taste.... not a bibelot of any value!...Now, let’s get down tobusiness!... Ah! here is a corridor; it must lead to the bed chambers. At adistance of three metres, I should come to the door of the wardrobe-closetwhich connects with the chamber of the countess.” He folded his plan,extinguished his lantern, and proceeded down the corridor, counting hisdistance, thus:

“One metre.... two metres.... three metres....Here is the door....MonDieu, how easy it is! Only a small, simple bolt now separates me from thechamber, and I know that the bolt is located exactly one metre, forty-threecentimeters, from the floor. So that, thanks to a small incision I am about tomake, I can soon get rid of the bolt.”

He drew from his pocket the necessary instruments. Then the following ideaoccurred to him:

“Suppose, by chance, the door is not bolted. I will try it first.”

He turned the knob, and the door opened.

“My brave Lupin, surely fortune favors you....What’s to be donenow? You know the situation of the rooms; you know the place in which thecountess hides the black pearl. Therefore, in order to secure the black pearl,you have simply to be more silent than silence, more invisible than darknessitself.”

Arsène Lupin was employed fully a half-hour in opening the second door—aglass door that led to the countess’ bedchamber. But he accomplished itwith so much skill and precaution, that even had the countess been awake, shewould not have heard the slightest sound. According to the plan of the rooms,that he holds, he has merely to pass around a reclining chair and, beyond that,a small table close to the bed. On the table, there was a box of letter-paper,and the black pearl was concealed in that box. He stooped and crept cautiouslyover the carpet, following the outlines of the reclining-chair. When he reachedthe extremity of it, he stopped in order to repress the throbbing of his heart.Although he was not moved by any sense of fear, he found it impossible toovercome the nervous anxiety that one usually feels in the midst of profoundsilence. That circ*mstance astonished him, because he had passed through manymore solemn moments without the slightest trace of emotion. No dangerthreatened him. Then why did his heart throb like an alarm-bell? Was it thatsleeping woman who affected him? Was it the proximity of another pulsatingheart?

He listened, and thought he could discern the rhythmical breathing of a personasleep. It gave him confidence, like the presence of a friend. He sought andfound the armchair; then, by slow, cautious movements, advanced toward thetable, feeling ahead of him with outstretched arm. His right had touched one ofthe feet of the table. Ah! now, he had simply to rise, take the pearl, andescape. That was fortunate, as his heart was leaping in his breast like a wildbeast, and made so much noise that he feared it would waken the countess. By apowerful effort of the will, he subdued the wild throbbing of his heart, andwas about to rise from the floor when his left hand encountered, lying on thefloor, an object which he recognized as a candlestick—an overturnedcandlestick. A moment later, his hand encountered another object: aclock—one of those small traveling clocks, covered withleather.———

Well! What had happened? He could not understand. That candlestick, that clock;why were those articles not in their accustomed places? Ah! what had happenedin the dread silence of the night?

Suddenly a cry escaped him. He had touched—oh! some strange, unutterablething! “No! no!” he thought, “it cannot be. It is somefantasy of my excited brain.” For twenty seconds, thirty seconds, heremained motionless, terrified, his forehead bathed with perspiration, and hisfingers still retained the sensation of that dreadful contact.

Making a desperate effort, he ventured to extend his arm again. Once more, hishand encountered that strange, unutterable thing. He felt it. He must feel itand find out what it is. He found that it was hair, human hair, and a humanface; and that face was cold, almost icy.

However frightful the circ*mstances may be, a man like Arsène Lupin controlshimself and commands the situation as soon as he learns what it is. So, ArsèneLupin quickly brought his lantern into use. A woman was lying before him,covered with blood. Her neck and shoulders were covered with gaping wounds. Heleaned over her and made a closer examination. She was dead.

“Dead! Dead!” he repeated, with a bewildered air.

He stared at those fixed eyes, that grim mouth, that livid flesh, and thatblood—all that blood which had flowed over the carpet and congealed therein thick, black spots. He arose and turned on the electric lights. Then hebeheld all the marks of a desperate struggle. The bed was in a state of greatdisorder. On the floor, the candlestick, and the clock, with the hands pointingto twenty minutes after eleven; then, further away, an overturned chair; and,everywhere, there was blood, spots of blood and pools of blood.

“And the black pearl?” he murmured.

The box of letter-paper was in its place. He opened it, eagerly. The jewel-casewas there, but it was empty.

“Fichtre!” he muttered. “You boasted of your good fortunemuch too soon, my friend Lupin. With the countess lying cold and dead, and theblack pearl vanished, the situation is anything but pleasant. Get out of hereas soon as you can, or you may get into serious trouble.”

Yet, he did not move.

“Get out of here? Yes, of course. Any person would, except Arsène Lupin.He has something better to do. Now, to proceed in an orderly way. At allevents, you have a clear conscience. Let us suppose that you are the commissaryof police and that you are proceeding to make an inquiry concerning thisaffair——Yes, but in order to do that, I require a clearer brain.Mine is muddled like a ragout.”

He tumbled into an armchair, with his clenched hands pressed against hisburning forehead.

The murder of the avenue Hoche is one of those which have recently surprisedand puzzled the Parisian public, and, certainly, I should never have mentionedthe affair if the veil of mystery had not been removed by Arsène Lupin himself.No one knew the exact truth of the case.

Who did not know—from having met her in the Bois—the fair LéotineZalti, the once-famous cantatrice, wife and widow of the Countd’Andillot; the Zalti, whose luxury dazzled all Paris some twenty yearsago; the Zalti who acquired an European reputation for the magnificence of herdiamonds and pearls? It was said that she wore upon her shoulders the capitalof several banking houses and the gold mines of numerous Australian companies.Skilful jewelers worked for Zalti as they had formerly wrought for kings andqueens. And who does not remember the catastrophe in which all that wealth wasswallowed up? Of all that marvelous collection, nothing remained except thefamous black pearl. The black pearl! That is to say a fortune, if she hadwished to part with it.

But she preferred to keep it, to live in a commonplace apartment with hercompanion, her cook, and a man-servant, rather than sell that inestimablejewel. There was a reason for it; a reason she was not afraid to disclose: theblack pearl was the gift of an emperor! Almost ruined, and reduced to the mostmediocre existence, she remained faithful to the companion of her happy andbrilliant youth. The black pearl never left her possession. She wore it duringthe day, and, at night, concealed it in a place known to her alone.

All these facts, being republished in the columns of the public press, servedto stimulate curiosity; and, strange to say, but quite obvious to those whohave the key to the mystery, the arrest of the presumed assassin onlycomplicated the question and prolonged the excitement. Two days later, thenewspapers published the following item:

“Information has reached us of the arrest of Victor Danègre, the servantof the Countess d’Andillot. The evidence against him is clear andconvincing. On the silken sleeve of his liveried waistcoat, which chiefdetective Dudouis found in his garret between the mattresses of his bed,several spots of blood were discovered. In addition, a cloth-covered button wasmissing from that garment, and this button was found beneath the bed of thevictim.

“It is supposed that, after dinner, in place of going to his own room,Danègre slipped into the wardrobe-closet, and, through the glass door, had seenthe countess hide the precious black pearl. This is simply a theory, as yetunverified by any evidence. There is, also, another obscure point. At seveno’clock in the morning, Danègre went to the tobacco-shop on the Boulevardde Courcelles; the concierge and the shop-keeper both affirm this fact. On theother hand, the countess’ companion and cook, who sleep at the end of thehall, both declare that, when they arose at eight o’clock, the door ofthe antechamber and the door of the kitchen were locked. These two persons havebeen in the service of the countess for twenty years, and are above suspicion.The question is: How did Danègre leave the apartment? Did he have another key?These are matters that the police will investigate.”

As a matter of fact, the police investigation threw no light on the mystery. Itwas learned that Victor Danègre was a dangerous criminal, a drunkard and adebauchee. But, as they proceeded with the investigation, the mystery deepenedand new complications arose. In the first place, a young woman, Mlle. DeSinclèves, the cousin and sole heiress of the countess, declared that thecountess, a month before her death, had written a letter to her and in itdescribed the manner in which the black pearl was concealed. The letterdisappeared the day after she received it. Who had stolen it?

Again, the concierge related how she had opened the door for a person who hadinquired for Doctor Harel. On being questioned, the doctor testified that noone had rung his bell. Then who was that person? An accomplice?

The theory of an accomplice was thereupon adopted by the press and public, andalso by Ganimard, the famous detective.

“Lupin is at the bottom of this affair,” he said to the judge.

“Bah!” exclaimed the judge, “you have Lupin on the brain. Yousee him everywhere.”

“I see him everywhere, because he is everywhere.”

“Say rather that you see him every time you encounter something youcannot explain. Besides, you overlook the fact that the crime was committed attwenty minutes past eleven in the evening, as is shown by the clock, while thenocturnal visit, mentioned by the concierge, occurred at three o’clock inthe morning.”

Officers of the law frequently form a hasty conviction as to the guilt of asuspected person, and then distort all subsequent discoveries to conform totheir established theory. The deplorable antecedents of Victor Danègre,habitual criminal, drunkard and rake, influenced the judge, and despite thefact that nothing new was discovered in corroboration of the early clues, hisofficial opinion remained firm and unshaken. He closed his investigation, and,a few weeks later, the trial commenced. It proved to be slow and tedious. Thejudge was listless, and the public prosecutor presented the case in a carelessmanner. Under those circ*mstances, Danègre’s counsel had an easy task. Hepointed out the defects and inconsistencies of the case for the prosecution,and argued that the evidence was quite insufficient to convict the accused. Whohad made the key, the indispensable key without which Danègre, on leaving theapartment, could not have locked the door behind him? Who had ever seen such akey, and what had become of it? Who had seen the assassin’s knife, andwhere is it now?

“In any event,” argued the prisoner’s counsel, “theprosecution must prove, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the prisonercommitted the murder. The prosecution must show that the mysterious individualwho entered the house at three o’clock in the morning is not the guiltyparty. To be sure, the clock indicated eleven o’clock. But what of that?I contend, that proves nothing. The assassin could turn the hands of the clockto any hour he pleased, and thus deceive us in regard to the exact hour of thecrime.”

Victor Danègre was acquitted.

He left the prison on Friday about dusk in the evening, weak and depressed byhis six months’ imprisonment. The inquisition, the solitude, the trial,the deliberations of the jury, combined to fill him with a nervous fear. Atnight, he had been afflicted with terrible nightmares and haunted by weirdvisions of the scaffold. He was a mental and physical wreck.

Under the assumed name of Anatole Dufour, he rented a small room on the heightsof Montmartre, and lived by doing odd jobs wherever he could find them. He leda pitiful existence. Three times, he obtained regular employment, only to berecognized and then discharged. Sometimes, he had an idea that men werefollowing him—detectives, no doubt, who were seeking to trap and denouncehim. He could almost feel the strong hand of the law clutching him by thecollar.

One evening, as he was eating his dinner at a neighboring restaurant, a manentered and took a seat at the same table. He was a person about forty years ofa*ge, and wore a frock-coat of doubtful cleanliness. He ordered soup,vegetables, and a bottle of wine. After he had finished his soup, he turned hiseyes on Danègre, and gazed at him intently. Danègre winced. He was certain thatthis was one of the men who had been following him for several weeks. What didhe want? Danègre tried to rise, but failed. His limbs refused to support him.The man poured himself a glass of wine, and then filled Danègre’s glass.The man raised his glass, and said:

“To your health, Victor Danègre.”

Victor started in alarm, and stammered:

“I!....I!.... no, no....I swear to you....”

“You will swear what? That you are not yourself? The servant of thecountess?”

“What servant? My name is Dufour. Ask the proprietor.”

“Yes, Anatole Dufour to the proprietor of this restaurant, but VictorDanègre to the officers of the law.”

“That’s not true! Some one has lied to you.”

The new-comer took a card from his pocket and handed it to Victor, who read onit: “Grimaudan, ex-inspector of the detective force. Private businesstransacted.” Victor shuddered as he said:

“You are connected with the police?”

“No, not now, but I have a liking for the business and I continue to workat it in a manner more—profitable. From time to time I strike upon agolden opportunity—such as your case presents.”

“My case?”

“Yes, yours. I assure you it is a most promising affair, provided you areinclined to be reasonable.”

“But if I am not reasonable?”

“Oh! my good fellow, you are not in a position to refuse me anything Imay ask.”

“What is it.... you want?” stammered Victor, fearfully.

“Well, I will inform you in a few words. I am sent by Mademoiselle deSinclèves, the heiress of the Countess d’Andillot.”

“What for?”

“To recover the black pearl.”

“Black pearl?”

“That you stole.”

“But I haven’t got it.”

“You have it.”

“If I had, then I would be the assassin.”

“You are the assassin.”

Danègre showed a forced smile.

“Fortunately for me, monsieur, the Assizecourt was not of your opinion.The jury returned an unanimous verdict of acquittal. And when a man has a clearconscience and twelve good men in his favor—”

The ex-inspector seized him by the arm and said:

“No fine phrases, my boy. Now, listen to me and weigh my words carefully.You will find they are worthy of your consideration. Now, Danègre, three weeksbefore the murder, you abstracted the cook’s key to the servants’door, and had a duplicate key made by a locksmith named Outard, 244 rueOberkampf.”

“It’s a lie—it’s a lie!” growled Victor.“No person has seen that key. There is no such key.”

“Here it is.”

After a silence, Grimaudan continued:

“You killed the countess with a knife purchased by you at the Bazar de laRepublique on the same day as you ordered the duplicate key. It has atriangular blade with a groove running from end to end.”

“That is all nonsense. You are simply guessing at something youdon’t know. No one ever saw the knife.”

“Here it is.”

Victor Danègre recoiled. The ex-inspector continued:

“There are some spots of rust upon it. Shall I tell you how they camethere?”

“Well!.... you have a key and a knife. Who can prove that they belong tome?”

“The locksmith, and the clerk from whom you bought the knife. I havealready refreshed their memories, and, when you confront them, they cannot failto recognize you.”

His speech was dry and hard, with a tone of firmness and precision. Danègre wastrembling with fear, and yet he struggled desperately to maintain an air ofindifference.

“Is that all the evidence you have?”

“Oh! no, not at all. I have plenty more. For instance, after the crime,you went out the same way you had entered. But, in the centre of thewardrobe-room, being seized by some sudden fear, you leaned against the wallfor support.”

“How do you know that? No one could know such a thing,” argued thedesperate man.

“The police know nothing about it, of course. They never think oflighting a candle and examining the walls. But if they had done so, they wouldhave found on the white plaster a faint red spot, quite distinct, however, totrace in it the imprint of your thumb which you had pressed against the wallwhile it was wet with blood. Now, as you are well aware, under the Bertillonsystem, thumb-marks are one of the principal means of identification.”

Victor Danègre was livid; great drops of perspiration rolled down his face andfell upon the table. He gazed, with a wild look, at the strange man who hadnarrated the story of his crime as faithfully as if he had been an invisiblewitness to it. Overcome and powerless, Victor bowed his head. He felt that itwas useless to struggle against this marvelous man. So he said:

“How much will you give me, if I give you the pearl?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh! you are joking! Or do you mean that I should give you an articleworth thousands and hundreds of thousands and get nothing in return?”

“You will get your life. Is that nothing?”

The unfortunate man shuddered. Then Grimaudan added, in a milder tone:

“Come, Danègre, that pearl has no value in your hands. It is quiteimpossible for you to sell it; so what is the use of your keeping it?”

“There are pawnbrokers.... and, some day, I will be able to get somethingfor it.”

“But that day may be too late.”

“Why?”

“Because by that time you may be in the hands of the police, and, withthe evidence that I can furnish—the knife, the key, thethumb-mark—what will become of you?”

Victor rested his head on his hands and reflected. He felt that he was lost,irremediably lost, and, at the same time, a sense of weariness and depressionovercame him. He murmured, faintly:

“When must I give it to you?”

“To-night—-within an hour.”

“If I refuse?”

“If you refuse, I shall post this letter to the Procureur of theRepublic; in which letter Mademoiselle de Sinclèves denounces you as theassassin.”

Danègre poured out two glasses of wine which he drank in rapid succession,then, rising, said:

“Pay the bill, and let us go. I have had enough of the cursedaffair.”

Night had fallen. The two men walked down the rue Lepic and followed theexterior boulevards in the direction of the Place de l’Etoile. Theypursued their way in silence; Victor had a stooping carriage and a dejectedface. When they reached the Parc Monceau, he said:

“We are near the house.”

“Parbleu! You only left the house once, before your arrest, and that wasto go to the tobacco-shop.”

“Here it is,” said Danègre, in a dull voice.

They passed along the garden wall of the countess’ house, and crossed astreet on a corner of which stood the tobacco-shop. A few steps further on,Danègre stopped; his limbs shook beneath him, and he sank to a bench.

“Well! what now?” demanded his companion.

“It is there.”

“Where? Come, now, no nonsense!”

“There—in front of us.”

“Where?”

“Between two paving-stones.”

“Which?”

“Look for it.”

“Which stones?”

Victor made no reply.

“Ah; I see!” exclaimed Grimaudan, “you want me to pay for theinformation.”

“No.... but....I am afraid I will starve to death.”

“So! that is why you hesitate. Well, I’ll not be hard on you. Howmuch do you want?”

“Enough to buy a steerage pass to America.”

“All right.”

“And a hundred francs to keep me until I get work there.”

“You shall have two hundred. Now, speak.”

“Count the paving-stones to the right from the sewer-hole. The pearl isbetween the twelfth and thirteenth.”

“In the gutter?”

“Yes, close to the sidewalk.”

Grimaudan glanced around to see if anyone were looking. Some tram-cars andpedestrians were passing. But, bah, they will not suspect anything. He openedhis pocketknife and thrust it between the twelfth and thirteenth stones.

“And if it is not there?” he said to Victor.

“It must be there, unless someone saw me stoop down and hide it.”

Could it be possible that the black pearl had been cast into the mud and filthof the gutter to be picked up by the first comer? The black pearl—afortune!

“How far down?” he asked.

“About ten centimetres.”

He dug up the wet earth. The point of his knife struck something. He enlargedthe hole with his finger. Then he abstracted the black pearl from its filthyhiding-place.

“Good! Here are your two hundred francs. I will send you the ticket forAmerica.”

On the following day, this article was published in the Echo de France,and was copied by the leading newspapers throughout the world:

“Yesterday, the famous black pearl came into the possession of ArsèneLupin, who recovered it from the murderer of the Countess d’Andillot. Ina short time, fac-similes of that precious jewel will be exhibited in London,St. Petersburg, Calcutta, Buenos Ayres and New York.
“Arsène Lupin will be pleased to consider all propositions submittedto him through his agents.”

“And that is how crime is always punished and virtue rewarded,”said Arsène Lupin, after he had told me the foregoing history of the blackpearl.

“And that is how you, under the assumed name of Grimaudan, ex-inspectorof detectives, were chosen by fate to deprive the criminal of the benefit ofhis crime.”

“Exactly. And I confess that the affair gives me infinite satisfactionand pride. The forty minutes that I passed in the apartment of the Countessd’Andillot, after learning of her death, were the most thrilling andabsorbing moments of my life. In those forty minutes, involved as I was in amost dangerous plight, I calmly studied the scene of the murder and reached theconclusion that the crime must have been committed by one of the houseservants. I also decided that, in order to get the pearl, that servant must bearrested, and so I left the wainscoat button; it was necessary, also, for me tohold some convincing evidence of his guilt, so I carried away the knife which Ifound upon the floor, and the key which I found in the lock. I closed andlocked the door, and erased the finger-marks from the plaster in thewardrobe-closet. In my opinion, that was one of those flashes—”

“Of genius,” I said, interrupting.

“Of genius, if you wish. But, I flatter myself, it would not haveoccurred to the average mortal. To frame, instantly, the two elements of theproblem—an arrest and an acquittal; to make use of the formidablemachinery of the law to crush and humble my victim, and reduce him to acondition in which, when free, he would be certain to fall into the trap I waslaying for him!”

“Poor devil—”

“Poor devil, do you say? Victor Danègre, the assassin! He might havedescended to the lowest depths of vice and crime, if he had retained the blackpearl. Now, he lives! Think of that: Victor Danègre is alive!”

“And you have the black pearl.”

He took it out of one of the secret pockets of his wallet, examined it, gazedat it tenderly, and caressed it with loving fingers, and sighed, as he said:

“What cold Russian prince, what vain and foolish rajah may some daypossess this priceless treasure! Or, perhaps, some American millionaire isdestined to become the owner of this morsel of exquisite beauty that onceadorned the fair bosom of Leontine Zalti, the Countess d’Andillot.”

IX. Sherlock Holmes Arrives Too Late

“It is really remarkable, Velmont, what a close resemblance you bear toArsène Lupin!”

“How do you know?”

“Oh! like everyone else, from photographs, no two of which are alike, buteach of them leaves the impression of a face.... something like yours.”

Horace Velmont displayed some vexation.

“Quite so, my dear Devanne. And, believe me, you are not the first onewho has noticed it.”

“It is so striking,” persisted Devanne, “that if you had notbeen recommended to me by my cousin d’Estevan, and if you were not thecelebrated artist whose beautiful marine views I so admire, I have no doubt Ishould have warned the police of your presence in Dieppe.”

This sally was greeted with an outburst of laughter. The large dining-hall ofthe Château de Thibermesnil contained on this occasion, besides Velmont, thefollowing guests: Father Gélis, the parish priest, and a dozen officers whoseregiments were quartered in the vicinity and who had accepted the invitation ofthe banker Georges Devanne and his mother. One of the officers then remarked:

“I understand that an exact description of Arsène Lupin has beenfurnished to all the police along this coast since his daring exploit on theParis-Havre express.”

“I suppose so,” said Devanne. “That was three months ago; anda week later, I made the acquaintance of our friend Velmont at the casino, and,since then, he has honored me with several visits—an agreeable preambleto a more serious visit that he will pay me one of these days—or, rather,one of these nights.”

This speech evoked another round of laughter, and the guests then passed intothe ancient “Hall of the Guards,” a vast room with a high ceiling,which occupied the entire lower part of the TourGuillaume—William’s Tower—and wherein Georges Devanne hadcollected the incomparable treasures which the lords of Thibermesnil hadaccumulated through many centuries. It contained ancient chests, credences,andirons and chandeliers. The stone walls were overhung with magnificenttapestries. The deep embrasures of the four windows were furnished withbenches, and the Gothic windows were composed of small panes of colored glassset in a leaden frame. Between the door and the window to the left stood animmense bookcase of Renaissance style, on the pediment of which, in letters ofgold, was the word “Thibermesnil,” and, below it, the proud familydevice: “Fais ce que veulx” (Do what thou wishest). When the guestshad lighted their cigars, Devanne resumed the conversation.

“And remember, Velmont, you have no time to lose; in fact, to-night isthe last chance you will have.”

“How so?” asked the painter, who appeared to regard the affair as ajoke. Devanne was about to reply, when his mother mentioned to him to keepsilent, but the excitement of the occasion and a desire to interest his guestsurged him to speak.

“Bah!” he murmured. “I can tell it now. It won’t do anyharm.”

The guests drew closer, and he commenced to speak with the satisfied air of aman who has an important announcement to make.

“To-morrow afternoon at four o’clock, Sherlock Holmes, the famousEnglish detective, for whom such a thing as mystery does not exist; SherlockHolmes, the most remarkable solver of enigmas the world has ever known, thatmarvelous man who would seem to be the creation of a romanticnovelist—Sherlock Holmes will be my guest!”

Immediately, Devanne was the target of numerous eager questions. “IsSherlock Holmes really coming?” “Is it so serious as that?”“Is Arsène Lupin really in this neighborhood?”

“Arsène Lupin and his band are not far away. Besides the robbery of theBaron Cahorn, he is credited with the thefts at Montigny, Gruchet andCrasville. And now it is my turn.”

“Has he sent you a warning, as he did to Baron Cahorn?”

“No,” replied Devanne, “he can’t work the same tricktwice.”

“What then?”

“I will show you.”

He rose, and pointing to a small empty space between the two enormous folios onone of the shelves of the bookcase, he said:

“There used to be a book there—a book of the sixteenth centuryentitled ‘Chronique de Thibermesnil,’ which contained the historyof the castle since its construction by Duke Rollo on the site of a formerfeudal fortress. There were three engraved plates in the book; one of which wasa general view of the whole estate; another, the plan of the buildings; and thethird—I call your attention to it, particularly—the third was thesketch of a subterranean passage, an entrance to which is outside the firstline of ramparts, while the other end of the passage is here, in this veryroom. Well, that book disappeared a month ago.”

“The deuce!” said Velmont, “that looks bad. But itdoesn’t seem to be a sufficient reason for sending for SherlockHolmes.”

“Certainly, that was not sufficient in itself, but another incidenthappened that gives the disappearance of the book a special significance. Therewas another copy of this book in the National Library at Paris, and the twobooks differed in certain details relating to the subterranean passage; forinstance, each of them contained drawings and annotations, not printed, butwritten in ink and more or less effaced. I knew those facts, and I knew thatthe exact location of the passage could be determined only by a comparison ofthe two books. Now, the day after my book disappeared, the book was called forin the National Library by a reader who carried it away, and no one knows howthe theft was effected.”

The guests uttered many exclamations of surprise.

“Certainly, the affair looks serious,” said one.

“Well, the police investigated the matter, and, as usual, discovered noclue whatever.”

“They never do, when Arsène Lupin is concerned in it.”

“Exactly; and so I decided to ask the assistance of Sherlock Holmes, whor*plied that he was ready and anxious to enter the lists with ArsèneLupin.”

“What glory for Arsène Lupin!” said Velmont. “But if ournational thief, as they call him, has no evil designs on your castle, SherlockHolmes will have his trip in vain.”

“There are other things that will interest him, such as the discovery ofthe subterranean passage.”

“But you told us that one end of the passage was outside the ramparts andthe other was in this very room!”

“Yes, but in what part of the room? The line which represents the passageon the charts ends here, with a small circle marked with the letters‘T.G.,’ which no doubt stand for ‘Tour Guillaume.’ Butthe tower is round, and who can tell the exact spot at which the passagetouches the tower?”

Devanne lighted a second cigar and poured himself a glass of Benedictine. Hisguests pressed him with questions and he was pleased to observe the interestthat his remarks had created. Then he continued:

“The secret is lost. No one knows it. The legend is to the effect thatthe former lords of the castle transmitted the secret from father to son ontheir deathbeds, until Geoffroy, the last of the race, was beheaded during theRevolution in his nineteenth year.”

“That is over a century ago. Surely, someone has looked for it since thattime?”

“Yes, but they failed to find it. After I purchased the castle, I made adiligent search for it, but without success. You must remember that this toweris surrounded by water and connected with the castle only by a bridge;consequently, the passage must be underneath the old moat. The plan that was inthe book in the National Library showed a series of stairs with a total offorty-eight steps, which indicates a depth of more than ten meters. You see,the mystery lies within the walls of this room, and yet I dislike to tear themdown.”

“Is there nothing to show where it is?”

“Nothing.”

“Mon. Devanne, we should turn our attention to the two quotations,”suggested Father Gélis.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mon. Devanne, laughing, “our worthy father isfond of reading memoirs and delving into the musty archives of the castle.Everything relating to Thibermesnil interests him greatly. But the quotationsthat he mentions only serve to complicate the mystery. He has read somewherethat two kings of France have known the key to the puzzle.”

“Two kings of France! Who were they?”

“Henry the Fourth and Louis the Sixteenth. And the legend runs like this:On the eve of the battle of Arques, Henry the Fourth spent the night in thiscastle. At eleven o’clock in the evening, Louise de Tancarville, theprettiest woman in Normandy, was brought into the castle through thesubterranean passage by Duke Edgard, who, at the same time, informed the kingof the secret passage. Afterward, the king confided the secret to his ministerSully, who, in turn, relates the story in his book, “Royales Economiesd’Etat,” without making any comment upon it, but linking with itthis incomprehensible sentence: ‘Turn one eye on the bee that shakes, theother eye will lead to God!’”

After a brief silence, Velmont laughed and said:

“Certainly, it doesn’t throw a dazzling light upon thesubject.”

“No; but Father Gélis claims that Sully concealed the key to the mysteryin this strange sentence in order to keep the secret from the secretaries towhom he dictated his memoirs.”

“That is an ingenious theory,” said Velmont.

“Yes, and it may be nothing more; I cannot see that it throws any lighton the mysterious riddle.”

“And was it also to receive the visit of a lady that Louis the Sixteenthcaused the passage to be opened?”

“I don’t know,” said Mon. Devanne. “All I can say isthat the king stopped here one night in 1784, and that the famous Iron Casketfound in the Louvre contained a paper bearing these words in the king’sown writing: ‘Thibermesnil 3-4-11.’”

Horace Velmont laughed heartily, and exclaimed:

“At last! And now that we have the magic key, where is the man who canfit it to the invisible lock?”

“Laugh as much as you please, monsieur,” said Father Gélis,“but I am confident the solution is contained in those two sentences, andsome day we will find a man able to interpret them.”

“Sherlock Holmes is the man,” said Mon. Devanne, “unlessArsène Lupin gets ahead of him. What is your opinion, Velmont?”

Velmont arose, placed his hand on Devanne’s shoulder, and declared:

“I think that the information furnished by your book and the book of theNational Library was deficient in a very important detail which you have nowsupplied. I thank you for it.”

“What is it?”

“The missing key. Now that I have it, I can go to work at once,”said Velmont.

“Of course; without losing a minute,” said Devanne, smiling.

“Not even a second!” replied Velmont. “To-night, before thearrival of Sherlock Holmes, I must plunder your castle.”

“You have no time to lose. Oh! by the way, I can drive you over thisevening.”

“To Dieppe?”

“Yes. I am going to meet Monsieur and Madame d’Androl and a younglady of their acquaintance who are to arrive by the midnight train.”

Then addressing the officers, Devanne added:

“Gentlemen, I shall expect to see all of you at breakfastto-morrow.”

The invitation was accepted. The company dispersed, and a few moments laterDevanne and Velmont were speeding toward Dieppe in an automobile. Devannedropped the artist in front of the Casino, and proceeded to the railwaystation. At twelve o’clock his friends alighted from the train. A halfhour later the automobile was at the entrance to the castle. At oneo’clock, after a light supper, they retired. The lights wereextinguished, and the castle was enveloped in the darkness and silence of thenight.

The moon appeared through a rift in the clouds, and filled the drawing-roomwith its bright white light. But only for a moment. Then the moon again retiredbehind its ethereal draperies, and darkness and silence reigned supreme. Nosound could be heard, save the monotonous ticking of the clock. It struck two,and then continued its endless repetitions of the seconds. Then, threeo’clock.

Suddenly, something clicked, like the opening and closing of a signal-disc thatwarns the passing train. A thin stream of light flashed to every corner of theroom, like an arrow that leaves behind it a trail of light. It shot forth fromthe central fluting of a column that supported the pediment of the bookcase. Itrested for a moment on the panel opposite like a glittering circle of burnishedsilver, then flashed in all directions like a guilty eye that scrutinizes everyshadow. It disappeared for a short time, but burst forth again as a wholesection of the bookcase revolved on a pivot and disclosed a large opening likea vault.

A man entered, carrying an electric lantern. He was followed by a second man,who carried a coil of rope and various tools. The leader inspected the room,listened a moment, and said:

“Call the others.”

Then eight men, stout fellows with resolute faces, entered the room, andimmediately commenced to remove the furnishings. Arsène Lupin passed quicklyfrom one piece of furniture to another, examined each, and, according to itssize or artistic value, he directed his men to take it or leave it. If orderedto be taken, it was carried to the gaping mouth of the tunnel, and ruthlesslythrust into the bowels of the earth. Such was the fate of six armchairs, sixsmall Louis XV chairs, a quantity of Aubusson tapestries, some candelabra,paintings by Fragonard and Nattier, a bust by Houdon, and some statuettes.Sometimes, Lupin would linger before a beautiful chest or a superb picture, andsigh:

“That is too heavy.... too large.... what a pity!”

In forty minutes the room was dismantled; and it had been accomplished in suchan orderly manner and with as little noise as if the various articles had beenpacked and wadded for the occasion.

Lupin said to the last man who departed by way of the tunnel:

“You need not come back. You understand, that as soon as the auto-van isloaded, you are to proceed to the grange at Roquefort.”

“But you, patron?”

“Leave me the motor-cycle.”

When the man had disappeared, Arsène Lupin pushed the section of the bookcaseback into its place, carefully effaced the traces of the men’s footsteps,raised a portière, and entered a gallery, which was the only means ofcommunication between the tower and the castle. In the center of this gallerythere was a glass cabinet which had attracted Lupin’s attentions. Itcontained a valuable collection of watches, snuff-boxes, rings, chatelaines andminiatures of rare and beautiful workmanship. He forced the lock with a smalljimmy, and experienced a great pleasure in handling those gold and silverornaments, those exquisite and delicate works of art.

He carried a large linen bag, specially prepared for the removal of suchknick-knacks. He filled it. Then he filled the pockets of his coat, waistcoatand trousers. And he was just placing over his left arm a number of pearlreticules when he heard a slight sound. He listened. No, he was not deceived.The noise continued. Then he remembered that, at one end of the gallery, therewas a stairway leading to an unoccupied apartment, but which was probablyoccupied that night by the young lady whom Mon. Devanne had brought from Dieppewith his other visitors.

Immediately he extinguished his lantern, and had scarcely gained the friendlyshelter of a window-embrasure, when the door at the top of the stairway wasopened and a feeble light illuminated the gallery. He could feel—for,concealed by a curtain, he could not see—that a woman was cautiouslydescending the upper steps of the stairs. He hoped she would come no closer.Yet, she continued to descend, and even advanced some distance into the room.Then she uttered a faint cry. No doubt she had discovered the broken anddismantled cabinet.

She advanced again. Now he could smell the perfume, and hear the throbbing ofher heart as she drew closer to the window where he was concealed. She passedso close that her skirt brushed against the window-curtain, and Lupin felt thatshe suspected the presence of another, behind her, in the shadow, within reachof her hand. He thought: “She is afraid. She will go away.” But shedid not go. The candle, that she carried in her trembling hand, grew brighter.She turned, hesitated a moment, appeared to listen, then suddenly drew asidethe curtain.

They stood face to face. Arsène was astounded. He murmured, involuntarily:

“You—you—mademoiselle.”

It was Miss Nelly. Miss Nelly! his fellow passenger on the transatlanticsteamer, who had been the subject of his dreams on that memorable voyage, whohad been a witness to his arrest, and who, rather than betray him, had droppedinto the water the Kodak in which he had concealed the bank-notes and diamonds.Miss Nelly! that charming creature, the memory of whose face had sometimescheered, sometimes saddened the long hours of imprisonment.

It was such an unexpected encounter that brought them face to face in thatcastle at that hour of the night, that they could not move, nor utter a word;they were amazed, hypnotized, each at the sudden apparition of the other.Trembling with emotion, Miss Nelly staggered to a seat. He remained standing infront of her.

Gradually, he realized the situation and conceived the impression he must haveproduced at that moment with his arms laden with knick-knacks, and his pocketsand a linen sack overflowing with plunder. He was overcome with confusion, andhe actually blushed to find himself in the position of a thief caught in theact. To her, henceforth, he was a thief, a man who puts his hand inanother’s pocket, who steals into houses and robs people while theysleep.

A watch fell upon the floor; then another. These were followed by otherarticles which slipped from his grasp one by one. Then, actuated by a suddendecision, he dropped the other articles into an armchair, emptied his pocketsand unpacked his sack. He felt very uncomfortable in Nelly’s presence,and stepped toward her with the intention of speaking to her, but sheshuddered, rose quickly and fled toward the salon. The portière closed behindher. He followed her. She was standing trembling and amazed at the sight of thedevastated room. He said to her, at once:

“To-morrow, at three o’clock, everything will be returned. Thefurniture will be brought back.”

She made no reply, so he repeated:

“I promise it. To-morrow, at three o’clock. Nothing in the worldcould induce me to break that promise....To-morrow, at threeo’clock.”

Then followed a long silence that he dared not break, whilst the agitation ofthe young girl caused him a feeling of genuine regret. Quietly, without a word,he turned away, thinking: “I hope she will go away. I can’t endureher presence.” But the young girl suddenly spoke, and stammered:

“Listen.... footsteps....I hear someone....”

He looked at her with astonishment. She seemed to be overwhelmed by the thoughtof approaching peril.

“I don’t hear anything,” he said.

“But you must go—you must escape!”

“Why should I go?”

“Because—you must. Oh! do not remain here another minute.Go!”

She ran, quickly, to the door leading to the gallery and listened. No, therewas no one there. Perhaps the noise was outside. She waited a moment, thenreturned reassured.

But Arsène Lupin had disappeared.

As soon as Mon. Devanne was informed of the pillage of his castle, he said tohimself: It was Velmont who did it, and Velmont is Arsène Lupin. That theoryexplained everything, and there was no other plausible explanation. And yet theidea seemed preposterous. It was ridiculous to suppose that Velmont was anyoneelse than Velmont, the famous artist, and club-fellow of his cousind’Estevan. So, when the captain of the gendarmes arrived to investigatethe affair, Devanne did not even think of mentioning his absurd theory.

Throughout the forenoon there was a lively commotion at the castle. Thegendarmes, the local police, the chief of police from Dieppe, the villagers,all circulated to and fro in the halls, examining every nook and corner thatwas open to their inspection. The approach of the maneuvering troops, therattling fire of the musketry, added to the picturesque character of the scene.

The preliminary search furnished no clue. Neither the doors nor windows showedany signs of having been disturbed. Consequently, the removal of the goods musthave been effected by means of the secret passage. Yet, there were noindications of footsteps on the floor, nor any unusual marks upon the walls.

Their investigations revealed, however, one curious fact that denoted thewhimsical character of Arsène Lupin: the famous Chronique of the sixteenthcentury had been restored to its accustomed place in the library and, besideit, there was a similar book, which was none other than the volume stolen fromthe National Library.

At eleven o’clock the military officers arrived. Devanne welcomed themwith his usual gayety; for, no matter how much chagrin he might suffer from theloss of his artistic treasures, his great wealth enabled him to bear his lossphilosophically. His guests, Monsieur and Madame d’Androl and Miss Nelly,were introduced; and it was then noticed that one of the expected guests hadnot arrived. It was Horace Velmont. Would he come? His absence had awakened thesuspicions of Mon. Devanne. But at twelve o’clock he arrived. Devanneexclaimed:

“Ah! here you are!”

“Why, am I not punctual?” asked Velmont.

“Yes, and I am surprised that you are.... after such a busy night! Isuppose you know the news?”

“What news?”

“You have robbed the castle.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Velmont, smiling.

“Exactly as I predicted. But, first escort Miss Underdown to thedining-room. Mademoiselle, allow me—”

He stopped, as he remarked the extreme agitation of the young girl. Then,recalling the incident, he said:

“Ah! of course, you met Arsène Lupin on the steamer, before his arrest,and you are astonished at the resemblance. Is that it?”

She did not reply. Velmont stood before her, smiling. He bowed. She took hisproffered arm. He escorted her to her place, and took his seat opposite her.During the breakfast, the conversation related exclusively to Arsène Lupin, thestolen goods, the secret passage, and Sherlock Holmes. It was only at the closeof the repast, when the conversation had drifted to other subjects, thatVelmont took any part in it. Then he was, by turns, amusing and grave,talkative and pensive. And all his remarks seemed to be directed to the younggirl. But she, quite absorbed, did not appear to hear them.

Coffee was served on the terrace overlooking the court of honor and the flowergarden in front of the principal façade. The regimental band played on thelawn, and scores of soldiers and peasants wandered through the park.

Miss Nelly had not forgotten, for one moment, Lupin’s solemn promise:“To-morrow, at three o’clock, everything will be returned.”

At three o’clock! And the hands of the great clock in the right wing ofthe castle now marked twenty minutes to three. In spite of herself, her eyeswandered to the clock every minute. She also watched Velmont, who was calmlyswinging to and fro in a comfortable rocking chair.

Ten minutes to three!....Five minutes to three!....Nelly was impatient andanxious. Was it possible that Arsène Lupin would carry out his promise at theappointed hour, when the castle, the courtyard, and the park were filled withpeople, and at the very moment when the officers of the law were pursuing theirinvestigations? And yet....Arsène Lupin had given her his solemn promise.“It will be exactly as he said,” thought she, so deeply was sheimpressed with the authority, energy and assurance of that remarkable man. Toher, it no longer assumed the form of a miracle, but, on the contrary, anatural incident that must occur in the ordinary course of events. She blushed,and turned her head.

Three o’clock! The great clock struck slowly: one.... two....three....Horace Velmont took out his watch, glanced at the clock, then returnedthe watch to his pocket. A few seconds passed in silence; and then the crowd inthe courtyard parted to give passage to two wagons, that had just entered thepark-gate, each drawn by two horses. They were army-wagons, such as are usedfor the transportation of provisions, tents, and other necessary militarystores. They stopped in front of the main entrance, and a commissary-sergeantleaped from one of the wagons and inquired for Mon. Devanne. A moment later,that gentleman emerged from the house, descended the steps, and, under thecanvas covers of the wagons, beheld his furniture, pictures and ornamentscarefully packaged and arranged.

When questioned, the sergeant produced an order that he had received from theofficer of the day. By that order, the second company of the fourth battalionwere commanded to proceed to the crossroads of Halleux in the forest of Arques,gather up the furniture and other articles deposited there, and deliver same toMonsieur Georges Devanne, owner of the Thibermesnil castle, at threeo’clock. Signed: Col. Beauvel.

“At the crossroads,” explained the sergeant, “we foundeverything ready, lying on the grass, guarded by some passers-by. It seemedvery strange, but the order was imperative.”

One of the officers examined the signature. He declared it a forgery; but aclever imitation. The wagons were unloaded, and the goods restored to theirproper places in the castle.

During this commotion, Nelly had remained alone at the extreme end of theterrace, absorbed by confused and distracted thoughts. Suddenly, she observedVelmont approaching her. She would have avoided him, but the balustrade thatsurrounded the terrace cut off her retreat. She was cornered. She could notmove. A gleam of sunshine, passing through the scant foliage of a bamboo,lighted up her beautiful golden hair. Some one spoke to her in a low voice:

“Have I not kept my promise?”

Arsène Lupin stood close to her. No one else was near. He repeated, in a calm,soft voice:

“Have I not kept my promise?”

He expected a word of thanks, or at least some slight movement that wouldbetray her interest in the fulfillment of his promise. But she remained silent.

Her scornful attitude annoyed Arsène Lupin; and he realized the vast distancethat separated him from Miss Nelly, now that she had learned the truth. Hewould gladly have justified himself in her eyes, or at least pleadedextenuating circ*mstances, but he perceived the absurdity and futility of suchan attempt. Finally, dominated by a surging flood of memories, he murmured:

“Ah! how long ago that was! You remember the long hours on the deck ofthe ‘Provence.’ Then, you carried a rose in your hand, a white roselike the one you carry to-day. I asked you for it. You pretended you did nothear me. After you had gone away, I found the rose—forgotten, nodoubt—and I kept it.”

She made no reply. She seemed to be far away. He continued:

“In memory of those happy hours, forget what you have learned since.Separate the past from the present. Do not regard me as the man you saw lastnight, but look at me, if only for a moment, as you did in those far-off dayswhen I was Bernard d’Andrezy, for a short time. Will you, please?”

She raised her eyes and looked at him as he had requested. Then, without sayinga word, she pointed to a ring he was wearing on his forefinger. Only the ringwas visible; but the setting, which was turned toward the palm of his hand,consisted of a magnificent ruby. Arsène Lupin blushed. The ring belonged toGeorges Devanne. He smiled bitterly, and said:

“You are right. Nothing can be changed. Arsène Lupin is now and alwayswill be Arsène Lupin. To you, he cannot be even so much as a memory. Pardonme....I should have known that any attention I may now offer you is simply aninsult. Forgive me.”

He stepped aside, hat in hand. Nelly passed before him. He was inclined todetain her and beseech her forgiveness. But his courage failed, and hecontented himself by following her with his eyes, as he had done when shedescended the gangway to the pier at New York. She mounted the steps leading tothe door, and disappeared within the house. He saw her no more.

A cloud obscured the sun. Arsène Lupin stood watching the imprints of her tinyfeet in the sand. Suddenly, he gave a start. Upon the box which contained thebamboo, beside which Nelly had been standing, he saw the rose, the white rosewhich he had desired but dared not ask for. Forgotten, no doubt—it, also!But how—designedly or through distraction? He seized it eagerly. Some ofits petals fell to the ground. He picked them up, one by one, like preciousrelics.

“Come!” he said to himself, “I have nothing more to do here.I must think of my safety, before Sherlock Holmes arrives.”

The park was deserted, but some gendarmes were stationed at the park-gate. Heentered a grove of pine trees, leaped over the wall, and, as a short cut to therailroad station, followed a path across the fields. After walking about tenminutes, he arrived at a spot where the road grew narrower and ran between twosteep banks. In this ravine, he met a man traveling in the opposite direction.It was a man about fifty years of age, tall, smooth-shaven, and wearing clothesof a foreign cut. He carried a heavy cane, and a small satchel was strappedacross his shoulder. When they met, the stranger spoke, with a slight Englishaccent:

“Excuse me, monsieur, is this the way to the castle?”

“Yes, monsieur, straight ahead, and turn to the left when you come to thewall. They are expecting you.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, my friend Devanne told us last night that you were coming, and I amdelighted to be the first to welcome you. Sherlock Holmes has no more ardentadmirer than.... myself.”

There was a touch of irony in his voice that he quickly regretted, for SherlockHolmes scrutinized him from head to foot with such a keen, penetrating eye thatArsène Lupin experienced the sensation of being seized, imprisoned andregistered by that look more thoroughly and precisely than he had ever been bya camera.

“My negative is taken now,” he thought, “and it will beuseless to use a disguise with that man. He would look right through it. But, Iwonder, has he recognized me?”

They bowed to each other as if about to part. But, at that moment, they heard asound of horses’ feet, accompanied by a clinking of steel. It was thegendarmes. The two men were obliged to draw back against the embankment,amongst the brushes, to avoid the horses. The gendarmes passed by, but, as theyfollowed each other at a considerable distance, they were several minutes indoing so. And Lupin was thinking:

“It all depends on that question: has he recognized me? If so, he willprobably take advantage of the opportunity. It is a trying situation.”

When the last horseman had passed, Sherlock Holmes stepped forth and brushedthe dust from his clothes. Then, for a moment, he and Arsène Lupin gazed ateach other; and, if a person could have seen them at that moment, it would havebeen an interesting sight, and memorable as the first meeting of two remarkablemen, so strange, so powerfully equipped, both of superior quality, and destinedby fate, through their peculiar attributes, to hurl themselves one at the otherlike two equal forces that nature opposes, one against the other, in the realmsof space.

Then the Englishman said: “Thank you, monsieur.”

“You are quite welcome, replied Arsène Lupin.”

They parted. Lupin went toward the railway station, and Sherlock Holmescontinued on his way to the castle.

The local officers had given up the investigation after several hours offruitless efforts, and the people at the castle were awaiting the arrival ofthe English detective with a lively curiosity. At first sight, they were alittle disappointed on account of his commonplace appearance, which differed sogreatly from the pictures they had formed of him in their own minds. He did notin any way resemble the romantic hero, the mysterious and diabolical personagethat the name of Sherlock Holmes had evoked in their imaginations. However,Mon. Devanne exclaimed with much gusto:

“Ah! monsieur, you are here! I am delighted to see you. It is along-deferred pleasure. Really, I scarcely regret what has happened, since itaffords me the opportunity to meet you. But, how did you come?”

“By the train.”

“But I sent my automobile to meet you at the station.”

“An official reception, eh? with music and fireworks! Oh! no, not for me.That is not the way I do business,” grumbled the Englishman.

This speech disconcerted Devanne, who replied, with a forced smile:

“Fortunately, the business has been greatly simplified since I wrote toyou.”

“In what way?”

“The robbery took place last night.”

“If you had not announced my intended visit, it is probable the robberywould not have been committed last night.”

“When, then?”

“To-morrow, or some other day.”

“And in that case?”

“Lupin would have been trapped,” said the detective.

“And my furniture?”

“Would not have been carried away.”

“Ah! but my goods are here. They were brought back at threeo’clock.”

“By Lupin.”

“By two army-wagons.”

Sherlock Holmes put on his cap and adjusted his satchel. Devanne exclaimed,anxiously:

“But, monsieur, what are you going to do?”

“I am going home.”

“Why?”

“Your goods have been returned; Arsène Lupin is far away—there isnothing for me to do.”

“Yes, there is. I need your assistance. What happened yesterday, mayhappen again to-morrow, as we do not know how he entered, or how he escaped, orwhy, a few hours later, he returned the goods.”

“Ah! you don’t know—”

The idea of a problem to be solved quickened the interest of Sherlock Holmes.

“Very well, let us make a search—at once—and alone, ifpossible.”

Devanne understood, and conducted the Englishman to the salon. In a dry, crispvoice, in sentences that seemed to have been prepared in advance, Holmes askeda number of questions about the events of the preceding evening, and enquiredalso concerning the guests and the members of the household. Then he examinedthe two volumes of the “Chronique,” compared the plans of thesubterranean passage, requested a repetition of the sentences discovered byFather Gélis, and then asked:

“Was yesterday the first time you have spoken those two sentences to anyone?”

“Yes.”

“You had never communicated then to Horace Velmont?”

“No.”

“Well, order the automobile. I must leave in an hour.”

“In an hour?”

“Yes; within that time, Arsène Lupin solved the problem that you placedbefore him.”

“I.... placed before him—”

“Yes, Arsène Lupin or Horace Velmont—same thing.”

“I thought so. Ah! the scoundrel!”

“Now, let us see,” said Holmes, “last night at teno’clock, you furnished Lupin with the information that he lacked, andthat he had been seeking for many weeks. During the night, he found time tosolve the problem, collect his men, and rob the castle. I shall be quite asexpeditious.”

He walked from end to end of the room, in deep thought, then sat down, crossedhis long legs and closed his eyes.

Devanne waited, quite embarrassed. Thought he: “Is the man asleep? Or ishe only meditating?” However, he left the room to give some orders, andwhen he returned he found the detective on his knees scrutinizing the carpet atthe foot of the stairs in the gallery.

“What is it?” he enquired.

“Look.... there.... spots from a candle.”

“You are right—and quite fresh.”

“And you will also find them at the top of the stairs, and around thecabinet that Arsène Lupin broke into, and from which he took the bibelots thathe afterward placed in this armchair.”

“What do you conclude from that?”

“Nothing. These facts would doubtless explain the cause for therestitution, but that is a side issue that I cannot wait to investigate. Themain question is the secret passage. First, tell me, is there a chapel some twoor three hundred metres from the castle?”

“Yes, a ruined chapel, containing the tomb of Duke Rollo.”

“Tell your chauffer to wait for us near that chapel.”

“My chauffer hasn’t returned. If he had, they would have informedme. Do you think the secret passage runs to the chapel? What reasonhave—”

“I would ask you, monsieur,” interrupted the detective, “tofurnish me with a ladder and a lantern.”

“What! do you require a ladder and a lantern?”

“Certainly, or I shouldn’t have asked for them.”

Devanne, somewhat disconcerted by this crude logic, rang the bell. The twoarticles were given with the sternness and precision of military commands.

“Place the ladder against the bookcase, to the left of the wordThibermesnil.”

Devanne placed the ladder as directed, and the Englishman continued:

“More to the left.... to the right....There!....Now, climb up.... All theletters are in relief, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“First, turn the letter I one way or the other.”

“Which one? There are two of them.”

“The first one.”

Devanne took hold of the letter, and exclaimed:

“Ah! yes, it turns toward the right. Who told you that?”

Sherlock Holmes did not reply to the question, but continued his directions:

“Now, take the letter B. Move it back and forth as you would abolt.”

Devanne did so, and, to his great surprise, it produced a clicking sound.

“Quite right,” said Holmes. “Now, we will go to the other endof the word Thibermesnil, try the letter I, and see if it will open like awicket.”

With a certain degree of solemnity, Devanne seized the letter. It opened, butDevanne fell from the ladder, for the entire section of the bookcase, lyingbetween the first and last letters of the words, turned on a pivot anddisclosed the subterranean passage.

Sherlock Holmes said, coolly:

“You are not hurt?”

“No, no,” said Devanne, as he rose to his feet, “not hurt,only bewildered. I can’t understand now.... those letters turn.... thesecret passage opens....”

“Certainly. Doesn’t that agree exactly with the formula given bySully? Turn one eye on the bee that shakes, the other eye will lead toGod.”

“But Louis the sixteenth?” asked Devanne.

“Louis the sixteenth was a clever locksmith. I have read a book he wroteabout combination locks. It was a good idea on the part of the owner ofThibermesnil to show His Majesty a clever bit of mechanism. As an aid to hismemory, the king wrote: 3-4-11, that is to say, the third, fourth and eleventhletters of the word.”

“Exactly. I understand that. It explains how Lupin got out of the room,but it does not explain how he entered. And it is certain he came from theoutside.”

Sherlock Holmes lighted his lantern, and stepped into the passage.

“Look! All the mechanism is exposed here, like the works of a clock, andthe reverse side of the letters can be reached. Lupin worked the combinationfrom this side—that is all.”

“What proof is there of that?”

“Proof? Why, look at that puddle of oil. Lupin foresaw that the wheelswould require oiling.”

“Did he know about the other entrance?”

“As well as I know it,” said Holmes. “Follow me.”

“Into that dark passage?”

“Are you afraid?”

“No, but are you sure you can find the way out?”

“With my eyes closed.”

At first, they descended twelve steps, then twelve more, and, farther on, twoother flights of twelve steps each. Then they walked through a long passageway,the brick walls of which showed the marks of successive restorations, and, inspots, were dripping with water. The earth, also, was very damp.

“We are passing under the pond,” said Devanne, somewhat nervously.

At last, they came to a stairway of twelve steps, followed by three others oftwelve steps each, which they mounted with difficulty, and then foundthemselves in a small cavity cut in the rock. They could go no further.

“The deuce!” muttered Holmes, “nothing but bare walls. Thisis provoking.”

“Let us go back,” said Devanne. “I have seen enough tosatisfy me.”

But the Englishman raised his eye and uttered a sigh of relief. There, he sawthe same mechanism and the same word as before. He had merely to work the threeletters. He did so, and a block of granite swung out of place. On the otherside, this granite block formed the tombstone of Duke Rollo, and the word“Thibermesnil” was engraved on it in relief. Now, they were in thelittle ruined chapel, and the detective said:

“The other eye leads to God; that means, to the chapel.”

“It is marvelous!” exclaimed Devanne, amazed at the clairvoyanceand vivacity of the Englishman. “Can it be possible that those few wordswere sufficient for you?”

“Bah!” declared Holmes, “they weren’t even necessary.In the chart in the book of the National Library, the drawing terminates at theleft, as you know, in a circle, and at the right, as you do not know, in across. Now, that cross must refer to the chapel in which we now stand.”

Poor Devanne could not believe his ears. It was all so new, so novel to him. Heexclaimed:

“It is incredible, miraculous, and yet of a childish simplicity! How isit that no one has ever solved the mystery?”

“Because no one has ever united the essential elements, that is to say,the two books and the two sentences. No one, but Arsène Lupin andmyself.”

“But, Father Gélis and I knew all about those things, and,likewise—”

Holmes smiled, and said:

“Monsieur Devanne, everybody cannot solve riddles.”

“I have been trying for ten years to accomplish what you did in tenminutes.”

“Bah! I am used to it.”

They emerged from the chapel, and found an automobile.

“Ah! there’s an auto waiting for us.”

“Yes, it is mine,” said Devanne.

“Yours? You said your chauffeur hadn’t returned.”

They approached the machine, and Mon. Devanne questioned the chauffer:

“Edouard, who gave you orders to come here?”

“Why, it was Monsieur Velmont.”

“Mon. Velmont? Did you meet him?”

“Near the railway station, and he told me to come to the chapel.”

“To come to the chapel! What for?”

“To wait for you, monsieur, and your friend.”

Devanne and Holmes exchanged looks, and Mon. Devanne said:

“He knew the mystery would be a simple one for you. It is a delicatecompliment.”

A smile of satisfaction lighted up the detective’s serious features for amoment. The compliment pleased him. He shook his head, as he said:

“A clever man! I knew that when I saw him.”

“Have you seen him?”

“I met him a short time ago—on my way from the station.”

“And you knew it was Horace Velmont—I mean, Arsène Lupin?”

“That is right. I wonder how it came—”

“No, but I supposed it was—from a certain ironical speech hemade.”

“And you allowed him to escape?”

“Of course I did. And yet I had everything on my side, such as fivegendarmes who passed us.”

“Sacrableu!” cried Devanne. “You should have taken advantageof the opportunity.”

“Really, monsieur,” said the Englishman, haughtily, “when Iencounter an adversary like Arsène Lupin, I do not take advantage of chanceopportunities, I create them.”

But time pressed, and since Lupin had been so kind as to send the automobile,they resolved to profit by it. They seated themselves in the comfortablelimousine; Edouard took his place at the wheel, and away they went toward therailway station. Suddenly, Devanne’s eyes fell upon a small package inone of the pockets of the carriage.

“Ah! what is that? A package! Whose is it? Why, it is for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, it is addressed: Sherlock Holmes, from Arsène Lupin.”

The Englishman took the package, opened it, and found that it contained awatch.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, with an angry gesture.

“A watch,” said Devanne. “How did it come there?”

The detective did not reply.

“Oh! it is your watch! Arsène Lupin returns your watch! But, in order toreturn it, he must have taken it. Ah! I see! He took your watch! That is a goodone! Sherlock Holmes’ watch stolen by Arsène Lupin! Mon Dieu! that isfunny! Really.... you must excuse me....I can’t help it.”

He roared with laughter, unable to control himself. After which, he said, in atone of earnest conviction:

“A clever man, indeed!”

The Englishman never moved a muscle. On the way to Dieppe, he never spoke aword, but fixed his gaze on the flying landscape. His silence was terrible,unfathomable, more violent than the wildest rage. At the railway station, hespoke calmly, but in a voice that impressed one with the vast energy and willpower of that famous man. He said:

“Yes, he is a clever man, but some day I shall have the pleasure ofplacing on his shoulder the hand I now offer to you, Monsieur Devanne. And Ibelieve that Arsène Lupin and Sherlock Holmes will meet again some day. Yes,the world is too small—we will meet—we must meet—andthen—”

—The further startling and thrilling adventures of Arsène Lupin will befound in the book entitled “Arsène Lupin versus HerlockSholmes.”—

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