813 (24 page)

“Don’t start like that, Mr. Governor. This is not my finger, but just a tube, made of gold-beater’s skin and cleverly colored, which fits exactly over my middle finger and gives the illusion of a real finger.” And he added, with a laugh, “In such a way, of course, as to conceal a third hundred-franc note … What is a poor man to do? He must carry the best purse he can … and must needs make use of it on occasions …”

He stopped at the sight of M. Borély’s startled face:

“Please don’t think, Mr. Governor, that I wish to dazzle you with my little parlor-tricks. I only wanted to show you that you have to do with a … client of a rather … special nature and to tell you that you must not be surprised if I venture, now and again, to break the ordinary rules and regulations of your establishment.”

The governor had recovered himself. He said plainly:

“I prefer to think that you will conform to the rules and not compel me to resort to harsh measures …”

“Which you would regret to have to enforce: isn’t that it, Mr. Governor? That’s just what I should like to spare you, by proving to you in advance that they would not prevent me from doing as I please: from corresponding with my friends, from defending the grave interests confided to me outside these walls, from writing to the newspapers that accept my inspiration, from pursuing the fulfilment of my plans and, lastly, from preparing my escape.”

“Your escape!”

Lupin began to laugh heartily:

“But think, Mr. Governor, my only excuse for being in prison is … to leave it!”

The argument did not appear to satisfy M. Borély. He made an effort to laugh in his turn:

“Forewarned is forearmed,” he said.

“That’s what I wanted,” Lupin replied. “Take all your precautions, Mr. Governor, neglect nothing, so that later they may have nothing to reproach you with. On the other hand, I shall arrange things in such a way that, whatever annoyance you may have
to bear in consequence of my escape, your career, at least, shall not suffer. That is all I had to say to you, Mr. Governor. You can go.”

And, while M. Borély walked away, greatly perturbed by his singular charge and very anxious about the events in preparation, the prisoner threw himself on his bed, muttering:

“What cheek, Lupin, old fellow, what cheek! Really, any one would think that you had some idea as to how you were going to get out of this!”

The Santé prison is built on the star plan. In the centre of the main portion is a round hall, upon which all the corridors converge, so that no prisoner is able to leave his cell without being at once perceived by the overseers posted in the glass box which occupies the middle of that central hall.

The thing that most surprises the visitor who goes over the prison is that, at every moment, he will meet prisoners without a guard of any kind, who seem to move about as though they were absolutely free. In reality, in order to go from one point to another—for instance, from their cell to the van waiting in the yard to take them to the Palais de Justice for the magistrate’s examination—they pass along straight lines each of which ends in a door that is opened to them by a warder. The sole duty of the warder is to open and shut this door and to watch the two straight lines which it commands. And thus the prisoners, while apparently at liberty to come and go as they please, are sent from door to door, from eye to eye, like so many parcels passed from hand to hand.

Outside, municipal guards receive the object and pack it into one of the compartments of the “salad-basket.”

This is the ordinary routine.

In Lupin’s case it was disregarded entirely. The police were afraid of that walk along the corridors. They were afraid of the prison-van. They were afraid of everything.

M. Weber came in person, accompanied by twelve constables—the best he had, picked men, armed to the teeth—fetched the formidable prisoner at the door of his cell and took him in a cab, the driver of which was one of his own men, with mounted municipal guards trotting on each side, in front and behind.

“Bravo!” cried Lupin. “I am quite touched by the compliment paid me. A guard of honor. By Jove, Weber, you have the proper hierarchical instinct! You don’t forget what is due to your immediate chief.” And, tapping him on the shoulder: “Weber, I intend to send in my resignation. I shall name you as my successor.”

“It’s almost done,” said Weber.

“That’s good news! I was a little anxious about my escape. Now I am easy in my mind. From the moment when Weber is chief of the detective-service … !”

M. Weber did not reply to the gibe. At heart, he had a queer, complex feeling in the presence of his adversary, a feeling made up of the fear with which Lupin inspired him, the deference which he entertained for Prince Sernine and the respectful admiration which he had always shown to M. Lenormand. All this was mingled with spite, envy and satisfied hatred.

They arrived at the Palais de Justice. At the foot of the “mouse-trap,” a number of detectives were waiting, among whom M. Weber rejoiced to see his best two lieutenants, the brothers Doudeville.

“Has M. Formerie come?” he asked.

“Yes, chief, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction is in his room.”

M. Weber went up the stairs, followed by Lupin, who had the Doudevilles on either side of him.

“Geneviève?” whispered the prisoner.

“Saved …”

“Where is she?”

“With her grandmother.”

“Mrs. Kesselbach?”

“In Paris, at the Bristol.”

“Suzanne?”

“Disappeared.”

“Steinweg?”

“Released.”

“What has he told you?”

“Nothing. Won’t make any revelations except to you.”

“Why?”

“We told him he owed his release to you.”

“Newspapers good this morning?”

“Excellent.”

“Good. If you want to write to me, here are my instructions.”

They had reached the inner corridor on the first floor and Lupin slipped a pellet of paper into the hand of one of the brothers.

M. Formerie uttered a delicious phrase when Lupin entered his room accompanied by the deputy-chief:

“Ah, there you are! I knew we should lay hands on you some day or other!”

“So did I, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction,” said Lupin, “and I am glad that you have been marked out by fate to do justice to the honest man that I am.”

“He’s getting at me,” thought M. Formerie. And, in the same ironical and serious tone as Lupin, he retorted, “The honest man that you are, sir, will be asked what he has to say about three hundred and forty-four separate cases of larceny, burglary, swindling and forgery, blackmail, receiving and so on. Three hundred and forty-four!”

“What! Is that all?” cried Lupin. “I really feel quite ashamed.”

“Don’t distress yourself! I shall discover more. But let us proceed in order. Arsène Lupin, in spite of all our inquiries, we have no definite information as to your real name.”

“How odd! No more have I!”

“We are not even in a position to declare that you are the same Arsène Lupin who was confined in the Santé a few years back, and from there made his first escape.”

“‘His first escape’ is good, and does you credit.”

“It so happens, in fact,” continued M. Formerie, “that the Arsène Lupin card in the measuring department gives a description of Arsène Lupin which differs at all points from your real description.”

“How more and more odd!”

“Different marks, different measurements, different finger-prints … The two photographs even are quite unlike. I will therefore ask you to satisfy us as to your exact identity.”

“That’s just what I was going to ask you. I have
lived under so many distinct names that I have ended by forgetting my own. I don’t know where I am.”

“So I must enter a refusal to answer?”

“An inability.”

“Is this a thought-out plan? Am I to expect the same silence in reply to all my questions?”

“Very nearly.”

“And why?”

Lupin struck a solemn attitude and said:

“M. le Juge d’Instruction, my life belongs to history. You have only to turn over the annals of the past fifteen years and your curiosity will be satisfied. So much for my part. As to the rest, it does not concern me: it is an affair between you and the murderers at the Palace Hotel.”

“Arsène Lupin, the honest man that you are will have to-day to explain the murder of Master Altenheim.”

“Hullo, this is new! Is the idea yours, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction?”

“Exactly.”

“Very clever! Upon my word, M. Formerie, you’re getting on!”

“The position in which you were captured leaves no doubt.”

“None at all; only, I will venture to ask you this: what sort of wound did Altenheim die of?”

“Of a wound in the throat caused by a knife.”

“And where is the knife?”

“It has not been found.”

“How could it not have been found, if I had been the assassin, considering that I was captured beside the very man whom I am supposed to have killed?”

“Who killed him, according to you?”

“The same man that killed Mr. Kesselbach, Chapman, and Beudot. The nature of the wound is a sufficient proof.”

“How did he get away?”

“Through a trap-door, which you will discover in the room where the tragedy took place.”

M. Formerie assumed an air of slyness:

“And how was it that you did not follow that useful example?”

“I tried to follow it. But the outlet was blocked by a door which I could not open. It was during this attempt that ‘the other one’ came back to the room and killed his accomplice for fear of the revelations which he would have been sure to make. At the same time, he hid in a cupboard, where it was subsequently found, the parcel of clothes which I had prepared.”

“What were those clothes for?”

“To disguise myself. When I went to the Glycines my plan was this: to hand Altenheim over to the police, to suppress my own identity as Prince Sernine and to reappear under the features …”

“Of M. Lenormand, I suppose?”

“Exactly.”

“No.”

“What!”

M. Formerie gave a knowing smile and wagged his forefinger from left to right and right to left:

“No,” he repeated.

“What do you mean by ‘no’?”

“That story about M. Lenormand …”

“Well?”

“Will do for the public, my friend. But you won’t make M. Formerie swallow that Lupin and Lenormand were one and the same man.” He burst out laughing. “Lupin, chief of the detective-service! No, anything you like, but not that! … There are limits … I am an easy-going fellow … I’ll believe anything … but still … Come, between ourselves, what was the reason of this fresh hoax? … I confess I can’t see …”

Lupin looked at him in astonishment. In spite of all that he knew of M. Formerie, he could not conceive such a degree of infatuation and blindness. There was at that moment only one person in the world who refused to believe in Prince Sernine’s double personality; and that was M. Formerie! …

Lupin turned to the deputy-chief, who stood listening open-mouthed:

“My dear Weber, I fear your promotion is not so certain as I thought. For, you see, if M. Lenormand is not myself, then he exists … and, if he exists, I have no doubt that M. Formerie, with all his acumen, will end by discovering him … in which case …”

“We shall discover him all right, M. Lupin,” cried the examining-magistrate. “I’ll undertake that, and I tell you that, when you and he are confronted, we shall see some fun.” He chuckled and drummed with his fingers on the table. “How amusing! Oh, one’s never bored when you’re there, that I’ll say for you! So you’re M. Lenormand, and it’s you who arrested your accomplice Marco!”

“Just so! Wasn’t it my duty to please the prime minister and save the cabinet? The fact is historical.”

M. Formerie held his sides:

“Oh, I shall die of laughing, I know I shall! Lord, what a joke! That answer will travel round the world. So, according to your theory, it was with you that I made the first enquiries at the Palace Hotel after the murder of Mr. Kesselbach? …”

“Surely it was with me that you investigated the case of the stolen coronet when I was Duc de Chamerace,”
retorted Lupin, in a sarcastic voice.

M. Formerie gave a start. All his merriment was dispelled by that odious recollection. Turning suddenly grave, he asked:

“So you persist in that absurd theory?”

“I must, because it is the truth. It would be easy for you to take a steamer to Cochin-China and to find at Saigon the proofs of the death of the real M. Lenormand, the worthy man whom I replaced and whose death-certificate I can show you.”

“Humbug!”

“Upon my word, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I don’t care one way or the other. If it annoys you that I should be M. Lenormand, don’t let’s talk about it. We won’t talk about myself; we won’t talk about anything at all, if you prefer. Besides, of what use can it be to you? The Kesselbach case is such a tangled affair that I myself don’t know where I stand. There’s only one man who might help you. I have not succeeded in discovering him. And I don’t think that you …”

“What’s the man’s name?”

“He’s an old man, a German called Steinweg … But, of course, you’ve heard about him, Weber, and the way in which he was carried off in the middle of the Palais de Justice?”

M. Formerie threw an inquiring glance at the deputy-chief. M. Weber said:

“I undertake to bring that person to you, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction.”

“So that’s done,” said M. Formerie, rising from his chair. “As you see, Lupin, this was merely a formal examination to bring the two duelists together. Now that we have crossed swords, all that we need is the necessary witness of our fencing-match, your counsel.”

“Tut! Is it indispensable?”

“Indispensable.”

“Employ counsel in view of such an unlikely trial?”

“You must.”

“In that case, I’ll choose Maître Quimbel.”

“The president of the corporation of the bar. You are wise, you will be well defended.”

The first sitting was over. M. Weber led the prisoner away.

As he went down the stairs of the “mouse-trap,” between the two Doudevilles, Lupin said, in short, imperative sentences: