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diff --git a/4017-h/4017-h.htm b/4017-h/4017-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2a1c25 --- /dev/null +++ b/4017-h/4017-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13645 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Hollow Needle, by Maurice Leblanc</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Hollow Needle, by Maurice Leblanc</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Hollow Needle</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Maurice Leblanc</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 11, 2001 [eBook #4017]<br /> +[Last updated: July 18, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Franks, Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOLLOW NEEDLE ***</div> + +<h1>The Hollow Needle</h1> + +<h3>FURTHER ADVENTURES OF ARSÈNE LUPIN</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Maurice Leblanc</h2> + +<h5>AUTHOR OF<br/> +“ARSÈNE LUPIN,” “THE BLONDE LADY,” ETC.</h5> + +<h4>TRANSLATED BY ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS</h4> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">Chapter I. The Shot</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">Chapter II. Isidore Beautrelet, Sixth-form Schoolboy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">Chapter III. The Corpse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">Chapter IV. Face to Face</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">Chapter V. On the Track</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">Chapter VI. An Historic Secret</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">Chapter VII. The Treatise of the Needle</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">Chapter VIII. From Cæsar to Lupin</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">Chapter IX. Open, Sesame!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">Chapter X. The Treasures of the Kings of France</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<p> +Valméras loved Raymonde’s melancholy charm +</p> + +<p> +She put the gun to her shoulder, calmly took aim and fired +</p> + +<p> +Two huge letters, each perhaps a foot long, appeared cut in relief in the +granite of the floor +</p> + +<p> +“We’re going now. What do you think of my cockle-shell, +Beautrelet?” +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE HOLLOW NEEDLE</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER ONE<br/> +THE SHOT</h2> + +<p> +Raymonde listened. The noise was repeated twice over, clearly enough to be +distinguished from the medley of vague sounds that formed the great silence of +the night and yet too faintly to enable her to tell whether it was near or far, +within the walls of the big country-house, or outside, among the murky recesses +of the park. +</p> + +<p> +She rose softly. Her window was half open: she flung it back wide. The +moonlight lay over a peaceful landscape of lawns and thickets, against which +the straggling ruins of the old abbey stood out in tragic outlines, truncated +columns, mutilated arches, fragments of porches and shreds of flying +buttresses. A light breeze hovered over the face of things, gliding noiselessly +through the bare motionless branches of the trees, but shaking the tiny budding +leaves of the shrubs. +</p> + +<p> +And, suddenly, she heard the same sound again. It was on the left and on the +floor below her, in the living rooms, therefore, that occupied the left wing of +the house. Brave and plucky though she was, the girl felt afraid. She slipped +on her dressing gown and took the matches. +</p> + +<p> +“Raymonde—Raymonde!” +</p> + +<p> +A voice as low as a breath was calling to her from the next room, the door of +which had not been closed. She was feeling her way there, when Suzanne, her +cousin, came out of the room and fell into her arms: +</p> + +<p> +“Raymonde—is that you? Did you hear—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. So you’re not asleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose the dog woke me—some time ago. But he’s not +barking now. What time is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“About four.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen! Surely, some one’s walking in the drawing room!” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no danger, your father is down there, Suzanne.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there is danger for him. His room is next to the boudoir.” +</p> + +<p> +“M. Daval is there too—” +</p> + +<p> +“At the other end of the house. He could never hear.” +</p> + +<p> +They hesitated, not knowing what course to decide upon. Should they call out? +Cry for help? They dared not; they were frightened of the sound of their own +voices. But Suzanne, who had gone to the window, suppressed a scream: +</p> + +<p> +“Look!—A man!—Near the fountain!” +</p> + +<p> +A man was walking away at a rapid pace. He carried under his arm a fairly large +load, the nature of which they were unable to distinguish: it knocked against +his leg and impeded his progress. They saw him pass near the old chapel and +turn toward a little door in the wall. The door must have been open, for the +man disappeared suddenly from view and they failed to hear the usual grating of +the hinges. +</p> + +<p> +“He came from the drawing room,” whispered Suzanne. +</p> + +<p> +“No, the stairs and the hall would have brought him out more to the +left—Unless—” +</p> + +<p> +The same idea struck them both. They leant out. Below them, a ladder stood +against the front of the house, resting on the first floor. A glimmer lit up +the stone balcony. And another man, who was also carrying something, bestrode +the baluster, slid down the ladder and ran away by the same road as the first. +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne, scared to the verge of swooning, fell on her knees, stammering: +</p> + +<p> +“Let us call out—let us call for help—” +</p> + +<p> +“Who would come? Your father—and if there are more of them +left—and they throw themselves upon him—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—then—we might call the servants—Your bell rings +on their floor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes—perhaps, that’s better. If only they come in +time!” +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde felt for the electric push near her bed and pressed it with her +finger. They heard the bell ring upstairs and had an impression that its shrill +sound must also reach any one below. +</p> + +<p> +They waited. The silence became terrifying and the very breeze no longer shook +the leaves of the shrubs. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m frightened—frightened,” said Suzanne. +</p> + +<p> +And, suddenly, from the profound darkness below them, came the sound of a +struggle, a crash of furniture overturned, words, exclamations and then, +horrible and ominous, a hoarse groan, the gurgle of a man who is being +murdered— +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde leapt toward the door. Suzanne clung desperately to her arm: +</p> + +<p> +“No—no—don’t leave me—I’m +frightened—” +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde pushed her aside and darted down the corridor, followed by Suzanne, +who staggered from wall to wall, screaming as she went. Raymonde reached the +staircase, flew down the stairs, flung herself upon the door of the big drawing +room and stopped short, rooted to the threshold, while Suzanne sank in a heap +by her side. Facing them, at three steps’ distance, stood a man, with a +lantern in his hand. He turned it upon the two girls, blinding them with the +light, stared long at their pale faces, and then, without hurrying, with the +calmest movements in the world, took his cap, picked up a scrap of paper and +two bits of straw, removed some footmarks from the carpet, went to the balcony, +turned to the girls, made them a deep bow and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne was the first to run to the little boudoir which separated the big +drawing-room from her father’s bedroom. But, at the entrance, a hideous +sight appalled her. By the slanting rays of the moon, she saw two apparently +lifeless bodies lying close to each other on the floor. She leaned over one of +them: +</p> + +<p> +“Father!—Father!—Is it you? What has happened to you?” +she cried, distractedly. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment, the Comte de Gesvres moved. In a broken voice, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be afraid—I am not wounded—Daval?—Is he +alive?—The knife?—The knife?—” +</p> + +<p> +Two men-servants now arrived with candles. Raymonde flung herself down before +the other body and recognized Jean Daval, the count’s private secretary. +A little stream of blood trickled from his neck. His face already wore the +pallor of death. +</p> + +<p> +Then she rose, returned to the drawing room, took a gun that hung in a trophy +of arms on the wall and went out on the balcony. Not more than fifty or sixty +seconds had elapsed since the man had set his foot on the top rung of the +ladder. He could not, therefore, be very far away, the more so as he had taken +the precaution to remove the ladder, in order to prevent the inmates of the +house from using it. And soon she saw him skirting the remains of the old +cloister. She put the gun to her shoulder, calmly took aim and fired. The man +fell. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s done it! That’s done it!” said one of the +servants. “We’ve got this one. I’ll run down.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Victor, he’s getting up.... You had better go down by the +staircase and make straight for the little door in the wall. That’s the +only way he can escape.” +</p> + +<p> +Victor hurried off, but, before he reached the park, the man fell down again. +Raymonde called the other servant: +</p> + +<p> +“Albert, do you see him down there? Near the main cloister?—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’s crawling in the grass. He’s done for—” +</p> + +<p> +“Watch him from here.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no way of escape for him. On the right of the ruins is the +open lawn—” +</p> + +<p> +“And, Victor, do you guard the door, on the left,” she said, taking +up her gun. +</p> + +<p> +“But, surely, you are not going down, miss?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” she said, with a resolute accent and abrupt movements; +“let me be—I have a cartridge left—If he stirs—” +</p> + +<p> +She went out. A moment later, Albert saw her going toward the ruins. He called +to her from the window: +</p> + +<p> +“He’s dragged himself behind the cloister. I can’t see him. +Be careful, miss—” +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde went round the old cloisters, to cut off the man’s retreat, and +Albert soon lost sight of her. After a few minutes, as he did not see her +return, he became uneasy and, keeping his eye on the ruins, instead of going +down by the stairs he made an effort to reach the ladder. When he had +succeeded, he scrambled down and ran straight to the cloisters near which he +had seen the man last. Thirty paces farther, he found Raymonde, who was +searching with Victor. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no laying one’s hands on him,” replied Victor. +</p> + +<p> +“The little door?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been there; here’s the key.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still—he must—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, we’ve got him safe enough, the scoundrel—He’ll be +ours in ten minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +The farmer and his son, awakened by the shot, now came from the farm buildings, +which were at some distance on the right, but within the circuit of the walls. +They had met no one. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” said Albert. “The ruffian can’t have +left the ruins—We’ll dig him out of some hole or other.” +</p> + +<p> +They organized a methodical search, beating every bush, pulling aside the heavy +masses of ivy rolled round the shafts of the columns. They made sure that the +chapel was properly locked and that none of the panes were broken. They went +round the cloisters and examined every nook and corner. The search was +fruitless. +</p> + +<p> +There was but one discovery: at the place where the man had fallen under +Raymonde’s gun, they picked up a chauffeur’s cap, in very soft buff +leather; besides that, nothing. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The gendarmerie of Ouville-la-Rivière were informed at six o’clock in the +morning and at once proceeded to the spot, after sending an express to the +authorities at Dieppe with a note describing the circumstances of the crime, +the imminent capture of the chief criminal and “the discovery of his +headgear and of the dagger with which the crime had been committed.” +</p> + +<p> +At ten o’clock, two hired conveyances came down the gentle slope that led +to the house. One of them, an old-fashioned calash, contained the deputy public +prosecutor and the examining magistrate, accompanied by his clerk. In the +other, a humble fly, were seated two reporters, representing the <i>Journal de +Rouen</i> and a great Paris paper. +</p> + +<p> +The old château came into view—once the abbey residence of the priors of +Ambrumésy, mutilated under the Revolution, both restored by the Comte de +Gesvres, who had now owned it for some twenty years. It consists of a main +building, surmounted by a pinnacled clock-tower, and two wings, each of which +is surrounded by a flight of steps with a stone balustrade. Looking across the +walls of the park and beyond the upland supported by the high Norman cliffs, +you catch a glimpse of the blue line of the Channel between the villages of +Sainte-Marguerite and Varengeville. +</p> + +<p> +Here the Comte de Gesvres lived with his daughter Suzanne, a delicate, +fair-haired, pretty creature, and his niece Raymonde de Saint-Véran, whom he +had taken to live with him two years before, when the simultaneous death of her +father and mother left Raymonde an orphan. Life at the château was peaceful and +regular. A few neighbors paid an occasional visit. In the summer, the count +took the two girls almost every day to Dieppe. He was a tall man, with a +handsome, serious face and hair that was turning gray. He was very rich, +managed his fortune himself and looked after his extensive estates with the +assistance of his secretary, Jean Daval. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately upon his arrival, the examining magistrate took down the first +observations of Sergeant Quevillon of the gendarmes. The capture of the +criminal, imminent though it might be, had not yet been effected, but every +outlet of the park was held. Escape was impossible. +</p> + +<p> +The little company next crossed the chapter-hall and the refectory, both of +which are on the ground floor, and went up to the first story. They at once +remarked the perfect order that prevailed in the drawing room. Not a piece of +furniture, not an ornament but appeared to occupy its usual place; nor was +there any gap among the ornaments or furniture. On the right and left walls +hung magnificent Flemish tapestries with figures. On the panels of the wall +facing the windows were four fine canvases, in contemporary frames, +representing mythological scenes. These were the famous pictures by Rubens +which had been left to the Comte de Gesvres, together with the Flemish +tapestries, by his maternal uncle, the Marqués de Bobadilla, a Spanish grandee. +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“If the motive of the crime was theft, this drawing room, at any rate, +was not the object of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t tell!” said the deputy, who spoke little, but who, +when he did, invariably opposed the magistrate’s views. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my dear sir, the first thought of a burglar would be to carry off +those pictures and tapestries, which are universally renowned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps there was no time.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment, the Comte de Gesvres entered, accompanied by the doctor. The +count, who did not seem to feel the effects of the attack to which he had been +subjected, welcomed the two officials. Then he opened the door of the boudoir. +</p> + +<p> +This room, which no one had been allowed to enter since the discovery of the +crime, differed from the drawing room inasmuch as it presented a scene of the +greatest disorder. Two chairs were overturned, one of the tables smashed to +pieces and several objects—a traveling-clock, a portfolio, a box of +stationery—lay on the floor. And there was blood on some of the scattered +pieces of note-paper. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor turned back the sheet that covered the corpse. Jean Daval, dressed +in his usual velvet suit, with a pair of nailed boots on his feet, lay +stretched on his back, with one arm folded beneath him. His collar and tie had +been removed and his shirt opened, revealing a large wound in the chest. +</p> + +<p> +“Death must have been instantaneous,” declared the doctor. +“One blow of the knife was enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was, no doubt, the knife which I saw on the drawing-room mantelpiece, +next to a leather cap?” said the examining magistrate. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Comte de Gesvres, “the knife was picked up +here. It comes from the same trophy in the drawing room from which my niece, +Mlle. de Saint-Véran, snatched the gun. As for the chauffeur’s cap, that +evidently belongs to the murderer.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul examined certain further details in the room, put a few questions to +the doctor and then asked M. de Gesvres to tell him what he had seen and heard. +The count worded his story as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“Jean Daval woke me up. I had been sleeping badly, for that matter, with +gleams of consciousness in which I seemed to hear noises, when, suddenly +opening my eyes, I saw Daval standing at the foot of my bed, with his candle in +his hand and fully dressed—as he is now, for he often worked late into +the night. He seemed greatly excited and said, in a low voice: +‘There’s some one in the drawing room.’ I heard a noise +myself. I got up and softly pushed the door leading to this boudoir. At the +same moment, the door over there, which opens into the big drawing room, was +thrown back and a man appeared who leaped at me and stunned me with a blow on +the temple. I am telling you this without any details, Monsieur le Juge +d’Instruction, for the simple reason that I remember only the principal +facts, and that these facts followed upon one another with extraordinary +swiftness.” +</p> + +<p> +“And after that?—” +</p> + +<p> +“After that, I don’t know—I fainted. When I came to, Daval +lay stretched by my side, mortally wounded.” +</p> + +<p> +“At first sight, do you suspect no one?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no enemy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know of none.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor M. Daval either?” +</p> + +<p> +“Daval! An enemy? He was the best creature that ever lived. M. Daval was +my secretary for twenty years and, I may say, my confidant; and I have never +seen him surrounded with anything but love and friendship.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, there has been a burglary and there has been a murder: there must +be a motive for all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“The motive? Why, it was robbery pure and simple.” +</p> + +<p> +“Robbery? Have you been robbed of something, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case—?” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, if they have stolen nothing and if nothing is missing, +they at least took something away.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. But my daughter and my niece will tell you, with +absolute certainty, that they saw two men in succession cross the park and that +those two men were carrying fairly heavy loads.” +</p> + +<p> +“The young ladies—” +</p> + +<p> +“The young ladies may have been dreaming, you think? I should be tempted +to believe it, for I have been exhausting myself in inquiries and suppositions +ever since this morning. However, it is easy enough to question them.” +</p> + +<p> +The two cousins were sent for to the big drawing room. Suzanne, still quite +pale and trembling, could hardly speak. Raymonde, who was more energetic, more +of a man, better looking, too, with the golden glint in her brown eyes, +described the events of the night and the part which she had played in them. +</p> + +<p> +“So I may take it, mademoiselle, that your evidence is positive?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. The men who went across the park were carrying things away +with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the third man?” +</p> + +<p> +“He went from here empty-handed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could you describe him to us?” +</p> + +<p> +“He kept on dazzling us with the light of his lantern. All that I could +say is that he is tall and heavily built.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that how he appeared to you, mademoiselle?” asked the +magistrate, turning to Suzanne de Gesvres. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—or, rather, no,” said Suzanne, reflecting. “I +thought he was about the middle height and slender.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul smiled; he was accustomed to differences of opinion and sight in +witnesses to one and the same fact: +</p> + +<p> +“So we have to do, on the one hand, with a man, the one in the drawing +room, who is, at the same time, tall and short, stout and thin, and, on the +other, with two men, those in the park, who are accused of removing from that +drawing room objects—which are still here!” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul was a magistrate of the ironic school, as he himself would say. He +was also a very ambitious magistrate and one who did not object to an audience +nor to an occasion to display his tactful resource in public, as was shown by +the increasing number of persons who now crowded into the room. The journalists +had been joined by the farmer and his son, the gardener and his wife, the +indoor servants of the château and the two cabmen who had driven the flies from +Dieppe. +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul continued: +</p> + +<p> +“There is also the question of agreeing upon the way in which the third +person disappeared. Was this the gun you fired, mademoiselle, and from this +window?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The man reached the tombstone which is almost buried under the +brambles, to the left of the cloisters.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he got up again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only half. Victor ran down at once to guard the little door and I +followed him, leaving the second footman, Albert, to keep watch here.” +</p> + +<p> +Albert now gave his evidence and the magistrate concluded: +</p> + +<p> +“So, according to you, the wounded man was not able to escape on the +left, because your fellow-servant was watching the door, nor on the right, +because you would have seen him cross the lawn. Logically, therefore, he is, at +the present moment, in the comparatively restricted space that lies before our +eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, mademoiselle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I, too,” said Victor. +</p> + +<p> +The deputy prosecutor exclaimed, with a leer: +</p> + +<p> +“The field of inquiry is quite narrow. We have only to continue the +search commenced four hours ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“We may be more fortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul took the leather cap from the mantel, examined it and, beckoning to +the sergeant of gendarmes, whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“Sergeant, send one of your men to Dieppe at once. Tell him to go to +Maigret, the hatter, in the Rue de la Barre, and ask M. Maigret to tell him, if +possible, to whom this cap was sold.” +</p> + +<p> +The “field of inquiry,” in the deputy’s phrase, was limited +to the space contained between the house, the lawn on the right and the angle +formed by the left wall and the wall opposite the house, that is to say, a +quadrilateral of about a hundred yards each way, in which the ruins of +Ambrumésy, the famous mediæval monastery, stood out at intervals. +</p> + +<p> +They at once noticed the traces left by the fugitive in the trampled grass. In +two places, marks of blackened blood, now almost dried up, were observed. After +the turn at the end of the cloisters, there was nothing more to be seen, as the +nature of the ground, here covered with pine-needles, did not lend itself to +the imprint of a body. But, in that case, how had the wounded man succeeded in +escaping the eyes of Raymonde, Victor and Albert? There was nothing but a few +brakes, which the servants and the gendarmes had beaten over and over again, +and a number of tombstones, under which they had explored. The examining +magistrate made the gardener, who had the key, open the chapel, a real gem of +carving, a shrine in stone which had been respected by time and the +revolutionaries, and which, with the delicate sculpture work of its porch and +its miniature population of statuettes, was always looked upon as a marvelous +specimen of the Norman-Gothic style. The chapel, which was very simple in the +interior, with no other ornament than its marble altar, offered no +hiding-place. Besides, the fugitive would have had to obtain admission. And by +what means? +</p> + +<p> +The inspection brought them to the little door in the wall that served as an +entrance for the visitors to the ruins. It opened on a sunk road running +between the park wall and a copsewood containing some abandoned quarries. M. +Filleul stooped forward: the dust of the road bore marks of anti-skid pneumatic +tires. Raymonde and Victor remembered that, after the shot, they had seemed to +hear the throb of a motor-car. +</p> + +<p> +The magistrate suggested: +</p> + +<p> +“The man must have joined his confederates.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” cried Victor. “I was here while mademoiselle +and Albert still had him in view.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, he must be somewhere! Outside or inside: we have no +choice!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is here,” the servants insisted, obstinately. +</p> + +<p> +The magistrate shrugged his shoulders and went back to the house in a more or +less sullen mood. There was no doubt that it was an unpromising case. A theft +in which nothing had been stolen; an invisible prisoner: what could be less +satisfactory? +</p> + +<p> +It was late. M. de Gesvres asked the officials and the two journalists to stay +to lunch. They ate in silence and then M. Filleul returned to the drawing room, +where he questioned the servants. But the sound of a horse’s hoofs came +from the courtyard and, a moment after, the gendarme who had been sent to +Dieppe entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, did you see the hatter?” exclaimed the magistrate, eager at +last to obtain some positive information. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw M. Maigret. The cap was sold to a cab-driver.” +</p> + +<p> +“A cab-driver!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a driver who stopped his fly before the shop and asked to be +supplied with a yellow-leather chauffeur’s cap for one of his customers. +This was the only one left. He paid for it, without troubling about the size, +and drove off. He was in a great hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of fly was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“A calash.” +</p> + +<p> +“And on what day did this happen?” +</p> + +<p> +“On what day? Why, to-day, at eight o’clock this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“This morning? What are you talking about?” +</p> + +<p> +“The cap was bought this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that’s impossible, because it was found last night in the +park. If it was found there, it must have been there; and, consequently, it +must have been bought before.” +</p> + +<p> +“The hatter told me it was bought this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment of general bewilderment. The nonplussed magistrate strove to +understand. Suddenly, he started, as though struck with a gleam of light: +</p> + +<p> +“Fetch the cabman who brought us here this morning! The man who drove the +calash! Fetch him at once!” +</p> + +<p> +The sergeant of gendarmes and his subordinate ran off to the stables. In a few +minutes, the sergeant returned alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the cabman?” +</p> + +<p> +“He asked for food in the kitchen, ate his lunch and then—” +</p> + +<p> +“And then—?” +</p> + +<p> +“He went off.” +</p> + +<p> +“With his fly?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Pretending that he wanted to go and see a relation at Ouville, he +borrowed the groom’s bicycle. Here are his hat and greatcoat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But did he leave bare-headed?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he took a cap from his pocket and put it on.” +</p> + +<p> +“A cap?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a yellow leather cap, it seems.” +</p> + +<p> +“A yellow leather cap? Why, no, we’ve got it here!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, but his is just +like it.” +</p> + +<p> +The deputy sniggered: +</p> + +<p> +“Very funny! Most amusing! There are two caps—One, the real one, +which constituted our only piece of evidence, has gone off on the head of the +sham flyman! The other, the false one, is in your hands. Oh, the fellow has had +us nicely!” +</p> + +<p> +“Catch him! Fetch him back!” cried M. Filleul. “Two of your +men on horseback, Sergeant Quevillon, and at full speed!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is far away by this time,” said the deputy. +</p> + +<p> +“He can be as far as he pleases, but still we must lay hold of +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so; but I think, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that your +efforts should be concentrated here above all. Would you mind reading this +scrap of paper, which I have just found in the pocket of the coat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Which coat?” +</p> + +<p> +“The driver’s.” +</p> + +<p> +And the deputy prosecutor handed M. Filleul a piece of paper, folded in four, +containing these few words written in pencil, in a more or less common hand: +</p> + +<p> +“Woe betide the young lady, if she has killed the governor!” +</p> + +<p> +The incident caused a certain stir. +</p> + +<p> +“A word to the wise!” muttered the deputy. “We are now +forewarned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Comte,” said the examining magistrate, “I beg +you not to be alarmed. Nor you either, mademoiselle. This threat is of no +importance, as the police are on the spot. We shall take every precaution and I +will answer for your safety. As for you, gentlemen. I rely on your discretion. +You have been present at this inquiry, thanks to my excessive kindness toward +the Press, and it would be making me an ill return—” +</p> + +<p> +He interrupted himself, as though an idea had struck him, looked at the two +young men, one after the other, and, going up to the first, asked: +</p> + +<p> +“What paper do you represent, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>Journal de Rouen</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you your credentials?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here.” +</p> + +<p> +The card was in order. There was no more to be said. M. Filleul turned to the +other reporter: +</p> + +<p> +“And you, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you: what paper do you belong to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I write for a number of +papers—all over the place—” +</p> + +<p> +“Your credentials?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t any.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! How is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“For a newspaper to give you a card, you have to be on its regular +staff.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I am only an occasional contributor, a free-lance. I send articles +to this newspaper and that. They are published or declined according to +circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, what is your name? Where are your papers?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name would tell you nothing. As for papers, I have none.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no paper of any kind to prove your profession!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no profession.” +</p> + +<p> +“But look here, sir,” cried the magistrate, with a certain +asperity, “you can’t expect to preserve your incognito after +introducing yourself here by a trick and surprising the secrets of the +police!” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg to remark, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that you asked me +nothing when I came in, and that therefore I had nothing to say. Besides, it +never struck me that your inquiry was secret, when everybody was +admitted—including even one of the criminals!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke softly, in a tone of infinite politeness. He was quite a young man, +very tall, very slender and dressed without the least attempt at fashion, in a +jacket and trousers both too small for him. He had a pink face like a +girl’s, a broad forehead topped with close-cropped hair, and a scrubby +and ill-trimmed fair beard. His bright eyes gleamed with intelligence. He +seemed not in the least embarrassed and wore a pleasant smile, free from any +shade of banter. +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul looked at him with an aggressive air of distrust. The two gendarmes +came forward. The young man exclaimed, gaily: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, you clearly suspect me of being an +accomplice. But, if that were so, would I not have slipped away at the right +moment, following the example of my fellow-criminal?” +</p> + +<p> +“You might have hoped—” +</p> + +<p> +“Any hope would have been absurd. A moment’s reflection, Monsieur +le Juge d’Instruction, will make you agree with me that, logically +speaking—” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul looked him straight in the eyes and said, sharply: +</p> + +<p> +“No more jokes! Your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Isidore Beautrelet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your occupation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sixth-form pupil at the Lycée Janson-de-Sailly.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul opened a pair of startled eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you talking about? Sixth-form pupil—” +</p> + +<p> +“At the Lycée Janson, Rue de la Pompe, number—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, look here,” exclaimed M. Filleul, “you’re trying +to take me in! This won’t do, you know; a joke can go too far!” +</p> + +<p> +“I must say, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that your astonishment +surprises me. What is there to prevent my being a sixth-form pupil at the Lycée +Janson? My beard, perhaps? Set your mind at ease: my beard is false!” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet pulled off the few curls that adorned his chin, and his +beardless face appeared still younger and pinker, a genuine schoolboy’s +face. And, with a laugh like a child’s, revealing his white teeth: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you convinced now?” he asked. “Do you want more proofs? +Here, you can read the address on these letters from my father: ‘<i>To +Monsieur Isidore Beautrelet, Indoor Pupil, Lycée +Janson-de-Sailly</i>.’” +</p> + +<p> +Convinced or not, M. Filleul did not look as if he liked the story. He asked, +gruffly: +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—I’m—I’m improving my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are schools for that: yours, for instance.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that this is the +twenty-third of April and that we are in the middle of the Easter +holidays.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have every right to spend my holidays as I please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father—” +</p> + +<p> +“My father lives at the other end of the country, in Savoy, and he +himself advised me to take a little trip on the North Coast.” +</p> + +<p> +“With a false beard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! That’s my own idea. At school, we talk a great deal about +mysterious adventures; we read detective stories, in which people disguise +themselves; we imagine any amount of terrible and intricate cases. So I thought +I would amuse myself; and I put on this false beard. Besides, I enjoyed the +advantage of being taken seriously and I pretended to be a Paris reporter. That +is how, last night, after an uneventful period of more than a week, I had the +pleasure of making the acquaintance of my Rouen colleague; and, this morning, +when he heard of the Ambrumésy murder, he very kindly suggested that I should +come with him and that we should share the cost of a fly.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet said all this with a frank and artless simplicity of which +it was impossible not to feel the charm. M. Filleul himself, though maintaining +a distrustful reserve, took a certain pleasure in listening to him. He asked +him, in a less peevish tone: +</p> + +<p> +“And are you satisfied with your expedition?” +</p> + +<p> +“Delighted! All the more as I had never been present at a case of the +sort and I find that this one is not lacking in interest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor in that mysterious intricacy which you prize so highly—” +</p> + +<p> +“And which is so stimulating, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction! I +know nothing more exciting than to see all the facts coming up out of the +shadow, clustering together, so to speak, and gradually forming the probable +truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“The probable truth! You go pretty fast, young man! Do you suggest that +you have your little solution of the riddle ready?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” replied Beautrelet, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Only—it seems to me that there are certain points on which it is +not impossible to form an opinion; and others, even, are so precise as to +warrant—a conclusion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but this is becoming very curious and I shall get to know something +at last! For I confess, to my great confusion, that I know nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is because you have not had time to reflect, Monsieur le Juge +d’Instruction. The great thing is to reflect. Facts very seldom fail to +carry their own explanation!” +</p> + +<p> +“And, according to you, the facts which we have just ascertained carry +their own explanation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think so yourself? In any case, I have ascertained none +besides those which are set down in the official report.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! So that, if I were to ask you which were the objects stolen from +this room—” +</p> + +<p> +“I should answer that I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo! My gentleman knows more about it than the owner himself. M. de +Gesvres has everything accounted for: M. Isidore Beautrelet has not. He misses +a bookcase in three sections and a life-size statue which nobody ever noticed. +And, if I asked you the name of the murderer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should again answer that I know it.” +</p> + +<p> +All present gave a start. The deputy and the journalist drew nearer. M. de +Gesvres and the two girls, impressed by Beautrelet’s tranquil assurance, +listened attentively. +</p> + +<p> +“You know the murderer’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the place where he is concealed, perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul rubbed his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“What a piece of luck! This capture will do honor to my career. And can +you make me these startling revelations now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, now—or rather, if you do not mind, in an hour or two, when I +shall have assisted at your inquiry to the end.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, young man, here and now, please.” At that moment Raymonde +de Saint-Véran, who had not taken her eyes from Isidore Beautrelet since the +beginning of this scene, came up to M. Filleul: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, mademoiselle?” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated for two or three seconds, with her eyes fixed on Beautrelet, and +then, addressing M. Filleul: +</p> + +<p> +“I should like you to ask monsieur the reason why he was walking +yesterday in the sunk road which leads up to the little door.” +</p> + +<p> +It was an unexpected and dramatic stroke. Isidore Beautrelet appeared +nonplussed: +</p> + +<p> +“I, mademoiselle? I? You saw me yesterday?” +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde remained thoughtful, with her eyes upon Beautrelet, as though she were +trying to settle her own conviction, and then said, in a steady voice: +</p> + +<p> +“At four o’clock in the afternoon, as I was crossing the wood, I +met in the sunk road a young man of monsieur’s height, dressed like him +and wearing a beard cut in the same way—and I received a very clear +impression that he was trying to hide.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it was I?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could not say that as an absolute certainty, for my recollection is a +little vague. Still—still, I think so—if not, it would be an +unusual resemblance—” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul was perplexed. Already taken in by one of the confederates, was he +now going to let himself be tricked by this self-styled schoolboy? Certainly, +the young man’s manner spoke in his favor; but one can never tell! +</p> + +<p> +“What have you to say, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“That mademoiselle is mistaken, as I can easily show you with one word. +Yesterday, at the time stated, I was at Veules.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will have to prove it, you will have to. In any case, the position +is not what it was. Sergeant, one of your men will keep monsieur +company.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet’s face denoted a keen vexation. +</p> + +<p> +“Will it be for long?” +</p> + +<p> +“Long enough to collect the necessary information.” +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I beseech you to collect it with +all possible speed and discretion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“My father is an old man. We are very much attached to each +other—and I would not have him suffer on my account.” +</p> + +<p> +The more or less pathetic note in his voice made a bad impression on M. +Filleul. It suggested a scene in a melodrama. Nevertheless, he promised: +</p> + +<p> +“This evening—or to-morrow at latest, I shall know what to +think.” +</p> + +<p> +The afternoon was wearing on. The examining magistrate returned to the ruins of +the cloisters, after giving orders that no unauthorized persons were to be +admitted, and patiently, methodically, dividing the ground into lots which were +successively explored, himself directed the search. But at the end of the day +he was no farther than at the start; and he declared, before an army of +reporters who, during that time, had invaded the château: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, everything leads us to suppose that the wounded man is here, +within our reach; everything, that is, except the reality, the fact. Therefore, +in our humble opinion, he must have escaped and we shall find him +outside.” +</p> + +<p> +By way of precaution, however, he arranged, with the sergeant of gendarmes, for +a complete watch to be kept over the park and, after making a fresh examination +of the two drawing rooms, visiting the whole of the château and surrounding +himself with all the necessary information, he took the road back to Dieppe, +accompanied by the deputy prosecutor. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Night fell. As the boudoir was to remain locked, Jean Daval’s body had +been moved to another room. Two women from the neighborhood sat up with it, +assisted by Suzanne and Raymonde. Downstairs, young Isidore Beautrelet slept on +the bench in the old oratory, under the watchful eye of the village policeman, +who had been attached to his person. Outside, the gendarmes, the farmer and a +dozen peasants had taken up their position among the ruins and along the walls. +</p> + +<p> +All was still until eleven o’clock; but, at ten minutes past eleven, a +shot echoed from the other side of the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Attention!” roared the sergeant. “Two men remain here: you, +Fossier—and you, Lecanu—The others at the double!” +</p> + +<p> +They all rushed forward and ran round the house on the left. A figure was seen +to make away in the dark. Then, suddenly, a second shot drew them farther on, +almost to the borders of the farm. And, all at once, as they arrived, in a +band, at the hedge which lines the orchard, a flame burst out, to the right of +the farmhouse, and other flames also rose in a thick column. It was a barn +burning, stuffed to the ridge with straw. +</p> + +<p> +“The scoundrels!” shouted the sergeant. “They’ve set +fire to it. Have at them, lads! They can’t be far away!” +</p> + +<p> +But the wind was turning the flames toward the main building; and it became +necessary, before all things, to ward off the danger. They all exerted +themselves with the greater ardor inasmuch as M. de Gesvres, hurrying to the +scene of the disaster, encouraged them with the promise of a reward. By the +time that they had mastered the flames, it was two o’clock in the +morning. All pursuit would have been vain. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll look into it by daylight,” said the sergeant. +“They are sure to have left traces: we shall find them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I shall not be sorry,” added M. de Gesvres, “to learn +the reason of this attack. To set fire to trusses of straw strikes me as a very +useless proceeding.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me, Monsieur le Comte: I may be able to tell you the +reason.” +</p> + +<p> +Together they reached the ruins of the cloisters. The sergeant called out: +</p> + +<p> +“Lecanu!—Fossier!” +</p> + +<p> +The other gendarmes were already hunting for their comrades whom they had left +standing sentry. They ended by finding them at a few paces from the little +door. The two men were lying full length on the ground, bound and gagged, with +bandages over their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Comte,” muttered the sergeant, while his men were +being released; “Monsieur le Comte, we have been tricked like +children.” +</p> + +<p> +“How so?” +</p> + +<p> +“The shots—the attack on the barn—the fire—all so much +humbug to get us down there—a diversion. During that time they were tying +up our two men and the business was done.” +</p> + +<p> +“What business?” +</p> + +<p> +“Carrying off the wounded man, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say you think—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Think? Why, it’s as plain as a pikestaff! The idea came to me ten +minutes ago—but I’m a fool not to have thought of it earlier. We +should have nabbed them all.” Quevillon stamped his foot on the ground, +with a sudden attack of rage. “But where, confound it, where did they go +through? Which way did they carry him off? For, dash it all, we beat the ground +all day; and a man can’t hide in a tuft of grass, especially when +he’s wounded! It’s witchcraft, that’s what it +is!—” +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this the last surprise awaiting Sergeant Quevillon. At dawn, when they +entered the oratory which had been used as a cell for young Isidore Beautrelet, +they realized that young Isidore Beautrelet had vanished. +</p> + +<p> +On a chair slept the village policeman, bent in two. By his side stood a +water-bottle and two tumblers. At the bottom of one of those tumblers a few +grains of white powder. +</p> + +<p> +On examination, it was proved, first, that young Isidore Beautrelet had +administered a sleeping draught to the village policeman; secondly, that he +could only have escaped by a window situated at a height of seven or eight feet +in the wall; and lastly—a charming detail, this—that he could only +have reached this window by using the back of his warder as a footstool. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER TWO<br/> +ISIDORE BEAUTRELET, SIXTH-FORM SCHOOLBOY</h2> + +<p> +From the <i>Grand Journal</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +LATEST NEWS +</p> + +<p class="center"> +DOCTOR DELATTRE KIDNAPPED<br/> +A MAD PIECE OF CRIMINAL DARING +</p> + +<p> +At the moment of going to press, we have received an item of news which we dare +not guarantee as authentic, because of its very improbable character. We print +it, therefore, with all reserve. +</p> + +<p> +Yesterday evening, Dr. Delattre, the well-known surgeon, was present, with his +wife and daughter, at the performance of <i>Hernani</i> at the Comédie +Française. At the commencement of the third act, that is to say, at about ten +o’clock, the door of his box opened and a gentleman, accompanied by two +others, leaned over to the doctor and said to him, in a low voice, but loud +enough for Mme. Delattre to hear: +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor, I have a very painful task to fulfil and I shall be very +grateful to you if you will make it as easy for me as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“M. Thézard, commissary of police of the first district; and my +instructions are to take you to M. Dudouis, at the prefecture.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word, doctor, I entreat you, not a movement—There is some +regrettable mistake; and that is why we must act in silence and not attract +anybody’s attention. You will be back, I have no doubt, before the end of +the performance.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor rose and went with the commissary. At the end of the performance, he +had not returned. Mme. Delattre, greatly alarmed, drove to the office of the +commissary of police. There she found the real M. Thézard and discovered, to +her great terror, that the individual who had carried off her husband was an +impostor. +</p> + +<p> +Inquiries made so far have revealed the fact that the doctor stepped into a +motor car and that the car drove off in the direction of the Concorde. +</p> + +<p> +Readers will find further details of this incredible adventure in our second +edition. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Incredible though it might be, the adventure was perfectly true. Besides, the +issue was not long delayed and the <i>Grand Journal</i>, while confirming the +story in its midday edition, described in a few lines the dramatic ending with +which it concluded: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE STORY ENDS<br/> +AND<br/> +GUESS-WORK BEGINS +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Delattre was brought back to 78, Rue Duret, at nine o’clock this +morning, in a motor car which drove away immediately at full speed. +</p> + +<p> +No. 78, Rue Duret, is the address of Dr. Delattre’s clinical surgery, at +which he arrives every morning at the same hour. When we sent in our card, the +doctor, though closeted with the chief of the detective service, was good +enough to consent to receive us. +</p> + +<p> +“All that I can tell you,” he said, in reply to our questions, +“is that I was treated with the greatest consideration. My three +companions were the most charming people I have ever met, exquisitely +well-mannered and bright and witty talkers: a quality not to be despised, in +view of the length of the journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long did it take?” +</p> + +<p> +“About four hours and as long returning.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was the object of the journey?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was taken to see a patient whose condition rendered an immediate +operation necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“And was the operation successful?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but the consequences may be dangerous. I would answer for the +patient here. Down there—under his present conditions—” +</p> + +<p> +“Bad conditions?” +</p> + +<p> +“Execrable!—A room in an inn—and the practically absolute +impossibility of being attended to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what can save him?” +</p> + +<p> +“A miracle—and his constitution, which is an exceptionally strong +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“And can you say nothing more about this strange patient?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. In the first place, I have taken an oath; and, secondly, I have +received a present of ten thousand francs for my free surgery. If I do not keep +silence, this sum will be taken from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are joking! Do you believe that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I do. The men all struck me as being very much in earnest.” +</p> + +<p> +This is the statement made to us by Dr. Delattre. And we know, on the other +hand, that the head of the detective service, in spite of all his insisting, +has not yet succeeded in extracting any more precise particulars from him as to +the operation which he performed, the patient whom he attended or the district +traversed by the car. It is difficult, therefore, to arrive at the truth. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +This truth, which the writer of the interview confessed himself unable to +discover, was guessed by the more or less clear-sighted minds that perceived a +connection with the facts which had occurred the day before at the Château +d’Ambrumésy, and which were reported, down to the smallest detail, in all +the newspapers of that day. There was evidently a coincidence to be reckoned +with in the disappearance of a wounded burglar and the kidnapping of a famous +surgeon. +</p> + +<p> +The judicial inquiry, moreover, proved the correctness of the hypothesis. By +following the track of the sham flyman, who had fled on a bicycle, they were +able to show that he had reached the forest of Arques, at some ten miles’ +distance, and that from there, after throwing his bicycle into a ditch, he had +gone to the village of Saint-Nicolas, whence he had dispatched the following +telegram: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +A. L. N., <i>Post-office</i> 45, Paris.<br/> + Situation desperate. Operation urgently necessary. Send celebrity by +national road fourteen. +</p> + +<p> +The evidence was undeniable. Once apprised the accomplices in Paris hastened to +make their arrangements. At ten o’clock in the evening they sent their +celebrity by National Road No. 14, which skirts the forest of Arques and ends +at Dieppe. During this time, under cover of the fire which they themselves had +caused, the gang of burglars carried off their leader and moved him to an inn, +where the operation took place on the arrival of the surgeon, at two +o’clock in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +About that there was no doubt. At Pontoise, at Gournay, at Forges, +Chief-inspector Ganimard, who was sent specially from Paris, with Inspector +Folenfant, as his assistant, ascertained that a motor car had passed in the +course of the previous night. The same on the road from Dieppe to Ambrumésy. +And, though the traces of the car were lost at about a mile and a half from the +château, at least a number of footmarks were seen between the little door in +the park wall and the abbey ruins. Besides, Ganimard remarked that the lock of +the little door had been forced. +</p> + +<p> +So all was explained. It remained to decide which inn the doctor had spoken of: +an easy piece of work for a Ganimard, a professional ferret, a patient old +stager of the police. The number of inns is limited and this one, given the +condition of the wounded man, could only be one quite close to Ambrumésy. +Ganimard and Sergeant Quevillon set to work. Within a circle of five hundred +yards, of a thousand yards, of fifteen hundred yards, they visited and +ransacked everything that could pass for an inn. But, against all expectation, +the dying man persisted in remaining invisible. +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard became more resolved than ever. He came back to sleep at the château, +on the Saturday night, with the intention of making his personal inquiry on the +Sunday. On Sunday morning, he learned that, during the night, a posse of +gendarmes had seen a figure gliding along the sunk road, outside the wall. Was +it an accomplice who had come back to investigate? Were they to suppose that +the leader of the gang had not left the cloisters or the neighborhood of the +cloisters? +</p> + +<p> +That night, Ganimard openly sent the squad of gendarmes to the farm and posted +himself and Folenfant outside the walls, near the little door. +</p> + +<p> +A little before midnight, a person passed out of the wood, slipped between +them, went through the door and entered the park. For three hours, they saw him +wander from side to side across the ruins, stooping, climbing up the old +pillars, sometimes remaining for long minutes without moving. Then he went back +to the door and again passed between the two inspectors. +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard caught him by the collar, while Folenfant seized him round the body. +He made no resistance of any kind and, with the greatest docility, allowed them +to bind his wrists and take him to the house. But, when they attempted to +question him, he replied simply that he owed them no account of his doings and +that he would wait for the arrival of the examining magistrate. Thereupon, they +fastened him firmly to the foot of a bed, in one of the two adjoining rooms +which they occupied. +</p> + +<p> +At nine o’clock on Monday morning, as soon as M. Filleul had arrived, +Ganimard announced the capture which he had made. The prisoner was brought +downstairs. It was Isidore Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +“M. Isidore Beautrelet!” exclaimed M. Filleul with an air of +rapture, holding out both his hands to the newcomer. “What a delightful +surprise! Our excellent amateur detective here! And at our disposal too! Why, +it’s a windfall!—M. Chief-inspector, allow me to introduce to you +M. Isidore Beautrelet, a sixth-form pupil at the Lycée Janson-de-Sailly.” +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard seemed a little nonplussed. Isidore made him a very low bow, as though +he were greeting a colleague whom he knew how to esteem at his true value, and, +turning to M. Filleul: +</p> + +<p> +“It appears, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that you have received +a satisfactory account of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly satisfactory! To begin with, you were really at +Veules-les-Roses at the time when Mlle. de Saint-Véran thought she saw you in +the sunk road. I dare say we shall discover the identity of your double. In the +second place, you are in very deed Isidore Beautrelet, a sixth-form pupil and, +what is more, an excellent pupil, industrious at your work and of exemplary +behavior. As your father lives in the country, you go out once a month to his +correspondent, M. Bernod, who is lavish in his praises of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that—” +</p> + +<p> +“So that you are free, M. Isidore Beautrelet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely free?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. Oh, I must make just one little condition, all the same. You +can understand that I can’t release a gentleman who administers +sleeping-draughts, who escapes by the window and who is afterward caught in the +act of trespassing upon private property. I can’t release him without a +compensation of some kind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I await your pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we will resume our interrupted conversation and you shall tell me +how far you have advanced with your investigations. In two days of liberty, you +must have carried them pretty far?” And, as Ganimard was preparing to go, +with an affectation of contempt for that sort of practice, the magistrate +cried, “Not at all, M. Inspector, your place is here—I assure you +that M. Isidore Beautrelet is worth listening to. M. Isidore Beautrelet, +according to my information, has made a great reputation at the Lycée +Janson-de-Sailly as an observer whom nothing escapes; and his schoolfellows, I +hear, look upon him as your competitor and a rival of Holmlock Shears!” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said Ganimard, ironically. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so. One of them wrote to me, ‘If Beautrelet declares that he +knows, you must believe him; and, whatever he says, you may be sure that it is +the exact expression of the truth.’ M. Isidore Beautrelet, now or never +is the time to vindicate the confidence of your friends. I beseech you, give us +the exact expression of the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore listened with a smile and replied: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, you are very cruel. You make fun +of poor schoolboys who amuse themselves as best they can. You are quite right, +however, and I will give you no further reason to laugh at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fact is that you know nothing, M. Isidore Beautrelet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I confess in all humility that I know nothing. For I do not call it +‘knowing anything’ that I happen to have hit upon two or three more +precise points which, I am sure, cannot have escaped you.” +</p> + +<p> +“For instance?” +</p> + +<p> +“For instance, the object of the theft.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, of course, you know the object of the theft?” +</p> + +<p> +“As you do, I have no doubt. In fact, it was the first thing I studied, +because the task struck me as easier.” +</p> + +<p> +“Easier, really?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course. At the most, it’s a question of reasoning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing more than that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is your reasoning?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is just this, stripped of all extraneous comment: on the one hand, +<i>there has been a theft</i>, because the two young ladies are agreed and +because they really saw two men running away and carrying things with +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“There has been a theft.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the other hand, <i>nothing has disappeared</i>, because M. de Gesvres +says so and he is in a better position than anybody to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing has disappeared.” +</p> + +<p> +“From those two premises I arrive at this inevitable result: granted that +there has been a theft and that nothing has disappeared, it is because the +object carried off has been replaced by an exactly similar object. Let me +hasten to add that possibly my argument may not be confirmed by the facts. But +I maintain that it is the first argument that ought to occur to us and that we +are not entitled to waive it until we have made a serious examination.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true—that’s true,” muttered the +magistrate, who was obviously interested. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” continued Isidore, “what was there in this room that +could arouse the covetousness of the burglars? Two things. The tapestry first. +It can’t have been that. Old tapestry cannot be imitated: the fraud would +have been palpable at once. There remain the four Rubens pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I say that the four Rubenses on that wall are false.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +“They are false <i>a priori</i>, inevitably and without a doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you, it’s impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very nearly a year ago, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, +since a young man, who gave his name as Charpenais, came to the Château +d’Ambrumésy and asked permission to copy the Rubens pictures. M. de +Gesvres gave him permission. Every day for five months Charpenais worked in +this room from morning till dusk. The copies which he made, canvases and +frames, have taken the place of the four original pictures bequeathed to M. de +Gesvres by his uncle, the Marqués de Bobadilla.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prove it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no proof to give. A picture is false because it is false; and I +consider that it is not even necessary to examine these four.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul and Ganimard exchanged glances of unconcealed astonishment. The +inspector no longer thought of withdrawing. At last, the magistrate muttered: +</p> + +<p> +“We must have M. de Gesvres’s opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +And Ganimard agreed: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we must have his opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +And they sent to beg the count to come to the drawing room. +</p> + +<p> +The young sixth-form pupil had won a real victory. To compel two experts, two +professionals like M. Filleul and Ganimard to take account of his surmises +implied a testimony of respect of which any other would have been proud. But +Beautrelet seemed not to feel those little satisfactions of self-conceit and, +still smiling without the least trace of irony, he placidly waited. +</p> + +<p> +M. de Gesvres entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Comte,” said the magistrate, “the result of our +inquiry has brought us face to face with an utterly unexpected contingency, +which we submit to you with all reserve. It is possible—I say that it is +possible—that the burglars, when breaking into the house, had it as their +object to steal your four pictures by Rubens—or, at least, to replace +them by four copies—copies which are said to have been made last year by +a painter called Charpenais. Would you be so good as to examine the pictures +and to tell us if you recognize them as genuine?” +</p> + +<p> +The count appeared to suppress a movement of annoyance, looked at Isidore +Beautrelet and at M. Filleul and replied, without even troubling to go near the +pictures: +</p> + +<p> +“I hoped, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that the truth might have +remained unknown. As this is not so, I have no hesitation in declaring that the +four pictures are false.” +</p> + +<p> +“You knew it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“From the beginning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you say so?” +</p> + +<p> +“The owner of a work is never in a hurry to declare that that work is +not—or, rather, is no longer genuine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, it was the only means of recovering them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I consider that there was another and a better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which was that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to make the secret known, not to frighten my burglars and to offer +to buy back the pictures, which they must find more or less difficult to +dispose of.” +</p> + +<p> +“How would you communicate with them?” +</p> + +<p> +As the count did not reply, Isidore answered for him: +</p> + +<p> +“By means of an advertisement in the papers. The paragraph inserted in +the agony column of the <i>Journal</i>, the <i>Écho de Paris</i> and the +<i>Matin</i> runs, ‘Am prepared to buy back the pictures.’” +</p> + +<p> +The count agreed with a nod. Once again, the young man was teaching his elders. +M. Filleul showed himself a good sportsman. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no doubt about it, my dear sir,” he exclaimed. +“I’m beginning to think your school-fellows were not quite wrong. +By Jove, what an eye! What intuition! If this goes on, there will be nothing +left for M. Ganimard and me to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, none of this part was so very complicated!” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean to say that the rest was more so I remember, in fact, that, +when we first met you seemed to know all about it. Let me see, a far as I +recollect, you said that you knew the name of the murderer.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, who killed Jean Daval? Is the man alive? Where is he +hiding?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a misunderstanding between us, Monsieur le Juge +d’Instruction, or, rather, you have misunderstood the facts from the +beginning The murderer and the runaway are two distinct persons.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” exclaimed M. Filleul. “The man whom M. +de Gesvres saw in the boudoir and struggled with, the man whom the young ladies +saw in the drawing-room and whom Mlle. de Saint-Véran shot at, the man who fell +in the park and whom we are looking for: do you suggest that he is not the man +who killed Jean Daval?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you discovered the traces of a third accomplice who disappeared +before the arrival of the young ladies?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, I don’t understand.—Well, who is the murderer +of Jean Daval?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jean Daval was killed by—” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet interrupted himself, thought for a moment and continued: +</p> + +<p> +“But I must first show you the road which I followed to arrive at the +certainty and the very reasons of the murder—without which my accusation +would seem monstrous to you.—And it is not—no, it is not monstrous +at all.—There is one detail which has passed unobserved and which, +nevertheless, is of the greatest importance; and that is that Jean Daval, at +the moment when he was stabbed, had all his clothes on, including his walking +boots, was dressed, in short, as a man is dressed in the middle of the day, +with a waistcoat, collar, tie and braces. Now the crime was committed at four +o’clock in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reflected on that strange fact,” said the magistrate, “and +M. de Gesvres replied that Jean Daval spent a part of his nights in +working.” +</p> + +<p> +“The servants say, on the contrary, that he went to bed regularly at a +very early hour. But, admitting that he was up, why did he disarrange his +bedclothes, to make believe that he had gone to bed? And, if he was in bed, +why, when he heard a noise, did he take the trouble to dress himself from head +to foot, instead of slipping on anything that came to hand? I went to his room +on the first day, while you were at lunch: his slippers were at the foot of the +bed. What prevented him from putting them on rather than his heavy nailed +boots?” +</p> + +<p> +“So far, I do not see—” +</p> + +<p> +“So far, in fact, you cannot see anything, except anomalies. They +appeared much more suspicious to me, however, when I learned that Charpenais +the painter, the man who copied the Rubens pictures, had been introduced and +recommended to the Comte de Gesvres by Jean Daval himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, from that to the conclusion that Jean Daval and Charpenais were +accomplices required but a step. I took that step at the time of our +conversation.” +</p> + +<p> +“A little quickly, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“As a matter of fact, a material proof was wanted. Now I had discovered +in Daval’s room, on one of the sheets of the blotting-pad on which he +used to write, this address: ‘Monsieur <i>A.L.N., Post-office</i> 45, +<i>Paris</i>.’ You will find it there still, traced the reverse way on +the blotting-paper. The next day, it was discovered that the telegram sent by +the sham flyman from Saint-Nicolas bore the same address: ‘<i>A.L.N., +Post-office</i> 45.’ The material proof existed: Jean Daval was in +correspondence with the gang which arranged the robbery of the pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul raised no objection. +</p> + +<p> +“Agreed. The complicity is established. And what conclusion do you +draw?” +</p> + +<p> +“This, first of all, that it was not the runaway who killed Jean Daval, +because Jean Daval was his accomplice.” +</p> + +<p> +“And after that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I will ask you to remember the +first sentence uttered by Monsieur le Comte when he recovered from fainting. +The sentence forms part of Mlle. de Gesvres’ evidence and is in the +official report: ‘I am not wounded.—Daval?—Is he +alive?—The knife?’ And I will ask you to compare it with that part +of his story, also in the report, in which Monsieur le Comte describes the +assault: ‘The man leaped at me and felled me with a blow on the +temple!’ How could M. de Gesvres, who had fainted, know, on waking, that +Daval had been stabbed with a knife?” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet did not wait for an answer to his question. It seemed as +though he were in a hurry to give the answer himself and to avoid all comment. +He continued straightway: +</p> + +<p> +“Therefore it was Jean Daval who brought the three burglars to the +drawing room. While he was there with the one whom they call their chief, a +noise was heard in the boudoir. Daval opened the door. Recognizing M. de +Gesvres, he rushed at him, armed with the knife. M. de Gesvres succeeded in +snatching the knife from him, struck him with it and himself fell, on receiving +a blow from the man whom the two girls were to see a few minutes after.” +</p> + +<p> +Once again, M. Filleul and the inspector exchanged glances. Ganimard tossed his +head in a disconcerted way. The magistrate said: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Comte, am I to believe that this version is correct?” +</p> + +<p> +M. de Gesvres made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Monsieur le Comte, your silence would allow us to suppose—I +beg you to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +Replying in a very clear voice, M. de Gesvres said: +</p> + +<p> +“The version is correct in every particular.” +</p> + +<p> +The magistrate gave a start. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I cannot understand why you misled the police. Why conceal an act +which you were lawfully entitled to commit in defense of your life?” +</p> + +<p> +“For twenty years,” said M. de Gesvres, “Daval worked by my +side. I trusted him. If he betrayed me, as the result of some temptation or +other, I was, at least, unwilling, for the sake of the past, that his treachery +should become known.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were unwilling, I agree, but you had no right to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not of your opinion, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. As long +as no innocent person was accused of the crime, I was absolutely entitled to +refrain from accusing the man who was at the same time the culprit and the +victim. He is dead. I consider death a sufficient punishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“But now, Monsieur le Comte, now that the truth is known, you can +speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Here are two rough drafts of letters written by him to his +accomplices. I took them from his pocket-book, a few minutes after his +death.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the motive of his theft?” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to 18, Rue de la Barre, at Dieppe, which is the address of a certain +Mme. Verdier. It was for this woman, whom he got to know two years ago, and to +supply her constant need of money that Daval turned thief.” +</p> + +<p> +So everything was cleared up. The tragedy rose out of the darkness and +gradually appeared in its true light. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go on,” said M. Filluel after the count had withdrawn. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” said Beautrelet, gaily, “I have said almost +all that I had to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the runaway, the wounded man?” +</p> + +<p> +“As to that, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, you know as much as I +do. You have followed his tracks in the grass by the cloisters—you +have—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, I know. But, since then, his friends have removed him and what +I want is a clue or two as regards that inn—” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet burst out laughing: +</p> + +<p> +“The inn! The inn does not exist! It’s an invention, a trick to put +the police on the wrong scent, an ingenious trick, too, for it seems to have +succeeded.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Dr. Delattre declares—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s just it!” cried Beautrelet, in a tone of +conviction. “It is just because Dr. Delattre declares that we +mustn’t believe him. Why, Dr. Delattre refused to give any but the +vaguest details concerning his adventure! He refused to say anything that might +compromise his patient’s safety!—And suddenly he calls attention to +an inn!—You may be sure that he talked about that inn because he was told +to. You may be sure that the whole story which he dished up to us was dictated +to him under the threat of terrible reprisals. The doctor has a wife. The +doctor has a daughter. He is too fond of them to disobey people of whose +formidable power he has seen proofs. And that is why he has assisted your +efforts by supplying the most precise clues.” +</p> + +<p> +“So precise that the inn is nowhere to be found.” +</p> + +<p> +“So precise that you have never ceased looking for it, in the face of all +probability, and that your eyes have been turned away from the only spot where +the man can be, the mysterious spot which he has not left, which he has been +unable to leave ever since the moment when, wounded by Mlle. de Saint-Véran, he +succeeded in dragging himself to it, like a beast to its lair.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where, confound it all?—In what corner of Hades—?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the ruins of the old abbey.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there are no ruins left!—A few bits of wall!—A few +broken columns!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where he’s gone to earth. Monsieur le Juge +d’Instruction!” shouted Beautrelet. “That’s where you +will have to look for him! It’s there and nowhere else that you will find +Arsène Lupin!” +</p> + +<p> +“Arsène Lupin!” yelled M. Filleul, springing to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +There was a rather solemn pause, amid which the syllables of the famous name +seemed to prolong their sound. Was it possible that the vanquished and yet +invisible adversary, whom they had been hunting in vain for several days, could +really be Arsène Lupin? Arsène Lupin, caught in a trap, arrested, meant +immediate promotion, fortune, glory to any examining magistrate! +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard had not moved a limb. Isidore said to him: +</p> + +<p> +“You agree with me, do you not, M. Inspector?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have not doubted either, for a moment have you, that he managed this +business?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for a second! The thing bears his signature. A move of Arsène +Lupin’s is as different from a move made by another man as one face is +from another. You have only to open your eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so? Do you think so?” said M. Filleul. +</p> + +<p> +“Think so!” cried the young man. “Look, here’s one +little fact: what are the initials under which those men correspond among +themselves? ‘A. L. N.,’ that is to say, the first letter of the +name Arsène and the first and last letters of the name Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Ganimard, “nothing escapes you! Upon my word, +you’re a fine fellow and old Ganimard lays down his arms before +you!” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet flushed with pleasure and pressed the hand which the chief-inspector +held out to him. The three men had drawn near the balcony and their eyes now +took in the extent of the ruins. M. Filleul muttered: +</p> + +<p> +“So he ought to be there.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>He is there</i>,” said Beautrelet, in a hollow voice. “He +has been there ever since the moment when he fell. Logically and practically, +he could not escape without being seen by Mlle. de Saint-Véran and the two +servants.” +</p> + +<p> +“What proof have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“His accomplices have furnished the proof. On the very morning, one of +them disguised himself as a flyman and drove you here—” +</p> + +<p> +“To recover the cap, which would serve to identify him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, but also and more particularly to examine the spot, find out +and see for himself what had become of the ‘governor.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And did he find out?” +</p> + +<p> +“I presume so, as he knew the hiding-place. And I presume that he became +aware of the desperate condition of his chief, because, under the impulse of +his alarm, he committed the imprudence to write that threat: ‘Woe betide +the young lady, if she has killed the governor!’” +</p> + +<p> +“But his friends were able to take him away afterward?” +</p> + +<p> +“When? Your men have never left the ruins. And where could they have +moved him to? At most, a few hundred yards away, for one doesn’t let a +dying man travel—and then you would have found him. No, I tell you, he is +there. His friends would never have removed him from the safest of +hiding-places. It was there that they brought the doctor, while the gendarmes +were running to the fire like children.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how is he living? How will he keep alive? To keep alive you need +food and drink.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say. I don’t know. But he is there, I will swear it. +He is there, because he can’t help being there. I am as sure of it as if +I saw as if I touched him. He is there.” +</p> + +<p> +With his finger outstretched toward the ruins, he traced in the air a little +circle which became smaller and smaller until it was only a point. And that +point his two companions sought desperately, both leaning into space, both +moved by the same faith in Beautrelet and quivering with the ardent conviction +which he had forced upon them. Yes, Arsène Lupin was there. In theory and in +fact, he was there: neither of them was now able to doubt it. +</p> + +<p> +And there was something impressive and tragic in knowing that the famous +adventurer was lying in some dark shelter, below the ground, helpless, feverish +and exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +“And if he dies?” asked M. Filleul, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“If he dies,” said Beautrelet, “and if his accomplices are +sure of it, then see to the safety of Mlle. de Saint-Véran. Monsieur le Juge +d’Instruction, for the vengeance will be terrible.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A few minutes later and in spite of the entreaties of M. Filleul, who would +gladly have made further use of this fascinating auxiliary, Isidore Beautrelet, +whose holidays ended that day, went off by the Dieppe Road. He stepped from the +train in Paris at five o’clock and, at eight o’clock, returned to +the Lycée Janson together with his schoolfellows. +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard, after a minute, but utterly useless exploration of the ruins of +Ambrumésy, returned to Paris by the fast night-train. On reaching his apartment +in the Rue Pergolese, he found an express letter awaiting him: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Monsieur l’Inspecteur Principal:</i><br/> + Finding that I had a little time to spare at the end of the day, I have +succeeded in collecting a few additional particulars which are sure to interest +you.<br/> + Arsène Lupin has been living in Paris for twelve months under the name of +Étienne de Vaudreix. It is a name which you will often come across in the +society notes or the sporting columns of the newspapers. He is a great traveler +and is absent for long periods, during which, by his own account, he goes +hunting tigers in Bengal or blue foxes in Siberia. He is supposed to be in +business of some kind, although nobody is able to say for certain what his +business is.<br/> + His present address is 38, Rue Marbeuf; and I will call your attention to +the fact that the Rue Marbeuf is close to Post-office Number 45. Since Thursday +the twenty-third of April, the day before the burglary at Ambrumésy, there has +been no news at all of Étienne de Vaudreix.<br/> + With very many thanks for the kindness which you have shown me, believe me +to be, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Monsieur l’Inspecteur Principal,<br/> +Yours sincerely,<br/> +I<small>SIDORE</small> B<small>EAUTRELET</small>. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +P.S.—Please on no account think that it cost me any great trouble to +obtain this information. On the very morning of the crime, while M. Filleul was +pursuing his examination before a few privileged persons, I had the fortunate +inspiration to glance at the runaway’s cap, before the sham flyman came +to change it. The hatter’s name was enough, as you may imagine, to enable +me to find the clue that led to the identification of the purchaser and his +address. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, Ganimard called at 36, Rue Marbeuf. After questioning the +concierge, he made him open the door of the ground-floor flat on the right, a +very comfortable apartment, elegantly furnished, in which, however, he +discovered nothing beyond some cinders in the fireplace. Two friends had come, +four days earlier, to burn all compromising papers. +</p> + +<p> +But, just as he was leaving, Ganimard passed the postman, who was bringing a +letter for M. de Vaudreix. That afternoon, the public prosecutor was informed +of the case and ordered the letter to be given up. It bore an American postmark +and contained the following lines, in English: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +D<small>EAR</small> S<small>IR</small>:<br/> + I write to confirm the answer which I gave your representative. As soon as +you have M. de Gesvres’s four pictures in your possession, you can +forward them as arranged.<br/> + You may add the rest, if you are able to succeed, which I doubt.<br/> + An unexpected business requires my presence in Europe and I shall reach +Paris at the same time as this letter. You will find me at the Grand Hôtel. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Yours faithfully,<br/> +E<small>PHRAIM</small> B. H<small>ARLINGTON</small>. +</p> + +<p> +That same day, Ganimard applied for a warrant and took Mr. E. B. Harlington, an +American citizen, to the police-station, on a charge of receiving and +conspiracy. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Thus, within the space of twenty-four hours, all the threads of the plot had +been unraveled, thanks to the really unforeseen clues supplied by a schoolboy +of seventeen. In twenty-four hours, what had seemed inexplicable became simple +and clear. In twenty-four hours, the scheme devised by the accomplices to save +their leader was baffled; the capture of Arsène Lupin, wounded and dying, was +no longer in doubt, his gang was disorganized, the address of his establishment +in Paris and the name which he assumed were known and, for the first time, one +of his cleverest and most carefully elaborated feats was seen through before he +had been able to ensure its complete execution. +</p> + +<p> +An immense clamor of astonishment, admiration and curiosity arose among the +public. Already, the Rouen journalist, in a very able article, had described +the first examination of the sixth-form pupil, laying stress upon his personal +charm, his simplicity of manner and his quiet assurance. The indiscretions of +Ganimard and M. Filleul, indiscretions to which they yielded in spite of +themselves, under an impulse that proved stronger than their professional +pride, suddenly enlightened the public as to the part played by Isidore +Beautrelet in recent events. He alone had done everything. To him alone the +merit of the victory was due. +</p> + +<p> +The excitement was intense. Isidore Beautrelet awoke to find himself a hero; +and the crowd, suddenly infatuated, insisted upon the fullest information +regarding its new favorite. The reporters were there to supply it. They rushed +to the assault of the Lycée Janson-de-Sailly, waited for the day-boarders to +come out after schoolhours and picked up all that related, however remotely, to +Beautrelet. It was in this way that they learned the reputation which he +enjoyed among his schoolfellows, who called him the rival of Holmlock Shears. +Thanks to his powers of logical reasoning, with no further data than those +which he was able to gather from the papers, he had, time after time, +proclaimed the solution of very complicated cases long before they were cleared +up by the police. +</p> + +<p> +It had become a game at the Lycée Janson to put difficult questions and +intricate problems to Beautrelet; and it was astonishing to see with what +unhesitating and analytical power and by means of what ingenious deductions he +made his way through the thickest darkness. Ten days before the arrest of +Jorisse, the grocer, he showed what could be done with the famous umbrella. In +the same way, he declared from the beginning, in the matter of the Saint-Cloud +mystery, that the concierge was the only possible murderer. +</p> + +<p> +But most curious of all was the pamphlet which was found circulating among the +boys at the school, a typewritten pamphlet signed by Beautrelet and manifolded +to the number of ten copies. It was entitled, <i>Arsène Lupin and his method, +showing in how far the latter is based upon tradition and in how far original. +Followed by a comparison between English humor and French irony.</i> +</p> + +<p> +It contained a profound study of each of the exploits of Arsène Lupin, throwing +the illustrious burglar’s operations into extraordinary relief, showing +the very mechanism of his way of setting to work, his special tactics, his +letters to the press, his threats, the announcement of his thefts, in short, +the whole bag of tricks which he employed to bamboozle his selected victim and +throw him into such a state of mind that the victim almost offered himself to +the plot contrived against him and that everything took place, as it were, with +his own consent. +</p> + +<p> +And the work was so just, regarded as a piece of criticism, so penetrating, so +lively and marked by a wit so clever and, at the same time, so cruel that the +lawyers at once passed over to his side, that the sympathy of the crowd was +summarily transferred from Lupin to Beautrelet and that, in the struggle +engaged upon between the two, the schoolboy’s victory was loudly +proclaimed in advance. +</p> + +<p> +Be this as it may, both M. Filleul and the Paris public prosecutor seemed +jealously to reserve the possibility of this victory for him. On the one hand, +they failed to establish Mr. Harlington’s identity or to furnish a +definite proof of his connection with Lupin’s gang. Confederate or not, +he preserved an obstinate silence. Nay, more, after examining his handwriting, +it was impossible to declare that he was the author of the intercepted letter. +A Mr. Harlington, carrying a small portmanteau and a pocket-book stuffed with +bank-notes, had taken up his abode at the Grand Hôtel: that was all that could +be stated with certainty. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, at Dieppe, M. Filleul lay down on the positions which +Beautrelet had won for him. He did not move a step forward. Around the +individual whom Mlle. de Saint-Véran had taken for Beautrelet, on the eve of +the crime, the same mystery reigned as heretofore. The same obscurity also +surrounded everything connected with the removal of the four Rubens pictures. +What had become of them? And what road had been taken by the motor car in which +they were carried off during the night? +</p> + +<p> +Evidence of its passing was obtained at Luneray at Yerville, at Yvetot and at +Caudebec-en-Caux, where it must have crossed the Seine at daybreak in the +steam-ferry. But, when the matter came to be inquired into more thoroughly, it +was stated that the motor car was an uncovered one and that it would have been +impossible to pack four large pictures into it unobserved by the ferryman. +</p> + +<p> +It was very probably the same car; but then the question cropped up again: what +had become of the four Rubenses? +</p> + +<p> +These were so many problems which M. Filleul unanswered. Every day, his +subordinates searched the quadrilateral of the ruins. Almost every day, he came +to direct the explorations. But between that and discovering the refuge in +which Lupin lay dying—if it were true that Beautrelet’s opinion was +correct—there was a gulf fixed which the worthy magistrate did not seem +likely to cross. +</p> + +<p> +And so it was natural that they should turn once more to Isidore Beautrelet, as +he alone had succeeded in dispelling shadows which, in his absence, gathered +thicker and more impenetrable than ever. Why did he not go on with the case? +Seeing how far he had carried it, he required but an effort to succeed. +</p> + +<p> +The question was put to him by a member of the staff of the <i>Grand +Journal</i>, who had obtained admission to the Lycée Janson by assuming the +name of Bernod, the friend of Beautrelet’s father. And Isidore very +sensibly replied: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir, there are other things besides Lupin in this world, other +things besides stories about burglars and detectives. There is, for instance, +the thing which is known as taking one’s degree. Now I am going up for my +examination in July. This is May. And I don’t want to be plucked. What +would my worthy parent say?” +</p> + +<p> +“But what would he say if you delivered Arsène Lupin into the hands of +the police?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut! There’s a time for everything. In the next +holidays—” +</p> + +<p> +“Whitsuntide?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—I shall go down on Saturday the sixth of June by the first +train.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, on the evening of that Saturday, Lupin will be taken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you give me until the Sunday?” asked Beautrelet, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Why delay?” replied the journalist, quite seriously. +</p> + +<p> +This inexplicable confidence, born of yesterday and already so strong, was felt +with regard to the young man by one and all, even though, in reality, events +had justified it only up to a certain point. No matter, people believed in him! +Nothing seemed difficult to him. They expected from him what they were entitled +to expect at most from some phenomenon of penetration and intuition, of +experience and skill. That day of the sixth of June was made to sprawl over all +the papers. On the sixth of June, Isidore Beautrelet would take the fast train +to Dieppe: and Lupin would be arrested on the same evening. +</p> + +<p> +“Unless he escapes between this and then,” objected the last +remaining partisans of the adventurer. +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible! Every outlet is watched.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless he has succumbed to his wounds, then,” said the partisans, +who would have preferred their hero’s death to his capture. +</p> + +<p> +And the retort was immediate: +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! If Lupin were dead, his confederates would know it by now, and +Lupin would be revenged. Beautrelet said so!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And the sixth of June came. Half a dozen journalists were looking out for +Isidore at the Gare Saint-Lazare. Two of them wanted to accompany him on his +journey. He begged them to refrain. +</p> + +<p> +He started alone, therefore, in a compartment to himself. He was tired, thanks +to a series of nights devoted to study, and soon fell asleep. He slept heavily. +In his dreams, he had an impression that the train stopped at different +stations and that people got in and out. When he awoke, within sight of Rouen, +he was still alone. But, on the back of the opposite seat, was a large sheet of +paper, fastened with a pin to the gray cloth. It bore these words: +</p> + +<p> +“Every man should mind his own business. Do you mind yours. If not, you +must take the consequences.” +</p> + +<p> +“Capital!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands with delight. +“Things are going badly in the adversary’s camp. That threat is as +stupid and vulgar as the sham flyman’s. What a style! One can see that it +wasn’t composed by Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +The train threaded the tunnel that precedes the old Norman city. On reaching +the station, Isidore took a few turns on the platform to stretch his legs. He +was about to re-enter his compartment, when a cry escaped him. As he passed the +bookstall, he had read, in an absent-minded way, the following lines on the +front page of a special edition of the <i>Journal de Rouen;</i> and their +alarming sense suddenly burst upon him: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +STOP-PRESS NEWS +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +We hear by telephone from Dieppe that the Château d’Ambrumésy was broken +into last night by criminals, who bound and gagged Mlle. de Gesvres and carried +off Mlle. de Saint-Véran. Traces of blood have been seen at a distance of five +hundred yards from the house and a scarf has been found close by, which is also +stained with blood. There is every reason to fear that the poor young girl has +been murdered. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet completed his journey to Dieppe without moving a limb. Bent +in two, with his elbows on his knees and his hands plastered against his face, +he sat thinking. +</p> + +<p> +At Dieppe, he took a fly. At the door of Ambrumésy, he met the examining +magistrate, who confirmed the horrible news. +</p> + +<p> +“You know nothing more?” asked Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. I have only just arrived.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment, the sergeant of gendarmes came up to M. Filleul and handed him +a crumpled, torn and discolored piece of paper, which he had picked up not far +from the place where the scarf was found. M. Filleul looked at it and gave it +to Beautrelet, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose this will help us much in our +investigations.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore turned the paper over and over. It was covered with figures, dots and +signs and presented the exact appearance reproduced below: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img01.jpg" width="500" height="273" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER THREE<br/> +THE CORPSE</h2> + +<p> +At six o’clock in the evening, having finished all he had to do, M. +Filluel, accompanied by M. Brédoux, his clerk, stood waiting for the carriage +which was to take him back to Dieppe. He seemed restless, nervous. Twice over, +he asked: +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t seen anything of young Beautrelet, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I can’t say I +have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where on earth can he be? I haven’t set eyes on him all +day!” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, he had an idea, handed his portfolio to Brédoux, ran round the +château and made for the ruins. Isidore Beautrelet was lying near the +cloisters, flat on his face, with one arm folded under his head, on the ground +carpeted with pine-needles. He seemed drowsing. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, young man, what are you doing here? Are you asleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not asleep. I’ve been thinking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ever since this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ever since this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not a question of thinking! One must see into things first, +study facts, look for clues, establish connecting links. The time for thinking +comes after, when one pieces all that together and discovers the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know.—That’s the usual way, the right one, I dare +say.—Mine is different.—I think first, I try, above all, to get the +general hang of the case, if I may so express myself. Then I imagine a +reasonable and logical hypothesis, which fits in with the general idea. And +then, and not before, I examine the facts to see if they agree with my +hypothesis.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a funny method and a terribly complicated one!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a sure method, M. Filleul, which is more than can be said of +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come! Facts are facts.” +</p> + +<p> +“With your ordinary sort of adversary, yes. But, given an enemy endowed +with a certain amount of cunning, the facts are those which he happens to have +selected. Take the famous clues upon which you base your inquiry: why, he was +at liberty to arrange them as he liked. And you see where that can lead you, +into what mistakes and absurdities, when you are dealing with a man like Arsène +Lupin. Holmlock Shears himself fell into the trap.” +</p> + +<p> +“Arsène Lupin is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter. His gang remains and the pupils of such a master are masters +themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul took Isidore by the arm and, leading him away: +</p> + +<p> +“Words, young man, words. Here is something of more importance. Listen to +me. Ganimard is otherwise engaged at this moment and will not be here for a few +days. On the other hand, the Comte de Gesvres has telegraphed to Holmlock +Shears, who has promised his assistance next week. Now don’t you think, +young man, that it would be a feather in our cap if we were able to say to +those two celebrities, on the day of their arrival, ‘Awfully sorry, +gentlemen, but we couldn’t wait. The business is done’?” +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible for M. Filleul to confess helplessness with greater candor. +Beautrelet suppressed a smile and, pretending not to see through the worthy +magistrate, replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I confess. Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, that, if I was not +present at your inquiry just now, it was because I hoped that you would consent +to tell me the results. May I ask what you have learned?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, last night, at eleven o’clock, the three gendarmes whom +Sergeant Quevillon had left on guard at the château received a note from the +sergeant telling them to hasten with all speed to Ouville, where they are +stationed. They at once rode off, and when they arrived at +Ouville—” +</p> + +<p> +“They discovered that they had been tricked, that the order was a forgery +and that there was nothing for them to do but return to Ambrumésy.” +</p> + +<p> +“This they did, accompanied by Sergeant Quevillon. But they were away for +an hour and a half and, during this time, the crime was committed.” +</p> + +<p> +“In what circumstances?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very simple circumstances, indeed. A ladder was removed from the farm +buildings and placed against the second story of the château. A pane of glass +was cut out and a window opened. Two men, carrying a dark lantern, entered +Mlle. de Gesvres’s room and gagged her before she could cry out. Then, +after binding her with cords, they softly opened the door of the room in which +Mlle. de Saint-Véran was sleeping. Mlle. de Gesvres heard a stifled moan, +followed by the sound of a person struggling. A moment later, she saw two men +carrying her cousin, who was also bound and gagged. They passed in front of her +and went out through the window. Then Mlle. de Gesvres, terrified and +exhausted, fainted.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what about the dogs? I thought M. de Gesvres had bought two almost +wild sheep-dogs, which were let loose at night?” +</p> + +<p> +“They were found dead, poisoned.” +</p> + +<p> +“By whom? Nobody could get near them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a mystery. The fact remains that the two men crossed the +ruins without let or hindrance and went out by the little door which we have +heard so much about. They passed through the copsewood, following the line of +the disused quarries. It was not until they were nearly half a mile from the +château, at the foot of the tree known as the Great Oak, that they +stopped—and executed their purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“If they came with the intention of killing Mlle. de Saint-Véran, why +didn’t they murder her in her room?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. Perhaps the incident that settled their +determination only occurred after they had left the house. Perhaps the girl +succeeded in releasing herself from her bonds. In my opinion, the scarf which +was picked up was used to fasten her wrists. In any case, the blow was struck +at the foot of the Great Oak. I have collected indisputable +proofs—” +</p> + +<p> +“But the body?” +</p> + +<p> +“The body has not been found, but there is nothing excessively surprising +in that. As a matter of fact, the trail which I followed brought me to the +church at Varengeville and the old cemetery perched on the top of the cliff. +From there it is a sheer precipice, a fall of over three hundred feet to the +rocks and the sea below. In a day or two, a stronger tide than usual will cast +up the body on the beach.” +</p> + +<p> +“Obviously. This is all very simple.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is all very simple and doesn’t trouble me in the least. +Lupin is dead, his accomplices heard of it and, to revenge themselves, have +killed Mlle. de Saint-Véran. These are facts which did not even require +checking. But Lupin?” +</p> + +<p> +“What about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“What has become of him? In all probability, his confederates removed his +corpse at the same time that they carried away the girl; but what proof have +we? None at all. Any more than of his staying in the ruins, or of his death, or +of his life. And that is the real mystery, M. Beautrelet. The murder of Mlle. +Raymonde solves nothing. On the contrary, it only complicates matters. What has +been happening during the past two months at the Château d’Ambrumésy? If +we don’t clear up the riddle, young man, others will give us the +go-by.” +</p> + +<p> +“On what day are those others coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wednesday—Tuesday perhaps—” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet seemed to be making an inward calculation and then declared: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, this is Saturday. I have to be +back at school on Monday evening. Well, if you will have the goodness to be +here at ten o’clock exactly on Monday morning, I will try to give you the +key to the riddle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, M. Beautrelet—do you think so? Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so, at any rate.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where are you going now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to see if the facts consent to fit in with the general theory +which I am beginning to perceive.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if they don’t fit in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction,” said Beautrelet, with +a laugh, “then it will be their fault and I must look for others which, +will prove more tractable. Till Monday, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Till Monday.” +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later, M. Filleul was driving toward Dieppe, while Isidore +mounted a bicycle which he had borrowed from the Comte de Gesvres and rode off +along the road to Yerville and Caudebec-en-Caux. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There was one point in particular on which the young man was anxious to form a +clear opinion, because this just appeared to him to be the enemy’s +weakest point. Objects of the size of the four Rubens pictures cannot be +juggled away. They were bound to be somewhere. Granting that it was impossible +to find them for the moment, might one not discover the road by which they had +disappeared? +</p> + +<p> +What Beautrelet surmised was that the four pictures had undoubtedly been +carried off in the motor car, but that, before reaching Caudebec, they were +transferred to another car, which had crossed the Seine either above Caudebec +or below it. Now the first horse-boat down the stream was at Quillebeuf, a +greatly frequented ferry and, consequently, dangerous. Up stream, there was the +ferry-boat at La Mailleraie, a large, but lonely market-town, lying well off +the main road. +</p> + +<p> +By midnight, Isidore had covered the thirty-five or forty miles to La +Mailleraie and was knocking at the door of an inn by the waterside. He slept +there and, in the morning, questioned the ferrymen. +</p> + +<p> +They consulted the counterfoils in the traffic-book. No motor-car had crossed +on Thursday the 23rd of April. +</p> + +<p> +“A horse-drawn vehicle, then?” suggested Beautrelet. “A cart? +A van?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not either.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore continued his inquiries all through the morning. He was on the point of +leaving for Quillebeuf, when the waiter of the inn at which he had spent the +night said: +</p> + +<p> +“I came back from my thirteen days’ training on the morning of +which you are speaking and I saw a cart, but it did not go across.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they unloaded it onto a flat boat, a barge of sorts, which was +moored to the wharf.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where did the cart come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I knew it at once. It belonged to Master Vatinel, the carter.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where does he live?” +</p> + +<p> +“At Louvetot.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet consulted his military map. The hamlet of Louvetot lay where the +highroad between Yvetot and Caudebec was crossed by a little winding road that +ran through the woods to La Mailleraie. +</p> + +<p> +Not until six o’clock in the evening did Isidore succeed in discovering +Master Vatinel, in a pothouse. Master Vatinel was one of those artful old +Normans who are always on their guard, who distrust strangers, but who are +unable to resist the lure of a gold coin or the influence of a glass or two: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes, sir, the men in the motor car that morning had told me to +meet them at five o’clock at the crossroads. They gave me four great, big +things, as high as that. One of them went with me and we carted the things to +the barge.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak of them as if you knew them before.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think I did know them! It was the sixth time they were +employing me.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore gave a start: +</p> + +<p> +“The sixth time, you say? And since when?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why every day before that one, to be sure! But it was other things +then—great blocks of stone—or else smaller, longish ones, wrapped +up in newspapers, which they carried as if they were worth I don’t know +what. Oh, I mustn’t touch those on any account!—But what’s +the matter? You’ve turned quite white.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—the heat of the room—” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet staggered out into the air. The joy, the surprise of the discovery +made him feel giddy. He went back very quietly to Varengeville, slept in the +village, spent an hour at the mayor’s offices with the school-master and +returned to the château. There he found a letter awaiting him “care of M. +le Comte de Gesvres.” It consisted of a single line: +</p> + +<p> +“Second warning. Hold your tongue. If not—” +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” he muttered. “I shall have to make up my mind and +take a few precautions for my personal safety. If not, as they +say—” +</p> + +<p> +It was nine o’clock. He strolled about among the ruins and then lay down +near the cloisters and closed his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, young man, are you satisfied with the results of your +campaign?” +</p> + +<p> +It was M. Filleul. +</p> + +<p> +“Delighted, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction.” +</p> + +<p> +“By which you mean to say—?” +</p> + +<p> +“By which I mean to say that I am prepared to keep my promise—in +spite of this very uninviting letter.” +</p> + +<p> +He showed the letter to M. Filleul. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh! Stuff and nonsense!” cried the magistrate. “I hope you +won’t let that prevent you—” +</p> + +<p> +“From telling you what I know? No, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. +I have given my word and I shall keep it. In less than ten minutes, you shall +know—a part of the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“A part?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in my opinion, Lupin’s hiding-place does not constitute the +whole of the problem. Far from it. But we shall see later on.” +</p> + +<p> +“M. Beautrelet, nothing that you do could astonish me now. But how were +you able to discover—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, in a very natural way! In the letter from old man Harlington to M. +Étienne de Vaudreix, or rather to Lupin—” +</p> + +<p> +“The intercepted letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. There is a phrase which always puzzled me. After saying that the +pictures are to be forwarded as arranged, he goes on to say, ‘You may add +<i>the rest</i>, if you are able to succeed, which I doubt.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was this ‘rest’? A work of art, a curiosity? The +château contains nothing of any value besides the Rubenses and the tapestries. +Jewelry? There is very little and what there is of it is not worth much. In +that case, what could it be?—On the other hand, was it conceivable that +people so prodigiously clever as Lupin should not have succeeded in adding +‘the rest,’ which they themselves had evidently suggested? A +difficult undertaking, very likely; exceptional, surprising, I dare say; but +possible and therefore certain, since Lupin wished it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet he failed: nothing has disappeared.” +</p> + +<p> +“He did not fail: something has disappeared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the Rubenses—but—” +</p> + +<p> +“The Rubenses and something besides—something which has been +replaced by a similar thing, as in the case of the Rubenses; something much +more uncommon, much rarer, much more valuable than the Rubenses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what? You’re killing me with this procrastination!” +</p> + +<p> +While talking, the two men had crossed the ruins, turned toward the little door +and were now walking beside the chapel. Beautrelet stopped: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really want to know, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, I do.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet was carrying a walking-stick, a strong, knotted stick. Suddenly, +with a back stroke of this stick, he smashed one of the little statues that +adorned the front of the chapel. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’re mad!” shouted M. Filleul, beside himself, +rushing at the broken pieces of the statue. “You’re mad! That old +saint was an admirable bit of work—” +</p> + +<p> +“An admirable bit of work!” echoed Isidore, giving a whirl which +brought down the Virgin Mary. +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul took hold of him round the body: +</p> + +<p> +“Young man, I won’t allow you to commit—” +</p> + +<p> +A wise man of the East came toppling to the ground, followed by a manger +containing the Mother and Child. . . . +</p> + +<p> +“If you stir another limb, I fire!” +</p> + +<p> +The Comte de Gesvres had appeared upon the scene and was cocking his revolver. +Beautrelet burst out laughing: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right, Monsieur le Comte, blaze away!—Take a shot at +them, as if you were at a fair!—Wait a bit—this chap carrying his +head in his hands—” +</p> + +<p> +St. John the Baptist fell, shattered to pieces. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” shouted the count, pointing his revolver. “You young +vandal!—Those masterpieces!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sham, Monsieur le Comte!” +</p> + +<p> +“What? What’s that?” roared M. Filleul, wresting the Comte de +Gesvres’s weapon from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sham!” repeated Beautrelet. “Paper-pulp and plaster!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense! It can’t be true!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hollow plaster, I tell you! Nothing at all!” +</p> + +<p> +The count stooped and picked up a sliver of a statuette. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at it, Monsieur le Comte, and see for yourself: it’s plaster! +Rusty, musty, mildewed plaster, made to look like old stone—but plaster +for all that, plaster casts!—That’s all that remains of your +perfect masterpiece!—That’s what they’ve done in just a few +days!-That’s what the Sieur Charpenais who copied the Rubenses, prepared +a year ago.” He seized M. Filleul’s arm in his turn. “What do +you think of it, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction? Isn’t it fine? +Isn’t it grand? Isn’t it gorgeous? The chapel has been removed! A +whole Gothic chapel collected stone by stone! A whole population of statues +captured and replaced by these chaps in stucco! One of the most magnificent +specimens of an incomparable artistic period confiscated! The chapel, in short, +stolen! Isn’t it immense? Ah, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, what +a genius the man is!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re allowing yourself to be carried away, M. Beautrelet.” +</p> + +<p> +“One can’t be carried away too much, monsieur, when one has to do +with people like that. Everything above the average deserves our admiration. +And this man soars above everything. There is in his flight a wealth of +imagination, a force and power, a skill and freedom that send a thrill through +me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pity he’s dead,” said M. Filleul, with a grin. +“He’d have ended by stealing the towers of Notre-Dame.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore shrugged his shoulders: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t laugh, monsieur. He upsets you, dead though he may +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t say not, I don’t say not, M. Beautrelet, I confess +that I feel a certain excitement now that I am about to set eyes on +him—unless, indeed, his friends have taken away the body.” +</p> + +<p> +“And always admitting,” observed the Comte de Gesvres, “that +it was really he who was wounded by my poor niece.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was he, beyond a doubt, Monsieur le Comte,” declared +Beautrelet; “it was he, believe me, who fell in the ruins under the shot +fired by Mlle. de Saint-Véran; it was he whom she saw rise and who fell again +and dragged himself toward the cloisters to rise again for the last +time—this by a miracle which I will explain to you presently—to +rise again for the last time and reach this stone shelter—which was to be +his tomb.” +</p> + +<p> +And Beautrelet struck the threshold of the chapel with his stick. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? What?” cried M. Filleul, taken aback. “His +tomb?—Do you think that that impenetrable hiding-place—” +</p> + +<p> +“It was here—there,” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“But we searched it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Badly.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no hiding-place here,” protested M. de Gesvres. “I +know the chapel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there is, Monsieur le Comte. Go to the mayor’s office at +Varengeville, where they have collected all the papers that used to be in the +old parish of Ambrumésy, and you will learn from those papers, which belong to +the eighteenth century, that there is a crypt below the chapel. This crypt +doubtless dates back to the Roman chapel, upon the site of which the present +one was built.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how can Lupin have known this detail?” asked M. Filleul. +</p> + +<p> +“In a very simple manner: because of the works which he had to execute to +take away the chapel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, M. Beautrelet, you’re exaggerating. He has not taken +away the whole chapel. Look, not one of the stones of this top course has been +touched.” +</p> + +<p> +“Obviously, he cast and took away only what had a financial value: the +wrought stones, the sculptures, the statuettes, the whole treasure of little +columns and carved arches. He did not trouble about the groundwork of the +building itself. The foundations remain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Therefore, M. Beautrelet, Lupin was not able to make his way into the +crypt.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment, M. de Gesvres, who had been to call a servant, returned with +the key of the chapel. He opened the door. The three men entered. After a short +examination Beautrelet said: +</p> + +<p> +“The flag-stones on the ground have been respected, as one might expect. +But it is easy to perceive that the high altar is nothing more than a cast. +Now, generally, the staircase leading to the crypt opens in front of the high +altar and passes under it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you conclude?” +</p> + +<p> +“I conclude that Lupin discovered the crypt when working at the +altar.” +</p> + +<p> +The count sent for a pickaxe and Beautrelet attacked the altar. The plaster +flew to right and left. He pushed the pieces aside as he went on. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” muttered M. Filleul, “I am eager to +know—” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Beautrelet, whose face was pale with anguish. +</p> + +<p> +He hurried his blows. And, suddenly, his pickaxe, which, until then, had +encountered no resistance, struck against a harder material and rebounded. +There was a sound of something falling in; and all that remained of the altar +went tumbling into the gap after the block of stone which had been struck by +the pickaxe. Beautrelet bent forward. A puff of cold air rose to his face. He +lit a match and moved it from side to side over the gap: +</p> + +<p> +“The staircase begins farther forward than I expected, under the +entrance-flags, almost. I can see the last steps, there, right at the +bottom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it deep?” +</p> + +<p> +“Three or four yards. The steps are very high—and there are some +missing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is hardly likely,” said M. Filleul, “that the accomplices +can have had time to remove the body from the cellar, when they were engaged in +carrying off Mlle. de Saint-Véran—during the short absence of the +gendarmes. Besides, why should they?—No, in my opinion, the body is +here.” +</p> + +<p> +A servant brought them a ladder. Beautrelet let it down through the opening and +fixed it, after groping among the fallen fragments. Holding the two uprights +firmly: +</p> + +<p> +“Will you go down, M. Filleul?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The magistrate, holding a candle in his hand, ventured down the ladder. The +Comte de Gesvres followed him and Beautrelet, in his turn, placed his foot on +the first rung. +</p> + +<p> +Mechanically, he counted eighteen rungs, while his eyes examined the crypt, +where the glimmer of the candle struggled against the heavy darkness. But, at +the bottom, his nostrils were assailed by one of those foul and violent smells +which linger in the memory for many a long day. And, suddenly, a trembling hand +seized him by the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“B-beautrelet,” stammered M. Filleul. +“B-beau-trelet—” +</p> + +<p> +He could not get a word out for terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, compose yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautrelet—he is there—” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—there was something under the big stone that broke off the +altar—I pushed the stone—and I touched—I shall +never—shall never forget.—” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“On this side.—Don’t you notice the smell?—And then +look—see.” +</p> + +<p> +He took the candle and held it towards a motionless form stretched upon the +ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed Beautrelet, in a horror-stricken tone. +</p> + +<p> +The three men bent down quickly. The corpse lay half-naked, lean, frightful. +The flesh, which had the greenish hue of soft wax, appeared in places through +the torn clothes. But the most hideous thing, the thing that had drawn a cry of +terror from the young man’s lips, was the head, the head which had just +been crushed by the block of stone, the shapeless head, a repulsive mass in +which not one feature could be distinguished. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet took four strides up the ladder and fled into the daylight and the +open air. +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul found him again lying flat on the around, with his hands glued to +his face: +</p> + +<p> +“I congratulate you, Beautrelet,” he said. “In addition to +the discovery of the hiding-place, there are two points on which I have been +able to verify the correctness of your assertions. First of all, the man on +whom Mlle. de Saint-Véran fired was indeed Arsène Lupin, as you said from the +start. Also, he lived in Paris under the name of Étienne de Vaudreix. His linen +is marked with the initials E. V. That ought to be sufficient proof, I think: +don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore did not stir. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Comte has gone to have a horse put to. They’re sending +for Dr. Jouet, who will make the usual examination. In my opinion, death must +have taken place a week ago, at least. The state of decomposition of the +corpse—but you don’t seem to be listening—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I say is based upon absolute reasons. Thus, for +instance—” +</p> + +<p> +M. Filleul continued his demonstrations, without, however, obtaining any more +manifest marks of attention. But M. de Gesvres’s return interrupted his +monologue. The comte brought two letters. One was to tell him that Holmlock +Shears would arrive next morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Capital!” cried M. Filleul, joyfully. “Inspector Ganimard +will be here too. It will be delightful.” +</p> + +<p> +“The other letter is for you, Monsieur le Juge +d’Instruction,” said the comte. +</p> + +<p> +“Better and better,” said M. Filleul, after reading it. +“There will certainly not be much for those two gentlemen to do. M. +Beautrelet, I hear from Dieppe that the body of a young woman was found by some +shrimpers, this morning, on the rocks.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet gave a start: +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that? The body—” +</p> + +<p> +“Of a young woman.—The body is horribly mutilated, they say, and it +would be impossible to establish the identity, but for a very narrow little +gold curb-bracelet on the right arm which has become encrusted in the swollen +skin. Now Mlle. de Saint-Véran used to wear a gold curb-bracelet on her right +arm. Evidently, therefore, Monsieur le Comte, this is the body of your poor +niece, which the sea must have washed to that distance. What do you think, +Beautrelet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—nothing—or, rather, yes—everything is +connected, as you see—and there is no link missing in my argument. All +the facts, one after the other, however contradictory, however disconcerting +they may appear, end by supporting the supposition which I imagined from the +first.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“You soon will. Remember, I promised you the whole truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it seems to me—” +</p> + +<p> +“A little patience, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. So far, you +have had no cause to complain of me. It is a fine day. Go for a walk, lunch at +the château, smoke your pipe. I shall be back by four o’clock. As for my +school, well, I don’t care: I shall take the night train.” +</p> + +<p> +They had reached the out-houses at the back of the château. Beautrelet jumped +on his bicycle and rode away. +</p> + +<p> +At Dieppe, he stopped at the office of the local paper, the <i>Vigie</i>, and +examined the file for the last fortnight. Then he went on to the market-town of +Envermeu, six or seven miles farther. At Envermeu, he talked to the mayor, the +rector and the local policeman. The church-clock struck three. His inquiry was +finished. +</p> + +<p> +He returned singing for joy. He pressed upon the two pedals turn by turn, with +an equal and powerful rhythm; his chest opened wide to take in the keen air +that blew from the sea. And, from time to time, he forgot himself to the extent +of uttering shouts of triumph to the sky, when he thought of the aim which he +was pursuing and of the success that was crowning his efforts. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrumésy appeared in sight. He coasted at full speed down the slope leading to +the château. The top rows of venerable trees that line the road seemed to run +to meet him and to vanish behind him forthwith. And, all at once, he uttered a +cry. In a sudden vision, he had seen a rope stretched from one tree to another, +across the road. +</p> + +<p> +His machine gave a jolt and stopped short. Beautrelet was flung three yards +forward, with immense violence, and it seemed to him that only chance, a +miraculous chance, caused him to escape a heap of pebbles on which, logically, +he ought to have broken his head. +</p> + +<p> +He lay for a few seconds stunned. Then, all covered with bruises, with the skin +flayed from his knees, he examined the spot. On the right lay a small wood, by +which his aggressor had no doubt fled. Beautrelet untied the rope. To the tree +on the left around which it was fastened a small piece of paper was fixed with +string. Beautrelet unfolded it and read: +</p> + +<p> +“The third and last warning.” +</p> + +<p> +He went on to the château, put a few questions to the servants and joined the +examining magistrate in a room on the ground floor, at the end of the right +wing, where M. Filleul used to sit in the course of his operations. M. Filleul +was writing, with his clerk seated opposite to him. At a sign from him, the +clerk left the room; and the magistrate exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what have you been doing to yourself, M. Beautrelet? Your hands are +covered with blood.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” said the young man. +“Just a fall occasioned by this rope, which was stretched in front of my +bicycle. I will only ask you to observe that the rope comes from the château. +Not longer than twenty minutes ago, it was being used to dry linen on, outside +the laundry.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I am being watched here, by some +one in the very heart of the place, who can see me, who can hear me and who, +minute by minute, observes my actions and knows my intentions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure of it. It is for you to discover him and you will have no +difficulty in that. As for myself, I want to have finished and to give you the +promised explanations. I have made faster progress than our adversaries +expected and I am convinced that they mean to take vigorous measures on their +side. The circle is closing around me. The danger is approaching. I feel +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Beautrelet—” +</p> + +<p> +“You wait and see! For the moment, let us lose no time. And, first, a +question on a point which I want to have done with at once. Have you spoken to +anybody of that document which Sergeant Quevillon picked up and handed you in +my presence?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed; not to a soul. But do you attach any value—?” +</p> + +<p> +“The greatest value. It’s an idea of mine, an idea, I confess, +which does not rest upon a proof of any kind—for, up to the present, I +have not succeeded in deciphering the document. And therefore I am mentioning +it—so that we need not come back to it.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet pressed his hand on M. Filleul’s and whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t speak—there’s some one +listening—outside—” +</p> + +<p> +The gravel creaked. Beautrelet ran to the window and leaned out: +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no one there—but the border has been trodden +down—we can easily identify the footprints—” +</p> + +<p> +He closed the window and sat down again: +</p> + +<p> +“You see, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, the enemy has even ceased +to take the most ordinary precautions—he has not time left—he too +feels that the hour is urgent. Let us be quick, therefore, and speak, since +they do not wish us to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +He laid the document on the table and held it in position, unfolded: +</p> + +<p> +“One observation, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, to begin with. +The paper consists almost entirely of dots and figures. And in the first three +lines and the fifth—the only ones with which we have to do at present, +for the fourth seems to present an entirely different character—not one +of those figures is higher than the figure 5. There is, therefore, a great +chance that each of these figures represents one of the five vowels, taken in +alphabetical order. Let us put down the result.” +</p> + +<p> +He wrote on a separate piece of paper: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> + e . a . a . . e . . e . a . . a . .<br/> + a . . . e . e . . e oi . e . . e .<br/> + . ou . . e . o . . . e . . e . o . . e<br/> + ai . ui . . e . . eu . e +</p> + +<p> +Then he continued: +</p> + +<p> +“As you see, this does not give us much to go upon. The key is, at the +same time, very easy, because the inventor has contented himself with replacing +the vowels by figures and the consonants by dots, and very difficult, if not +impossible, because he has taken no further trouble to complicate the +problem.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is certainly pretty obscure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us try to throw some light upon it. The second line is divided into +two parts; and the second part appears in such a way that it probably forms one +word. If we now seek to replace the intermediary dots by consonants, we arrive +at the conclusion, after searching and casting about, that the only consonants +which are logically able to support the vowels are also logically able to +produce only one word, the word <i>demoiselles</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would refer to Mlle. de Gesvres and Mlle. de Saint-Véran.” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you see nothing more?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I also note an hiatus in the middle of the last line; and, if I +apply a similar operation to the beginning of the line, I at once see that the +only consonant able to take the place of the dot between the diphthongs +<i>fai</i> and <i>ui</i> is the letter <i>g</i> and that, when I have thus +formed the first five letters of the word, <i>aigui</i>, it is natural and +inevitable that, with the two next dots and the final <i>e</i>, I should arrive +at the word <i>aiguille</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the word <i>aiguille</i> forces itself upon us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Finally, for the last word, I have three vowels and three consonants. I +cast about again, I try all the letters, one after the other, and, starting +with the principle that the two first letters are necessary consonants, I find +that three words apply: <i>fleuve</i>, <i>preuve</i> and <i>creuse</i>. I +eliminate the words <i>fleuve</i> and <i>preuve</i>, as possessing no possible +relation to a needle, and I keep the word <i>creuse</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Making ‘hollow needle’! By jove! I admit that your solution +is correct, because it needs must be; but how does it help us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Beautrelet, in a thoughtful tone. “Not at +all, for the moment.—Later on, we shall see.—I have an idea that a +number of things are included in the puzzling conjunction of those two words, +<i>aiguille creuse</i>. What is troubling me at present is rather the material +on which the document is written, the paper employed.—Do they still +manufacture this sort of rather coarse-grained parchment? And then this ivory +color.—And those folds—the wear of those folds—and, lastly, +look, those marks of red sealing-wax, on the back—” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Beautrelet, was interrupted by Brédoux, the magistrate’s +clerk, who opened the door and announced the unexpected arrival of the chief +public prosecutor. M. Filleul rose: +</p> + +<p> +“Anything new? Is Monsieur le Procureur Général downstairs?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. Monsieur le Procureur Général +has not left his carriage. He is only passing through Ambrumésy and begs you to +be good enough to go down to him at the gate. He only has a word to say to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s curious,” muttered M. Filleul. +“However—we shall see. Excuse me, Beautrelet, I shan’t be +long.” +</p> + +<p> +He went away. His footsteps sounded outside. Then the clerk closed the door, +turned the key and put it in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” exclaimed Beautrelet, greatly surprised. “What are +you locking us in for?” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall be able to talk so much better,” retorted Brédoux. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet rushed toward another door, which led to the next room. He had +understood: the accomplice was Brédoux, the clerk of the examining magistrate +himself. Brédoux grinned: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t hurt your fingers, my young friend. I have the key of that +door, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s the window!” cried Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +“Too late,” said Brédoux, planting himself in front of the +casement, revolver in hand. +</p> + +<p> +Every chance of retreat was cut off. There was nothing more for Isidore to do, +nothing except to defend himself against the enemy who was revealing himself +with such brutal daring. He crossed his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” mumbled the clerk. “And now let us waste no +time.” He took out his watch. “Our worthy M. Filleul will walk down +to the gate. At the gate, he will find nobody, of course: no more public +prosecutor than my eye. Then he will come back. That gives us about four +minutes. It will take me one minute to escape by this window, clear through the +little door by the ruins and jump on the motor cycle waiting for me. That +leaves three minutes, which is just enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Brédoux was a queer sort of misshapen creature, who balanced on a pair of very +long spindle-legs a huge trunk, as round as the body of a spider and furnished +with immense arms. A bony face and a low, small stubborn forehead pointed to +the man’s narrow obstinacy. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet felt a weakness in the legs and staggered. He had to sit down: +</p> + +<p> +“Speak,” he said. “What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“The paper. I’ve been looking for it for three days.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re lying. I saw you put it back in your pocket-book when I +came in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Next?” +</p> + +<p> +“Next, you must undertake to keep quite quiet. You’re annoying us. +Leave us alone and mind your own business. Our patience is at an end.” +</p> + +<p> +He had come nearer, with the revolver still aimed at the young man’s +head, and spoke in a hollow voice, with a powerful stress on each syllable that +he uttered. His eyes were hard, his smile cruel. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet gave a shudder. It was the first time that he was experiencing the +sense of danger. And such danger! He felt himself in the presence of an +implacable enemy, endowed with blind and irresistible strength. +</p> + +<p> +“And next?” he asked, with less assurance in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Next? Nothing.—You will be free.—We will +forget—” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. Then Brédoux resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“There is only a minute left. You must make up your mind. Come, old chap, +don’t be a fool.—We are the stronger, you know, always and +everywhere.—Quick, the paper—” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore did not flinch. With a livid and terrified face, he remained master of +himself, nevertheless, and his brain remained clear amid the breakdown of his +nerves. The little black hole of the revolver was pointing at six inches from +his eyes. The finger was bent and obviously pressing on the trigger. It only +wanted a moment— +</p> + +<p> +“The paper,” repeated Brédoux. “If not—” +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is,” said Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +He took out his pocket-book and handed it to the clerk, who seized it eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Capital! We’ve come to our senses. I’ve no doubt +there’s something to be done with you.—You’re troublesome, +but full of common sense. I’ll talk about it to my pals. And now +I’m off. Good-bye!” +</p> + +<p> +He pocketed his revolver and turned back the fastening of the window. There was +a noise in the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” he said again. “I’m only just in +time.” +</p> + +<p> +But the idea stopped him. With a quick movement, he examined the pocket-book: +</p> + +<p> +“Damn and blast it!” He grated through his teeth. “The +paper’s not there.—You’ve done me—” +</p> + +<p> +He leaped into the room. Two shots rang out. Isidore, in his turn, had seized +his pistol and fired. +</p> + +<p> +“Missed, old chap!” shouted Brédoux. “Your hand’s +shaking.—You’re afraid—” +</p> + +<p> +They caught each other round the body and came down to the floor together. +There was a violent and incessant knocking at the door. Isidore’s +strength gave way and he was at once over come by his adversary. It was the +end. A hand was lifted over him, armed with a knife, and fell. A fierce pain +burst into his shoulder. He let go. +</p> + +<p> +He had an impression of some one fumbling in the inside pocket of his jacket +and taking the paper from it. Then, through the lowered veil of his eyelids, he +half saw the man stepping over the window-sill. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The same newspapers which, on the following morning, related the last episodes +that had occurred at the Château d’Ambrumésy—the trickery at the +chapel, the discovery of Arsène Lupin’s body and of Raymonde’s body +and, lastly, the murderous attempt made upon Beautrelet by the clerk to the +examining magistrate—also announced two further pieces of news: the +disappearance of Ganimard, and the kidnapping of Holmlock Shears, in broad +daylight, in the heart of London, at the moment when he was about to take the +train for Dover. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin’s gang, therefore, which had been disorganized for a moment by the +extraordinary ingenuity of a seventeen-year-old schoolboy, was now resuming the +offensive and was winning all along the line from the first. Lupin’s two +great adversaries, Shears and Ganimard, were put away. Isidore Beautrelet was +disabled. The police were powerless. For the moment there was no one left +capable of struggling against such enemies. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER FOUR<br/> +FACE TO FACE</h2> + +<p> +One evening, five weeks later, I had given my man leave to go out. It was the +day before the 14th of July. The night was hot, a storm threatened and I felt +no inclination to leave the flat. I opened wide the glass doors leading to my +balcony, lit my reading lamp and sat down in an easy-chair to look through the +papers, which I had not yet seen. +</p> + +<p> +It goes without saying that there was something about Arsène Lupin in all of +them. Since the attempt at murder of which poor Isidore Beautrelet had been the +victim, not a day had passed without some mention of the Ambrumésy mystery. It +had a permanent headline devoted to it. Never had public opinion been excited +to that extent, thanks to the extraordinary series of hurried events, of +unexpected and disconcerting surprises. M. Filleul, who was certainly accepting +the secondary part allotted to him with a good faith worthy of all praise, had +let the interviewers into the secret of his young advisor’s exploits +during the memorable three days, so that the public was able to indulge in the +rashest suppositions. And the public gave itself free scope. Specialists and +experts in crime, novelists and playwrights, retired magistrates and +chief-detectives, erstwhile Lecocqs and budding Holmlock Shearses, each had his +theory and expounded it in lengthy contributions to the press. Everybody +corrected and supplemented the inquiry of the examining magistrate; and all on +the word of a child, on the word of Isidore Beautrelet, a sixth-form schoolboy +at the Lycée Janson-de-Sailly! +</p> + +<p> +For really, it had to be admitted, the complete elements of the truth were now +in everybody’s possession. What did the mystery consist of? They knew the +hiding-place where Arsène Lupin had taken refuge and lain a-dying; there was no +doubt about it: Dr. Delattre, who continued to plead professional secrecy and +refused to give evidence, nevertheless confessed to his intimate +friends—who lost no time in blabbing—that he really had been taken +to a crypt to attend a wounded man whom his confederates introduced to him by +the name of Arsène Lupin. And, as the corpse of Étienne de Vaudreix was found +in that same crypt and as the said Étienne de Vaudreix was none other than +Arsène Lupin—as the official examination went to show—all this +provided an additional proof, if one were needed, of the identity of Arsène +Lupin and the wounded man. Therefore, with Lupin dead and Mlle. de +Saint-Véran’s body recognized by the curb-bracelet on her wrist, the +tragedy was finished. +</p> + +<p> +It was not. Nobody thought that it was, because Beautrelet had said the +contrary. Nobody knew in what respect it was not finished, but, on the word of +the young man, the mystery remained complete. The evidence of the senses did +not prevail against the statement of a Beautrelet. There was something which +people did not know, and of that something they were convinced that he was in +position to supply a triumphant explanation. +</p> + +<p> +It is easy, therefore, to imagine the anxiety with which, at first, people +awaited the bulletins issued by the two Dieppe doctors to whose care the Comte +de Gesvres entrusted his patient; the distress that prevailed during the first +few days, when his life was thought to be in danger; and the enthusiasm of the +morning when the newspapers announced that there was no further cause for fear. +The least details excited the crowd. People wept at the thought of Beautrelet +nursed by his old father, who had been hurriedly summoned by telegram, and they +also admired the devotion of Mlle. Suzanne de Gesvres, who spent night after +night by the wounded lad’s bedside. +</p> + +<p> +Next came a swift and glad convalescence. At last, the public were about to +know! They would know what Beautrelet had promised to reveal to M. Filleul and +the decisive words which the knife of the would-be assassin had prevented him +from uttering! And they would also know everything, outside the tragedy itself, +that remained impenetrable or inaccessible to the efforts of the police. +</p> + +<p> +With Beautrelet free and cured of his wound, one could hope for some certainty +regarding Harlington, Arsène Lupin’s mysterious accomplice, who was still +detained at the Santé prison. One would learn what had become, after the crime, +of Brédoux the clerk, that other accomplice, whose daring was really +terrifying. +</p> + +<p> +With Beautrelet free, one could also form a precise idea concerning the +disappearance of Ganimard and the kidnapping of Shears. How was it possible for +two attempts of this kind to take place? Neither the English detectives nor +their French colleagues possessed the slightest clue on the subject. On +Whit-Sunday, Ganimard did not come home, nor on the Monday either, nor during +the five weeks that followed. In London, on Whit-Monday, Holmlock Shears took a +cab at eight o’clock in the evening to drive to the station. He had +hardly stepped in, when he tried to alight, probably feeling a presentiment of +danger. But two men jumped into the hansom, one on either side, flung him back +on the seat and kept him there between them, or rather under them. All this +happened in sight of nine or ten witnesses, who had no time to interfere. The +cab drove off at a gallop. And, after that, nothing. Nobody knew anything. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps, also, Beautrelet would be able to give the complete explanation of the +document, the mysterious paper to which. Brédoux, the magistrate’s clerk, +attached enough importance to recover it, with blows of the knife, from the +person in whose possession it was. The problem of the Hollow Needle it was +called, by the countless solvers of riddles who, with their eyes bent upon the +figures and dots, strove to read a meaning into them. The Hollow Needle! What a +bewildering conjunction of two simple words! What an incomprehensible question +was set by that scrap of paper, whose very origin and manufacture were unknown! +The Hollow Needle! Was it a meaningless expression, the puzzle of a schoolboy +scribbling with pen and ink on the corner of a page? Or were they two magic +words which could compel the whole great adventure of Lupin the great +adventurer to assume its true significance? Nobody knew. +</p> + +<p> +But the public soon would know. For some days, the papers had been announcing +the approaching arrival of Beautrelet. The struggle was on the point of +recommencing; and, this time, it would be implacable on the part of the young +man, who was burning to take his revenge. And, as it happened, my attention, +just then, was drawn to his name, printed in capitals. The <i>Grand Journal</i> +headed its front page with the following paragraph: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>We have persuaded</i> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +M. ISIDORE BEAUTRELET +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>to give us the first right of printing his revelations. To-morrow, Tuesday, +before the police themselves are informed, the</i> Grand Journal <i>will +publish the whole truth of the Ambrumésy mystery</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s interesting, eh? What do you think of it, my dear +chap?” +</p> + +<p> +I started from my chair. There was some one sitting beside me, some one I did +not know. I cast my eyes round for a weapon. But, as my visitor’s +attitude appeared quite inoffensive, I restrained myself and went up to him. +</p> + +<p> +He was a young man with strongly-marked features, long, fair hair and a short, +tawny beard, divided into two points. His dress suggested the dark clothes of +an English clergyman; and his whole person, for that matter, wore an air of +austerity and gravity that inspired respect. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” I asked. And, as he did not reply, I repeated, +“Who are you? How did you get in? What are you here for?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s really curious! Just search your memory—one of +your friends—a friend of a rather special +kind—however—” +</p> + +<p> +I caught him smartly by the arm: +</p> + +<p> +“You lie! You lie! No, you’re not the man you say you +are—it’s not true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why are you thinking of that man rather than another?” he +asked, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, that laugh! That bright and clear young laugh, whose amusing irony had so +often contributed to my diversion! I shivered. Could it be? +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” I protested, with a sort of terror. “It cannot +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be I, because I’m dead, eh?” he retorted. +“And because you don’t believe in ghosts.” He laughed again. +“Am I the sort of man who dies? Do you think I would die like that, shot +in the back by a girl? Really, you misjudge me! As though I would ever consent +to such a death as that!” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is you!” I stammered, still incredulous and yet greatly +excited. “So it is you! I can’t manage to recognize you.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” he said, gaily, “I am quite easy. If the only +man to whom I have shown myself in my real aspect fails to know me to-day, then +everybody who will see me henceforth as I am to-day is bound not to know me +either, when he sees me in my real aspect—if, indeed, I have a real +aspect—” +</p> + +<p> +I recognized his voice, now that he was no longer changing its tone, and I +recognized his eyes also and the expression of his face and his whole attitude +and his very being, through the counterfeit appearance in which he had shrouded +it: +</p> + +<p> +“Arsène Lupin!” I muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Arsène Lupin!” he cried, rising from his chair. “The +one and only Arsène Lupin, returned from the realms of darkness, since it +appears that I expired and passed away in a crypt! Arsène Lupin, alive and +kicking, in the full exercise of his will, happy and free and more than ever +resolved to enjoy that happy freedom in a world where hitherto he has received +nothing but favors and privileges!” +</p> + +<p> +It was my turn to laugh: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s certainly you, and livelier this time than on the day +when I had the pleasure of seeing you, last year—I congratulate +you.” +</p> + +<p> +I was alluding to his last visit, the visit following on the famous adventure +of the diadem,[1] his interrupted marriage, his flight with Sonia Kirchnoff and +the Russian girl’s horrible death. On that day, I had seen an Arsène +Lupin whom I did not know, weak, down-hearted, with eyes tired with weeping, +seeking for a little sympathy and affection. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[1] <i>Arsène Lupin</i>, play in three acts and four scenes, by Maurice Leblanc +and Francis de Croisset.] +</p> + +<p> +“Be quiet,” he said. “The past is far away.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a year ago,” I observed. +</p> + +<p> +“It was ten years ago,” he declared. “Arsène Lupin’s +years count for ten times as much as another man’s.” +</p> + +<p> +I did not insist and, changing the conversation: +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how do you think? Through the door, of course. Then, as I saw +nobody, I walked across the drawing room and out by the balcony, and here I +am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but the key of the door—?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are no doors for me, as you know. I wanted your flat and I came +in.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is at your disposal. Am I to leave you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not at all! You won’t be in the way. In fact, I can promise +you an interesting evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you expecting some one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I have given him an appointment here at ten o’clock.” +He took out his watch. “It is ten now. If the telegram reached him, he +ought to be here soon.” +</p> + +<p> +The front-door bell rang. +</p> + +<p> +“What did I tell you? No, don’t trouble to get up: I’ll +go.” +</p> + +<p> +With whom on earth could he have made an appointment? And what sort of scene +was I about to assist at: dramatic or comic? For Lupin himself to consider it +worthy of interest, the situation must be somewhat exceptional. +</p> + +<p> +He returned in a moment and stood back to make way for a young man, tall and +thin and very pale in the face. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word and with a certain solemnity about his movements that made me +feel ill at ease. Lupin switched on all the electric lamps, one after the +other, till the room was flooded with light. Then the two men looked at each +other, exchanged profound and penetrating glances, as if, with all the effort +of their gleaming eyes, they were trying to pierce into each other’s +souls. +</p> + +<p> +It was an impressive sight to see them thus, grave and silent. But who could +the newcomer be? +</p> + +<p> +I was on the point of guessing the truth, through his resemblance to a +photograph which had recently appeared in the papers, when Lupin turned to me: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap, let me introduce M. Isidore Beautrelet.” And, +addressing the young man, he continued, “I have to thank you, M. +Beautrelet, first, for being good enough, on receipt of a letter from me, to +postpone your revelations until after this interview and, secondly, for +granting me this interview with so good a grace.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet smiled: +</p> + +<p> +“Allow me to remark that my good grace consists, above all, in obeying +your orders. The threat which you made to me in the letter in question was the +more peremptory in being aimed not at me, but at my father.” +</p> + +<p> +“My word,” said Lupin laughing, “we must do the best we can +and make use of the means of action vouchsafed to us. I knew by experience that +your own safety was indifferent to you, seeing that you resisted the arguments +of Master Brédoux. There remained your father—your father for whom you +have a great affection—I played on that string.” +</p> + +<p> +“And here I am,” said Beautrelet, approvingly. +</p> + +<p> +I motioned them to be seated. They consented and Lupin resumed, in that tone of +imperceptible banter which is all his own: +</p> + +<p> +“In any case, M. Beautrelet, if you will not accept my thanks, you will +at least not refuse my apologies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Apologies! Bless my soul, what for?” +</p> + +<p> +“For the brutality which Master Brédoux showed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess that the act surprised me. It was not Lupin’s usual way +of behaving. A stab—” +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you I had no hand in it. Brédoux is a new recruit. My friends, +during the time that they had the management of our affairs, thought that it +might be useful to win over to our cause the clerk of the magistrate himself +who was conducting the inquiry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your friends were right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Brédoux, who was specially attached to your person, was, in fact, most +valuable to us. But, with the ardor peculiar to any neophyte who wishes to +distinguish himself, he pushed his zeal too far and thwarted my plans by +permitting himself, on his own initiative, to strike you a blow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it was a little accident!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all, not at all! And I have reprimanded him severely! I am bound, +however, to say in his favor that he was taken unawares by the really +unexpected rapidity of your investigation. If you had only left us a few hours +longer, you would have escaped that unpardonable attempt.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I should doubtless have enjoyed the enormous advantage of undergoing +the same fate as M. Ganimard and Mr. Holmlock Shears?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Lupin, laughing heartily. “And I should not +have known the cruel terrors which your wound caused me. I have had an +atrocious time because of it, believe me, and, at this moment, your pallor +fills me with all the stings of remorse. Can you ever forgive me?” +</p> + +<p> +“The proof of confidence which you have shown me in delivering yourself +unconditionally into my hands—it would have been so easy for me to bring +a few of Ganimard’s friends with me—that proof of confidence wipes +out everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Was he speaking seriously? I confess frankly that I was greatly perplexed. The +struggle between the two men was beginning in a manner which I was simply +unable to understand. I had been present at the first meeting between Lupin and +Holmlock Shears, in the café near the Gare Montparnesse,[2] and I could not +help recalling the haughty carriage of the two combatants, the terrific clash +of their pride under the politeness of their manners, the hard blows which they +dealt each other, their feints, their arrogance. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[2] <i>Arsène Lupin versus Holmlock Shears</i>, by Maurice Leblanc. +</p> + +<p> +Here, it was quite different. Lupin, it is true, had not changed; he exhibited +the same tactics, the same crafty affability. But what a strange adversary he +had come upon! Was it even an adversary? Really, he had neither the tone of one +nor the appearance. Very calm, but with a real calmness, not one assumed to +cloak the passion of a man endeavoring to restrain himself; very polite, but +without exaggeration; smiling, but without chaff, he presented the most perfect +contrast to Arsène Lupin, a contrast so perfect even that, to my mind, Lupin +appeared as much perplexed as myself. +</p> + +<p> +No, there was no doubt about it: in the presence of that frail stripling, with +cheeks smooth as a girl’s and candid and charming eyes, Lupin was losing +his ordinary self-assurance. Several times over, I observed traces of +embarrassment in him. He hesitated, did not attack frankly, wasted time in +mawkish and affected phrases. +</p> + +<p> +It also looked as though he wanted something. He seemed to be seeking, waiting. +What for? Some aid? +</p> + +<p> +There was a fresh ring of the bell. He himself ran and opened the door. He +returned with a letter: +</p> + +<p> +“Will you allow me, gentlemen?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the letter. It contained a telegram. He read it—and became as +though transformed. His face lit up, his figure righted itself and I saw the +veins on his forehead swell. It was the athlete who once more stood before me, +the ruler, sure of himself, master of events and master of persons. He spread +the telegram on the table and, striking it with his fist, exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, M. Beautrelet, it’s you and I!” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet adopted a listening attitude and Lupin began, in measured, but harsh +and masterful tones: +</p> + +<p> +“Let us throw off the mask—what say you?—and have done with +hypocritical compliments. We are two enemies, who know exactly what to think of +each other; we act toward each other as enemies; and therefore we ought to +treat with each other as enemies.” +</p> + +<p> +“To treat?” echoed Beautrelet, in a voice of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, to treat. I did not use that word at random and I repeat it, in +spite of the effort, the great effort, which it costs me. This is the first +time I have employed it to an adversary. But also, I may as well tell you at +once, it is the last. Make the most of it. I shall not leave this flat without +a promise from you. If I do, it means war.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet seemed more and more surprised. He said very prettily: +</p> + +<p> +“I was not prepared for this—you speak so funnily! It’s so +different from what I expected! Yes, I thought you were not a bit like that! +Why this display of anger? Why use threats? Are we enemies because +circumstances bring us into opposition? Enemies? Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin appeared a little out of countenance, but he snarled and, leaning over +the boy: +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me, youngster,” he said. “It’s not a +question of picking one’s words. It’s a question of a fact, a +positive, indisputable fact; and that fact is this: in all the past ten years, +I have not yet knocked up against an adversary of your capacity. With Ganimard +and Holmlock Shears I played as if they were children. With you, I am obliged +to defend myself, I will say more, to retreat. Yes, at this moment, you and I +well know that I must look upon myself as worsted in the fight. Isidore +Beautrelet has got the better of Arsène Lupin. My plans are upset. What I tried +to leave in the dark you have brought into the full light of day. You annoy me, +you stand in my way. Well, I’ve had enough of it—Brédoux told you +so to no purpose. I now tell you so again; and I insist upon it, so that you +may take it to heart: I’ve had enough of it!” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet nodded his head: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but what do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace! Each of us minding his own business, keeping to his own +side!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is to say, you free to continue your burglaries undisturbed, I free +to return to my studies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your studies—anything you please—I don’t care. But you +must leave me in peace—I want peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I trouble it now?” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin seized his hand violently: +</p> + +<p> +“You know quite well! Don’t pretend not to know. You are at this +moment in possession of a secret to which I attach the highest importance. This +secret you were free to guess, but you have no right to give it to the +public.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure that I know it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know it, I am certain: day by day, hour by hour, I have followed +your train of thought and the progress of your investigations. At the very +moment when Brédoux struck you, you were about to tell all. Subsequently, you +delayed your revelations, out of solicitude for your father. But they are now +promised to this paper here. The article is written. It will be set up in an +hour. It will appear to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right.” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin rose, and slashing the air with his hand, +</p> + +<p> +“It shall not appear!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“It shall appear!” said Beautrelet, starting up in his turn. +</p> + +<p> +At last, the two men were standing up to each other. I received the impression +of a shock, as if they had seized each other round the body. Beautrelet seemed +to burn with a sudden energy. It was as though a spark had kindled within him a +group of new emotions: pluck, self-respect, the passion of fighting, the +intoxication of danger. As for Lupin, I read in the radiance of his glance the +joy of the duellist who at length encounters the sword of his hated rival. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the article in the printer’s hands?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you it there—on you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No fear! I shouldn’t have it by now, in that case!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—” +</p> + +<p> +“One of the assistant editors has it, in a sealed envelope. If I am not +at the office by midnight, he will have set it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the scoundrel!” muttered Lupin. “He has provided for +everything!” +</p> + +<p> +His anger was increasing, visibly and frightfully. Beautrelet chuckled, jeering +in his turn, carried away by his success. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop that, you brat!” roared Lupin. “You’re forgetting +who I am—and that, if I wished—upon my word, he’s daring to +laugh!” +</p> + +<p> +A great silence fell between them. Then Lupin stepped forward and, in muttered +tones, with his eyes on Beautrelet’s: +</p> + +<p> +“You shall go straight to the <i>Grand Journal</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tear up your article.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“See the editor.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him you made a mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“And write him another article, in which you will give the official +version of the Ambrumésy mystery, the one which every one has accepted.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin took up a steel ruler that lay on my desk and broke it in two without an +effort. His pallor was terrible to see. He wiped away the beads of perspiration +that stood on his forehead. He, who had never known his wishes resisted, was +being maddened by the obstinacy of this child. He pressed his two hands on +Beautrelet’s shoulder and, emphasizing every syllable, continued: +</p> + +<p> +“You shall do as I tell you, Beautrelet. You shall say that your latest +discoveries have convinced you of my death, that there is not the least doubt +about it. You shall say so because I wish it, because it has to be believed +that I am dead. You shall say so, above all, because, if you do not say +so—” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, if I do not say so—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father will be kidnapped to-night, as Ganimard and Holmlock Shears +were.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet gave a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t laugh—answer!” +</p> + +<p> +“My answer is that I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I have promised +to speak and I shall speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak in the sense which I have told you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall speak the truth,” cried Beautrelet, eagerly. “It is +something which you can’t understand, the pleasure, the need, rather, of +saying the thing that is and saying it aloud. The truth is here, in this brain +which has guessed it and discovered it; and it will come out, all naked and +quivering. The article, therefore, will be printed as I wrote it. The world +shall know that Lupin is alive and shall know the reason why he wished to be +considered dead. The world shall know all.” And he added, calmly, +“And my father shall not be kidnapped.” +</p> + +<p> +Once again, they were both silent, with their eyes still fixed upon each other. +They watched each other. Their swords were engaged up to the hilt. And it was +like the heavy silence that goes before the mortal blow. Which of the two was +to strike it? +</p> + +<p> +Lupin said, between his teeth: +</p> + +<p> +“Failing my instructions to the contrary, two of my friends have orders +to enter your father’s room to-night, at three o’clock in the +morning, to seize him and carry him off to join Ganimard and Holmlock +Shears.” +</p> + +<p> +A burst of shrill laughter interrupted him: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you highwayman, don’t you understand,” cried +Beautrelet, “that I have taken my precautions? So you think that I am +innocent enough, ass enough, to have sent my father home to his lonely little +house in the open country!” Oh, the gay, bantering laughter that lit up +the boy’s face! It was a new sort of laugh on his lips, a laugh that +showed the influence of Lupin himself. And the familiar form of address which +he adopted placed him at once on his adversary’s level. He continued: +</p> + +<p> +“You see, Lupin, your great fault is to believe your schemes infallible. +You proclaim yourself beaten, do you? What humbug! You are convinced that you +will always win the day in the end—and you forget that others can have +their little schemes, too. Mine is a very simple one, my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +It was delightful to hear him talk. He walked up and down, with his hands in +his pockets and with the easy swagger of a boy teasing a caged beast. Really, +at this moment, he was revenging, with the most terrible revenges, all the +victims of the great adventurer. And he concluded: +</p> + +<p> +“Lupin, my father is not in Savoy. He is at the other end of France, in +the centre of a big town, guarded by twenty of our friends, who have orders not +to lose sight of him until our battle is over. Would you like details? He is at +Cherbourg, in the house of one of the keepers of the arsenal. And remember that +the arsenal is closed at night and that no one is allowed to enter it by day, +unless he carries an authorization and is accompanied by a guide.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped in front of Lupin and defied him, like a child making faces at his +playmate: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say to that, master?” +</p> + +<p> +For some minutes, Lupin had stood motionless. Not a muscle of his face had +moved. What were his thoughts? Upon what action was he resolving? To any one +knowing the fierce violence of his pride the only possible solution was the +total, immediate, final collapse of his adversary. His fingers twitched. For a +second, I had a feeling that he was about to throw himself upon the boy and +wring his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say to that, master?” Beautrelet repeated. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin took up the telegram that lay on the table, held it out and said, very +calmly: +</p> + +<p> +“Here, baby, read that.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet became serious, suddenly, impressed by the gentleness of the +movement. He unfolded the paper and, at once, raising his eyes, murmured: +</p> + +<p> +“What does it mean? I don’t understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“At any rate, you understand the first word,” said Lupin, +“the first word of the telegram—that is to say, the name of the +place from which it was sent—look—‘Cherbourg.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes,” stammered Beautrelet. “Yes—I +understand—‘Cherbourg’-and then?” +</p> + +<p> +“And then?—I should think the rest is quite plain: ‘Removal +of luggage finished. Friends left with it and will wait instructions till eight +morning. All well.’ Is there anything there that seems obscure? The word +‘luggage’? Pooh, you wouldn’t have them write ‘M. +Beautrelet, senior’! What then? The way in which the operation was +performed? The miracle by which your father was taken out of Cherbourg Arsenal, +in spite of his twenty body-guards? Pooh, it’s as easy as A B C! And the +fact remains that the luggage has been dispatched. What do you say to that, +baby?” +</p> + +<p> +With all his tense being, with all his exasperated energy, Isidore tried to +preserve a good countenance. But I saw his lips quiver, his jaw shrink, his +eyes vainly strive to fix upon a point. He lisped a few words, then was silent +and, suddenly, gave way and, with his hands before his face, burst into loud +sobs: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, father! Father!” +</p> + +<p> +An unexpected result, which was certainly the collapse which Lupin’s +pride demanded, but also something more, something infinitely touching and +infinitely artless. Lupin gave a movement of annoyance and took up his hat, as +though this unaccustomed display of sentiment were too much for him. But, on +reaching the door, he stopped, hesitated and then returned, slowly, step by +step. +</p> + +<p> +The soft sound of the sobs rose like the sad wailing of a little child overcome +with grief. The lad’s shoulders marked the heart-rending rhythm. Tears +appeared through the crossed fingers. Lupin leaned forward and, without +touching Beautrelet, said, in a voice that had not the least tone of +pleasantry, nor even of the offensive pity of the victor: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t cry, youngster. This is one of those blows which a man must +expect when he rushes headlong into the fray, as you did. The worst disasters +lie in wait for him. The destiny of fighters will have it so. We must suffer it +as bravely as we can.” Then, with a sort of gentleness, he continued, +“You were right, you see: we are not enemies. I have known it for long. +From the very first, I felt for you, for the intelligent creature that you are, +an involuntary sympathy—and admiration. And that is why I wanted to say +this to you—don’t be offended, whatever you do: I should be +extremely sorry to offend you—but I must say it: well, give up struggling +against me. I am not saying this out of vanity—nor because I despise +you—but, you see, the struggle is too unequal. You do not +know—nobody knows all the resources which I have at my command. Look +here, this secret of the Hollow Needle which you are trying so vainly to +unravel: suppose, for a moment, that it is a formidable, inexhaustible +treasure—or else an invisible, prodigious, fantastic refuge—or both +perhaps. Think of the superhuman power which I must derive from it! And you do +not know, either, all the resources which I have within myself—all that +my will and my imagination enable me to undertake and to undertake +successfully. Only think that my whole life—ever since I was born, I +might almost say—has tended toward the same aim, that I worked like a +convict before becoming what I am and to realize, in its perfection, the type +which I wished to create—which I have succeeded in creating. That being +so—what can you do? At that very moment when you think that victory lies +within your grasp, it will escape you—there will be something of which +you have not thought—a trifle—a grain of sand which I shall have +put in the right place, unknown to you. I entreat you, give up—I should +be obliged to hurt you; and the thought distresses me.” And, placing his +hand on the boy’s forehead, he repeated, “Once more, youngster, +give up. I should only hurt you. Who knows if the trap into which you will +inevitably fall has not already opened under your footsteps?” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet uncovered his face. He was no longer crying. Had he heard +Lupin’s words? One might have doubted it, judging by his inattentive air. +</p> + +<p> +For two or three minutes, he was silent. He seemed to weigh the decision which +he was about to take, to examine the reasons for and against, to count up the +favorable and unfavorable chances. At last, he said to Lupin: +</p> + +<p> +“If I change the sense of the article, if I confirm the version of your +death and if I undertake never to contradict the false version which I shall +have sanctioned, do you swear that my father will be free?” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear it. My friends have taken your father by motor car to another +provincial town. At seven o’clock to-morrow morning, if the article in +the <i>Grand Journal</i> is what I want it to be, I shall telephone to them and +they will restore your father to liberty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Beautrelet. “I submit to your +conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +Quickly, as though he saw no object in prolonging the conversation after +accepting his defeat, he rose, took his hat, bowed to me, bowed to Lupin and +went out. Lupin watched him go, listened to the sound of the door closing and +muttered: +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little beggar!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At eight o’clock the next morning, I sent my man out to buy the <i>Grand +Journal</i>. It was twenty minutes before he brought me a copy, most of the +kiosks being already sold out. +</p> + +<p> +I unfolded the paper with feverish hands. Beautrelet’s article appeared +on the front page. I give it as it stood and as it was quoted in the press of +the whole world: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE AMBRUMÉSY MYSTERY +</p> + +<p> +I do not intend in these few sentences to set out in detail the mental +processes and the investigations that have enabled me to reconstruct the +tragedy—I should say the twofold tragedy—of Ambrumésy. In my +opinion, this sort of work and the judgments which it entails, deductions, +inductions, analyses and so on, are only interesting in a minor degree and, in +any case, are highly commonplace. No, I shall content myself with setting forth +the two leading ideas which I followed; and, if I do that, it will be seen +that, in so setting them forth and in solving the two problems which they +raise, I shall have told the story just as it happened, in the exact order of +the different incidents. +</p> + +<p> +It may be said that some of these incidents are not proved and that I leave too +large a field to conjecture. That is quite true. But, in my view, my theory is +founded upon a sufficiently large number of proved facts to be able to say that +even those facts which are not proved must follow from the strict logic of +events. The stream is so often lost under the pebbly bed: it is nevertheless +the same stream that reappears at intervals and mirrors back the blue sky. +</p> + +<p> +The first riddle that confronted me, a riddle not in detail, but as a whole, +was how came it that Lupin, mortally wounded, one might say, managed to live +for five or six weeks without nursing, medicine or food, at the bottom of a +dark hole? +</p> + +<p> +Let us start at the beginning. On Thursday the sixteenth of April, at four +o’clock in the morning, Arsène Lupin, surprised in the middle of one of +his most daring burglaries, runs away by the path leading to the ruins and +drops down shot. He drags himself painfully along, falls again and picks +himself up in the desperate hope of reaching the chapel. The chapel contains a +crypt, the existence of which he has discovered by accident. If he can burrow +there, he may be saved. By dint of an effort, he approaches it, he is but a few +yards away, when a sound of footsteps approaches. Harassed and lost, he lets +himself go. The enemy arrives. It is Mlle. Raymonde de Saint-Véran. +</p> + +<p> +This is the prologue or rather the first scene of the drama. +</p> + +<p> +What happened between them? This is the easier to guess inasmuch as the sequel +of the adventure gives us all the necessary clues. At the girl’s feet +lies a wounded man, exhausted by suffering, who will be captured in two +minutes. <i>This man has been wounded by herself</i>. Will she also give him +up? +</p> + +<p> +If he is Jean Daval’s murderer, yes, she will let destiny take its +course. But, in quick sentences, he tells her the truth about this awful murder +committed by her uncle, M. de Gesvres. She believes him. What will she do? +</p> + +<p> +Nobody can see them. The footman Victor is watching the little door. The other, +Albert, posted at the drawing-room window, has lost sight of both of them. +<i>Will she give up the man she has wounded?</i> +</p> + +<p> +The girl is carried away by a movement of irresistible pity, which any woman +will understand. Instructed by Lupin, with a few movements she binds up the +wound with his handkerchief, to avoid the marks which the blood would leave. +Then, with the aid of the key which he gives her, she opens the door of the +chapel. He enters, supported by the girl. She locks the door again and walks +away. Albert arrives. +</p> + +<p> +If the chapel had been visited at that moment or at least during the next few +minutes, before Lupin had had time to recover his strength, to raise the +flagstone and disappear by the stairs leading to the crypt, he would have been +taken. But this visit did not take place until six hours later and then only in +the most superficial way. As it is, Lupin is saved; and saved by whom? By the +girl who very nearly killed him. +</p> + +<p> +Thenceforth, whether she wishes it or no, Mlle. de Saint-Véran is his +accomplice. Not only is she no longer able to give him up, but she is obliged +to continue her work, else the wounded man will perish in the shelter in which +she has helped to conceal him. Therefore she continues. +</p> + +<p> +For that matter, if her feminine instinct makes the task a compulsory one, it +also makes it easy. She is full of artifice, she foresees and forestalls +everything. It is she who gives the examining magistrate a false description of +Arsène Lupin (the reader will remember the difference of opinion on this +subject between the cousins). It is she, obviously, who, thanks to certain +signs which I do not know of, suspects an accomplice of Lupin’s in the +driver of the fly. She warns him. She informs him of the urgent need of an +operation. It is she, no doubt, who substitutes one cap for the other. It is +she who causes the famous letter to be written in which she is personally +threatened. How, after that, is it possible to suspect her? +</p> + +<p> +It is she, who at that moment when I was about to confide my first impressions +to the examining magistrate, pretends to have seen me, the day before, in the +copsewood, alarms M. Filleul on my score and reduces me to silence: a dangerous +move, no doubt, because it arouses my attention and directs it against the +person who assails me with an accusation which I know to be false; but an +efficacious move, because the most important thing of all is to gain time and +close my lips. +</p> + +<p> +Lastly, it is she who, during forty days, feeds Lupin, brings him his medicine +(the chemist at Ouville will produce the prescriptions which he made up for +Mlle. de Saint-Véran), nurses him, dresses his wound, watches over him <i>and +cures him</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Here we have the first of our two problems solved, at the same time that the +Ambrumésy mystery is set forth. Arsène Lupin found, close at hand, in the +château itself, the assistance which was indispensable to him in order, first, +not to be discovered and, secondly, to live. +</p> + +<p> +He now lives. And we come to the second problem, corresponding with the second +Ambrumésy mystery, the study of which served me as a conducting medium. Why +does Lupin, alive, free, at the head of his gang, omnipotent as before, why +does Lupin make desperate efforts, efforts with which I am constantly coming +into collision, to force the idea of his death upon the police and the public? +</p> + +<p> +We must remember that Mlle. de Saint-Véran was a very pretty girl. The +photographs reproduced in the papers after her disappearance give but an +imperfect notion of her beauty. That follows which was bound to follow. Lupin, +seeing this lovely girl daily for five or six weeks, longing for her presence +when she is not there, subjected to her charm and grace when she is there, +inhaling the cool perfume of her breath when she bends over him, Lupin becomes +enamored of his nurse. Gratitude turns to love, admiration to passion. She is +his salvation, but she is also the joy of his eyes, the dream of his lonely +hours, his light, his hope, his very life. +</p> + +<p> +He respects her sufficiently not to take advantage of the girl’s devotion +and not to make use of her to direct his confederates. There is, in fact, a +certain lack of decision apparent in the acts of the gang. But he loves her +also, his scruples weaken and, as Mlle. de Saint-Véran refuses to be touched by +a love that offends her, as she relaxes her visits when they become less +necessary, as she ceases them entirely on the day when he is +cured—desperate, maddened by grief, he takes a terrible resolve. He +leaves his lair, prepares his stroke and, on Saturday the sixth of June, +assisted by his accomplices, he carries off the girl. +</p> + +<p> +This is not all. The abduction must not be known. All search, all surmises, all +hope, even, must be cut short. Mlle. de Saint-Véran must pass for dead. There +is a mock murder: proofs are supplied for the police inquiries. There is doubt +about the crime, a crime, for that matter, not unexpected, a crime foretold by +the accomplices, a crime perpetrated to revenge the chief’s death. And, +through this very fact—observe the marvelous ingenuity of the +conception—through this very fact, the belief in this death is, so to +speak, stimulated. +</p> + +<p> +It is not enough to suggest a belief; it is necessary to compel a certainty. +Lupin foresees my interference. I am sure to guess the trickery of the chapel. +I am sure to discover the crypt. And, as the crypt will be empty, the whole +scaffolding will come to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The crypt shall not be empty.</i> +</p> + +<p> +In the same way, the death of Mlle. de Saint-Véran will not be definite, unless +the sea gives up her corpse. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The sea shall give up the corpse of Mlle. de Saint-Véran.</i> +</p> + +<p> +The difficulty is tremendous. The double obstacle seems insurmountable. Yes, to +any one but Lupin, but not to Lupin. +</p> + +<p> +As he had foreseen, I guess the trickery of the chapel, I discover the crypt +and I go down into the lair where Lupin has taken refuge. His corpse is there! +</p> + +<p> +Any person who had admitted the death of Lupin as possible would have been +baffled. But I had not admitted this eventuality for an instant (first, by +intuition and, secondly, by reasoning). Pretense thereupon became useless and +every scheme vain. I said to myself at once that the block of stone disturbed +by the pickaxe had been placed there with a very curious exactness, that the +least knock was bound to make it fall and that, in falling, it must inevitably +reduce the head of the false Arsène Lupin to pulp, in such a way as to make it +utterly irrecognizable. +</p> + +<p> +Another discovery: half an hour later, I hear that the body of Mlle. de +Saint-Véran has been found on the rocks at Dieppe—or rather a body which +is considered to be Mlle. de Saint-Véran’s, for the reason that the arm +has a bracelet similar to one of that young lady’s bracelets. This, +however, is the only mark of identity, for the corpse is irrecognizable. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon I remember and I understand. A few days earlier, I happened to read +in a number of the <i>Vigie de Dieppe</i> that a young American couple staying +at Envermeu had committed suicide by taking poison and that their bodies had +disappeared on the very night of the death. I hasten to Envermeu. The story is +true, I am told, except in so far as concerns the disappearance, because the +brothers of the victims came to claim the corpses and took them away after the +usual formalities. The name of these brothers, no doubt, was Arsène Lupin & +Co. +</p> + +<p> +Consequently, the thing is proved. We know why Lupin shammed the murder of the +girl and spread the rumor of his own death. He is in love and does not wish it +known. And, to reach his ends, he shrinks from nothing, he even undertakes that +incredible theft of the two corpses which he needs in order to impersonate +himself and Mlle. de Saint-Véran. In this way, he will be at ease. No one can +disturb him. No one will ever suspect the truth which he wishes to suppress. +</p> + +<p> +No one? Yes—three adversaries, at the most, might conceive doubts: +Ganimard, whose arrival is hourly expected; Holmlock Shears, who is about to +cross the Channel; and I, who am on the spot. This constitutes a threefold +danger. He removes it. He kidnaps Ganimard. He kidnaps Holmlock Shears. He has +me stabbed by Brédoux. +</p> + +<p> +One point alone remains obscure. Why was Lupin so fiercely bent upon snatching +the document about the Hollow Needle from me? He surely did not imagine that, +by taking it away, he could wipe out from my memory the text of the five lines +of which it consists! Then why? Did he fear that the character of the paper +itself, or some other clue, could give me a hint? +</p> + +<p> +Be that as it may, this is the truth of the Ambrumésy mystery. I repeat that +conjecture plays a certain part in the explanation which I offer, even as it +played a great part in my personal investigation. But, if one waited for proofs +and facts to fight Lupin, one would run a great risk either of waiting forever +or else of discovering proofs and facts carefully prepared by Lupin, which +would lead in a direction immediately opposite to the object in view. I feel +confident that the facts, when they are known, will confirm my surmise in every +respect. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +So Isidore Beautrelet, mastered for a moment by Arsène Lupin, distressed by the +abduction of his father and resigned to defeat, Isidore Beautrelet, in the end, +was unable to persuade himself to keep silence. The truth was too beautiful and +too curious, the proofs which he was able to produce were too logical and too +conclusive for him to consent to misrepresent it. The whole world was waiting +for his revelations. He spoke. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +On the evening of the day on which his article appeared, the newspapers +announced the kidnapping of M. Beautrelet, senior. Isidore was informed of it +by a telegram from Cherbourg, which reached him at three o’clock. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER FIVE<br/> +ON THE TRACK</h2> + +<p> +Young Beautrelet was stunned by the violence of the blow. As a matter of fact, +although, in publishing his article, he had obeyed one of those irresistible +impulses which make a man despise every consideration of prudence, he had never +really believed in the possibility of an abduction. His precautions had been +too thorough. The friends at Cherbourg not only had instructions to guard and +protect Beautrelet the elder: they were also to watch his comings and goings, +never to let him walk out alone and not even to hand him a single letter +without first opening it. No, there was no danger. Lupin, wishing to gain time, +was trying to intimidate his adversary. +</p> + +<p> +The blow, therefore, was almost unexpected; and Isidore, because he was +powerless to act, felt the pain of the shock during the whole of the remainder +of the day. One idea alone supported him: that of leaving Paris, going down +there, seeing for himself what had happened and resuming the offensive. +</p> + +<p> +He telegraphed to Cherbourg. He was at Saint-Lazare a little before nine. A few +minutes after, he was steaming out of the station in the Normandy express. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until an hour later, when he mechanically unfolded a newspaper which +he had bought on the platform, that he became aware of the letter by which +Lupin indirectly replied to his article of that morning: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>To the Editor of the Grand Journal.</i> +</p> + +<p> +S<small>IR</small>: I cannot pretend but that my modest personality, which +would certainly have passed unnoticed in more heroic times, has acquired a +certain prominence in the dull and feeble period in which we live. But there is +a limit beyond which the morbid curiosity of the crowd cannot go without +becoming indecently indiscreet. If the walls that surround our private lives be +not respected, what is to safeguard the rights of the citizen? +</p> + +<p> +Will those who differ plead the higher interest of truth? An empty pretext in +so far as I am concerned, because the truth is known and I raise no difficulty +about making an official confession of the truth in writing. Yes, Mlle. de +Saint-Véran is alive. Yes, I love her. Yes, I have the mortification not to be +loved by her. Yes, the results of the boy Beautrelet’s inquiry are +wonderful in their precision and accuracy. Yes, we agree on every point. There +is no riddle left. There is no mystery. Well, then, what? +</p> + +<p> +Injured to the very depths of my soul, bleeding still from cruel wounds, I ask +that my more intimate feelings and secret hopes may no longer be delivered to +the malevolence of the public. I ask for peace, the peace which I need to +conquer the affection of Mlle. de Saint-Véran and to wipe out from her memory +the thousand little injuries which she has had to suffer at the hands of her +uncle and cousin—this has not been told—because of her position as +a poor relation. Mlle. de Saint-Véran will forget this hateful past. All that +she can desire, were it the fairest jewel in the world, were it the most +unattainable treasure, I shall lay at her feet. She will be happy. She will +love me. +</p> + +<p> +But, if I am to succeed, once more, I require peace. That is why I lay down my +arms and hold out the olive-branch to my enemies—while warning them, with +every magnanimity on my part, that a refusal on theirs might bring down upon +them the gravest consequences. +</p> + +<p> +One word more on the subject of Mr. Harlington. This name conceals the identity +of an excellent fellow, who is secretary to Cooley, the American millionaire, +and instructed by him to lay hands upon every object of ancient art in Europe +which it is possible to discover. His evil star brought him into touch with my +friend Étienne de Vaudreix, <i>alias</i> Arsène Lupin, <i>alias</i> myself. He +learnt, in this way, that a certain M. de Gesvres was willing to part with four +pictures by Rubens, ostensibly on the condition that they were replaced by +copies and that the bargain to which he was consenting remained unknown. My +friend Vaudreix also undertook to persuade M. de Gesvres to sell his chapel. +The negotiations were conducted with entire good faith on the side of my friend +Vaudreix and with charming ingenuousness on the side of Mr. Harlington, until +the day when the Rubenses and the carvings from the chapel were in a safe place +and Mr. Harlington in prison. There remains nothing, therefore, to be done but +to release the unfortunate American, because he was content to play the modest +part of a dupe; to brand the millionaire Cooley, because, for fear of possible +unpleasantness, he did not protest against his secretary’s arrest; and to +congratulate my friend Étienne de Vaudreix, because he is revenging the +outraged morality of the public by keeping the hundred thousand francs which he +was paid on account by that singularly unattractive person, Cooley. +</p> + +<p> +Pray, pardon the length of this letter and permit me to be, Sir, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Your obedient servant,<br/> +A<small>RSÈNE</small> L<small>UPIN</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore weighed the words of this communication as minutely, perhaps, as he had +studied the document concerning the Hollow Needle. He went on the principle, +the correctness of which was easily proved, that Lupin had never taken the +trouble to send one of his amusing letters to the press without absolute +necessity, without some motive which events were sure, sooner or later, to +bring to light. +</p> + +<p> +What was the motive for this particular letter? For what hidden reason was +Lupin confessing his love and the failure of that love? Was it there that +Beautrelet had to seek, or in the explanations regarding Mr. Harlington, or +further still, between the lines, behind all those words whose apparent meaning +had perhaps no other object than to suggest some wicked, perfidious, misleading +little idea? +</p> + +<p> +For hours, the young man, confined to his compartment, remained pensive and +anxious. The letter filled him with mistrust, as though it had been written for +his benefit and were destined to lead him, personally, into error. For the +first time and because he found himself confronted not with a direct attack, +but with an ambiguous, indefinable method of fighting, he underwent a distinct +sensation of fear. And, when he thought of his good old, easy-going father, +kidnapped through his fault, he asked himself, with a pang, whether he was not +mad to continue so unequal a contest. Was the result not certain? Had Lupin not +won the game in advance? +</p> + +<p> +It was but a short moment of weakness. When he alighted from his compartment, +at six o’clock in the morning, refreshed by a few hours’ sleep, he +had recovered all his confidence. +</p> + +<p> +On the platform, Froberval, the dockyard clerk who had given hospitality to M. +Beautrelet, senior, was waiting for him, accompanied by his daughter Charlotte, +an imp of twelve or thirteen. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” cried Isidore. +</p> + +<p> +The worthy man beginning to moan and groan, he interrupted him, dragged him to +a neighboring tavern, ordered coffee and began to put plain questions, without +permitting the other the slightest digression: +</p> + +<p> +“My father has not been carried off, has he? It was impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible. Still, he has disappeared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since when?” +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Yesterday morning, at six o’clock, as I had not seen him come +down as usual, I opened his door. He was gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“But was he there on the day before, two days ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. On the day before yesterday, he did not leave his room. He was a +little tired; and Charlotte took his lunch up to him at twelve and his dinner +at seven in the evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it was between seven o’clock in the evening, on the day before +yesterday, and six o’clock on yesterday morning that he +disappeared?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, during the night before last. Only—” +</p> + +<p> +“Only what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s like this: you can’t leave the arsenal at +night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that he has not left it?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s impossible! My friends and I have searched the whole naval +harbor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he has left it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible, every outlet is guarded!” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet reflected and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“What next?” +</p> + +<p> +“Next, I hurried to the commandant’s and informed the officer in +charge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he come to your house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; and a gentleman from the public prosecutor’s also. They +searched all through the morning; and, when I saw that they were making no +progress and that there was no hope left, I telegraphed to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was the bed disarranged in his room?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor the room disturbed in any way?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I found his pipe in its usual place, with his tobacco and the book +which he was reading. There was even this little photograph of yourself in the +middle of the book, marking the page.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see it.” +</p> + +<p> +Froberval passed him the photograph. Beautrelet gave a start of surprise. He +had recognized himself in the snapshot, standing, with his two hands in his +pockets, on a lawn from which rose trees and ruins. +</p> + +<p> +Froberval added: +</p> + +<p> +“It must be the last portrait of yourself which you sent him. Look, on +the back, you will see the date, 3 April, the name of the photographer, R. de +Val, and the name of the town, Lion—Lion-sur-Mer, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore turned the photograph over and read this little note, in his own +handwriting: +</p> + +<p> +“R. de Val.—3.4—Lion.” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent for a few minutes and resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“My father hadn’t shown you that snapshot yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—and that’s just what astonished me when I saw it +yesterday—for your father used so often to talk to us about you.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a fresh pause, greatly prolonged. Froberval muttered: +</p> + +<p> +“I have business at the workshop. We might as well go in—” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent. Isidore had not taken his eyes from the photograph, was +examining it from every point of view. At last, the boy asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Is there such a thing as an inn called the Lion d’Or at a short +league outside the town?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, about a league from here.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the Route de Valognes, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, on the Route de Valognes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have every reason to believe that this inn was the head-quarters +of Lupin’s friends. It was from there that they entered into +communication with my father.” +</p> + +<p> +“What an idea! Your father spoke to nobody. He saw nobody.” +</p> + +<p> +“He saw nobody, but they made use of an intermediary.” +</p> + +<p> +“What proof have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“This photograph.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s your photograph!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my photograph, but it was not sent by me. I was not even +aware of its existence. It was taken, without my knowledge, in the ruins of +Ambrumésy, doubtless by the examining-magistrate’s clerk, who, as you +know, was an accomplice of Arsène Lupin’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then this photograph became the passport, the talisman, by means of +which they obtained my father’s confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“But who? Who was able to get into my house?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, but my father fell into the trap. They told him and +he believed that I was in the neighborhood, that I was asking to see him and +that I was giving him an appointment at the Golden Lion.” +</p> + +<p> +“But all this is nonsense! How can you assert—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very simply. They imitated my writing on the back of the photograph and +specified the meeting-place: Valognes Road, 3 kilometres 400, Lion Inn. My +father came and they seized him, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” muttered Froberval, dumbfounded, “very well. I +admit it—things happened as you say—but that does not explain how +he was able to leave during the night.” +</p> + +<p> +“He left in broad daylight, though he waited until dark to go to the +meeting-place.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, confound it, he didn’t leave his room the whole of the day +before yesterday!” +</p> + +<p> +“There is one way of making sure: run down to the dockyard, Froberval, +and look for one of the men who were on guard in the afternoon, two days +ago.—Only, be quick, if you wish to find me here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I shall take the next train back.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!—Why, you don’t know—your inquiry—” +</p> + +<p> +“My inquiry is finished. I know pretty well all that I wanted to know. I +shall have left Cherbourg in an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +Froberval rose to go. He looked at Beautrelet with an air of absolute +bewilderment, hesitated a moment and then took his cap: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you coming, Charlotte?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Beautrelet, “I shall want a few more particulars. +Leave her with me. Besides, I want to talk to her. I knew her when she was +quite small.” +</p> + +<p> +Froberval went away. Beautrelet and the little girl remained alone in the +tavern smoking room. A few minutes passed, a waiter entered, cleared away some +cups and left the room again. The eyes of the young man and the child met; and +Beautrelet placed his hand very gently on the little girl’s hand. She +looked at him for two or three seconds, distractedly, as though about to choke. +Then, suddenly hiding her head between her folded arms, she burst into sobs. +</p> + +<p> +He let her cry and, after a while, said: +</p> + +<p> +“It was you, wasn’t it, who did all the mischief, who acted as +go-between? It was you who took him the photograph? You admit it, don’t +you? And, when you said that my father was in his room, two days ago, you knew +that it was not true, did you not, because you yourself had helped him to leave +it—?” +</p> + +<p> +She made no reply. He asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you do it? They offered you money, I suppose—to buy +ribbons with a frock—?” +</p> + +<p> +He uncrossed Charlotte’s arms and lifted up her head. He saw a poor +little face all streaked with tears, the attractive, disquieting, mobile face +of one of those little girls who seem marked out for temptation and weakness. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said Beautrelet, “it’s over, we’ll say no +more about it. I will not even ask you how it happened. Only you must tell me +everything that can be of use to me.—Did you catch anything—any +remark made by those men? How did they carry him off?” +</p> + +<p> +She replied at once: +</p> + +<p> +“By motor car. I heard them talking about it—” +</p> + +<p> +“And what road did they take?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I don’t know that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t they say anything before you—something that might +help us?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—wait, though: there was one who said, ‘We shall have no +time to lose—the governor is to telephone to us at eight o’clock in +the morning—’” +</p> + +<p> +“Where to?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say.—I’ve forgotten—” +</p> + +<p> +“Try—try and remember. It was the name of a town, wasn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—a name—like Château—” +</p> + +<p> +“Châteaubriant?—Château-Thierry?—” +</p> + +<p> +“No-no—” +</p> + +<p> +“Châteauroux?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that was it—Châteauroux—” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet did not wait for her to complete her sentence. Already he was on his +feet and, without giving a thought to Froberval, without even troubling about +the child, who stood gazing at him in stupefaction, he opened the door and ran +to the station: +</p> + +<p> +“Châteauroux, madame—a ticket for Châteauroux—” +</p> + +<p> +“Over Mans and Tours?” asked the booking-clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course—the shortest way. Shall I be there for lunch?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“For dinner? Bedtime—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! For that, you would have to go over Paris. The Paris express +leaves at nine o’clock. You’re too late—” +</p> + +<p> +It was not too late. Beautrelet was just able to catch the train. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Beautrelet, rubbing his hands, “I have spent +only two hours or so at Cherbourg, but they were well employed.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not for a moment think of accusing Charlotte of lying. Weak, unstable, +capable of the worst treacheries, those petty natures also obey impulses of +sincerity; and Beautrelet had read in her affrighted eyes her shame for the +harm which she had done and her delight at repairing it in part. He had no +doubt, therefore, that Châteauroux was the other town to which Lupin had +referred and where his confederates were to telephone to him. +</p> + +<p> +On his arrival in Paris, Beautrelet took every necessary precaution to avoid +being followed. He felt that it was a serious moment. He was on the right road +that was leading him to his father: one act of imprudence might ruin all. +</p> + +<p> +He went to the flat of one of his schoolfellows and came out, an hour later, +irrecognizable, rigged out as an Englishman of thirty, in a brown check suit, +with knickerbockers, woolen stockings and a cap, a high-colored complexion and +a red wig. He jumped on a bicycle laden with a complete painter’s outfit +and rode off to the Gare d’Austerlitz. +</p> + +<p> +He slept that night at Issoudun. The next morning, he mounted his machine at +break of day. At seven o’clock, he walked into the Châteauroux +post-office and asked to be put on to Paris. As he had to wait, he entered into +conversation with the clerk and learnt that, two days before, at the same hour, +a man dressed for motoring had also asked for Paris. +</p> + +<p> +The proof was established. He waited no longer. +</p> + +<p> +By the afternoon, he had ascertained, from undeniable evidence, that a +limousine car, following the Tours road, had passed through the village of +Buzancais and the town of Châteauroux and had stopped beyond the town, on the +verge of the forest. At ten o’clock, a hired gig, driven by a man +unknown, had stopped beside the car and then gone off south, through the valley +of the Bouzanne. There was then another person seated beside the driver. As for +the car, it had turned in the opposite direction and gone north, toward +Issoudun. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet easily discovered the owner of the gig, who, however, had no +information to supply. He had hired out his horse and trap to a man who brought +them back himself next day. +</p> + +<p> +Lastly, that same evening, Isidore found out that the motor car had only passed +through Issoudun, continuing its road toward Orleans, that is to say, toward +Paris. +</p> + +<p> +From all this, it resulted, in the most absolute fashion, that M. Beautrelet +was somewhere in the neighborhood. If not, how was it conceivable that people +should travel nearly three hundred miles across France in order to telephone +from Châteauroux and next to return, at an acute angle, by the Paris road? +</p> + +<p> +This immense circuit had a more definite object: to move M. Beautrelet to the +place assigned to him. +</p> + +<p> +“And this place is within reach of my hand,” said Isidore to +himself, quivering with hope and expectation. “My father is waiting for +me to rescue him at ten or fifteen leagues from here. He is close by. He is +breathing the same air as I.” +</p> + +<p> +He set to work at once. Taking a war-office map, he divided it into small +squares, which he visited one after the other, entering the farmhouses making +the peasants talk, calling on the schoolmasters, the mayors, the parish +priests, chatting to the women. It seemed to him that he must attain his end +without delay and his dreams grew until it was no longer his father alone whom +he hoped to deliver, but all those whom Lupin was holding captive: Raymonde de +Saint-Véran, Ganimard, Holmlock Shears, perhaps, and others, many others; and, +in reaching them, he would, at the same time, reach Lupin’s stronghold, +his lair, the impenetrable retreat where he was piling up the treasures of +which he had robbed the wide world. +</p> + +<p> +But, after a fortnight’s useless searching, his enthusiasm ended by +slackening and he very soon lost confidence. Because success was slow in +appearing, from one day to the next, almost, he ceased to believe in it; and, +though he continued to pursue his plan of investigations, he would have felt a +real surprise if his efforts had led to the smallest discovery. +</p> + +<p> +More days still passed by, monotonous days of discouragement. He read in the +newspapers that the Comte de Gesvres and his daughter had left Ambrumésy and +gone to stay near Nice. He also learnt that Harlington had been released, that +gentleman’s innocence having become self-obvious, in accordance with the +indications supplied by Arsène Lupin. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore changed his head-quarters, established himself for two days at the +Châtre, for two days at Argenton. The result was the same. +</p> + +<p> +Just then, he was nearly throwing up the game. Evidently, the gig in which his +father had been carried off could only have furnished a stage, which had been +followed by another stage, furnished by some other conveyance. And his father +was far away. +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking of leaving, when, one Monday morning, he saw, on the envelope +of an unstamped letter, sent on to him from Paris, a handwriting that set him +trembling with emotion. So great was his excitement that, for some minutes, he +dared not open the letter, for fear of a disappointment. His hand shook. Was it +possible? Was this not a trap laid for him by his infernal enemy? +</p> + +<p> +He tore open the envelope. It was indeed a letter from his father, written by +his father himself. The handwriting presented all the peculiarities, all the +oddities of the hand which he knew so well. +</p> + +<p> +He read: +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Will these lines ever reach you, my dear son? I dare not believe it. +</p> + +<p> +During the whole night of my abduction, we traveled by motor car; then, in the +morning, by carriage. I could see nothing. My eyes were bandaged. The castle in +which I am confined should be somewhere in the midlands, to judge by its +construction and the vegetation in the park. The room which I occupy is on the +second floor: it is a room with two windows, one of which is almost blocked by +a screen of climbing glycines. In the afternoon, I am allowed to walk about the +park, at certain hours, but I am kept under unrelaxing observation. +</p> + +<p> +I am writing this letter, on the mere chance of its reaching you, and fastening +it to a stone. Perhaps, one day, I shall be able to throw it over the wall and +some peasant will pick it up. +</p> + +<p> +But do not be distressed about me. I am treated with every consideration. +</p> + +<p> +Your old father, who is very fond of you and very sad to think of the trouble +he is giving you, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +B<small>EAUTRELET</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore at once looked at the postmarks. They read, “Cuzion, +Indre.” +</p> + +<p> +The Indre! The department which he had been stubbornly searching for weeks! +</p> + +<p> +He consulted a little pocket-guide which he always carried. Cuzion, in the +canton of Éguzon—he had been there too. +</p> + +<p> +For prudence’s sake, he discarded his personality as an Englishman, which +was becoming too well known in the district, disguised himself as a workman and +made for Cuzion. It was an unimportant village. He would easily discover the +sender of the letter. +</p> + +<p> +For that matter, chance served him without delay: +</p> + +<p> +“A letter posted on Wednesday last?” exclaimed the mayor, a +respectable tradesman in whom he confided and who placed himself at his +disposal. “Listen, I think I can give you a valuable clue: on Saturday +morning, Gaffer Charel, an old knife-grinder who visits all the fairs in the +department, met me at the end of the village and asked, ‘Monsieur le +maire, does a letter without a stamp on it go all the same?’ ‘Of +course,’ said I. ‘And does it get there?’ ‘Certainly. +Only there’s double postage to pay on it, that’s all the +difference.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And where does he live?” +</p> + +<p> +“He lives over there, all alone—on the slope—the hovel that +comes next after the churchyard.—Shall I go with you?” +</p> + +<p> +It was a hovel standing by itself, in the middle of an orchard surrounded by +tall trees. As they entered the orchard, three magpies flew away with a great +splutter and they saw that the birds were flying out of the very hole in which +the watch-dog was fastened. And the dog neither barked nor stirred as they +approached. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet went up in great surprise. The brute was lying on its side, with +stiff paws, dead. +</p> + +<p> +They ran quickly to the cottage. The door stood open. They entered. At the back +of a low, damp room, on a wretched straw mattress, flung on the floor itself, +lay a man fully dressed. +</p> + +<p> +“Gaffer Charel!” cried the mayor. “Is he dead, too?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man’s hands were cold, his face terribly pale, but his heart was +still beating, with a faint, slow throb, and he seemed not to be wounded in any +way. +</p> + +<p> +They tried to resuscitate him and, as they failed in their efforts, Beautrelet +went to fetch a doctor. The doctor succeeded no better than they had done. The +old man did not seem to be suffering. He looked as if he were just asleep, but +with an artificial slumber, as though he had been put to sleep by hypnotism or +with the aid of a narcotic. +</p> + +<p> +In the middle of the night that followed, however, Isidore, who was watching by +his side, observed that the breathing became stronger and that his whole being +appeared to be throwing off the invisible bonds that paralyzed it. +</p> + +<p> +At daybreak, he woke up and resumed his normal functions: ate, drank and moved +about. But, the whole day long, he was unable to reply to the young man’s +questions and his brain seemed as though still numbed by an inexplicable +torpor. +</p> + +<p> +The next day, he asked Beautrelet: +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +It was the first time that he had shown surprise at the presence of a stranger +beside him. +</p> + +<p> +Gradually, in this way, he recovered all his faculties. He talked. He made +plans. But, when Beautrelet asked him about the events immediately preceding +his sleep, he seemed not to understand. +</p> + +<p> +And Beautrelet felt that he really did not understand. He had lost the +recollection of all that had happened since the Friday before. It was like a +sudden gap in the ordinary flow of his life. He described his morning and +afternoon on the Friday, the purchases he had made at the fair, the meals he +had taken at the inn. Then—nothing—nothing more. He believed +himself to be waking on the morrow of that day. +</p> + +<p> +It was horrible for Beautrelet. The truth lay there, in those eyes which had +seen the walls of the park behind which his father was waiting for him, in +those hands which had picked up the letter, in that muddled brain which had +recorded the whereabouts of that scene, the setting, the little corner of the +world in which the play had been enacted. And from those hands, from that brain +he was unable to extract the faintest echo of the truth so near at hand! +</p> + +<p> +Oh, that impalpable and formidable obstacle, against which all his efforts +hurled themselves in vain, that obstacle built up of silence and oblivion! How +clearly it bore the mark of Arsène Lupin! He alone, informed, no doubt, that M. +Beautrelet had attempted to give a signal, he alone could have struck with +partial death the one man whose evidence could injure him. It was not that +Beautrelet felt himself to be discovered or thought that Lupin, hearing of his +stealthy attack and knowing that a letter had reached him, was defending +himself against him personally. But what an amount of foresight and real +intelligence it displayed to suppress any possible accusation on the part of +that chance wayfarer! Nobody now knew that within the walls of a park there lay +a prisoner asking for help. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody? Yes, Beautrelet. Gaffer Charel was unable to speak. Very well. But, at +least, one could find out which fair the old man had visited and which was the +logical road that he had taken to return by. And, along this road, perhaps it +would at last be possible to find— +</p> + +<p> +Isidore, as it was, had been careful not to visit Gaffer Charel’s hovel +except with the greatest precautions and in such a way as not to give an alarm. +He now decided not to go back to it. He made inquiries and learnt that Friday +was market-day at Fresselines, a fair-sized town situated a few leagues off, +which could be reached either by the rather winding highroad or by a series of +short cuts. +</p> + +<p> +On the Friday, he chose the road and saw nothing that attracted his attention, +no high walled enclosure, no semblance of an old castle. +</p> + +<p> +He lunched at an inn at Fresselines and was on the point of leaving when he saw +Gaffer Charel arrive and cross the square, wheeling his little knife-grinding +barrow before him. He at once followed him at a good distance. +</p> + +<p> +The old man made two interminable waits, during which he ground dozens of +knives. Then, at last, he went away by a quite different road, which ran in the +direction of Crozant and the market-town of Éguzon. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet followed him along this road. But he had not walked five minutes +before he received the impression that he was not alone in shadowing the old +fellow. A man was walking along between them, stopping at the same time as +Charel and starting off again when he did, without, for that matter, taking any +great precautions against being seen. +</p> + +<p> +“He is being watched,” thought Beautrelet. “Perhaps they want +to know if he stops in front of the walls—” +</p> + +<p> +His heart beat violently. The event was at hand. +</p> + +<p> +The three of them, one behind the other, climbed up and down the steep slopes +of the country and arrived at Crozant, famed for the colossal ruins of its +castle. There Charel made a halt of an hour’s duration. Next he went down +to the riverside and crossed the bridge. +</p> + +<p> +But then a thing happened that took Beautrelet by surprise. The other man did +not cross the river. He watched the old fellow move away and, when he had lost +sight of him, turned down a path that took him right across the fields. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet hesitated for a few seconds as to what course to take, and then +quietly decided. He set off in pursuit of the man. +</p> + +<p> +“He has made sure,” he thought, “that Gaffer Charel has gone +straight ahead. That is all he wanted to know and so he is going—where? +To the castle?” +</p> + +<p> +He was within touch of the goal. He felt it by a sort of agonizing gladness +that uplifted his whole being. +</p> + +<p> +The man plunged into a dark wood overhanging the river and then appeared once +more in the full light, where the path met the horizon. +</p> + +<p> +When Beautrelet, in his turn, emerged from the wood, he was greatly surprised +no longer to see the man. He was seeking him with his eyes when, suddenly, he +gave a stifled cry and, with a backward spring, made for the line of trees +which he had just left. On his right, he had seen a rampart of high walls, +flanked, at regular distances, by massive buttresses. +</p> + +<p> +It was there! It was there! Those walls held his father captive! He had found +the secret place where Lupin confined his victim. +</p> + +<p> +He dared not quit the shelter which the thick foliage of the wood afforded him. +Slowly, almost on all fours, he bore to the right and in this way reached the +top of a hillock that rose to the level of the neighboring trees. The walls +were taller still. Nevertheless, he perceived the roof of the castle which they +surrounded, an old Louis XIII. roof, surmounted by very slender bell-turrets +arranged corbel-wise around a higher steeple which ran to a point. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet did no more that day. He felt the need to reflect and to prepare his +plan of attack without leaving anything to chance. He held Lupin safe; and it +was for Beautrelet now to select the hour and the manner of the combat. +</p> + +<p> +He walked away. +</p> + +<p> +Near the bridge, he met two country-girls carrying pails of milk. He asked: +</p> + +<p> +“What is the name of the castle over there, behind the trees?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the Château de l’Aiguille, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He had put his question without attaching any importance to it. The answer took +away his breath: +</p> + +<p> +“The Château de l’Aiguille?—Oh!—But in what department +are we? The Indre?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not. The Indre is on the other side of the river. This side, +it’s the Creuse.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore saw it all in a flash. The Château de l’Aiguille! The department +of the Creuse! <i>L’Aiguille Creuse!</i> The Hollow Needle! The very key +to the document! Certain, decisive, absolute victory! +</p> + +<p> +Without another word, he turned his back on the two girls and went his way, +tottering like a drunken man. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER SIX<br/> +AN HISTORIC SECRET</h2> + +<p> +Beautrelet’s resolve was soon taken: he would act alone. To inform the +police was too dangerous. Apart from the fact that he could only offer +presumptions, he dreaded the slowness of the police, their inevitable +indiscretions, the whole preliminary inquiry, during which Lupin, who was sure +to be warned, would have time to effect a retreat in good order. +</p> + +<p> +At eight o’clock the next morning, with his bundle under his arm, he left +the inn in which he was staying near Cuzion, made for the nearest thicket, took +off his workman’s clothes, became once more the young English painter +that he had been and went to call on the notary at Éguzon, the largest place in +the immediate neighborhood. +</p> + +<p> +He said that he liked the country and that he was thinking of taking up his +residence there, with his relations, if he could find a suitable house. +</p> + +<p> +The notary mentioned a number of properties. Beautrelet took note of them and +let fall that some one had spoken to him of the Château de l’Aiguille, on +the bank of the Creuse. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, but the Château de l’Aiguille, which has belonged to one +of my clients for the last five years, is not for sale.” +</p> + +<p> +“He lives in it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“He used to live in it, or rather his mother did. But she did not care +for it; found the castle rather gloomy. So they left it last year.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is no one living there at present?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, an Italian, to whom my client let it for the summer season: Baron +Anfredi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Baron Anfredi! A man still young, rather grave and +solemn-looking—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I can’t say.—My client dealt with him direct. +There was no regular agreement, just a letter—” +</p> + +<p> +“But you know the baron?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he never leaves the castle.—Sometimes, in his motor, at night, +so they say. The marketing is done by an old cook, who talks to nobody. They +are queer people—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think your client would consent to sell his castle?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so. It’s an historic castle, built in the +purest Louis XIII. style. My client was very fond of it; and, unless he has +changed his mind—” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you give me his name and address?” +</p> + +<p> +“Louis Valméras, 34, Rue du Mont-Thabor.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet took the train for Paris at the nearest station. On the next day but +one, after three fruitless calls, he at last found Louis Valméras at home. He +was a man of about thirty, with a frank and pleasing face. Beautrelet saw no +need to beat about the bush, stated who he was and described his efforts and +the object of the step which he was now taking: +</p> + +<p> +“I have good reason to believe,” he concluded, “that my +father is imprisoned in the Château de l’Aiguille, doubtless in the +company of other victims. And I have come to ask you what you know of your +tenant, Baron Anfredi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much. I met Baron Anfredi last winter at Monte Carlo. He had heard +by accident that I was the owner of the Château de l’Aiguille and, as he +wished to spend the summer in France, he made me an offer for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is still a young man—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, with very expressive eyes, fair hair—” +</p> + +<p> +“And a beard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ending in two points, which fall over a collar fastened at the +back, like a clergyman’s. In fact, he looks a little like an English +parson.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s he,” murmured Beautrelet, “it’s he, as I +have seen him: it’s his exact description.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Do you think—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, I am sure that your tenant is none other than Arsène +Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +The story amused Louis Valméras. He knew all the adventures of Arsène Lupin and +the varying fortunes of his struggle with Beautrelet. He rubbed his hands: +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, the Château de l’Aiguille will become famous!—I’m +sure I don’t mind, for, as a matter of fact, now that my mother no longer +lives in it, I have always thought that I would get rid of it at the first +opportunity. After this, I shall soon find a purchaser. Only—” +</p> + +<p> +“Only what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will ask you to act with the most extreme prudence and not to inform +the police until you are quite sure. Can you picture the situation, supposing +my tenant were not Arsène Lupin?” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet set forth his plan. He would go alone at night; he would climb the +walls; he would sleep in the park— Louis Valméras stopped him at once: +</p> + +<p> +“You will not climb walls of that height so easily. If you do, you will +be received by two huge sheep-dogs which belonged to my mother and which I left +behind at the castle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh! A dose of poison—” +</p> + +<p> +“Much obliged. But suppose you escaped them. What then? How would you get +into the castle? The doors are massive, the windows barred. And, even then, +once you were inside, who would guide you? There are eighty rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but that room with two windows, on the second story—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, we call it the glycine room. But how will you find it? There +are three staircases and a labyrinth of passages. I can give you the clue and +explain the way to you, but you would get lost just the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me,” said Beautrelet, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t. I have promised to go to my mother in the South.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet returned to the friend with whom he was staying and began to make +his preparations. But, late in the day, as he was getting ready to go, he +received a visit from Valméras. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you still want me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m coming with you. Yes, the expedition fascinates me. I +think it will be very amusing and I like being mixed up in this sort of +thing.—Besides, my help will be of use to you. Look, here’s +something to start with.” +</p> + +<p> +He held up a big key, all covered with rust and looking very old. +</p> + +<p> +“What does the key open?” asked Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +“A little postern hidden between two buttresses and left unused since +centuries ago. I did not even think of pointing it out to my tenant. It opens +straight on the country, just at the verge of the wood.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet interrupted him quickly: +</p> + +<p> +“They know all about that outlet. It was obviously by this way that the +man whom I followed entered the park. Come, it’s fine game and we shall +win it. But, by Jupiter, we must play our cards carefully!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Two days later, a half-famished horse dragged a gipsy caravan into Crozant. Its +driver obtained leave to stable it at the end of the village, in an old +deserted cart-shed. In addition to the driver, who was none other than +Valméras, there were three young men, who occupied themselves in the +manufacture of wicker-work chairs: Beautrelet and two of his Janson friends. +</p> + +<p> +They stayed there for three days, waiting for a propitious, moonless night and +roaming singly round the outskirts of the park. Once Beautrelet saw the +postern. Contrived between two buttresses placed very close together, it was +almost merged, behind the screen of brambles that concealed it, in the pattern +formed by the stones of the wall. +</p> + +<p> +At last, on the fourth evening, the sky was covered with heavy black clouds and +Valméras decided that they should go reconnoitring, at the risk of having to +return again, should circumstances prove unfavorable. +</p> + +<p> +All four crossed the little wood. Then Beautrelet crept through the heather, +scratched his hands at the bramble-hedge and, half raising himself, slowly, +with restrained movements, put the key into the lock. He turned it gently. +Would the door open without an effort? Was there no bolt closing it on the +other side? He pushed: the door opened, without a creak or jolt. He was in the +park. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you there, Beautrelet?” asked Valméras. “Wait for me. +You two chaps, watch the door and keep our line of retreat open. At the least +alarm, whistle.” +</p> + +<p> +He took Beautrelet’s hand and they plunged into the dense shadow of the +thickets. A clearer space was revealed to them when they reached the edge of +the central lawn. At the same moment a ray of moonlight pierced the clouds; and +they saw the castle, with its pointed turrets arranged around the tapering +spire to which, no doubt, it owed its name. There was no light in the windows; +not a sound. +</p> + +<p> +Valméras grasped his companion’s arm: +</p> + +<p> +“Keep still!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The dogs, over there—look—” +</p> + +<p> +There was a growl. Valméras gave a low whistle. Two white forms leapt forward +and, in four bounds, came and crouched at their master’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Gently—lie down—that’s it—good dogs—stay +there.” +</p> + +<p> +And he said to Beautrelet: +</p> + +<p> +“And now let us push on. I feel more comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure of the way?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We are near the terrace.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember that, on the left, at a place where the river terrace rises +to the level of the ground-floor windows, there is a shutter which closes badly +and which can be opened from the outside.” +</p> + +<p> +They found, when they came to it, that the shutter yielded to pressure. +Valméras removed a pane with a diamond which he carried. He turned the +window-latch. First one and then the other stepped over the balcony. They were +now in the castle, at the end of a passage which divided the left wing into +two. +</p> + +<p> +“This room,” said Valméras, “opens at the end of a passage. +Then comes an immense hall, lined with statues, and at the end of the hall a +staircase which ends near the room occupied by your father.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a step forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you coming, Beautrelet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But no, you’re not coming—What’s the matter with +you?” +</p> + +<p> +He seized him by the hand. It was icy cold and he perceived that the young man +was cowering on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with you?” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—it’ll pass off—” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Beautrelet confessed, frankly, “it’s my nerves +giving way—I generally manage to control them—but, to-day, the +silence—the excitement—And then, since I was stabbed by that +magistrate’s clerk—But it will pass off—There, it’s +passing now—” +</p> + +<p> +He succeeded in rising to his feet and Valméras dragged him out of the room. +They groped their way along the passage, so softly that neither could hear a +sound made by the other. +</p> + +<p> +A faint glimmer, however, seemed to light the hall for which they were making. +Valméras put his head round the corner. It was a night-light placed at the foot +of the stairs, on a little table which showed through the frail branches of a +palm tree. +</p> + +<p> +“Halt!” whispered Valméras. +</p> + +<p> +Near the night-light, a man stood sentry, carrying a gun. +</p> + +<p> +Had he seen them? Perhaps. At least, something must have alarmed him, for he +brought the gun to his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet had fallen on his knees, against a tub containing a plant, and he +remained quite still, with his heart thumping against his chest. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the silence and the absence of all movement reassured the man. He +lowered his weapon. But his head was still turned in the direction of the tub. +</p> + +<p> +Terrible minutes passed: ten minutes, fifteen. A moonbeam had glided through a +window on the staircase. And, suddenly, Beautrelet became aware that the +moonbeam was shifting imperceptibly, and that, before fifteen, before ten more +minutes had elapsed, it would be shining full in his face. +</p> + +<p> +Great drops of perspiration fell from his forehead on his trembling hands. His +anguish was such that he was on the point of getting up and running +away—But, remembering that Valméras was there, he sought him with his +eyes and was astounded to see him, or rather to imagine him, creeping in the +dark, under cover of the statues and plants. He was already at the foot of the +stairs, within a few steps of the man. +</p> + +<p> +What was he going to do? To pass in spite of all? To go upstairs alone and +release the prisoner? But could he pass? +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet no longer saw him and he had an impression that something was about +to take place, something that seemed foreboded also by the silence, which hung +heavier, more awful than before. +</p> + +<p> +And, suddenly, a shadow springing upon the man, the night-light extinguished, +the sound of a struggle—Beautrelet ran up. The two bodies had rolled over +on the flagstones. He tried to stoop and see. But he heard a hoarse moan, a +sigh; and one of the adversaries rose to his feet and seized him by the arm: +</p> + +<p> +“Quick!—Come along!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Valméras. +</p> + +<p> +They went up two storys and came out at the entrance to a corridor, covered by +a hanging. +</p> + +<p> +“To the right,” whispered Valméras. “The fourth room on the +left.” +</p> + +<p> +They soon found the door of the room. As they expected, the captive was locked +in. It took them half an hour, half an hour of stifled efforts, of muffled +attempts, to force open the lock. The door yielded at last. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet groped his way to the bed. His father was asleep. +</p> + +<p> +He woke him gently: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s I—Isidore—and a friend—don’t be +afraid—get up—not a word.” +</p> + +<p> +The father dressed himself, but, as they were leaving the room, he whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“I am not alone in the castle—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah? Who else? Ganimard? Shears?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—at least, I have not seen them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who then?” +</p> + +<p> +“A young girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mlle. de Saint-Véran, no doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know—I saw her several times at a distance, in the +park—and, when I lean out of my window, I can see hers. She has made +signals to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know which is her room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in this passage, the third on the right.” +</p> + +<p> +“The blue room,” murmured Valméras. “It has folding doors: +they won’t give us so much trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +One of the two leaves very soon gave way. Old Beautrelet undertook to tell the +girl. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later, he left the room with her and said to his son: +</p> + +<p> +“You were right—Mlle. de Saint-Véran—;” +</p> + +<p> +They all four went down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Valméras +stopped and bent over the man. Then, leading them to the terrace-room: +</p> + +<p> +“He is not dead,” he said. “He will live.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Beautrelet, with a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“No, fortunately, the blade of my knife bent: the blow is not fatal. +Besides, in any case, those rascals deserve no pity.” +</p> + +<p> +Outside, they were met by the dogs, which accompanied them to the postern. +Here, Beautrelet found his two friends and the little band left the park. It +was three o’clock in the morning. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +This first victory was not enough to satisfy Beautrelet. As soon as he had +comfortably settled his father and Mlle. de Saint-Véran, he asked them about +the people who lived at the castle, and, particularly, about the habits of +Arsène Lupin. He thus learnt that Lupin came only every three or four days, +arriving at night in his motor car and leaving again in the morning. At each of +his visits, he called separately upon his two prisoners, both of whom agreed in +praising his courtesy and his extreme civility. For the moment, he was not at +the castle. +</p> + +<p> +Apart from him, they had seen no one except an old woman, who ruled over the +kitchen and the house, and two men, who kept watch over them by turns and never +spoke to them: subordinates, obviously, to judge by their manners and +appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Two accomplices, for all that,” said Beautrelet, in conclusion, +“or rather three, with the old woman. It is a bag worth having. And, if +we lose no time—” +</p> + +<p> +He jumped on his bicycle, rode to Éguzon, woke up the gendarmerie, set them all +going, made them sound the boot and saddle and returned to Crozant at eight +o’clock, accompanied by the sergeant and eight gendarmes. Two of the men +were posted beside the gipsy-van. Two others took up their positions outside +the postern-door. The last four, commanded by their chief and accompanied by +Beautrelet and Valméras, marched to the main entrance of the castle. +</p> + +<p> +Too late. The door was wide open. A peasant told them that he had seen a motor +car drive out of the castle an hour before. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, the search led to no result. In all probability, the gang had installed +themselves there picnic fashion. A few clothes were found, a little linen, some +household implements; and that was all. +</p> + +<p> +What astonished Beautrelet and Valméras more was the disappearance of the +wounded man. They could not see the faintest trace of a struggle, not even a +drop of blood on the flagstones of the hall. +</p> + +<p> +All said, there was no material evidence to prove the fleeting presence of +Lupin at the Château de l’Aiguille; and the authorities would have been +entitled to challenge the statements of Beautrelet and his father, of Valméras +and Mlle. de Saint-Véran, had they not ended by discovering, in a room next to +that occupied by the young girl, some half-dozen exquisite bouquets with Arsène +Lupin’s card pinned to them, bouquets scorned by her, faded and +forgotten—One of them, in addition to the card, contained a letter which +Raymonde had not seen. That afternoon, when opened by the examining magistrate, +it was found to contain page upon page of prayers, entreaties, promises, +threats, despair, all the madness of a love that has encountered nothing but +contempt and repulsion. +</p> + +<p> +And the letter ended: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +I shall come on Tuesday evening, Raymonde. Reflect between now and then. As for +me, I will wait no longer. I am resolved on all. +</p> + +<p> +Tuesday evening was the evening of the very day on which Beautrelet had +released Mlle. de Saint-Véran from her captivity. +</p> + +<p> +The reader will remember the extraordinary explosion of surprise and enthusiasm +that resounded throughout the world at the news of that unexpected issue: Mlle. +de Saint-Véran free! The pretty girl whom Lupin coveted, to secure whom he had +contrived his most Machiavellian schemes, snatched from his claws! Free also +Beautrelet’s father, whom Lupin had chosen as a hostage in his +extravagant longing for the armistice demanded by the needs of his passion! +They were both free, the two prisoners! And the secret of the Hollow Needle was +known, published, flung to the four corners of the world! +</p> + +<p> +The crowd amused itself with a will. Ballads were sold and sung about the +defeated adventurer: <i>Lupin’s Little Love-Affairs!—Arsène’s +Piteous Sobs!—The Lovesick Burglar! The Pickpocket’s +Lament!</i>—They were cried on the boulevards and hummed in the +artists’ studios. +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde, pressed with questions and pursued by interviewers, replied with the +most extreme reserve. But there was no denying the letter, or the bouquets of +flowers, or any part of the pitiful story! Then and there, Lupin, scoffed and +jeered at, toppled from his pedestal. +</p> + +<p> +And Beautrelet became the popular idol. He had foretold everything, thrown +light on everything. The evidence which Mlle. de Saint-Véran gave before the +examining magistrate confirmed, down to the smallest detail, the hypothesis +imagined by Isidore. Reality seemed to submit, in every point, to what he had +decreed beforehand. Lupin had found his master.— +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Beautrelet insisted that his father, before returning to his mountains in +Savoy, should take a few months’ rest in the sunshine, and himself +escorted him and Mlle. de Saint-Véran to the outskirts of Nice, where the Comte +de Gesvres and his daughter Suzanne were already settled for the winter. Two +days later, Valméras brought his mother to see his new friends and they thus +composed a little colony grouped around the Villa de Gesvres and watched over +day and night by half a dozen men engaged by the comte. +</p> + +<p> +Early in October, Beautrelet, once more the sixth-form pupil, returned to Paris +to resume the interrupted course of his studies and to prepare for his +examinations. And life began again, calmer, this time, and free from incident. +What could happen, for that matter. Was the war not over? +</p> + +<p> +Lupin, on his side, must have felt this very clearly, must have felt that there +was nothing left for him but to resign himself to the accomplished fact; for, +one fine day, his two other victims, Ganimard and Holmlock Shears, made their +reappearance. Their return to the life of this planet, however, was devoid of +any sort of glamor or fascination. An itinerant rag-man picked them up on the +Quai des Orfèvres, opposite the headquarters of police. Both of them were +gagged, bound and fast asleep. +</p> + +<p> +After a week of complete bewilderment, they succeeded in recovering the control +of their thought and told—or rather Ganimard told, for Shears wrapped +himself in a fierce and stubborn silence—how they had made a voyage of +circumnavigation round the coast of Africa on board the yacht +<i>Hirondelle</i>, a voyage combining amusement with instruction, during which +they could look upon themselves as free, save for a few hours which they spent +at the bottom of the hold, while the crew went on shore at outlandish ports. +</p> + +<p> +As for their landing on the Quai des Orfèvres, they remembered nothing about it +and had probably been asleep for many days before. +</p> + +<p> +This liberation of the prisoners was the final confession of defeat. By ceasing +to fight, Lupin admitted it without reserve. +</p> + +<p> +One incident, moreover, made it still more glaring, which was the engagement of +Louis Valméras and Mlle. de Saint-Véran. In the intimacy created between them +by the new conditions under which they lived, the two young people fell in love +with each other. Valméras loved Raymonde’s melancholy charm; and she, +wounded by life, greedy for protection, yielded before the strength and energy +of the man who had contributed so gallantly to her preservation. +</p> + +<p> +The wedding day was awaited with a certain amount of anxiety. Would Lupin not +try to resume the offensive? Would he accept with a good grace the +irretrievable loss of the woman he loved? Twice or three times, +suspicious-looking people were seen prowling round the villa; and Valméras even +had to defend himself one evening against a so-called drunken man, who fired a +pistol at him and sent a bullet through his hat. But, in the end, the ceremony +was performed at the appointed hour and day and Raymonde de Saint-Véran became +Mme. Louis Valméras. +</p> + +<p> +It was as though Fate herself had taken sides with Beautrelet and countersigned +the news of victory. This was so apparent to the crowd that his admirers now +conceived the notion of entertaining him at a banquet to celebrate his triumph +and Lupin’s overthrow. It was a great idea and aroused general +enthusiasm. Three hundred tickets were sold in less than a fortnight. +Invitations were issued to the public schools of Paris, to send two sixth-form +pupils apiece. The press sang pæans. The banquet was what it could not fail to +be, an apotheosis. +</p> + +<p> +But it was a charming and simple apotheosis, because Beautrelet was its hero. +His presence was enough to bring things back to their due proportion. He showed +himself modest, as usual, a little surprised at the excessive cheering, a +little embarrassed by the extravagant panegyrics in which he was pronounced +greater than the most illustrious detectives—a little embarrassed, but +also not a little touched. +</p> + +<p> +He said as much in a few words that pleased all his hearers and with the +shyness of a child that blushes when you look at it. He spoke of his delight, +of his pride. And really, reasonable and self-controlled as he was, this was +for him a moment of never-to-be-forgotten exultation. He smiled to his friends, +to his fellow-Jansonians, to Valméras, who had come specially to give him a +cheer, to M. de Gesvres, to his father. +</p> + +<p> +When he had finished speaking; and while he still held his glass in his hand, a +sound of voices came from the other end of the room and some one was +gesticulating and waving a newspaper. Silence was restored and the importunate +person sat down again: but a thrill of curiosity ran round the table, the +newspaper was passed from hand to hand and, each time that one of the guests +cast his eyes upon the page at which it was opened, exclamations followed: +</p> + +<p> +“Read it! Read it!” they cried from the opposite side. +</p> + +<p> +The people were leaving their seats at the principal table. M. Beautrelet went +and took the paper and handed it to his son. +</p> + +<p> +“Read it out! Read it out!” they cried, louder. +</p> + +<p> +And others said: +</p> + +<p> +“Listen! He’s going to read it! Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet stood facing his audience, looked in the evening paper which his +father had given him for the article that was causing all this uproar and, +suddenly, his eyes encountering a heading underlined in blue pencil, he raised +his hand to call for silence and began in a loud voice to read a letter +addressed to the editor by M. Massiban, of the Academy of Inscriptions and +Belles-Lettres. His voice broke and fell, little by little, as he read those +stupefying revelations, which reduced all his efforts to nothing, upset his +notions concerning the Hollow Needle and proved the vanity of his struggle with +Arsène Lupin: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +S<small>IR</small>: +</p> + +<p> +On the 17th of March, 1679, there appeared a little book with the following +title: <i>The Mystery of the Hollow Needle. The Whole Truth now first +exhibited. One hundred copies printed by myself for the instruction of the +Court.</i> +</p> + +<p> +At nine o’clock on the morning of that day, the author, a very young man, +well-dressed, whose name has remained unknown, began to leave his book on the +principal persons at court. At ten o’clock, when he had fulfilled four of +these errands, he was arrested by a captain in the guards, who took him to the +king’s closet and forthwith set off in search of the four copies +distributed. +</p> + +<p> +When the hundred copies were got together, counted, carefully looked through +and verified, the king himself threw them into the fire and burnt them, all but +one, which he kept for his own purposes. +</p> + +<p> +Then he ordered the captain of the guards to take the author of the book to M. +de Saint-Mars, who confined his prisoner first at Pignerol and then in the +fortress of the Ile Sainte-Marguerite. This man was obviously no other than the +famous Man with the Iron Mask. +</p> + +<p> +The truth would never have been known, or at least a part of the truth, if the +captain in the guards had not been present at the interview and if, when the +king’s back was turned, he had not been tempted to withdraw another of +the copies from the chimney, before the fire got to it. +</p> + +<p> +Six months later, the captain was found dead on the highroad between Gaillon +and Mantes. His murderers had stripped him of all his apparel, forgetting, +however, in his right boot a jewel which was discovered there afterward, a +diamond of the first water and of considerable value. +</p> + +<p> +Among his papers was found a sheet in his handwriting, in which he did not +speak of the book snatched from the flames, but gave a summary of the earlier +chapters. It referred to a secret which was known to the Kings of England, +which was lost by them when the crown passed from the poor fool, Henry VI., to +the Duke of York, which was revealed to Charles VII., King of France, by Joan +of Arc and which, becoming a State secret, was handed down from sovereign to +sovereign by means of a letter, sealed anew on each occasion, which was found +in the deceased monarch’s death-bed with this superscription: “For +the King of France.” +</p> + +<p> +This secret concerned the existence and described the whereabouts of a +tremendous treasure, belonging to the kings, which increased in dimensions from +century to century. +</p> + +<p> +One hundred and fourteen years later, Louis XVI., then a prisoner in the +Temple, took aside one of the officers whose duty it was to guard the royal +family, and asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur, had you not an ancestor who served as a captain under my +predecessor, the Great King?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, could you be relied upon—could you be relied +upon—” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated. The officer completed the sentence: +</p> + +<p> +“Not to betray your Majesty! Oh, sire!—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then listen to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He took from his pocket a little book of which he tore out one of the last +pages. But, altering his mind: +</p> + +<p> +“No, I had better copy it—” +</p> + +<p> +He seized a large sheet of paper and tore it in such a way as to leave only a +small rectangular space, on which he copied five lines of dots, letters and +figures from the printed page. Then, after burning the latter, he folded the +manuscript sheet in four, sealed it with red wax, and gave it to the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur, after my death, you must hand this to the Queen and say to +her, ‘From the King, madame—for Your Majesty and for your +son.’ If she does not understand—” +</p> + +<p> +“If she does not understand, sire—” +</p> + +<p> +“You must add, ‘It concerns the secret, the secret of the +Needle.’ The Queen will understand.” +</p> + +<p> +When he had finished speaking, he flung the book into the embers glowing on the +hearth. +</p> + +<p> +He ascended the scaffold on the 21st of January. +</p> + +<p> +It took the officer several months, in consequence of the removal of the Queen +to the Conciergerie, before he could fulfil the mission with which he was +entrusted. At last, by dint of cunning intrigues, he succeeded, one day, in +finding himself in the presence of Marie Antoinette. +</p> + +<p> +Speaking so that she could just hear him, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Madame, from the late King, your husband, for Your Majesty and your +son.” +</p> + +<p> +And he gave her the sealed letter. +</p> + +<p> +She satisfied herself that the jailers could not see her, broke the seals, +appeared surprised at the sight of those undecipherable lines and then, all at +once, seemed to understand. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled bitterly and the officer caught the words: +</p> + +<p> +“Why so late?” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated. Where should she hide this dangerous document? At last, she +opened her book of hours and slipped the paper into a sort of secret pocket +contrived between the leather of the binding and the parchment that covered it. +</p> + +<p> +“Why so late?” she had asked. +</p> + +<p> +It is, in fact, probable that this document, if it could have saved her, came +too late, for, in the month of October next, Queen Marie Antoinette ascended +the scaffold in her turn. +</p> + +<p> +Now the officer, when going through his family papers, came upon his +ancestor’s manuscript. From that moment, he had but one idea, which was +to devote his leisure to elucidating this strange problem. He read all the +Latin authors, studied all the chronicles of France and those of the +neighboring countries, visited the monasteries, deciphered account-books, +cartularies, treaties; and, in this way, succeeded in discovering certain +references scattered over the ages. +</p> + +<p> +In Book III of Cæsar’s <i>Commentaries on the Gallic War</i> (MS. +edition, Alexandria), it is stated that, after the defeat of Veridovix by G. +Titullius Sabinus, the chief of the Caleti was brought before Cæsar and that, +for his ransom, he revealed the secret of the Needle— +</p> + +<p> +The Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, between Charles the Simple and Rollo, the +chief of the Norse barbarians, gives Rollo’s name followed by all his +titles, among which we read that of Master of the Secret of the Needle. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Saxon Chronicle</i> (Gibson’s edition, page 134), speaking of +William the Conqueror, says that the staff of his banner ended in a steel point +pierced with an eye, like a needle. +</p> + +<p> +In a rather ambiguous phrase in her examination, Joan of Arc admits that she +has still a great secret to tell the King of France. To which her judges reply, +“Yes, we know of what you speak; and that, Joan, is why you shall die the +death.” +</p> + +<p> +Philippe de Comines mentions it in connection with Louis XI., and, later, Sully +in connection with Henry IV.: “By the virtue of the Needle!” the +good king sometimes swears. +</p> + +<p> +Between these two, Francis I., in a speech addressed to the notables of the +Havre, in 1520, uttered this phrase, which has been handed down in the diary of +a Honfleur burgess; “The Kings of France carry secrets that often decide +the conduct of affairs and the fate of towns.” +</p> + +<p> +All these quotations, all the stories relating to the Iron Mask, the captain of +the guards and his descendant, I have found to-day in a pamphlet written by +this same descendant and published in the month of June, 1815, just before or +just after the battle of Waterloo, in a period, therefore, of great upheavals, +in which the revelations which it contained were likely to pass unperceived. +</p> + +<p> +What is the value of this pamphlet? Nothing, you will tell me, and we must +attach no credit to it. And this is the impression which I myself would have +carried away, if it had not occurred to me to open Cæsar’s +<i>Commentaries</i> at the chapter given. What was my astonishment when I came +upon the phrase quoted in the little book before me! And it was the same thing +with the Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, with the <i>Saxon Chronicle</i>, with +the examination of Joan of Arc, in short, with all that I have been able to +verify up to the present. +</p> + +<p> +Lastly, there is an even more precise fact related by the author of the +pamphlet of 1815. During the French campaign, he being then an officer under +Napoleon, his horse dropped dead, one evening, and he rang at the door of a +castle where he was received by an old knight of St. Louis. And, in the course +of conversation with the old man, he learnt that this castle, standing on the +bank of the Creuse, was called the Château de l’Aiguille, that it had +been built and christened by Louis XIV., and that, by his express order, it was +adorned with turrets and with a spire which represented the Needle. As its date +it bore, it must still bear, the figure 1680. +</p> + +<p> +1680! One year after the publication of the book and the imprisonment of the +Iron Mask! Everything was now explained: Louis XIV., foreseeing that the secret +might be noised abroad, had built and named that castle so as to offer the +quidnuncs a natural explanation of the ancient mystery. The Hollow Needle! A +castle with pointed bell-turrets standing on the bank of the Creuse and +belonging to the King. People would at once think that they had the key to the +riddle and all enquiries would cease. +</p> + +<p> +The calculation was just, seeing that, more than two centuries later, M. +Beautrelet fell into the trap. And this, Sir, is what I was leading up to in +writing this letter. If Lupin, under the name of Anfredi, rented from M. +Valméras the Château de l’Aiguille on the bank of the Creuse; if, +admitting the success of the inevitable investigations of M. Beautrelet, he +lodged his two prisoners there, it was because he admitted the success of the +inevitable researches made by M. Beautrelet and because, with the object of +obtaining the peace for which he had asked, he laid for M. Beautrelet precisely +what we may call the historic trap of Louis XIV. +</p> + +<p> +And hence we come to this undeniable conclusion, that he, Lupin, by his unaided +lights, without possessing any other facts than those which we possess, managed +by means of the witchcraft of a really extraordinary genius, to decipher the +undecipherable document; and that he, Lupin, the last heir of the Kings of +France, knows the royal mystery of the Hollow Needle! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Here ended the letter. But, for some minutes, from the passage that referred to +the Château de l’Aiguille onward, it was not Beautrelet’s but +another voice that read it aloud. Realizing his defeat, crushed under the +weight of his humiliation, Isidore had dropped the newspaper and sunk into his +chair, with his face buried in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +Panting, shaken with excitement by this incredible story, the crowd had come +gradually nearer and was now pressing round. +</p> + +<p> +With a thrill of anguish, they waited for the words which he would say in +reply, the objections which he would raise. +</p> + +<p> +He did not stir. +</p> + +<p> +Valméras gently uncrossed his hands and raised his head. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet was weeping. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER SEVEN<br/> +THE TREATISE OF THE NEEDLE</h2> + +<p> +It is four o’clock in the morning. Isidore has not returned to the Lycée +Janson. He has no intention of returning before the end of the war of +extermination which he has declared against Lupin. This much he swore to +himself under his breath, while his friends drove off with him, all faint and +bruised, in a cab. +</p> + +<p> +A mad oath! An absurd and illogical war! What can he do, a single, unarmed +stripling, against that phenomenon of energy and strength? On which side is he +to attack him? He is unassailable. Where to wound him? He is invulnerable. +Where to get at him? He is inaccessible. +</p> + +<p> +Four o’clock in the morning. Isidore has again accepted his +schoolfellow’s hospitality. Standing before the chimney in his bedroom, +with his elbows flat on the mantel-shelf and his two fists under his chin, he +stares at his image in the looking-glass. He is not crying now, he can shed no +more tears, nor fling himself about on his bed, nor give way to despair, as he +has been doing for the last two hours and more. He wants to think, to think and +understand. +</p> + +<p> +And he does not remove his eyes from those same eyes reflected in the glass, as +though he hoped to double his powers of thought by contemplating his pensive +image, as though he hoped to find at the back of that mirrored Beautrelet the +unsolvable solution of what he does not find within himself. +</p> + +<p> +He stands thus until six o’clock, and, little by little, the question +presents itself to his mind with the strictness of an equation, bare and dry +and cleared of all the details that complicate and obscure it. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, he has made a mistake. Yes, his reading of the document is all wrong. The +word <i>aiguille</i> does not point to the castle on the Creuse. Also, the word +<i>demoiselles</i> cannot be applied to Raymonde de Saint-Véran and her cousin, +because the text of the document dates back for centuries. +</p> + +<p> +Therefore, all must be done over again, from the beginning. +</p> + +<p> +How? +</p> + +<p> +One piece of evidence alone would be incontestible: the book published under +Louis XIV. Now of those hundred copies printed by the person who was presumed +to be the Man with the Iron Mask only two escaped the flames. One was purloined +by the captain of the guards and lost. The other was kept by Louis XIV., handed +down to Louis XV., and burnt by Louis XVI. But a copy of the essential page, +the page containing the solution of the problem, or at least a cryptographic +solution, was conveyed to Marie Antoinette, who slipped it into the binding of +her book of hours. What has become of this paper? Is it the one which +Beautrelet has held in his hands and which Lupin recovered from him through +Brédoux, the magistrate’s clerk? Or is it still in Marie +Antoinette’s book of hours? And the question resolves itself into this: +what has become of the Queen’s book of hours? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +After taking a short rest, Beautrelet consulted his friend’s father, an +old and experienced collector, who was often called upon officially to give an +expert opinion and who had quite lately been invited to advise the director of +one of our museums on the drawing up of the catalogue. +</p> + +<p> +“Marie Antoinette’s book of hours?” he exclaimed. “Why, +the Queen left it to her waiting-woman, with secret instructions to forward it +to Count Fersen. After being piously preserved in the count’s family, it +has been, for the last five years, in a glass case—” +</p> + +<p> +“A glass case?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the Musée Carnavalet, quite simply.” +</p> + +<p> +“When will the museum be open?” +</p> + +<p> +“At twenty minutes from now, as it is every morning.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Isidore and his friend jumped out of a cab at the moment when the doors of +Madame de Sévigné’s old mansion were opening. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo! M. Beautrelet!” +</p> + +<p> +A dozen voices greeted his arrival. To his great surprise, he recognized the +whole crowd of reporters who were following up “the mystery of the Hollow +Needle.” And one of them exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Funny, isn’t it, that we should all have had the same idea? Take +care, Arsène Lupin may be among us!” +</p> + +<p> +They entered the museum together. The director was at once informed, placed +himself entirely at their disposal, took them to the glass case and showed them +a poor little volume, devoid of all ornament, which certainly had nothing royal +about it. Nevertheless, they were overcome by a certain emotion at the sight of +this object which the Queen had touched in those tragic days, which her eyes, +red with tears, had looked upon—And they dared not take it and hunt +through it: it was as though they feared lest they should be guilty of a +sacrilege— +</p> + +<p> +“Come, M. Beautrelet, it’s your business!” +</p> + +<p> +He took the book with an anxious gesture. The description corresponded with +that given by the author of the pamphlet. Outside was a parchment cover, dirty, +stained and worn in places, and under it, the real binding, in stiff leather. +With what a thrill Beautrelet felt for the hidden pocket! Was it a fairy tale? +Or would he find the document written by Louis XVI. and bequeathed by the queen +to her fervent admirer? +</p> + +<p> +At the first page, on the upper side of the book, there was no receptacle. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” they echoed, palpitating with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +But, at the last page, forcing back the book a little, he at once saw that the +parchment was not stuck to the binding. He slipped his fingers in +between—there was something—yes, he felt something—a +paper— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he gasped, in an accent almost of pain. “Here—is +it possible?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, quick!” they cried. “What are you waiting for?” +</p> + +<p> +He drew out a sheet folded in two. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, read it!—There are words in red ink—Look!—it +might be blood—pale, faded blood—Read it!—” +</p> + +<p> +He read: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +To you, Fersen. For my son.<br/> +16 October, 1793. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +M<small>ARIE</small> A<small>NTOINETTE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly Beautrelet gave a cry of stupefaction. Under the queen’s +signature there were—there were two words, in black ink, underlined with +a flourish—two words: +</p> + +<p class="right"> +A<small>RSÈNE</small> L<small>UPIN</small>. +</p> + +<p> +All, in turns, took the sheet of paper and the same cry escaped from the lips +of all of them: +</p> + +<p> +“Marie Antoinette!—Arsène Lupin!” +</p> + +<p> +A great silence followed. That double signature: those two names coupled +together, discovered hidden in the book of hours; that relic in which the poor +queen’s desperate appeal had slumbered for more than a century: that +horrible date of the 16th of October, 1793, the day on which the Royal head +fell: all of this was most dismally and disconcertingly tragic. +</p> + +<p> +“Arsène Lupin!” stammered one of the voices, thus emphasizing the +scare that underlay the sight of that demoniacal name at the foot of the +hallowed page. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Arsène Lupin,” repeated Beautrelet. “The Queen’s +friend was unable to understand her desperate dying appeal. He lived with the +keepsake in his possession which the woman whom he loved had sent him and he +never guessed the reason of that keepsake. Lupin discovered everything, on the +other hand—and took it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Took what?” +</p> + +<p> +“The document, of course! The document written by Louis XVI.; and it is +that which I held in my hands. The same appearance, the same shape, the same +red seals. I understand why Lupin would not leave me a document which I could +turn to account by merely examining the paper, the seals and so on.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, since the document is genuine, since I have, with my own +eyes, seen the marks of the red seals, since Marie Antoinette herself assures +me, by these few words in her hand, that the whole story of the pamphlet, as +printed by M. Massiban, is correct, because a problem of the Hollow Needle +really exists, I am now certain to succeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how? Whether genuine or not, the document is of no use to you if you +do not manage to decipher it, because Louis XVI. destroyed the book that gave +the explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but the other copy, which King Louis XVI.’s captain of the +guards snatched from the flames, was not destroyed.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Prove the contrary.” +</p> + +<p> +After uttering this defiance, Beautrelet was silent for a time and then, +slowly, with his eyes closed, as though trying to fix and sum up his thoughts, +he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Possessing the secret, the captain of the guards begins by revealing it +bit by bit in the journal found by his descendant. Then comes silence. The +answer to the riddle is withheld. Why? Because the temptation to make use of +the secret creeps over him little by little and he gives way to it. A proof? +His murder. A further proof? The magnificent jewel found upon him, which he +must undoubtedly have taken from some royal treasure the hiding-place of which, +unknown to all, would just constitute the mystery of the Hollow Needle. Lupin +conveyed as much to me; Lupin was not lying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what conclusion do you draw, Beautrelet?” +</p> + +<p> +“I draw this conclusion, my friends, that it be a good thing to advertise +this story as much as possible, so that people may know, through all the +papers, that we are looking for a book entitled <i>The Treatise of the +Needle</i>. It may be fished out from the back shelves of some provincial +library.” +</p> + +<p> +The paragraph was drawn up forthwith; and Beautrelet set to work at once, +without even waiting for it to produce a result. A first scent suggested +itself: the murder was committed near Gaillon. He went there that same day. +Certainly, he did not hope to reconstruct a crime perpetrated two hundred years +ago. But, all the same, there are crimes that leave traces in the memories, in +the traditions of a countryside. They are recorded in the local chronicles. One +day, some provincial archaeologist, some lover of old legends, some student of +the minor incidents of the life of the past makes them the subject of an +article in a newspaper or of a communication to the academy of his departmental +town. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet saw three or four of these archaeologists. With one of them in +particular, an old notary, he examined the prison records, the ledgers of the +old bailiwicks and the parish registers. There was no entry referring to the +murder of a captain of the guards in the seventeenth century. +</p> + +<p> +He refused to be discouraged and continued his search in Paris, where the +magistrate’s examination might have taken place. His efforts came to +nothing. +</p> + +<p> +But the thought of another track sent him off in a fresh direction. Was there +no chance of finding out the name of that captain whose descendant served in +the armies of the Republic and was quartered in the Temple during the +imprisonment of the Royal family? By dint of patient working, he ended by +making out a list in which two names at least presented an almost complete +resemblance: M. de Larbeyrie, under Louis XIV., and Citizen Larbrie, under the +Terror. +</p> + +<p> +This already was an important point. He stated it with precision in a note +which he sent to the papers, asking for any information concerning this +Larbeyrie or his descendants. +</p> + +<p> +It was M. Massiban, the Massiban of the pamphlet, the member of the Institute, +who replied to him: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +S<small>IR</small>:<br/> + Allow me to call your attention to the following passage of Voltaire, which +I came upon in his manuscript of <i>Le Siècle de Louis XIV</i>. (Chapter XXV: +<i>Particularités et anecdotes du régne</i>). The passage has been suppressed +in all the printed editions: +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard it said by the late M. de Caumartin, intendant of finance, +who was a friend of Chamillard the minister, that the King one day left +hurriedly in his carriage at the news that M. de Larbeyrie had been murdered +and robbed of some magnificent jewels. He seemed greatly excited and repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“‘All is lost—all is lost—’ +</p> + +<p> +“In the following year, the son of this Larbeyrie and his daughter, who +had married the Marquis de Vélines, were banished to their estates in Provence +and Brittany. We cannot doubt that there is something peculiar in this.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I, in my turn, will add that we can doubt it all the less inasmuch as M. de +Chamillard, according to Voltaire, <i>was the last minister who possessed the +strange secret of the Iron Mask</i>. +</p> + +<p> +You will see for yourself, Sir, the profit that can be derived from this +passage and the evident link established between the two adventures. As for +myself, I will not venture to imagine any very exact surmise as regards the +conduct, the suspicions, and the apprehensions of Louis XIV. in these +circumstances; but, on the other hand, seeing that M. de Larbeyrie left a son, +who was probably the grandfather of Larbrie the citizen-officer, and also a +daughter, is it not permissible to suppose that a part of the papers left by +Larbeyrie came to the daughter and that among these papers was the famous copy +which the captain of the guards saved from the flames? +</p> + +<p> +I have consulted the Country-house Year-book. There is a Baron de Vélines +living not far from Rennes. Could he be a descendant of the marquis? At any +rate, I wrote to him yesterday, on chance, to ask if he had not in his +possession a little old book bearing on its title-page the word +<i>aiguille;</i> and I am awaiting his reply. +</p> + +<p> +It would give me the greatest pleasure to talk of all these matters with you. +If you can spare the time, come and see me. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +I am, Sir, etc., etc. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +P.S.—Of course, I shall not communicate these little discoveries to the +press. Now that you are near the goal, discretion is essential. +</p> + + +<p> +Beautrelet absolutely agreed. He even went further: to two journalists who were +worrying him that morning he gave the most fanciful particulars as to his plans +and his state of mind. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon, he hurried round to see Massiban, who lived at 17, Quai +Voltaire. To his great surprise, he was told that M. Massiban had gone out of +town unexpectedly, leaving a note for him in case he should call. Isidore +opened it and read: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +I have received a telegram which gives me some hope. So I am leaving town and +shall sleep at Rennes. You might take the evening train and, without stopping +at Rennes, go on to the little station of Vélines. We would meet at the castle, +which is two miles and a half from the station. +</p> + +<p> +The programme appealed to Beautrelet, and especially the idea that he would +reach the castle at almost the same time as Massiban, for he feared some +blunder on the part of that inexperienced man. He went back to his friend and +spent the rest of the day with him. In the evening, he took the Brittany +express and got out at Vélines as six o’clock in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +He did the two and a half miles, between bushy woods, on foot. He could see the +castle, perched on a height, from a distance: it was a hybrid edifice, a +mixture of the Renascence and Louis Philippe styles, but it bore a stately air, +nevertheless, with its four turrets and its ivy-mantled draw-bridge. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore felt his heart beat as he approached. Was he really nearing the end of +his race? Did the castle contain the key to the mystery? +</p> + +<p> +He was not without fear. It all seemed too good to be true; and he asked +himself if he was not once more acting in obedience to some infernal plan +contrived by Lupin, if Massiban was not for instance, a tool in the hands of +his enemy. He burst out laughing: +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut, I’m becoming absurd! One would really think that Lupin +was an infallible person who foresees everything, a sort of divine omnipotence +against whom nothing can prevail! Dash it all, Lupin makes his mistakes; Lupin, +too, is at the mercy of circumstances; Lupin has an occasional slip! And it is +just because of his slip in losing the document that I am beginning to have the +advantage of him. Everything starts from that. And his efforts, when all is +said, serve only to repair the first blunder.” +</p> + +<p> +And blithely, full of confidence, Beautrelet rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” said the servant who opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Can I see the Baron de Vélines?” +</p> + +<p> +And he gave the man his card. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le baron is not up yet, but, if monsieur will +wait—” +</p> + +<p> +“Has not some one else been asking for him, a gentleman with a white +beard and a slight stoop?” asked Beautrelet, who knew Massiban’s +appearance from the photographs in the newspapers. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the gentleman came about ten minutes ago; I showed him into the +drawing room. If monsieur will come this way—” +</p> + +<p> +The interview between Massiban and Beautrelet was of the most cordial +character. Isidore thanked the old man for the first-rate information which he +owed to him and Massiban expressed his admiration for Beautrelet in the warmest +terms. Then they exchanged impressions on the document, on their prospects of +discovering the book; and Massiban repeated what he had heard at Rennes +regarding M. de Vélines. The baron was a man of sixty, who had been left a +widower many years ago and who led a very retired life with his daughter, +Gabrielle de Villemon. This lady had just suffered a cruel blow through the +loss of her husband and her eldest son, both of whom had died as the result of +a motor-car accident. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur le baron begs the gentlemen to be good enough to come +upstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +The servant led the way to the first floor, to a large, bare-walled room, very +simply furnished with desks, pigeon-holes and tables covered with papers and +account-books. +</p> + +<p> +The baron received them very affably and with the volubility often displayed by +people who live too much alone. They had great difficulty in explaining the +object of their visit. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I know, you wrote to me about it, M. Massiban. It has something +to do with a book about a needle, hasn’t it, a book which is supposed to +have come down to me from my ancestors?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may as well tell you that my ancestors and I have fallen out. They had +funny ideas in those days. I belong to my own time. I have broken with the +past.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Beautrelet, impatiently, “but have you no +recollection of having seen the book?—” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, I said so in my telegram,” he exclaimed, addressing M. +Massiban, who, in his annoyance, was walking up and down the room and looking +out of the tall windows. “Certainly—or, at least, my daughter +thought she had seen the title among the thousands of books that lumber up the +library, upstairs—for I don’t care about reading myself—I +don’t even read the papers. My daughter does, sometimes, but only when +there is nothing the matter with Georges, her remaining son! As for me, as long +as my tenants pay their rents and my leases are kept up—! You see my +account-books: I live in them, gentlemen; and I confess that I know absolutely +nothing whatever about that story of which you wrote to me in your letter, M. +Massiban—” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore Beautrelet, nerve-shattered at all this talk, interrupted him bluntly: +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, monsieur, but the book—” +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter has looked for it. She looked for it all day +yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she found it; she found it a few hours ago. When you +arrived—” +</p> + +<p> +“And where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is it? Why, she put it on that table—there it is—over +there—” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore gave a bound. At one end of the table, on a muddled heap of papers, lay +a little book bound in red morocco. He banged his fist down upon it, as though +he were forbidding anybody to touch it—and also a little as though he +himself dared not take it up. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” cried Massiban, greatly excited. +</p> + +<p> +“I have it—here it is—we’re there at last!” +</p> + +<p> +“But the title—are you sure?—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course: look!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you convinced? Have we mastered the secret at last?” +</p> + +<p> +“The front page—what does the front page say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Read: <i>The Whole Truth now first exhibited. One hundred copies printed +by myself for the instruction of the Court</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, that’s it,” muttered Massiban, in a hoarse +voice. “It’s the copy snatched from the flames! It’s the very +book which Louis XIV. condemned.” +</p> + +<p> +They turned over the pages. The first part set forth the explanations given by +Captain de Larbeyrie in his journal. +</p> + +<p> +“Get on, get on!” said Beautrelet, who was in a hurry to come to +the solution. +</p> + +<p> +“Get on? What do you mean? Not at all! We know that the Man with the Iron +Mask was imprisoned because he knew and wished to divulge the secret of the +Royal house of France. But how did he know it? And why did he wish to divulge +it? Lastly, who was that strange personage? A half-brother of Louis XIV., as +Voltaire maintained, or Mattioli, the Italian minister, as the modern critics +declare? Hang it, those are questions of the very first interest!” +</p> + +<p> +“Later, later,” protested Beautrelet, feverishly turning the pages, +as though he feared that the book would fly out of his hands before he had +solved the riddle. +</p> + +<p> +“But—” said Massiban, who doted on historical details. +</p> + +<p> +“We have plenty of time—afterward—let’s see the +explanation first—” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Beautrelet stopped. The document! In the middle of a left-hand page, +his eyes saw the five mysterious lines of dots and figures! He made sure, with +a glance, that the text was identical with that which he had studied so long; +the same arrangement of the signs, the same intervals that permitted of the +isolation of the word <i>demoiselles</i> and the separation of the two words +<i>aiguille</i> and <i>creuse</i>. +</p> + +<p> +A short note preceded it: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +All the necessary indications, it appears, were reduced by King Louis XIII. +into a little table which I transcribe below. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Here followed the table of dots and figures. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Then came the explanation of the document itself. Beautrelet read, in a broken +voice: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +As will be seen, this table, even after we have changed the figures into +vowels, affords no light. One might say that, in order to decipher the puzzle, +we must first know it. It is, at most, a clue given to those who know the paths +of the labyrinth.<br/> + Let us take this clue and proceed. I will guide you.<br/> + The fourth line first. The fourth line contains measurements and +indications. By complying with the indications and noting the measurements set +down, we inevitably attain our object, on condition, be it understood, that we +know where we are and whither we are going, in a word, that we are enlightened +as to the real meaning of the Hollow Needle. This is what we may learn from the +first three lines. The first is so conceived to revenge myself on the King; I +had warned him, for that matter— +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet stopped, nonplussed. +</p> + +<p> +“What? What is it?” said Massiban. +</p> + +<p> +“The words don’t make sense.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more they do,” replied Massiban. “‘The first is so +conceived to revenge myself on the King—’ What can that +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn!” yelled Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Torn! Two pages! The next two pages! Look at the marks!” +</p> + +<p> +He trembled, shaking with rage and disappointment. Massiban bent forward. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true—there are the ends of two pages left, like +bookbinders’ guards. The marks seem pretty fresh. They’ve not been +cut, but torn out—torn out with violence. Look, all the pages at the end +of the book have been rumpled.” +</p> + +<p> +“But who can have done it? Who?” moaned Isidore, wringing his +hands. “A servant? An accomplice?” +</p> + +<p> +“All the same, it may date back to a few months since,” observed +Massiban. +</p> + +<p> +“Even so—even so—some one must have hunted out and taken the +book—Tell me, monsieur,” cried Beautrelet, addressing the baron, +“is there no one whom you suspect?” +</p> + +<p> +“We might ask my daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes—that’s it—perhaps she will know.” +</p> + +<p> +M. de Vélines rang for the footman. A few minutes later, Mme. de Villemon +entered. She was a young woman, with a sad and resigned face. Beautrelet at +once asked her: +</p> + +<p> +“You found this volume upstairs, madame, in the library?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in a parcel of books that had not been uncorded.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you read it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you read it, were those two pages missing? Try and remember: the +two pages following this table of figures and dots?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, certainly not,” she said, greatly astonished. “There was +no page missing at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, somebody has torn—” +</p> + +<p> +“But the book did not leave my room last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“This morning, I brought it down here myself, when M. Massiban’s +arrival was announced.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t understand—unless—but no.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Georges—my son—this morning—Georges was playing with +the book.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran out headlong, accompanied by Beautrelet, Massiban and the baron. The +child was not in his room. They hunted in every direction. At last, they found +him playing behind the castle. But those three people seemed so excited and +called him so peremptorily to account that he began to yell aloud. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody ran about to right and left. The servants were questioned. It was an +indescribable tumult. And Beautrelet received the awful impression that the +truth was ebbing away from him, like water trickling through his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +He made an effort to recover himself, took Mme. de Villemon’s arm, and, +followed by the baron and Massiban, led her back to the drawing room and said: +</p> + +<p> +“The book is incomplete. Very well. There are two pages torn out; but you +read them, did you not, madame?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what they contained?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could you repeat it to us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. I read the book with a great deal of curiosity, but those two +pages struck me in particular because the revelations were so very +interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, speak madame, speak, I implore you! Those revelations are of +exceptional importance. Speak, I beg of you: minutes lost are never recovered. +The Hollow Needle—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s quite simple. The Hollow Needle means—” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment, a footman entered the room: +</p> + +<p> +“A letter for madame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but the postman has passed!” +</p> + +<p> +“A boy brought it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mme. de Villemon opened the letter, read it, and put her hand to her heart, +turning suddenly livid and terrified, ready to faint. +</p> + +<p> +The paper had slipped to the floor. Beautrelet picked it up and, without +troubling to apologize, read: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Not a word! If you say a word, your son will never wake again. +</p> + +<p> +“My son—my son!” she stammered, too weak even to go to the +assistance of the threatened child. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet reassured her: +</p> + +<p> +“It is not serious—it’s a joke. Come, who could be +interested?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless,” suggested Massiban, “it was Arsène Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet made him a sign to hold his tongue. He knew quite well, of course, +that the enemy was there, once more, watchful and determined; and that was just +why he wanted to tear from Mme. de Villemon the decisive words, so long +awaited, and to tear them from her on the spot, that very moment: +</p> + +<p> +“I beseech you, madame, compose yourself. We are all here. There is not +the least danger.” +</p> + +<p> +Would she speak? He thought so, he hoped so. She stammered out a few syllables. +But the door opened again. This time, the nurse entered. She seemed distraught: +</p> + +<p> +“M. Georges—madame—M. Georges—!” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, the mother recovered all her strength. Quicker than any of them, and +urged by an unfailing instinct, she rushed down the staircase, across the hall +and on to the terrace. There lay little Georges, motionless, on a wicker chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what is it? He’s asleep!—” +</p> + +<p> +“He fell asleep suddenly, madame,” said the nurse. “I tried +to prevent him, to carry him to his room. But he was fast asleep and his +hands—his hands were cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cold!” gasped the mother. “Yes—it’s true. Oh +dear, oh dear—<i>if he only wakes up!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet put his hand in his trousers pocket, seized the butt of his +revolver, cocked it with his forefinger, then suddenly produced the weapon and +fired at Massiban. +</p> + +<p> +Massiban, as though he were watching the boy’s movements, had avoided the +shot, so to speak, in advance. But already Beautrelet had sprung upon him, +shouting to the servants: +</p> + +<p> +“Help! It’s Lupin!” +</p> + +<p> +Massiban, under the weight of the impact, fell back into one of the wicker +chairs. In a few seconds, he rose, leaving Beautrelet stunned, choking; and, +holding the young man’s revolver in his hands: +</p> + +<p> +“Good!—that’s all right!—don’t +stir—you’ll be like that for two or three minutes—no more. +But, upon my word, you took your time to recognize me! Was my make-up as old +Massiban so good as all that?” +</p> + +<p> +He was now standing straight up on his legs, his body squared, in a formidable +attitude, and he grinned as he looked at the three petrified footmen and the +dumbfounded baron: +</p> + +<p> +“Isidore, you’ve missed the chance of a lifetime. If you +hadn’t told them I was Lupin, they’d have jumped on me. And, with +fellows like that, what would have become of me, by Jove, with four to one +against me?” +</p> + +<p> +He walked up to them: +</p> + +<p> +“Come, my lads, don’t be afraid—I shan’t hurt you. +Wouldn’t you like a sugar-stick apiece to screw your courage up? Oh, you, +by the way, hand me back my hundred-franc note, will you? Yes, yes, I know you! +You’re the one I bribed just now to give the letter to your mistress. +Come hurry, you faithless servant.” +</p> + +<p> +He took the blue bank-note which the servant handed him and tore it into tiny +shreds: +</p> + +<p> +“The price of treachery! It burns my fingers.” +</p> + +<p> +He took off his hat and, bowing very low before Mme. de Villemon: +</p> + +<p> +“Will you forgive me, madame? The accidents of life—of mine +especially—often drive one to acts of cruelty for which I am the first to +blush. But have no fear for your son: it’s a mere prick, a little +puncture in the arm which I gave him while we were questioning him. In an hour, +at the most, you won’t know that it happened. Once more, all my +apologies. But I had to make sure of your silence.” He bowed again, +thanked M. de Vélines for his kind hospitality, took his cane, lit a cigarette, +offered one to the baron, gave a circular sweep with his hat and, in a +patronizing tone, said to Beautrelet: +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, baby.” +</p> + +<p> +And he walked away quietly, puffing the smoke of his cigarette into the +servants’ faces. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet waited for a few minutes. Mme. de Villemon, now calmer, was watching +by her son. He went up to her, with the intention of making one last appeal to +her. Their eyes met. He said nothing. He had understood that she would never +speak now, whatever happened. There, once more, in that mother’s brain, +the secret of the Hollow Needle lay buried as deeply as in the night of the +past. +</p> + +<p> +Then he gave up and went away. +</p> + +<p> +It was half-past ten. There was a train at eleven-fifty. He slowly followed the +avenue in the park and turned into the road that led to the station. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what do you say to that?” +</p> + +<p> +It was Massiban, or rather Lupin, who appeared out of the wood adjoining the +road. +</p> + +<p> +“Was it pretty well contrived, or was it not? Is your old friend great on +the tight-rope, or is he not? I’m sure that you haven’t got over +it, eh, and that you’re asking yourself whether the so-called Massiban, +member of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres, ever existed. But, of +course, he exists. I’ll even show him to you, if you’re good. But, +first, let me give you back your revolver. You’re looking to see if +it’s loaded? Certainly, my lad. There are five charges left, one of which +would be enough to send me <i>ad patres</i>.—Well, so you’re +putting it in your pocket? Quite right. I prefer that to what you did up +there.—A nasty little impulse, that, of yours!—Still, you’re +young, you suddenly see—in a flash!—that you’ve once more +been done by that confounded Lupin and that he is standing there in front of +you, at three steps from you—and bang! You fire!—I’m not +angry with you, bless your little heart! To prove it, I offer you a seat in my +100 h.p. car. Will that suit you?” +</p> + +<p> +He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. +</p> + +<p> +The contrast was delicious between the venerable appearance of this elderly +Massiban and the schoolboy ways and accent which Lupin was putting on. +Beautrelet could not help laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s laughed! He’s laughed!” cried Lupin, jumping for +joy. “You see, baby, what you fall short in is the power of smiling; +you’re a trifle serious for your age. You’re a very likeable boy, +you have a charming candor and simplicity—but you have no sense of +humor.” He placed himself in front of him. “Look here, bet you I +make you cry! Do you know how I was able to follow up all your inquiry, how I +knew of the letter Massiban wrote you and his appointment to meet you this +morning at the Château de Vélines? Through the prattle of your friend, the one +you’re staying with. You confide in that idiot and he loses no time, but +goes and tells everything to his best girl. And his best girl has no secrets +for Lupin.—What did I tell you? I’ve made you feel, anyhow; your +eyes are quite wet!—Friendship betrayed: that upsets you, eh? Upon my +word, you’re wonderful! I could take you in my arms and hug you! You +always wear that look of astonishment which goes straight to my heart.—I +shall never forget the other evening at Gaillon, when you consulted +me.—Yes, I was the old notary!—But why don’t you laugh, +youngster? As I said, you have no sense of a joke. Look here, what you want +is—what shall I call it?—imagination, imaginative impulse. Now, +I’m full of imaginative impulse.” +</p> + +<p> +A motor was heard panting not far off. Lupin seized Beautrelet roughly by the +arm and in a cold voice, looking him straight in the eyes: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going to keep quiet now, aren’t you? You can see +there’s nothing to be done. Then what’s the use of wasting your +time and energy? There are plenty of highway robbers in the world. Run after +them and let me be—if not!—It’s settled, isn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook him as though to enforce his will upon him. Then he grinned: +</p> + +<p> +“Fool that I am! You leave me alone? You’re not one of those who +let go! Oh, I don’t know what restrains me! In half a dozen turns of the +wrist, I could have you bound and gagged—and, in two hours, safe under +lock and key, for some months to come. And then I could twist my thumbs in all +security, withdraw to the peaceful retreat prepared for me by my ancestors, the +Kings of France, and enjoy the treasures which they have been good enough to +accumulate for me. But no, it is doomed that I must go on blundering to the +end. I can’t help it, we all have our weaknesses—and I have one for +you. Besides, it’s not done yet. From now until you put your finger into +the hollow of the Needle, a good deal of water will flow under the bridges. +Dash it all, it took me ten days! Me! Lupin! You will want ten years, at least! +There’s that much distance between us, after all!” +</p> + +<p> +The motor arrived, an immense closed car. Lupin opened the door and Beautrelet +gave a cry. There was a man inside and that man was Lupin, or rather Massiban. +Suddenly understanding, he burst out laughing. Lupin said: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be afraid, he’s sound asleep. I promised that you +should see him. Do you grasp the situation now? At midnight, I knew of your +appointment at the castle. At seven in the morning, I was there. When Massiban +passed, I had only to collect him—give him a tiny prick with a +needle—and the thing—was done. Sleep old chap, sleep away. +We’ll set you down on the slope. That’s +it—there—capital—right in the sun, then you won’t catch +cold—good! And our hat in our hand.—Spare a copper, kind +gentleman!—Oh. my dear old Massiban, so you were after Arsène +Lupin!” +</p> + +<p> +It was really a huge joke to see the two Massibans face to face, one asleep +with his head on his chest, the other seriously occupied in paying him every +sort of attention and respect: +</p> + +<p> +“Pity a poor blind man! There, Massiban, here’s two sous and my +visiting-card. And now, my lads, off we go at the fourth speed. Do you hear, +driver? You’ve got to do seventy-five miles an hour. Jump in, Isidore. +There’s a full sitting of the Institute to-day, and Massiban is to read a +little paper, on I don’t know what, at half-past three. Well, he’ll +read them his little paper. I’ll dish them up a complete Massiban, more +real than the real one, with my own ideas, on the lacustrine inscriptions. I +don’t have an opportunity of lecturing at the Institute ever +day!—Faster, chauffeur: we’re only doing seventy-one and a +half!—Are you afraid? Remember you’re with Lupin!—Ah, +Isidore, and then people say that life is monotonous! Why, life’s an +adorable thing, my boy; only one has to know—and I know—. +Wasn’t it enough to make a man jump out of his skin for joy, just now, at +the castle, when you were chattering with old Vélines and I, up against the +window, was tearing out the pages of the historic book? And then, when you were +questioning the Dame de Villemon about the Hollow Needle! Would she speak? Yes, +she would—no, she wouldn’t—yes—no. It gave me +gooseflesh, I assure you.—If she spoke, I should have to build up my life +anew, the whole scaffolding was destroyed.—Would the footman come in +time? Yes—no—there he is.—But Beautrelet will unmask me! +Never! He’s too much of a flat! Yes, though—no—there, +he’s done it—no, he hasn’t—yes—he’s eyeing +me—that’s it—he’s feeling for his revolver!—Oh, +the delight of it!—Isidore, you’re talking too much, you’ll +hurt yourself!—Let’s have a snooze, shall we?—I’m dying +of sleep.—Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet looked at him. He seemed almost asleep already. He slept. +</p> + +<p> +The motor-car, darting through space, rushed toward a horizon that was +constantly reached and as constantly retreated. There was no impression of +towns, villages, fields or forests; simply space, space devoured, swallowed up. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet looked at his traveling companion, for a long time, with eager +curiosity and also with a keen wish to fathom his real character through the +mask that covered it. And he thought of the circumstances that confined them, +like that, together, in the close contact of that motor car. But, after the +excitement and disappointment of the morning, tired in his turn, he too fell +asleep. +</p> + +<p> +When he woke, Lupin was reading. Beautrelet leant over to see the title of the +book. It was the <i>Epistolæ ad Lucilium</i> of Seneca the philosopher. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER EIGHT<br/> +FROM CÆSAR TO LUPIN</h2> + +<p> +Dash it all, it took me ten days! Me! Lupin! +</p> + +<p> +You will want ten years, at least!— +</p> + +<p> +These words, uttered by Lupin after leaving the Château de Vélines, had no +little influence on Beautrelet’s conduct. +</p> + +<p> +Though very calm in the main and invariably master of himself, Lupin, +nevertheless, was subject to moments of exaltation, of a more or less romantic +expansiveness, at once theatrical and good-humored, when he allowed certain +admissions to escape him, certain imprudent speeches which a boy like +Beautrelet could easily turn to profit. +</p> + +<p> +Rightly or wrongly, Beautrelet read one of these involuntary admissions into +that phrase. He was entitled to conclude that, if Lupin drew a comparison +between his own efforts and Beautrelet’s in pursuit of the truth about +the Hollow Needle, it was because the two of them possessed identical means of +attaining their object, because Lupin had no elements of success different from +those possessed by his adversary. The chances were alike. Now, with the same +chances, the same elements of success, the same means, ten days had been enough +for Lupin. +</p> + +<p> +What were those elements, those means, those chances? They were reduced, when +all was said, to a knowledge of the pamphlet published in 1815, a pamphlet +which Lupin, no doubt, like Massiban, had found by accident and thanks to which +he had succeeded in discovering the indispensable document in Marie +Antoinette’s book of hours. +</p> + +<p> +Therefore, the pamphlet and the document were the only two fundamental facts +upon which Lupin had relied. With these he had built up the whole edifice. He +had had no extraneous aid. The study of the pamphlet and the study of the +document—full stop—that was all. +</p> + +<p> +Well, could not Beautrelet confine himself to the same ground? What was the use +of an impossible struggle? What was the use of those vain investigations, in +which, even supposing that he avoided the pitfalls that were multiplied under +his feet, he was sure, in the end, to achieve the poorest of results? +</p> + +<p> +His decision was clear and immediate; and, in adopting it, he had the happy +instinct that he was on the right path. He began by leaving his +Janson-de-Sailly schoolfellow, without indulging in useless recriminations, +and, taking his portmanteau with him, went and installed himself, after much +hunting about, in a small hotel situated in the very heart of Paris. This hotel +he did not leave for days. At most, he took his meals at the <i>table +d’hôte</i>. The rest of the time, locked in his room, with the +window-curtains close-drawn, he spent in thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten days,” Arsène Lupin had said. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet, striving to forget all that he had done and to remember only the +elements of the pamphlet and the document, aspired eagerly to keep within the +limit of those ten days. However the tenth day passed and the eleventh and the +twelfth; but, on the thirteenth day, a gleam lit up his brain and, very soon, +with the bewildering rapidity of those ideas which develop in us like +miraculous plants, the truth emerged, blossomed, gathered strength. On the +evening of the thirteenth day, he certainly did not know the answer to the +problem, but he knew, to a certainty, one of the methods which Lupin had, +beyond a doubt, employed. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very simple method, hinging on this one question: Is there a link of +any sort uniting all the more or less important historic events with which the +pamphlet connects the mystery of the Hollow Needle? +</p> + +<p> +The great diversity of these events made the question difficult to answer. +Still, the profound examination to which Beautrelet applied himself ended by +pointing to one essential characteristic which was common to them all. Each one +of them, without exception, had happened within the boundaries of the old +kingdom of Neustria, which correspond very nearly with those of our present-day +Normandy. All the heroes of the fantastic adventure are Norman, or become +Norman, or play their part in the Norman country. +</p> + +<p> +What a fascinating procession through the ages! What a rousing spectacle was +that of all those barons, dukes and kings, starting from such widely opposite +points to meet in this particular corner of the world! Beautrelet turned the +pages of history at haphazard: it was Rolf, or Rou, or Rollo, first Duke of +<i>Normandy</i>, who was master of the secret of the Needle, according to the +treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte! +</p> + +<p> +It was William the Conqueror, Duke of <i>Normandy</i> and King of England, +whose bannerstaff was pierced like a needle! +</p> + +<p> +It was at <i>Rouen</i> that the English burnt Joan of Arc, mistress of the +secret! +</p> + +<p> +And right at the beginning of the adventure, who is that chief of the Caleti +who pays his ransom to Cæsar with the secret of the Needle but the chief of the +men of the Caux country, which lies in the very heart of <i>Normandy?</i> +</p> + +<p> +The supposition becomes more definite. The field narrows. Rouen, the banks of +the Seine, the Caux country: it really seems as though all roads lead in that +direction. Two kings of France are mentioned more particularly, after the +secret is lost by the Dukes of Normandy and their heirs, the kings of England, +and becomes the royal secret of France; and these two are King Henry IV., who +laid siege to Rouen and won the battle of Arques, near Dieppe, and Francis I., +who founded the Havre and uttered that suggestive phrase: +</p> + +<p> +“The kings of France carry secrets that often decide the fate of +towns!” +</p> + +<p> +Rouen, Dieppe, the Havre: the three angles of the triangle, the three large +towns that occupy the three points. In the centre, the Caux country. +</p> + +<p> +The seventeenth century arrives. Louis XIV. burns the book in which a person +unknown reveals the truth. Captain de Larbeyrie masters a copy, profits by the +secret thus obtained, steals a certain number of jewels and dies by the hand of +highway murderers. Now at which spot is the ambush laid? At Gaillon! At +Gaillon, a little town on the road leading from Havre, Rouen or Dieppe to +Paris! +</p> + +<p> +A year later, Louis XIV. buys a domain and builds the Château de +l’Aiguille. Where does he select his site? In the Midlands of France, +with the result that the curious are thrown off the scent and do not hunt about +in Normandy. +</p> + +<p> +Rouen, Dieppe, the Havre—the Cauchois triangle—everything lies +there. On one side, the sea; on another, the Seine: on the third, the two +valleys that lead from Rouen to Dieppe. +</p> + +<p> +A light flashed across Beautrelet’s mind. That extent of ground, that +country of the high tablelands which run from the cliffs of the Seine to the +cliffs of the Channel almost invariably constituted the field of operations of +Arsène Lupin. For ten years, it was just this district which he parcelled out +for his purposes, as though he had his haunt in the very centre of the region +with which, the legend of the Hollow Needle was most closely connected. +</p> + +<p> +The affair of Baron Cahorn?[3] Or the banks of the Seine, between Rouen and the +Havre. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[3] <i>The Seven of Hearts</i>, by Maurice Leblanc. II; <i>Arsène Lupin in +Prison.</i> +</p> + +<p> +The Thibermenil case?[4] At the other end of the tableland, between Rouen and +Dieppe. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[4] <i>The Seven of Hearts</i>. IX: <i>Holmlock Shears Arrives Too Late</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The Gruchet, Montigny, Crasville burglaries? In the midst of the Caux country. +</p> + +<p> +Where was Lupin going when he was attacked and bound hand and foot, in his +compartment by Pierre Onfrey, the Auteuil murderer?[5] To Rouen. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[5] <i>The Seven of Hearts</i>. IV: <i>The Mysterious Railway-passenger</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Where was Holmlock Shears, Lupin’s prisoner, put on board ship?[6] Near +the Havre. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[6] <i>Arsène Lupin versus Holmlock Shears</i>, by Maurice Leblanc, Chapter V: +<i>Kidnapped</i>. +</p> + +<p> +And what was the scene of the whole of the present tragedy? Ambrumésy, on the +road between the Havre and Dieppe. +</p> + +<p> +Rouen, Dieppe, the Havre: always the Cauchois triangle. +</p> + +<p> +And so, a few years earlier, possessing the pamphlet and knowing the +hiding-place in which Marie Antoinette had concealed the document, Arsène Lupin +had ended by laying his hand on the famous book of hours. Once in possession of +the document, he took the field, “found” and settled down as in a +conquered country. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet took the field. +</p> + +<p> +He set out in genuine excitement, thinking of the same journey which Lupin had +taken, of the same hopes with which he must have throbbed when he thus went in +search of the tremendous secret which was to arm him with so great a power. +Would his, Beautrelet’s efforts have the same victorious results? +</p> + +<p> +He left Rouen early in the morning, on foot, with his face very much disguised +and his bag at the end of a stick on his shoulder, like an apprentice doing his +round of France. He walked straight to Duclair, where he lunched. On leaving +this town, he followed the Seine and practically did not lose sight of it +again. His instinct, strengthened, moreover, by numerous influences, always +brought him back to the sinuous banks of the stately river. When the Château du +Malaquis was robbed, the objects stolen from Baron Cahorn’s collection +were sent by way of the Seine. The old carvings removed from the chapel at +Ambrumésy were carried to the Seine bank. He pictured the whole fleet of +pinnaces performing a regular service between Rouen and the Havre and draining +the works of art and treasures from a countryside to dispatch them thence to +the land of millionaires. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m burning! I’m burning!” muttered the boy, gasping +under the truth, which came to him in a mighty series of shocks and took away +his breath. +</p> + +<p> +The checks encountered on the first few days, did not discourage him. He had a +firm and profound belief in the correctness of the supposition that was guiding +him. It was bold, perhaps, and extravagant; no matter: it was worthy of the +adversary pursued. The supposition was on a level with the prodigious reality +that bore the name of Lupin. With a man like that, of what good could it be to +look elsewhere than in the domain of the enormous, the exaggerated, the +superhuman? +</p> + +<p> +Jumièges, the Mailleraye, Saint-Wandrille, Caudebec, Tancarville, Quillebeuf +were places filled with his memories. How often he must have contemplated the +glory of their Gothic steeples or the splendor of their immense ruins! +</p> + +<p> +But the Havre, the neighborhood of the Havre drew Isidore like a beacon-fire. +</p> + +<p> +“The kings of France carry secrets that often decide the fate of +towns!” +</p> + +<p> +Cryptic words which, suddenly, for Beautrelet, shone bright with clearness! Was +this not an exact statement of the reasons that determined Francis I. to create +a town on this spot and was not the fate of the Havre-de-Grâce linked with the +very secret of the Needle? +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, that’s it,” stammered Beautrelet, +excitedly. “The old Norman estuary, one of the essential points, one of +the original centres around which our French nationality was formed, is +completed by those two forces, one in full view, alive, known to all, the new +port commanding the ocean and opening on the world; the other dim and obscure, +unknown and all the more alarming, inasmuch as it is invisible and impalpable. +A whole side of the history of France and of the royal house is explained by +the Needle, even as it explains the whole story of Arsène Lupin. The same +sources of energy and power supply and renew the fortunes of kings and of the +adventurer.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet ferreted and snuffed from village to village, from the river to the +sea, with his nose in the wind, his ears pricked, trying to compel the +inanimate things to surrender their deep meaning. Ought this hill-slope to be +questioned? Or that forest? Or the houses of this hamlet? Or was it among the +insignificant phrases spoken by that peasant yonder that he might hope to +gather the one little illuminating word? +</p> + +<p> +One morning, he was lunching at an inn, within sight of Honfleur, the old city +of the estuary. Opposite him was sitting one of those heavy, red-haired Norman +horse-dealers who do the fairs of the district, whip in hand and clad in a long +smock-frock. After a moment, it seemed to Beautrelet that the man was looking +at him with a certain amount of attention, as though he knew him or, at least, +was trying to recognize him. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh,” he thought, “there’s some mistake: I’ve +never seen that merchant before, nor he me.” +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, the man appeared to take no further interest in him. He +lit his pipe, called for coffee and brandy, smoked and drank. +</p> + +<p> +When Beautrelet had finished his meal, he paid and rose to go. A group of men +entered just as he was about to leave and he had to stand for a few seconds +near the table at which the horse-dealer sat. He then heard the man say in a +low voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Good-afternoon, M. Beautrelet.” +</p> + +<p> +Without hesitation, Isidore sat down beside the man and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that is my name—but who are you? How did you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not difficult—and yet I’ve only seen your +portrait in the papers. But you are so badly—what do you call it in +French—so badly made-up.” +</p> + +<p> +He had a pronounced foreign accent and Beautrelet seemed to perceive, as he +looked at him, that he too wore a facial disguise that entirely altered his +features. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he repeated. “Who are you?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger smiled: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you recognize me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I never saw you before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I you. But think. The papers print my portrait also—and pretty +often. Well, have you got it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Holmlock Shears.” +</p> + +<p> +It was an amusing and, at the same time, a significant meeting. The boy at once +saw the full bearing of it. After an exchange of compliments, he said to +Shears: +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that you are here—because of ‘him’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“So—so—you think we have a chance—in this +direction.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet’s delight at finding that Shears’s opinion agreed with +his own was not unmingled with other feelings. If the Englishman attained his +object, it meant that, at the very best, the two would share the victory; and +who could tell that Shears would not attain it first? +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any proofs? Any clues?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be afraid,” grinned the Englishman, who understood his +uneasiness. “I am not treading on your heels. With you, it’s the +document, the pamphlet: things that do not inspire me with any great +confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“And with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“With me, it’s something different.” +</p> + +<p> +“Should I be indiscreet, if—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. You remember the story of the coronet, the story of the Duc +de Charmerac?”[7] +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[7] <i>Arsène Lupin</i>, play in four acts, by Maurice Leblanc and Francis de +Croisset. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You remember Victoire, Lupin’s old foster-mother, the one whom my +good friend Ganimard allowed to escape in a sham prison-van?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have found Victoire’s traces. She lives on a farm, not far from +National Road No. 25. National Road No. 25 is the road from the Havre to Lille. +Through Victoire I shall easily get at Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will take long.” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter! I have dropped all my cases. This is the only one I care +about. Between Lupin and me, it’s a fight—a fight to the +death.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke these words with a sort of ferocity that betrayed all his bitterness +at the humiliations which he had undergone, all his fierce hatred of the great +enemy who had tricked him so cruelly. +</p> + +<p> +“Go away, now,” he whispered, “we are observed. It’s +dangerous. But mark my words: on the day when Lupin and I meet face to face, it +will be—it will be tragic.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet felt quite reassured on leaving Shears: he need not fear that the +Englishman would gain on him. And here was one more proof which this chance +interview had brought him: the road from the Havre to Lille passes through +Dieppe! It is the great seaside road of the Caux country, the coast road +commanding the Channel cliffs! And it was on a farm near this road that +Victoire was installed, Victoire, that is to say, Lupin, for one did not move +without the other, the master without the blindly devoted servant. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m burning! I’m burning!” he repeated to himself. +“Whenever circumstances bring me a new element of information, it +confirms my supposition. On the one hand, I have the absolute certainty of the +banks of the Seine; on the other, the certainty of the National Road. The two +means of communication meet at the Havre, the town of Francis I., the town of +the secret. The boundaries are contracting. The Caux country is not large; and, +even so, I have only the western portion of the Caux country to search.” +</p> + +<p> +He set to work with renewed stubbornness: +</p> + +<p> +“Anything that Lupin has found,” he kept on saying to himself, +“there is no reason for my not finding.” +</p> + +<p> +Certainly, Lupin had some great advantage over him, perhaps a thorough +acquaintance with the country, a precise knowledge of the local legends, or +less than that, a memory: invaluable advantages these, for he, Beautrelet, knew +nothing, was totally ignorant of the country, which he had first visited at the +time of the Ambrumésy burglary and then only rapidly, without lingering. +</p> + +<p> +But what did it matter? Though he had to devote ten years of his life to this +investigation, he would carry it to a successful issue. Lupin was there. He +could see him, he could feel him there. He expected to come upon him at the +next turn of the road, on the skirt of the next wood, outside the next village. +And, though continually disappointed, he seemed to find in each disappointment +a fresh reason for persisting. +</p> + +<p> +Often, he would fling himself on the slope by the roadside and plunge into wild +examination of the copy of the document which he always carried on him, a copy, +that is to say, with vowels taking the place of the figures: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img02.jpg" width="500" height="202" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Often, also, according to his habit, he would lie down flat on his stomach in +the tall grass and think for hours. He had time enough. The future belonged to +him. +</p> + +<p> +With wonderful patience, he tramped from the Seine to the sea, and from the sea +to the Seine, going gradually farther, retracing his steps and never quitting +the ground until, theoretically speaking, there was not a chance left of +gathering the smallest particle upon it. +</p> + +<p> +He studied and explored Montivilliers and Saint-Romani and Octeville and +Gonneville and Criquetot. +</p> + +<p> +At night, he knocked at the peasants’ doors and asked for a lodging. +After dinner, they smoked together and chatted. He made them tell him the +stories which they told one another on the long winter nights. And he never +omitted to insinuate, slily: +</p> + +<p> +“What about the Needle? The legend of the Hollow Needle? Don’t you +know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, I don’t—never heard of it—” +</p> + +<p> +“Just think—an old wives’ tale—something that has to do +with a needle. An enchanted needle, perhaps.—I don’t +know—” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing. No legend, no recollection. And the next morning he walked blithely +away again. +</p> + +<p> +One day, he passed through the pretty village of Saint-Jouin, which overlooks +the sea, and descending among the chaos of rocks that have slipped from cliffs, +he climbed up to the tableland and went in the direction of the dry valley of +Bruneval, Cap d’Antifer and the little creek of Belle-Plage. He was +walking gaily and lightly, feeling a little tired, perhaps, but glad to be +alive, so glad, even, that he forgot Lupin and the mystery of the Hollow Needle +and Victoire and Shears, and interested himself in the sight of nature: the +blue sky, the great emerald sea, all glittering in the sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +Some straight slopes and remains of brick walls, in which he seemed to +recognize the vestiges of a Roman camp, interested him. Then his eyes fell upon +a sort of little castle, built in imitation of an ancient fort, with cracked +turrets and Gothic windows. It stood on a jagged, rugged, rising promontory, +almost detached from the cliff. A barred gate, flanked by iron hand-rails and +bristling spikes, guarded the narrow passage. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet succeeded in climbing over, not without some difficulty. Over the +pointed door, which was closed with an old rusty lock, he read the words: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +FORT DE FRÉFOSSÉ +</p> + +<p> +He did not attempt to enter, but, turning to the right, after going down a +little slope, he embarked upon a path that ran along a ridge of land furnished +with a wooden handrail. Right at the end was a cave of very small dimensions, +forming a sort of watch-tower at the point of the rock in which it was hollowed +out, a rock falling abruptly into the sea. +</p> + +<p> +There was just room to stand up in the middle of the cave. Multitudes of +inscriptions crossed one another on the walls. An almost square hole, cut in +the stone, opened like a dormer window on the land side, exactly opposite Fort +Fréfossé, the crenellated top of which appeared at thirty or forty yards’ +distance. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet threw off his knapsack and sat down. He had had a hard and tiring +day. He fell asleep for a little. Then the cool wind that blew inside the cave +woke him up. He sat for a few minutes without moving, absent-minded, +vague-eyed. He tried to reflect, to recapture his still torpid thoughts. And, +as he recovered his consciousness, he was on the point of rising, when he +received the impression that his eyes, suddenly fixed, suddenly wide-open, +saw— +</p> + +<p> +A thrill shook him from head to foot. His hands clutched convulsively and he +felt the beads of perspiration forming at the roots of his hair: +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” he stammered. “It’s a dream, an +hallucination. Let’s look: it’s not possible!” +</p> + +<p> +He plunged down on his knees and stooped over. Two huge letters, each perhaps a +foot long, appeared cut in relief in the granite of the floor. Those two +letters, clumsily, but plainly carved, with their corners rounded and their +surface smoothed by the wear and tear of centuries, were a D and an F. +</p> + +<p> +D and F! Oh, bewildering miracle! D and F: just two letters of the document! +Oh, Beautrelet had no need to consult it to bring before his mind that group of +letters in the fourth line, the line of the measurements and indications! He +knew them well! They were inscribed for all time at the back of his pupils, +encrusted for good and all in the very substance of his brain! +</p> + +<p> +He rose to his feet, went down the steep road, climbed back along the old fort, +hung on to the spikes of the rail again, in order to pass, and walked briskly +toward a shepherd whose flock was grazing some way off on a dip in the +tableland: +</p> + +<p> +“That cave, over there—that cave—” +</p> + +<p> +His lips trembled and he tried to find the words that would not come. The +shepherd looked at him in amazement. At last, Isidore repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that cave—over there—to the right of the fort. Has it a +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I should think so. All the Étretat folk like to call it the +Demoiselles.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?—What?—What’s that you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course—it’s the Chambre des Demoiselles.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore felt like flying at his throat, as though all the truth lived in that +man and he hoped to get it from him at one swoop, to tear it from him. +</p> + +<p> +The Demoiselles! One of the words, one of the only three known words of the +document! +</p> + +<p> +A whirlwind of madness shook Beautrelet where he stood. And it rose all around +him, blew upon him like a tempestuous squall that came from the sea, that came +from the land, that came from every direction and whipped him with great lashes +of the truth. +</p> + +<p> +He understood. The document appeared to him in its real sense. The Chambre des +Demoiselles—Étretat— +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” he thought, his brain filled with light, +“it must be that. But why didn’t I guess earlier?” +</p> + +<p> +He said to the shepherd, in a low voice: +</p> + +<p> +“That will do—go away—you can go—thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +The man, not knowing what to think, whistled to his dog and went. +</p> + +<p> +Left alone, Beautrelet returned to the fort. He had almost passed it when, +suddenly, he dropped to the ground and lay cowering against a piece of wall. +And, wringing his hands, he thought: +</p> + +<p> +“I must be mad! If ‘he’ were to see me! Or his accomplices! +I’ve been moving about for an hour—!” +</p> + +<p> +He did not stir another limb. +</p> + +<p> +The sun went down. Little by little, the night mingled with the day, blurring +the outline of things. +</p> + +<p> +Then, with little imperceptible movements, flat on his stomach, gliding, +crawling, he crept along one of the points of the promontory to the extreme +edge of the cliff. +</p> + +<p> +He reached it. Stretching out his hands, he pushed aside some tufts of grass +and his head appeared over the precipice. +</p> + +<p> +Opposite him, almost level with the cliff, in the open sea rose an enormous +rock, over eighty yards high, a colossal obelisk, standing straight on its +granite base, which showed at the surface of the water, and tapering toward the +summit, like the giant tooth of a monster of the deep. White with the dirty +gray white of the cliff, the awful monolith was streaked with horizontal lines +marked by flint and displaying the slow work of the centuries, which had heaped +alternate layers of lime and pebble-stone one atop of the other. +</p> + +<p> +Here and there, a fissure, a break; and, wherever these occurred, a scrap of +earth, with grass and leaves. +</p> + +<p> +And all this was mighty and solid and formidable, with the look of an +indestructible thing against which the furious assault of the waves and storms +could not prevail. And it was definite and permanent and grand, despite the +grandeur of the cliffy rampart that commanded it, despite the immensity of the +space in which it stood. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet’s nails dug into the soil like the claws of an animal ready to +leap upon its prey. His eyes penetrated the wrinkled texture of the rock, +penetrated its skin, so it seemed to him, its very flesh. He touched it, felt +it, took cognizance and possession of it, absorbed and assimilated it. +</p> + +<p> +The horizon turned crimson with all the flames of the vanished sun; and long, +red clouds, set motionless in the sky, formed glorious landscapes, fantastic +lagoons, fiery plains, forests of gold, lakes of blood, a whole glowing and +peaceful phantasmagoria. +</p> + +<p> +The blue of the sky grew darker. Venus shone with a marvelous brightness; then +other stars lit up, timid as yet. +</p> + +<p> +And Beautrelet suddenly closed his eyes and convulsively pressed his folded +arms to his forehead. Over there—oh, he felt as though he would die for +joy, so great was the cruel emotion that wrung his heart!—over there, +almost at the top of the Needle of Étretat, a little below the extreme point +round which the sea-mews fluttered, a thread of smoke came filtering through a +crevice, as though from an invisible chimney, a thread of smoke rose in slow +spirals in the calm air of the twilight. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER NINE<br/> +OPEN, SESAME!</h2> + +<p> +The Étretat Needle was hollow! +</p> + +<p> +Was it a natural phenomenon, an excavation produced by internal cataclysms or +by the imperceptible action of the rushing sea and the soaking rain? Or was it +a superhuman work executed by human beings, Gauls, Celts, prehistoric men? +</p> + +<p> +These, no doubt, were insoluble questions; and what did it matter? The essence +of the thing was contained in this fact: The Needle was hollow. At forty or +fifty yards from that imposing arch which is called the Porte d’Aval and +which shoots out from the top of the cliff, like the colossal branch of a tree, +to take root in the submerged rocks, stands an immense limestone cone; and this +cone is no more than the shell of a pointed cap poised upon the empty waters! +</p> + +<p> +A prodigious revelation! After Lupin, here was Beautrelet discovering the key +to the great riddle that had loomed over more than twenty centuries! A key of +supreme importance to whoever possessed it in the days of old, in those distant +times when hordes of barbarians rode through and overran the old world! A magic +key that opens the cyclopean cavern to whole tribes fleeing before the enemy! A +mysterious key that guards the door of the most inviolable shelter! An +enchanted key that gives power and ensures preponderance! +</p> + +<p> +Because he knows this key, Cæsar is able to subdue Gaul. Because they know it, +the Normans force their sway upon the country and, from there, later, backed by +that support, conquer the neighboring island, conquer Sicily, conquer the East, +conquer the new world! +</p> + +<p> +Masters of the secret, the Kings of England lord it over France, humble her, +dismember her, have themselves crowned at Paris. They lose the secret; and the +rout begins. +</p> + +<p> +Masters of the secret, the Kings of France push back and overstep the narrow +limits of their dominion, gradually founding a great nation and radiating with +glory and power. They forget it or know not how to use it; and death, exile, +ruin follow. +</p> + +<p> +An invisible kingdom, in mid-water and at ten fathoms from land! An unknown +fortress, taller than the towers of Notre Dame and built upon a granite +foundation larger than a public square! What strength and what security! From +Paris to the sea, by the Seine. There, the Havre, the new town, the necessary +town. And, sixteen miles thence, the Hollow Needle, the impregnable sanctuary! +</p> + +<p> +It is a sanctuary and also a stupendous hiding-place. All the treasures of the +kings, increasing from century to century, all the gold of France, all that +they extort from the people, all that they snatch from the clergy, all the +booty gathered on the battle-fields of Europe lie heaped up in the royal cave. +Old Merovingian gold sous, glittering crown-pieces, doubloons, ducats, florins, +guineas; and the precious stones and the diamonds; and all the jewels and all +the ornaments: everything is there. Who could discover it? Who could ever learn +the impenetrable secret of the Needle? Nobody. +</p> + +<p> +And Lupin becomes that sort of really disproportionate being whom we know, that +miracle incapable of explanation so long as the truth remains in the shadow. +Infinite though the resources of his genius be, they cannot suffice for the mad +struggle which he maintains against society. He needs other, more material +resources. He needs a sure place of retreat, he needs the certainty of +impunity, the peace that allows of the execution of his plans. +</p> + +<p> +Without the Hollow Needle, Lupin is incomprehensible, a myth, a character in a +novel, having no connection with reality. +</p> + +<p> +Master of the secret—and of such a secret!—he becomes simply a man +like another, but gifted with the power of wielding in a superior manner the +extraordinary weapon with which destiny has endowed him. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +So the Needle was hollow. +</p> + +<p> +It remained to discover how one obtained access to it. +</p> + +<p> +From the sea, obviously. There must be, on the side of the offing, some fissure +where boats could land at certain hours of the tide. +</p> + +<p> +But on the side of the land? +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet lay until ten o’clock at night hanging over the precipice, +with his eyes riveted on the shadowy mass formed by the pyramid, thinking and +pondering with all the concentrated effort of his mind. +</p> + +<p> +Then he went down to Étretat, selected the cheapest hotel, dined, went up to +his room and unfolded the document. +</p> + +<p> +It was the merest child’s play to him now to establish its exact meaning. +He at once saw that the three vowels of the word Étretat occurred in the first +line, in their proper order and at the necessary intervals. This first line now +read as follows: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>e . a . a .. etretat . a ..</i> +</p> + +<p> +What words could come before Étretat? Words, no doubt, that referred to the +position of the Needle with regard to the town. Now the Needle stood on the +left, on the west—He ransacked his memory and, recollecting that westerly +winds are called vents d’aval on the coast and that the nearest porte was +known as the Porte d’Aval, he wrote down: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>“En aval d’Étretat . a ..”</i> +</p> + +<p> +The second line was that containing the word <i>Demoiselles</i> and, at once +seeing, in front of that word, the series of all the vowels that form part of +the words <i>la chambre des</i>, he noted the two phrases: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>“En aval d’Étretat. La Chambre des Demoiselles.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +The third line gave him more trouble; and it was not until some groping that, +remembering the position, near the Chambre des Demoiselles, of the Fort de +Fréfossé, he ended by almost completely reconstructing the document: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>“En aval d’Étretat. La Chambre des Demoiselles. Sous le Fort de +Fréfossé. L’Aiguille creuse.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +These were the four great formulas, the essential and general formulas which +you had to know. By means of them, you turned <i>en aval</i>, that is to say, +below or west of Étretat, entered the Chambre des Demoiselles, in all +probability passed under Fort Fréfossé and thus arrived at the Needle. +</p> + +<p> +How? By means of the indications and measurements that constituted the fourth +line: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img03.jpg" width="500" height="78" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +These were evidently the more special formulas to enable you to find the outlet +through which you made your way and the road that led to the Needle. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet at once presumed—and his surmise was no more than the logical +consequence of the document—that, if there really was a direct +communication between the land and the obelisk of the Needle, the underground +passage must start from the Chambre des Demoiselles, pass under Fort Fréfossé, +descend perpendicularly the three hundred feet of cliff and, by means of a +tunnel contrived under the rocks of the sea, end at the Hollow Needle. +</p> + +<p> +Which was the entrance to the underground passage? Did not the two letters D +and F, so plainly cut, point to it and admit to it, with the aid, perhaps, of +some ingenious piece of mechanism? +</p> + +<p> +The whole of the next morning, Isidore strolled about Étretat and chatted with +everybody he met, in order to try and pick up useful information. At last, in +the afternoon, he went up the cliff. Disguised as a sailor, he had made himself +still younger and, in a pair of trousers too short for him and a fishing +jersey, he looked a mere scape-grace of twelve or thirteen. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as he entered the cave, he knelt down before the letters. Here a +disappointment awaited him. It was no use his striking them, pushing them, +manipulating them in every way: they refused to move. And it was not long, in +fact, before he became aware that they were really unable to move and that, +therefore, they controlled no mechanism. +</p> + +<p> +And yet—and yet they must mean something! Inquiries which he had made in +the village went to show that no one had ever been able to explain their +existence and that the Abbé Cochet, in his valuable little book on Étretat,[8] +had also tried in vain to solve this little puzzle. But Isidore knew what the +learned Norman archaeologist did not know, namely, that the same two letters +figured in the document, on the line containing the indications. Was it a +chance coincidence: Impossible. Well, then—? +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[8] <i>Les Origines d’Étretat</i>. The Abbé Cochet seems to conclude, in +the end, that the two letters are the initials of a passer-by. The revelations +now made prove the fallacy of the theory. +</p> + +<p> +An idea suddenly occurred to him, an idea so reasonable, so simple that he did +not doubt its correctness for a second. Were not that D and that F the initials +of the two most important words in the document, the words that +represented—together with the Needle—the essential stations on the +road to be followed: the Chambre des <i>Demoiselles</i> and Fort +<i>Fréfossé:</i> D for Demoiselles, F for Fréfossé: the connection was too +remarkable to be a mere accidental fact. +</p> + +<p> +In that case, the problem stood thus: the two letters D F represent the +relation that exists between the Chambre des Demoiselles and Fort Fréfossé, the +single letter D, which begins the line, represents the Demoiselles, that is to +say, the cave in which you have to begin by taking up your position, and the +single letter F, placed in the middle of the line, represents Fréfossé, that is +to say, the probable entrance to the underground passage. +</p> + +<p> +Between these various signs, are two more: first, a sort of irregular +rectangle, marked with a stripe in the left bottom corner, and, next, the +figure 19, signs which obviously indicate to those inside the cave the means of +penetrating beneath the fort. +</p> + +<p> +The shape of this rectangle puzzled Isidore. Was there around him, on the walls +of the cave, or at any rate within reach of his eyes, an inscription, anything +whatever, affecting a rectangular shape? +</p> + +<p> +He looked for a long time and was on the point of abandoning that particular +scent when his eyes fell upon the little opening, pierced in the rock, that +acted as a window to the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Now the edges of this opening just formed a rectangle: corrugated, uneven, +clumsy, but still a rectangle; and Beautrelet at once saw that, by placing his +two feet on the D and the F carved in the stone floor—and this explained +the stroke that surmounted the two letters in the document—he found +himself at the exact height of the window! +</p> + +<p> +He took up his position in this place and gazed out. The window looking +landward, as we know, he saw, first, the path that connected the cave with the +land, a path hung between two precipices; and, next, he caught sight of the +foot of the hillock on which the fort stood. To try and see the fort, +Beautrelet leaned over to the left and it was then that he understood the +meaning of the curved stripe, the comma that marked the left bottom corner in +the document: at the bottom on the left-hand side of the window, a piece of +flint projected and the end of it was curved like a claw. It suggested a +regular shooter’s mark. And, when a man applied his eye to this mark, he +saw cut out, on the slope of the mound facing him, a restricted surface of land +occupied almost entirely by an old brick wall, a remnant of the original Fort +Fréfossé or of the old Roman <i>oppidum</i> built on this spot. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet ran to this piece of wall, which was, perhaps, ten yards long. It +was covered with grass and plants. There was no indication of any kind visible. +And yet that figure 19? +</p> + +<p> +He returned to the cave, took from his pocket a ball of string and a +tape-measure, tied the string to the flint corner, fastened a pebble at the +nineteenth metre and flung it toward the land side. The pebble at most reached +the end of the path. +</p> + +<p> +“Idiot that I am!” thought Beautrelet. “Who reckoned by +metres in those days? The figure 19 means 19 fathoms[9] or nothing!” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[9] The <i>toise</i>, or fathom, measured 1.949 +metres.—<i>Translator’s Note</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Having made the calculation, he ran out the twine, made a knot and felt about +on the piece of wall for the exact and necessarily one point at which the knot, +formed at 37 metres from the window of the Demoiselles, should touch the +Fréfossé wall. In a few moments, the point of contact was established. With his +free hand, he moved aside the leaves of mullein that had grown in the +interstices. A cry escaped him. The knot, which he held pressed down with his +fore-finger, was in the centre of a little cross carved in relief on a brick. +And the sign that followed on the figure 19 in the document was a cross! +</p> + +<p> +It needed all his will-power to control the excitement with which he was +overcome. Hurriedly, with convulsive fingers, he clutched the cross and, +pressing upon it, turned it as he would have turned the spokes of a wheel. The +brick heaved. He redoubled his effort; it moved no further. Then, without +turning, he pressed harder. He at once felt the brick give way. And, suddenly, +there was the click of a bolt that is released, the sound of a lock opening +and, on the right of the brick, to the width of about a yard, the wall swung +round on a pivot and revealed the orifice of an underground passage. +</p> + +<p> +Like a madman, Beautrelet seized the iron door in which the bricks were sealed, +pulled it back, violently and closed it. Astonishment, delight, the fear of +being surprised convulsed his face so as to render it unrecognizable. He beheld +the awful vision of all that had happened there, in front of that door, during +twenty centuries; of all those people, initiated into the great secret, who had +penetrated through that issue: Celts, Gauls, Romans, Normans, Englishmen, +Frenchmen, barons, dukes, kings—and, after all of them, Arsène +Lupin—and, after Lupin, himself, Beautrelet. He felt that his brain was +slipping away from him. His eyelids fluttered. He fell fainting and rolled to +the bottom of the slope, to the very edge of the precipice. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +His task was done, at least the task which he was able to accomplish alone, +with his unaided resources. +</p> + +<p> +That evening, he wrote a long letter to the chief of the detective service, +giving a faithful account of the results of his investigations and revealing +the secret of the Hollow Needle. He asked for assistance to complete his work +and gave his address. +</p> + +<p> +While waiting for the reply, he spent two consecutive nights in the Chambre des +Demoiselles. He spent them overcome with fear, his nerves shaken with a terror +which was increased by the sounds of the night. At every moment, he thought he +saw shadows approach in his direction. People knew of his presence in the +cave—they were coming—they were murdering him! +</p> + +<p> +His eyes, however, staring madly before them, sustained by all the power of his +will, clung to the piece of wall. +</p> + +<p> +On the first night, nothing stirred; but, on the second, by the light of the +stars and a slender crescent-moon, he saw the door open and figures emerge from +the darkness: he counted two, three, four, five of them. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him that those five men were carrying fairly large loads. He +followed them for a little way. They cut straight across the fields to the +Havre road; and he heard the sound of a motor car driving away. +</p> + +<p> +He retraced his steps, skirting a big farm. But, at the turn of the road that +ran beside it, he had only just time to scramble up a slope and hide behind +some trees. More men passed—four, five men—all carrying packages. +And, two minutes later, another motor snorted. +</p> + +<p> +This time, he had not the strength to return to his post; and he went back to +bed. +</p> + +<p> +When he woke and had finished dressing, the hotel waiter brought him a letter. +He opened it. It contained Ganimard’s card. +</p> + +<p> +“At last!” cried Beautrelet, who, after so hard a campaign, was +really feeling the need of a comrade-in-arms. +</p> + +<p> +He ran downstairs with outstretched hands. Ganimard took them, looked at him +for a moment and said: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a fine fellow, my lad!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh!” he said. “Luck has served me.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no such thing as luck with ‘him,’” +declared the inspector, who always spoke of Lupin in a solemn tone and without +mentioning his name. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down: +</p> + +<p> +“So we’ve got him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Just as we’ve had him twenty times over,” said Beautrelet, +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but to-day—” +</p> + +<p> +“To-day, of course, the case is different. We know his retreat, his +stronghold, which means, when all is said, that Lupin is Lupin. He can escape. +The Étretat Needle cannot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you suppose that he will escape?” asked Ganimard, +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you suppose that he requires to escape?” replied +Beautrelet. “There is nothing to prove that he is in the Needle at +present. Last night, eleven of his men left it. He may be one of the +eleven.” +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard reflected: +</p> + +<p> +“You are right. The great thing is the Hollow Needle. For the rest, let +us hope that chance will favor us. And now, let us talk.” +</p> + +<p> +He resumed his serious voice, his self-important air and said: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Beautrelet, I have orders to recommend you to observe the most +absolute discretion in regard to this matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Orders from whom?” asked Beautrelet, jestingly. “The prefect +of police?” +</p> + +<p> +“Higher than that.” +</p> + +<p> +“The prime minister?” +</p> + +<p> +“Higher.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whew!” +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard lowered his voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Beautrelet, I was at the Élysée last night. They look upon this matter +as a state secret of the utmost gravity. There are serious reasons for +concealing the existence of this citadel—reasons of military strategy, in +particular. It might become a revictualling centre, a magazine for new +explosives, for lately-invented projectiles, for anything of that sort: the +secret arsenal of France, in fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how can they hope to keep a secret like this? In the old days, one +man alone held it: the king. To-day, already, there are a good few of us who +know it, without counting Lupin’s gang.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, if we gained only ten years’, only five years’ +silence! Those five years may be—the saving of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, in order to capture this citadel, this future arsenal, it will have +to be attacked, Lupin must be dislodged. And all this cannot be done without +noise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, people will guess something, but they won’t know. +Besides, we can but try.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. What’s your plan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is, in two words. To begin with, you are not Isidore Beautrelet +and there’s no question of Arsène Lupin either. You are and you remain a +small boy of Étretat, who, while strolling about the place, caught some fellows +coming out of an underground passage. This makes you suspect the existence of a +flight of steps which cuts through the cliff from top to bottom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there are several of those flights of steps along the coast. For +instance, to the right of Étretat, opposite Bénouville, they showed me the +Devil’s Staircase, which every bather knows. And I say nothing of the +three or four tunnels used by the fishermen.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you will guide me and one-half of my men. I shall enter alone, or +accompanied, that remains to be seen. This much is certain, that the attack +must be delivered that way. If Lupin is not in the Needle, we shall fix up a +trap in which he will be caught sooner or later. If he is there—” +</p> + +<p> +“If he is there, he will escape from the Needle by the other side, the +side overlooking the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, he will at once be arrested by the other half of my +men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but if, as I presume, you choose a moment when the sea is at low +ebb, leaving the base of the Needle uncovered, the chase will be public, +because it will take place before all the men and women fishing for mussels, +shrimps and shell-fish who swarm on the rocks round about.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is why I just mean to select the time when the sea is full.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, he will make off in a boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but I shall have a dozen fishing-smacks, each of which will be +commanded by one of my men, and we shall collar him—” +</p> + +<p> +“If he doesn’t slip through your dozen smacks, like a fish through +the meshes.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, then I’ll sink him.” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil you will! Shall you have guns?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course! There’s a torpedo-boat at the Havre at this +moment. A telegram from me will bring her to the Needle at the appointed +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“How proud Lupin will be! A torpedo-boat! Well, M. Ganimard, I see that +you have provided for everything. We have only to go ahead. When do we deliver +the assault?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“At night?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, by daylight, at the flood-tide, as the clock strikes ten in the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Capital.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Under his show of gaiety, Beautrelet concealed a real anguish of mind. He did +not sleep until the morning, but lay pondering over the most impracticable +schemes, one after the other. +</p> + +<p> +Ganimard had left him in order to go to Yport, six or seven miles from Étretat, +where, for prudence’s sake, he had told his men to meet him, and where he +chartered twelve fishing smacks, with the ostensible object of taking soundings +along the coast. +</p> + +<p> +At a quarter to ten, escorted by a body of twelve stalwart men, he met Isidore +at the foot of the road that goes up the cliff. +</p> + +<p> +At ten o’clock exactly, they reached the skirt of wall. It was the +decisive moment. +</p> + +<p> +At ten o’clock exactly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what’s the matter with you, Beautrelet?” jeered +Ganimard. “You’re quite green in the face!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s as well you can’t see yourself, Ganimard,” the +boy retorted. “One would think your last hour had come!” +</p> + +<p> +They both had to sit down and Ganimard swallowed a few mouthfuls of rum. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not funk,” he said, “but, by Jove, this is an +exciting business! Each time that I’m on the point of catching him, it +takes me like that in the pit of the stomach. A dram of rum?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you drop behind?” +</p> + +<p> +“That will mean that I’m dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“B-r-r-r-r! However, we’ll see. And now, open, sesame! No danger of +our being observed, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. The Needle is not so high as the cliff, and, besides, there’s +a bend in the ground where we are.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet went to the wall and pressed upon the brick. The bolt was released +and the underground passage came in sight. +</p> + +<p> +By the gleam of the lanterns which they lit, they saw that it was cut in the +shape of a vault and that both the vaulting and the floor itself were entirely +covered with bricks. +</p> + +<p> +They walked for a few seconds and, suddenly, a staircase appeared. Beautrelet +counted forty-five brick steps, which the slow action of many footsteps had +worn away in the middle. +</p> + +<p> +“Blow!” said Ganimard, holding his head and stopping suddenly, as +though he had knocked against something. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“A door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bother!” muttered Beautrelet, looking at it. “And not an +easy one to break down either. It’s just a solid block of iron.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are done,” said Ganimard. “There’s not even a lock +to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. That’s what gives me hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“A door is made to open; and, as this one has no lock, that means that +there is a secret way of opening it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, as we don’t know the secret—” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall know it in a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“By means of the document. The fourth line has no other object but to +solve each difficulty as and when it crops up. And the solution is +comparatively easy, because it’s not written with a view to throwing +searchers off the scent, but to assisting them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Comparatively easy! I don’t agree with you,” cried Ganimard, +who had unfolded the document. “The number 44 and a triangle with a dot +in it: that doesn’t tell us much!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, it does! Look at the door. You see it’s strengthened, at +each corner, with a triangular slab of iron; and the slabs are fixed with big +nails. Take the left-hand bottom slab and work the nail in the corner: +I’ll lay ten to one we’ve hit the mark.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve lost your bet,” said Ganimard, after trying. +</p> + +<p> +“Then the figure 44 must mean—” +</p> + +<p> +In a low voice, reflecting as he spoke, Beautrelet continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see—Ganimard and I are both standing on the bottom step of +the staircase—there are 45. Why 45, when the figure in the document is +44? A coincidence? No. In all this business, there is no such thing as a +coincidence, at least not an involuntary one. Ganimard, be so good as to move +one step higher up. That’s it, don’t leave this forty-fourth step. +And now I will work the iron nail. And the trick’s done, or I’ll +eat my boots!” +</p> + +<p> +The heavy door turned on its hinges. A fairly spacious cavern appeared before +their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“We must be exactly under Fort Fréfossé,” said Beautrelet. +“We have passed through the different earthy layers by now. There will be +no more brick. We are in the heart of the solid limestone.” +</p> + +<p> +The room was dimly lit by a shaft of daylight that came from the other end. +Going up to it, they saw that it was a fissure in the cliff, contrived in a +projecting wall and forming a sort of observatory. In front of them, at a +distance of fifty yards, the impressive mass of the Needle loomed from the +waves. On the right, quite close, was the arched buttress of the Porte +d’Aval and, on the left, very far away, closing the graceful curve of a +large inlet, another rocky gateway, more imposing still, was cut out of the +cliff; the Manneporte,[10] which was so wide and tall that a three-master could +have passed through it with all sail set. Behind and everywhere, the sea. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[10] <i>Magna porta</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see our little fleet,” said Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Ganimard. “The Porte d’Aval hides the +whole of the coast of Étretat and Yport. But look, over there, in the offing, +that black line, level with the water—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s our fleet of war, Torpedo-boat No. 25. With her there, +Lupin is welcome to break loose—if he wants to study the landscape at the +bottom of the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +A baluster marked the entrance to the staircase, near the fissure. They started +on their way down. From time to time, a little window pierced the wall of the +cliff; and, each time, they caught sight of the Needle, whose mass seemed to +them to grow more and more colossal. +</p> + +<p> +A little before reaching high-water level, the windows ceased and all was dark. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore counted the steps aloud. At the three hundred and fifty-eight, they +emerged into a wider passage, which was barred by another iron door +strengthened with slabs and nails. +</p> + +<p> +“We know all about this,” said Beautrelet. “The document +gives us 357 and a triangle dotted on the right. We have only to repeat the +performance.” +</p> + +<p> +The second door obeyed like the first. A long, a very long tunnel appeared, lit +up at intervals by the gleam of a lantern swung from the vault. The walls oozed +moisture and drops of water fell to the ground, so that, to make walking easier +a regular pavement of planks had been laid from end to end. +</p> + +<p> +“We are passing under the sea,” said Beautrelet. “Are you +coming, Ganimard?” +</p> + +<p> +Without replying, the inspector ventured into the tunnel, followed the wooden +foot-plank and stopped before a lantern, which he took down. +</p> + +<p> +“The utensils may date back to the Middle Ages, but the lighting is +modern,” he said. “Our friends use incandescent mantles.” +</p> + +<p> +He continued his way. The tunnel ended in another and a larger cave, with, on +the opposite side, the first steps of a staircase that led upward. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the ascent of the Needle beginning,” said Ganimard. +“This is more serious.” +</p> + +<p> +But one of his men called him: +</p> + +<p> +“There’s another flight here, sir, on the left.” +</p> + +<p> +And, immediately afterward, they discovered a third, on the right. +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce!” muttered the inspector. “This complicates +matters. If we go by this way, they’ll make tracks by that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we separate?” asked Beautrelet. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no—that would mean weakening ourselves. It would be better for +one of us to go ahead and scout.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, if you like—” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Beautrelet, you go. I will remain with my men—then +there will be no fear of anything. There may be other roads through the cliff +than that by which we came and several roads also through the Needle. But it is +certain that, between the cliff and the Needle, there is no communication +except the tunnel. Therefore they must pass through this cave. And so I shall +stay here till you come back. Go ahead, Beautrelet, and be prudent: at the +least alarm, scoot back again.” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore disappeared briskly up the middle staircase. At the thirtieth step, a +door, an ordinary wooden door, stopped him. He seized the handle turned it. The +door was not locked. +</p> + +<p> +He entered a room that seemed to him very low owing to its immense size. Lit by +powerful lamps and supported by squat pillars, with long vistas showing between +them, it had nearly the same dimensions as the Needle itself. It was crammed +with packing cases and miscellaneous objects—pieces of furniture, oak +settees, chests, credence-tables, strong-boxes—a whole confused heap of +the kind which one sees in the basement of an old curiosity shop. +</p> + +<p> +On his right and left, Beautrelet perceived the wells of two staircases, the +same, no doubt, that started from the cave below. He could easily have gone +down, therefore, and told Ganimard. But a new flight of stairs led upward in +front of him and he had the curiosity to pursue his investigations alone. +</p> + +<p> +Thirty more steps. A door and then a room, not quite so large as the last, +Beautrelet thought. And again, opposite him, an ascending flight of stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Thirty steps more. A door. A smaller room. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet grasped the plan of the works executed inside the Needle. It was a +series or rooms placed one above the other and, therefore, gradually decreasing +in size. They all served as store-rooms. +</p> + +<p> +In the fourth, there was no lamp. A little light filtered in through clefts in +the walls and Beautrelet saw the sea some thirty feet below him. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment, he felt himself so far from Ganimard that a certain anguish +began to take hold of him and he had to master his nerves lest he should take +to his heels. No danger threatened him, however, and the silence around him was +even so great that he asked himself whether the whole Needle had not been +abandoned by Lupin and his confederates. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not go beyond the next floor,” he said to himself. +</p> + +<p> +Thirty stairs again and a door. This door was lighter in construction and +modern in appearance. He pushed it open gently, quite prepared for flight. +There was no one there. But the room differed from the others in its purpose. +There were hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor. Two magnificent +sideboards, laden with gold and silver plate, stood facing each other. The +little windows contrived in the deep, narrow cleft were furnished with glass +panes. +</p> + +<p> +In the middle of the room was a richly-decked table, with a lace-edged cloth, +dishes of fruits and cakes, champagne in decanters and flowers, heaps of +flowers. +</p> + +<p> +Three places were laid around the table. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet walked up. On the napkins were cards with the names of the party. He +read first: +</p> + +<p> +“Arsène Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mme. Arsène Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +He took up the third card and started back with surprise. It bore his own name: +</p> + +<p> +“Isidore Beautrelet!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER TEN<br/> +THE TREASURES OF THE KINGS OF FRANCE</h2> + +<p> +A curtain was drawn back. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, my dear Beautrelet, you’re a little late. Lunch was +fixed for twelve. However, it’s only a few minutes—but what’s +the matter? Don’t you know me? Have I changed so much?” +</p> + +<p> +In the course of his fight with Lupin, Beautrelet had met with many surprises +and he was still prepared, at the moment of the final catastrophe, to +experience any number of further emotions; but the shock which he received this +time was utterly unexpected. It was not astonishment, but stupefaction, terror. +The man who stood before him, the man whom the brutal force of events compelled +him to look upon as Arsène Lupin, was—Valméras! Valméras, the owner of +the Château de l’Aiguille! Valméras, the very man to whom he had applied +for assistance against Arsène Lupin! Valméras, his companion on the expedition +to Crozant! Valméras, the plucky friend who had made Raymonde’s escape +possible by felling one of Lupin’s accomplices, or pretending to fell +him, in the dusk of the great hall! And Valméras was Lupin! +</p> + +<p> +“You—you—So it’s you!” he stammered. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” exclaimed Lupin. “Did you think that you knew me +for good and all because you had seen me in the guise of a clergyman or under +the features of M. Massiban? Alas, when a man selects the position in society +which I occupy, he must needs make use of his little social gifts! If Lupin +were not able to change himself, at will, into a minister of the Church of +England or a member of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres, it would +be a bad lookout for Lupin! Now Lupin, the real Lupin, is here before you, +Beautrelet! Take a good look at him.” +</p> + +<p> +“But then—if it’s +you—then—Mademoiselle—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Beautrelet, as you say—” +</p> + +<p> +He again drew back the hanging, beckoned and announced: +</p> + +<p> +“Mme. Arsène Lupin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” murmured the lad, confounded in spite of everything, +“Mlle. de Saint-Véran!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” protested Lupin. “Mme. Arsène Lupin, or rather, if +you prefer, Mme. Louis Valméras, my wedded wife, married to me in accordance +with the strictest forms of law; and all thanks to you, my dear +Beautrelet.” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand to him. +</p> + +<p> +“All my acknowledgements—and no ill will on your side, I +trust?” +</p> + +<p> +Strange to say, Beautrelet felt no ill will at all, no sense of humiliation, no +bitterness. He realized so strongly the immense superiority of his adversary +that he did not blush at being beaten by him. He pressed the offered hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Luncheon is served, ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +A butler had placed a tray of dishes on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“You must excuse us, Beautrelet: my chef is away and we can only give you +a cold lunch.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet felt very little inclined to eat. He sat down, however, and was +enormously interested in Lupin’s attitude. How much exactly did he know? +Was he aware of the danger he was running? Was he ignorant of the presence of +Ganimard and his men? +</p> + +<p> +And Lupin continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thanks to you, my dear friend. Certainly, Raymonde and I loved each +other from the first. Just so, my boy—Raymonde’s abduction, her +imprisonment, were mere humbug: we loved each other. But neither she nor I, +when we were free to love, would allow a casual bond at the mercy of chance, to +be formed between us. The position, therefore, was hopeless for Lupin. +Fortunately, it ceased to be so if I resumed my identity as the Louis Valméras +that I had been from a child. It was then that I conceived the idea, as you +refused to relinquish your quest and had found the Château de l’Aiguille, +of profiting by your obstinacy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And my silliness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh! Any one would have been caught as you were!” +</p> + +<p> +“So you were really able to succeed because I screened you and assisted +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course! How could any one suspect Valméras of being Lupin, when +Valméras was Beautrelet’s friend and after Valméras had snatched from +Lupin’s clutches the girl whom Lupin loved? And how charming it was! Such +delightful memories! The expedition to Crozant! The bouquets we found! My +pretended love letter to Raymonde! And, later, the precautions which I, +Valméras, had to take against myself, Lupin, before my marriage! And the night +of your great banquet, Beautrelet, when you fainted in my arms! Oh, what +memories!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. Beautrelet watched Raymonde. She had listened to Lupin +without saying a word and looked at him with eyes in which he read love, +passion and something else besides, something which the lad could not define, a +sort of anxious embarrassment and a vague sadness. But Lupin turned his eyes +upon her and she gave him an affectionate smile. Their hands met over the +table. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say to the way I have arranged my little home, +Beautrelet?” cried Lupin. “There’s a style about it, +isn’t there? I don’t pretend that it’s as comfortable as it +might be. And yet, some have been quite satisfied with it; and not the least of +mankind, either!—Look at the list of distinguished people who have owned +the Needle in their time and who thought it an honor to leave a mark of their +sojourn.” +</p> + +<p> +On the walls, one below the other, were carved the following names: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +JULIUS CÆSAR<br/> +CHARLEMAGNE ROLLO<br/> +WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR<br/> +RICHARD CŒUR-DE-LEON<br/> +LOUIS XI.<br/> +FRANCIS I.<br/> +HENRY IV.<br/> +LOUIS XIV.<br/> +ARSÈNE LUPIN +</p> + +<p> +“Whose name will figure after ours?” he continued. “Alas, the +list is closed! From Cæsar to Lupin—and there it ends. Soon the nameless +mob will come to visit the strange citadel. And to think that, but for Lupin, +all this would have remained for ever unknown to men! Ah Beautrelet, what a +feeling of pride was mine on the day when I first set foot on this abandoned +soil. To have found the lost secret and become its master, its sole master! To +inherit such an inheritance! To live in the Needle, after all those +kings!—” +</p> + +<p> +He was interrupted by a gesture of his wife’s. She seemed greatly +agitated. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a noise,” she said. “Underneath us.—You can +hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the lapping of the water,” said Lupin. +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed it’s not. I know the sound of the waves. This is +something different.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would you have it be, darling?” said Lupin, smiling. “I +invited no one to lunch except Beautrelet.” And, addressing the servant, +“Charolais, did you lock the staircase doors behind the gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, and fastened the bolts.” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin rose: +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Raymonde, don’t shake like that. Why, you’re quite +pale!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke a few words to her in an undertone, as also to the servant, drew back +the curtain and sent them both out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +The noise below grew more distinct. It was a series of dull blows, repeated at +intervals. Beautrelet thought: +</p> + +<p> +“Ganimard has lost patience and is breaking down the doors.” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin resumed the thread of his conversation, speaking very calmly and as +though he had really not heard: +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, the Needle was badly damaged when I succeeded in discovering +it! One could see that no one had possessed the secret for more than a century, +since Louis XVI. and the Revolution. The tunnel was threatening to fall in. The +stairs were in a shocking state. The water was trickling in from the sea. I had +to prop up and strengthen and rebuild the whole thing.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet could not help asking: +</p> + +<p> +“When you arrived, was it empty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very nearly. The kings did not use the Needle, as I have done, as a +warehouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“As a place of refuge, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, no doubt, in times of invasion and during the civil wars. But its +real destination was to be—how shall I put it?—the strong-room or +the bank of the kings of France.” +</p> + +<p> +The sound of blows increased, more distinctly now. Ganimard must have broken +down the first door and was attacking the second. There was a short silence and +then more blows, nearer still. It was the third door. Two remained. +</p> + +<p> +Through one of the windows, Beautrelet saw a number of fishing-smacks sailing +round the Needle and, not far away, floating on the waters like a great black +fish, the torpedo-boat. +</p> + +<p> +“What a row!” exclaimed Lupin. “One can’t hear +one’s self speak! Let’s go upstairs, shall we? It may interest you +to look over the Needle.” +</p> + +<p> +They climbed to the floor above, which was protected, like the others, by a +door which Lupin locked behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“My picture gallery,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The walls were covered with canvases on which Beautrelet recognized the most +famous signatures. There were Raphael’s <i>Madonna of the Agnus Dei</i>, +Andrea del Sarto’s <i>Portrait of Lucrezia Fede</i>, Titian’s +<i>Salome</i>, Botticelli’s <i>Madonna and Angels</i> and numbers of +Tintorettos, Carpaccios, Rembrandts, Velasquez. +</p> + +<p> +“What fine copies!” said Beautrelet, approvingly. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin looked at him with an air of stupefaction: +</p> + +<p> +“What! Copies! You must be mad! The copies are in Madrid, my dear fellow, +in Florence, Venice, Munich, Amsterdam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then these—” +</p> + +<p> +“Are the original pictures, my lad, patiently collected in all the +museums of Europe, where I have replaced them, like an honest man, with +first-rate copies.” +</p> + +<p> +“But some day or other—” +</p> + +<p> +“Some day or other, the fraud will be discovered? Well, they will find my +signature on each canvas—at the back—and they will know that it was +I who have endowed my country with the original masterpieces. After all, I have +only done what Napoleon did in Italy.—Oh, look, Beautrelet: here are M. +de Gesvres’s four Rubenses!—” +</p> + +<p> +The knocking continued within the hollow of the Needle without ceasing. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t stand this!” said Lupin. “Let’s go +higher.” +</p> + +<p> +A fresh staircase. A fresh door. +</p> + +<p> +“The tapestry-room,” Lupin announced. +</p> + +<p> +The tapestries were not hung on the walls, but rolled, tied up with cord, +ticketed; and, in addition, there were parcels of old fabrics which Lupin +unfolded: wonderful brocades, admirable velvets, soft, faded silks, church +vestments woven with silver and gold— +</p> + +<p> +They went higher still and Beautrelet saw the room containing the clocks and +other time-pieces, the book-room—oh, the splendid bindings, the precious, +undiscoverable volumes, the unique copies stolen from the great public +libraries—the lace-room, the knicknack-room. +</p> + +<p> +And each time the circumference of the room grew smaller. +</p> + +<p> +And each time, now, the sound of knocking was more distant. Ganimard was losing +ground. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the last room,” said Lupin. “The treasury.” +</p> + +<p> +This one was quite different. It was round also, but very high and conical in +shape. It occupied the top of the edifice and its floor must have been fifteen +or twenty yards below the extreme point of the Needle. +</p> + +<p> +On the cliff side there was no window. But on the side of the sea, whence there +were no indiscreet eyes to fear, two glazed openings admitted plenty of light. +</p> + +<p> +The ground was covered with a parqueted flooring of rare wood, forming +concentric patterns. Against the walls stood glass cases and a few pictures. +</p> + +<p> +“The pearls of my collection,” said Lupin. “All that you have +seen so far is for sale. Things come and things go. That’s business. But +here, in this sanctuary, everything is sacred. There is nothing here but +choice, essential pieces, the best of the best, priceless things. Look at these +jewels, Beautrelet: Chaldean amulets, Egyptian necklaces, Celtic bracelets, +Arab chains. Look at these statuettes, Beautrelet, at this Greek Venus, this +Corinthian Apollo. Look at these Tanagras, Beautrelet: all the real Tanagras +are here. Outside this glass case, there is not a single genuine Tanagra +statuette in the whole wide world. What a delicious thing to be able to +say!—Beautrelet, do you remember Thomas and his gang of church-pillagers +in the South—agents of mine, by the way? Well, here is the Ambazac +reliquary, the real one, Beautrelet! Do you remember the Louvre scandal, the +tiara which was admitted to be false, invented and manufactured by a modern +artist? Here is the tiara of Saitapharnes, the real one, Beautrelet! Look, +Beautrelet, look with all your eyes: here is the marvel of marvels, the supreme +masterpiece, the work of no mortal brain; here is Leonardo’s +<i>Gioconda</i>, the real one! Kneel, Beautrelet, kneel; all womankind stands +before you in this picture.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence between them. Below, the sound of blows drew nearer. +Two or three doors, no more, separated them from Ganimard. In the offing, they +saw the black back of the torpedo-boat and the fishing-smacks cruising to and +fro. +</p> + +<p> +The boy asked: +</p> + +<p> +“And the treasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my little man, that’s what interests you most! None of those +masterpieces of human art can compete with the contemplation of the treasure as +a matter of curiosity, eh?—And the whole crowd will be like +you!—Come, you shall be satisfied.” +</p> + +<p> +He stamped his foot, and, in so doing, made one of the discs composing the +floor-pattern turn right over. Then, lifting it as though it were the lid of a +box, he uncovered a sort of large round bowl, dug in the thickness of the rock. +It was empty. +</p> + +<p> +A little farther, he went through the same performance. Another large bowl +appeared. It was also empty. +</p> + +<p> +He did this three times over again. The three other bowls were empty. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh,” grinned Lupin. “What a disappointment! Under Louis XI., +under Henry IV., under Richelieu, the five bowls were full. But think of Louis +XIV., the folly of Versailles, the wars, the great disasters of the reign! And +think of Louis XV., the spendthrift king, with his Pompadour and his Du Barry! +How they must have drawn on the treasure in those days! With what thieving +claws they must have scratched at the stone. You see, there’s nothing +left.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Beautrelet, there is something—the sixth hiding-place! This +one was intangible. Not one of them dared touch it. It was the very last +resource, the nest-egg, the something put by for a rainy day. Look, +Beautrelet!” +</p> + +<p> +He stooped and lifted up the lid. An iron box filled the bowl. Lupin took from +his pocket a key with a complicated bit and wards and opened the box. +</p> + +<p> +A dazzling sight presented itself. Every sort of precious stone sparkled there, +every color gleamed, the blue of the sapphires, the red of the rubies, the +green of the emeralds, the yellow of the topazes. +</p> + +<p> +“Look, look, little Beautrelet! They have squandered all the cash, all +the gold, all the silver, all the crown pieces and all the ducats and all the +doubloons; but the chest with the jewels has remained intact. Look at the +settings. They belong to every period, to every century, to every country. The +dowries of the queens are here. Each brought her share: Margaret of Scotland +and Charlotte of Savoy; duchesses of Austria: Éléonore, Elisabeth, +Marie-Thérèse, Mary of England and Catherine de Médicis; and all the +arch—Marie Antoinette. Look at those pearls, Beautrelet! And those +diamonds: look at the size of the diamonds! Not one of them but is worthy of an +empress! The Pitt Diamond is no finer!” +</p> + +<p> +He rose to his feet and held up his hand as one taking an oath: +</p> + +<p> +“Beautrelet, you shall tell the world that Lupin has not taken a single +one of the stones that were in the royal chest, not a single one, I swear it on +my honor! I had no right to. They are the fortune of France.” +</p> + +<p> +Below them, Ganimard was making all speed. It was easy to judge by the +reverberation of the blows that his men were attacking the last door but one, +the door that gave access to the knicknack-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us leave the chest open,” said Lupin, “and all the +cavities, too, all those little empty graves.” +</p> + +<p> +He went round the room, examined some of the glass cases, gazed at some of the +pictures and, as he walked, said, pensively: +</p> + +<p> +“How sad it is to leave all this! What a wrench! The happiest hours of my +life have been spent here, alone, in the presence of these objects which I +loved. And my eyes will never behold them again and my hands will never touch +them again—” +</p> + +<p> +His drawn face bore such an expression of lassitude upon it that Beautrelet +felt a vague sort of pity for him. Sorrow in that man must assume larger +proportions than in another, even as joy did, or pride, or humiliation. He was +now standing by the window, and, with his finger pointing to the horizon, said: +</p> + +<p> +“What is sadder still is that I must abandon that, all that! How +beautiful it is! The boundless sea—the sky.—On either side, the +cliffs of Étretat with their three natural archways: the Porte d’Armont, +the Porte d’Aval, the Manneporte—so many triumphal arches for the +master. And the master was I! I was the king of the story, the king of +fairyland, the king of the Hollow Needle! A strange and supernatural kingdom! +From Cæsar to Lupin: what a destiny!” He burst out laughing. “King +of fairyland! Why not say King of Yvetot at once? What nonsense! King of the +world, yes, that’s more like it! From this topmost point of the Needle, I +ruled the globe! I held it in my claws like a prey! Lift the tiara of +Saitapharnes, Beautrelet.—You see those two telephones? The one on the +right communicates with Paris: a private line; the one on the left with London: +a private line. Through London, I am in touch with America, Asia, Australia, +South Africa. In all those continents, I have my offices, my agents, my +jackals, my scouts! I drive an international trade. I hold the great market in +art and antiquities, the world’s fair! Ah, Beautrelet, there are moments +when my power turns my head! I feel intoxicated with strength and +authority.” +</p> + +<p> +The door gave way below. They heard Ganimard and his men running about and +searching. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment, Lupin continued, in a low voice: +</p> + +<p> +“And now it’s over. A little girl crossed my path, a girl with soft +hair and wistful eyes and an honest, yes, an honest soul—and it’s +over. I myself am demolishing the mighty edifice.—All the rest seems +absurd and childish to me—nothing counts but her hair—and her +wistful eyes—and her honest little soul—” +</p> + +<p> +The men came up the staircase. A blow shook the door, the last door— +</p> + +<p> +Lupin seized the boy sharply by the arm: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you understand, Beautrelet, why I let you have things your own way +when I could have crushed you, time after time, weeks ago? Do you understand +how you succeeded in getting as far as this? Do you understand that I had given +each of my men his share of the plunder when you met them the other night on +the cliff? You do understand, don’t you? The Hollow Needle is the great +adventure. As long as it belongs to me, I remain the great adventurer. Once the +Needle is recaptured, it means that the past and I are parted and that the +future begins, a future of peace and happiness, in which I shall have no +occasion to blush when Raymonde’s eyes are turned upon me, a +future—” +</p> + +<p> +He turned furiously toward the door: +</p> + +<p> +“Stop that noise, Ganimard, will you? I haven’t finished my +speech!” +</p> + +<p> +The blows came faster. It was like the sound of a beam that was being hurled +against the door. Beautrelet, mad with curiosity, stood in front of Lupin and +awaited events, without understanding what Lupin was doing or contemplating. To +give up the Needle was all very well; but why was he giving up himself? What +was his plan? Did he hope to escape from Ganimard? And, on the other hand, +where was Raymonde? +</p> + +<p> +Lupin, meantime, was murmuring, dreamily: +</p> + +<p> +“An honest man.—Arsène Lupin an honest man—no more +robbery—leading the life of everybody else.—And why not? There is +no reason why I should not meet with the same success.—But do stop that +now, Ganimard! Don’t you know, you ass, that I’m uttering historic +words and that Beautrelet is taking them in for the benefit of +posterity?” He laughed. “I am wasting my time. Ganimard will never +grasp the use of my historic words.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a piece of red chalk, put a pair of steps to the wall and wrote, in +large letters: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Arsène Lupin gives and bequeaths to France all the treasures contained in the +Hollow Needle, on the sole condition that these treasures be housed at the +Musée du Louvre in rooms which shall be known as the Arsène Lupin Rooms. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said, “my conscience is at ease. France and I are +quits.” +</p> + +<p> +The attackers were striking with all their might. One of the panels burst in +two. A hand was put through and fumbled for the lock. +</p> + +<p> +“Thunder!” said Lupin. “That idiot of a Ganimard is capable +of effecting his purpose for once in his life.” +</p> + +<p> +He rushed to the lock and removed the key. +</p> + +<p> +“Sold, old chap!—The door’s tough.—I have plenty of +time—Beautrelet, I must say good-bye. And thank you!—For really you +could have complicated the attack—but you’re so tactful!” +</p> + +<p> +While speaking, he moved toward a large triptych by Van der Weyden, +representing the Wise Men of the East. He shut the right-hand panel and, in so +doing, exposed a little door concealed behind it and seized the handle. +</p> + +<p> +“Good luck to your hunting, Ganimard! And kind regards at home!” +</p> + +<p> +A pistol-shot resounded. Lupin jumped back: “Ah, you rascal, full in the +heart! Have you been taking lessons? You’ve done for the Wise Man! Full +in the heart! Smashed to smithereens, like a pipe at the fair!—” +</p> + +<p> +“Lupin, surrender!” roared Ganimard, with his eyes glittering and +his revolver showing through the broken panel of the door. “Surrender, I +say!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did the old guard surrender?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you stir a limb, I’ll blow your brains out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! You can’t get me here!” +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, Lupin had moved away; and, though Ganimard was able to +fire straight in front of him through the breach in the door, he could not +fire, still less take aim, on the side where Lupin stood. Lupin’s +position was a terrible one for all that, because the outlet on which he was +relying, the little door behind the triptych, opened right in front of +Ganimard. To try to escape meant to expose himself to the detective’s +fire; and there were five bullets left in the revolver. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove,” he said, laughing, “there’s a slump in my +shares this afternoon! You’ve done a nice thing. Lupin, old fellow: you +wanted a last sensation and you’ve gone a bit too far. You +shouldn’t have talked so much.” +</p> + +<p> +He flattened himself against the wall. A further portion of the panel had given +way under the men’s pressure and Ganimard was less hampered in his +movements. Three yards, no more, separated the two antagonists. But Lupin was +protected by a glass case with a gilt-wood framework. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you help, Beautrelet?” cried the old detective, +gnashing his teeth with rage. “Why don’t you shoot him, instead of +staring at him like that?” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore, in fact, had not budged, had remained, till that moment, an eager, but +passive spectator. He would have liked to fling himself into the contest with +all his strength and to bring down the prey which he held at his mercy. He was +prevented by some inexplicable sentiment. +</p> + +<p> +But Ganimard’s appeal for assistance shook him. His hand closed on the +butt of his revolver: +</p> + +<p> +“If I take part in it,” he thought, “Lupin is lost. And I +have the right—it’s my duty.” +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes met. Lupin’s were calm, watchful, almost inquisitive, as +though, in the awful danger that threatened him, he were interested only in the +moral problem that held the young man in its clutches. Would Isidore decide to +give the finishing stroke to the defeated enemy? +</p> + +<p> +The door cracked from top to bottom. +</p> + +<p> +“Help, Beautrelet, we’ve got him!” Ganimard bellowed. +</p> + +<p> +Isidore raised his revolver. +</p> + +<p> +What happened was so quick that he knew of it, so to speak, only by the result. +He saw Lupin bob down and run along the wall, skimming the door right under the +weapon which Ganimard was vainly brandishing; and he felt himself suddenly +flung to the ground, picked up the next moment and lifted by an invincible +force. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin held him in the air, like a living shield, behind which he hid himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten to one that I escape, Ganimard! Lupin, you see, has never quite +exhausted his resources—” +</p> + +<p> +He had taken a couple of brisk steps backward to the triptych. Holding +Beautrelet with one hand flat against his chest, with the other he cleared the +passage and closed the little door behind them. +</p> + +<p> +A steep staircase appeared before their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along,” said Lupin, pushing Beautrelet before him. “The +land forces are beaten—let us turn our attention to the French +fleet.—After Waterloo, Trafalgar.—You’re having some fun for +your money, eh, my lad?—Oh, how good: listen to them knocking at the +triptych now!—It’s too late, my children.—But hurry along, +Beautrelet!” +</p> + +<p> +The staircase, dug out in the wall of the Needle, dug in its very crust, turned +round and round the pyramid, encircling it like the spiral of a tobogganslide. +Each hurrying the other, they clattered down the treads, taking two or three at +a bound. Here and there, a ray of light trickled through a fissure; and +Beautrelet carried away the vision of the fishing-smacks hovering a few dozen +fathoms off, and of the black torpedo-boat. +</p> + +<p> +They went down and down, Isidore in silence, Lupin still bubbling over with +merriment: +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to know what Ganimard is doing? Is he tumbling down the +other staircases to bar the entrance to the tunnel against me? No, he’s +not such a fool as that. He must have left four men there—and four men +are sufficient—” He stopped. “Listen—they’re +shouting up above. That’s it, they’ve opened the window and are +calling to their fleet.—Why, look, the men are busy on board the +smacks—they’re exchanging signals.—The torpedo-boat is +moving.—Dear old torpedo-boat! I know you, you’re from the +Havre.—Guns’ crews to the guns!—Hullo, there’s the +commander!—How are you, Duguay-Trouin?” +</p> + +<p> +He put his arm through a cleft and waved his handkerchief. Then he continued +his way downstairs: +</p> + +<p> +“The enemy’s fleet have set all sail,” he said. “We +shall be boarded before we know where we are. Heavens, what fun!” +</p> + +<p> +They heard the sound of voices below them. They were just then approaching the +level of the sea and they emerged, almost at once, into a large cave into which +two lanterns were moving about in the dark. +</p> + +<p> +A woman’s figure appeared and threw itself on Lupin’s neck: +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, quick, I was so nervous about you. What have you been +doing?—But you’re not alone!—” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin reassured her: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s our friend Beautrelet.—Just think, Beautrelet had the +tact—but I’ll talk about that later—there’s no time +now.—Charolais are you there? That’s right!—And the +boat?” +</p> + +<p> +“The boat’s ready, sir,” Charolais replied, +</p> + +<p> +“Fire away,” said Lupin. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment, the noise of a motor crackled and Beautrelet, whose eyes were +gradually becoming used to the gloom, ended by perceiving that they were on a +sort of quay, at the edge of the water, and that a boat was floating before +them. +</p> + +<p> +“A motor boat,” said Lupin, completing Beautrelet’s +observations. “This knocks you all of a heap, eh, Isidore, old +chap?—You don’t understand.—Still, you have only to +think.—As the water before your eyes is no other than the water of the +sea, which filters into this excavation each high tide, the result is that I +have a safe little private roadstead all to myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s closed,” Beautrelet protested. “No one can +get in or out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I can,” said Lupin; “and I’m going to prove it to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He began by handing Raymonde in. Then he came back to fetch Beautrelet. The lad +hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid?” asked Lupin. +</p> + +<p> +“What of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of being sunk by the torpedo-boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’re considering whether it’s not your duty to stay +with Ganimard, law and order, society and morality, instead of going off with +Lupin, shame, infamy and disgrace.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately, my boy, you have no choice. For the moment, they must +believe the two of us dead—and leave me the peace to which a prospective +honest man is entitled. Later on, when I have given you your liberty, you can +talk as much as you please—I shall have nothing more to fear.” +</p> + +<p> +By the way in which Lupin clutched his arm, Beautrelet felt that all resistance +was useless. Besides, why resist? Had he not discovered and handed over the +Hollow Needle? What did he care about the rest? Had he not the right to humor +the irresistible sympathy with which, in spite of everything, this man inspired +him? +</p> + +<p> +The feeling was so clear in him that he was half inclined to say to Lupin: +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, you’re running another, a more serious danger; Holmlock +Shears is on your track.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come along!” said Lupin, before Isidore had made up his mind to +speak. +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed and let Lupin lead him to the boat, the shape of which struck him as +peculiar and its appearance quite unexpected. +</p> + +<p> +Once on deck, they went down a little steep staircase, or rather a ladder +hooked on to a trap door, which closed above their heads. At the foot of the +ladder, brightly lit by a lamp, was a very small saloon, where Raymonde was +waiting for them and where the three had just room to sit down. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin took the mouthpiece of a speaking tube from a hook and gave the order: +</p> + +<p> +“Let her go, Charolais!” +</p> + +<p> +Isidore had the unpleasant sensation which one feels when going down in a lift: +the sensation of the ground vanishing beneath you, the impression of emptiness, +space. This time, it was the water retreating; and space opened out, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re sinking, eh?” grinned Lupin. “Don’t be +afraid—we’ve only to pass from the upper cave where we were to +another little cave, situated right at the bottom and half open to the sea, +which can be entered at low tide. All the shellfish-catchers know it. Ah, ten +seconds’ wait! We’re going through the passage and it’s very +narrow, just the size of the submarine.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” asked Beautrelet, “how is it that the fishermen who +enter the lower cave don’t know that it’s open at the top and that +it communicates with another from which a staircase starts and runs through the +Needle? The facts are at the disposal of the first-comer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong, Beautrelet! The top of the little public cave is closed, at low +tide, by a movable platform, painted the color of the rock, which the sea, when +it rises, shifts and carries up with it and, when it goes down, fastens firmly +over the little cave. That is why I am able to pass at high tide. A clever +notion, what? It’s an idea of my own. True, neither Cæsar nor Louis XIV., +nor, in short, any of my distinguished predecessors could have had it, because +they did not possess submarines. They were satisfied with the staircase, which +then ran all the way down to the little bottom cave. I did away with the last +treads of the staircase and invented the trick of the movable ceiling: +it’s a present I’m making to France—Raymonde, my love, put +out the lamp beside you—we shan’t want it now—on the +contrary—” +</p> + +<p> +A pale light, which seemed to be of the same color as the water, met them as +they left the cave and made its way into the cabin through the two portholes +and through a thick glass skylight that projected above the planking of the +deck and allowed the passengers to inspect the upper layers of the sea. And, +suddenly, a shadow glided over their heads. +</p> + +<p> +“The attack is about to take place. The fleet is investing the Needle. +But, hollow as the Needle is, I don’t see how they propose to enter +it.” +</p> + +<p> +He took up the speaking tube: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t leave the bottom, Charolais. Where are we going? Why, I told +you: to Port-Lupin. And at full speed, do you hear? We want water to land +by—there’s a lady with us.” +</p> + +<p> +They skimmed over the rocky bed. The seaweed stood up on end like a heavy, dark +vegetation and the deep currents made it wave gracefully, stretching and +billowing like floating hair. +</p> + +<p> +Another shadow, a longer one. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the torpedo-boat,” said Lupin. “We shall hear +the roar of the guns presently. What will Duguay-Trouin do? Bombard the Needle? +Think of what we’re missing, Beautrelet, by not being present at the +meeting of Duguay-Trouin and Ganimard! The juncture of the land and naval +forces! Hi, Charolais, don’t go to sleep, my man!” +</p> + +<p> +They were moving very fast, for all that. The rocks had been succeeded by +sand-fields and then, almost at once, they saw more rocks, which marked the +eastern extremity of Étretat, the Porte d’Amont. Fish fled at their +approach. One of them, bolder than the rest, fastened on to a porthole and +looked at the occupants of the saloon with its great, fixed, staring eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s better,” cried Lupin. “We’re going now. +What do you think of my cockle-shell, Beautrelet? Not so bad, is she? Do you +remember the story of the Seven of Hearts,[11] the wretched end of Lacombe, the +engineer, and how, after punishing his murderers, I presented the State with +his papers and his plans for the construction of a new submarine: one more gift +to France? Well, among the plans, I kept those of a submersible motor boat and +that is how you come to have the honor of sailing in my company.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[11] <i>The Exploits of Arsène Lupin</i>. By Maurice Leblanc. VI: <i>The Seven +of Hearts</i>. +</p> + +<p> +He called to Charolais: +</p> + +<p> +“Take us up, Charolais—there’s no danger now—” +</p> + +<p> +They shot up to the surface and the glass skylight emerged above the water. +</p> + +<p> +They were a mile from the coast, out of sight, therefore, and Beautrelet was +now able to realize more fully at what a headlong pace they were traveling. +First Fécamp passed before them, then all the Norman seaside places: +Saint-Pierre, the Petits—Dalles, Veulettes, Saint-Valery, Veules, +Quiberville. Lupin kept on jesting and Isidore never wearied of watching and +listening to him, amazed as he was at the man’s spirits, at his gaiety, +his mischievous ways, his careless chaff, his delight in life. +</p> + +<p> +He also noticed Raymonde. The young woman sat silent, nestling up against the +man she loved. She had taken his hands between her own and kept on raising her +eyes to him; and Beautrelet constantly observed that her hands were twitching +and that the wistful sadness of her eyes increased. And, each time, it was like +a dumb and sorrowful reply to Lupin’s sallies. One would have thought +that his frivolous words, his sarcastic outlook on life, caused her physical +pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” she whispered. “It’s defying destiny to +laugh—so many misfortunes can reach us still!” +</p> + +<p> +Opposite Dieppe, they had to dive lest they should be seen by the +fishing-craft. And twenty minutes later, they shot at an angle toward the coast +and the boat entered a little submarine harbor formed by a regular gap between +the rocks, drew up beside a jetty and rose gently to the surface. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin announced: +</p> + +<p> +“Port-Lupin!” +</p> + +<p> +The spot, situated at sixteen miles from Dieppe and twelve from the Tréport and +protected, moreover, by the two landslips of cliff, was absolutely deserted. A +fine sand carpeted the rounded slope of the tiny beach. +</p> + +<p> +“Jump on shore, Beautrelet—Raymonde, give me your hand. You, +Charolais, go back to the Needle, see what happens between Ganimard and +Duguay-Trouin and come back and tell me at the end of the day. The thing +interests me tremendously.” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet asked himself with a certain curiosity how they were going to get +out of this hemmed-in creek which was called Port-Lupin, when, at the foot of +the cliff, he saw the uprights of an iron ladder. +</p> + +<p> +“Isidore,” said Lupin, “if you knew your geography and your +history, you would know that we are at the bottom of the gorge of Parfonval, in +the parish of Biville. More than a century ago, on the night of the +twenty-third of August, 1803, Georges Cadoudal and six accomplices, who had +landed in France with the intention of kidnapping the first consul, Bonaparte, +scrambled up to the top by the road which I will show you. Since then, this +road has been demolished by landslips. But Louis Valméras, better known by the +name of Arsène Lupin, had it restored at his own expense and bought the farm of +the Neuvillette, where the conspirators spent the first night and where, +retired from business and withdrawing from the affairs of this world, he means +to lead the life of a respectable country squire with his wife and his mother +by his side. The gentleman-burglar is dead! Long live the +gentleman-farmer!” +</p> + +<p> +After the ladder came a sort of gully, an abrupt ravine hollowed out, +apparently, by the rains, at the end of which they laid hold of a makeshift +staircase furnished with a hand-rail. As Lupin explained, this hand-rail had +been placed where it was in the stead of the <i>estamperche</i>, a long rope +fastened to stakes, by which the people of the country, in the old days, used +to help themselves down when going to the beach. +</p> + +<p> +After a painful climb of half an hour, they emerged on the tableland, not far +from one of those little cabins, dug out of the soil itself, which serve as +shelters for the excisemen. And, as it happened, two minutes later, at a turn +in the path, one of these custom-house officials appeared. +</p> + +<p> +He drew himself up and saluted. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Any news, Gomel?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, governor.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve met no one at all suspicious-looking?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, governor—only—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“My wife—who does dressmaking at the Neuvillette—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know—Césarine—my mother spoke of her. Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a sailor was prowling about the village this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of face had he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a natural face—a sort of Englishman’s face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Lupin, in a tone preoccupied. “And you have given +Césarine orders—” +</p> + +<p> +“To keep her eyes open. Yes, governor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Keep a lookout for Charolais’s return in two or three +hours from now. If there’s anything, I shall be at the farm.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked on and said to Beautrelet: +</p> + +<p> +“This makes me uneasy—is it Shears? Ah, if it’s he, in his +present state of exasperation, I have everything to fear!” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated a moment: “I wonder if we hadn’t better turn back. +Yes, I have a nasty presentiment of evil.” +</p> + +<p> +Gently undulating plains stretched before them as far as the eye could see. A +little to the left, a series of handsome avenues of trees led to the farm of +the Neuvillette, the buildings of which were now in view. It was the retreat +which he had prepared, the haven of rest which he had promised Raymonde. Was +he, for the sake of an absurd idea, to renounce happiness at the very moment +when it seemed within his reach? +</p> + +<p> +He took Isidore by the arm and, calling his attention to Raymonde, who was +walking in front of them: +</p> + +<p> +“Look at her. When she walks, her figure has a little swing at the waist +which I cannot see without quivering. But everything in her gives me that +thrill of emotion and love: her movements and her repose, her silence and the +sound of her voice. I tell you, the mere fact that I am walking in the track of +her footsteps makes me feel in the seventh heaven. Ah, Beautrelet, will she +ever forget that I was once Lupin? Shall I ever be able to wipe out from her +memory the past which she loathes and detests?” He mastered himself and, +with obstinate assurance. “She will forget!” he declared. +“She will forget, because I have made every sacrifice for her sake. I +have sacrificed the inviolable sanctuary of the Hollow Needle, I have +sacrificed my treasures, my power, my pride—I will sacrifice +everything—I don’t want to be anything more—but just a man in +love—and an honest man, because she can only love an honest man. After +all, why should I not be honest? It is no more degrading than anything +else!” +</p> + +<p> +The quip escaped him, so to speak, unawares. His voice remained serious and +free of all chaff. And he muttered, with restrained violence: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Beautrelet, you see, of all the unbridled joys which I have tasted +in my adventurous life, there is not one that equals the joy with which her +look fills me when she is pleased with me. I feel quite weak then, and I should +like to cry—” Was he crying? Beautrelet had an intuition that his +eyes were wet with tears. Tears in Lupin’s eyes!—Tears of love! +</p> + +<p> +They were nearing an old gate that served as an entrance to the farm. Lupin +stopped for a moment and stammered: +</p> + +<p> +“Why am I afraid?—I feel a sort of weight on my chest. Is the +adventure of the Hollow Needle not over? Has destiny not accepted the issue +which I selected?” +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde turned round, looking very anxious. +</p> + +<p> +“Here comes Césarine. She’s running.” +</p> + +<p> +The exciseman’s wife was hurrying from the farm as fast as she could. +Lupin rushed up to her: +</p> + +<p> +“What is it? What has happened? Speak!” +</p> + +<p> +Choking, quite out of breath, Césarine stuttered: +</p> + +<p> +“A man—I saw a man this morning! +</p> + +<p> +“A man—I saw a man in the sitting-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Englishman of this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—but in a different disguise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he see you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He saw your mother. Mme. Valméras caught him as he was just going +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“He told her that he was looking for Louis Valméras, that he was a friend +of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then?” +</p> + +<p> +“The madame said that her son had gone abroad—for years.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he went away?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he made signs through the window that overlooks the plain—as +if he were calling to some one.” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin seemed to hesitate. A loud cry tore the air. Raymonde moaned: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your mother—I recognize—” +</p> + +<p> +He flung himself upon her and, dragging her away, in a burst of fierce passion: +</p> + +<p> +“Come—let us fly—you first.” +</p> + +<p> +But, suddenly, he stopped, distraught, overcome: +</p> + +<p> +“No, I can’t do it—it’s too awful. Forgive +me—Raymonde—that poor woman down there—Stay here. Beautrelet, +don’t leave her.” +</p> + +<p> +He darted along the slope that surrounds the farm, turned and followed it, at a +run, till he came to the gate that opens on the plain. +</p> + +<p> +Raymonde, whom Beautrelet had been unable to hold back, arrived almost as soon +as he did; and Beautrelet, hiding behind the trees, saw, in the lonely walk +that led from the farm to the gate, three men, of whom one, the tallest, went +ahead, while the two others were holding by the arms a woman who tried to +resist and who uttered moans of pain. +</p> + +<p> +The daylight was beginning to fade. Nevertheless, Beautrelet recognized +Holmlock Shears. The woman seemed of a certain age. Her livid features were set +in a frame of white hair. +</p> + +<p> +They all four came up. +</p> + +<p> +They reached the gate. Shears opened one of the folding leaves. +</p> + +<p> +Then Lupin strode forward and stood in front of him. +</p> + +<p> +The encounter appeared all the more terrible inasmuch as it was silent, almost +solemn. +</p> + +<p> +For long moments, the two enemies took each other’s measure with their +eyes. An equal hatred distorted the features of both of them. Neither moved. +</p> + +<p> +Then Lupin spoke, in a voice of terrifying calmness: +</p> + +<p> +“Tell your men to leave that woman alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +It was as though both of them feared to engage in the supreme struggle, as +though both were collecting all their strength. And there were no words wasted +this time, no insults, no bantering challenges. Silence, a deathlike silence. +</p> + +<p> +Mad with anguish, Raymonde awaited the issue of the duel. Beautrelet had caught +her arms and was holding her motionless. +</p> + +<p> +After a second, Lupin repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“Order your men to leave that woman alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Lupin said: +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Shears—” +</p> + +<p> +But he interrupted himself, realizing the silliness of the words. In the face +of that colossus of pride and will-power which called itself Holmlock Shears, +of what use were threats? +</p> + +<p> +Resolved upon the worst, suddenly he put his hand to his jacket pocket. The +Englishman anticipated his movement and, leaping upon his prisoner, thrust the +barrel of his revolver within two inches of her temple: +</p> + +<p> +“If you stir a limb, I fire!” +</p> + +<p> +At the same time his two satellites drew their weapons and aimed them at Lupin. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin drew himself up, stifled the rage within him and, coolly, with his hands +in his pockets and his breast exposed to the enemy, began once more: +</p> + +<p> +“Shears, for the third time, let that woman be—” +</p> + +<p> +The Englishman sneered: +</p> + +<p> +“I have no right to touch her, I suppose? Come, come, enough of this +humbug! Your name isn’t Valméras any more than it’s Lupin: you +stole the name just as you stole the name of Charmerace. And the woman whom you +pass off as your mother is Victoire, your old accomplice, the one who brought +you up—”[12] +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[12] <i>Arsène Lupin</i>, play in four acts, by Maurice Leblanc and Francis de +Croisset. +</p> + +<p> +Shears made a mistake. Carried away by his longing for revenge, he glanced +across at Raymonde, whom these revelations filled with horror. Lupin took +advantage of his imprudence. With a sudden movement, he fired. +</p> + +<p> +“Damnation!” bellowed Shears, whose arm, pierced by a bullet, fell +to his side. And, addressing his men, “Shoot, you two! Shoot him +down!” +</p> + +<p> +But already Lupin was upon them: and not two seconds had elapsed before the one +on the right was sprawling on the ground, with his chest smashed, while the +other, with his jaw broken, fell back against the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Hurry up, Victoire. Tie them down. And now, Mr. Englishman, it’s +you and I.” +</p> + +<p> +He ducked with an oath: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you scoundrel!” +</p> + +<p> +Shears had picked up his revolver with his left hand and was taking aim at him. +</p> + +<p> +A shot—a cry of distress—Raymonde had flung herself between the two +men, facing the Englishman. She staggered back, brought her hand to her neck, +drew herself up, spun round on her heels and fell at Lupin’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Raymonde!—Raymonde!” +</p> + +<p> +He threw himself upon her, took her in his arms and pressed her to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead—” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment of stupefaction. Shears seemed confounded by his own act. +Victoire stammered: +</p> + +<p> +“My poor boy—my poor boy—” +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet went up to the young woman and stooped to examine her. Lupin +repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“Dead—dead—” +</p> + +<p> +He said it in a reflective tone, as though he did not yet understand. But his +face became hollow, suddenly transformed, ravaged by grief. And then he was +seized with a sort of madness, made senseless gestures, wrung his hands, +stamped his feet, like a child that suffers more than it is able to bear. +</p> + +<p> +“You villain!” he cried, suddenly, in an access of hatred. +</p> + +<p> +And, flinging Shears back with a formidable blow, he took him by the throat and +dug his twitching fingers into his flesh. +</p> + +<p> +The Englishman gasped, without even struggling. +</p> + +<p> +“My boy—my boy—” said Victoire, in a voice of entreaty. +</p> + +<p> +Beautrelet ran up. But Lupin had already let go and stood sobbing beside his +enemy stretched upon the ground. +</p> + +<p> +O pitiful sight! Beautrelet never forgot its tragic horror, he who knew all +Lupin’s love for Raymonde and all that the great adventurer had +sacrificed of his own being to bring a smile to the face of his well-beloved. +</p> + +<p> +Night began to cover the field of battle with a shroud of darkness. The three +Englishmen lay bound and gagged in the tall grass. Distant songs broke the vast +silence of the plain. It was the farm-hands returning from their work. +</p> + +<p> +Lupin drew himself up. He listened to the monotonous voices. Then he glanced at +the happy homestead of the Neuvillette, where he had hoped to live peacefully +with Raymonde. Then he looked at her, the poor, loving victim, whom love had +killed and who, all white, was sleeping her last, eternal sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The men were coming nearer, however. +</p> + +<p> +Then Lupin bent down, took the dead woman in his powerful arms, lifted the +corpse with a single effort and, bent in two, stretched it across his back: +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go, Victoire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Beautrelet,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +And, bearing his precious and awful burden followed by his old servant, silent +and fierce he turned toward the sea and plunged into the darkness of the night. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOLLOW NEEDLE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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