Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes (4 page)

“Monsieur, in memory of our pleasant interview, permit me to return you this as a wedding-gift to Mlle. Gerbois.”

Mon. Gerbois took the money, but said:

“My daughter will not marry.”

“She will not marry if you refuse your consent; but she wishes to marry.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know that young girls often dream of such things unknown to their parents. Fortunately, there are sometimes good genii like Arsène Lupin who discover their little secrets in the drawers of their writing desks.”

“Did you find anything else?” asked the lawyer. “I confess I am curious to know why you took so much trouble to get possession of that desk.”

“On account of its historic interest, my friend. Although despite the opinion of Monsieur Gerbois, the desk contained no treasure except the lottery ticket—and that was unknown to me—I had been seeking it for a long time. That writing-desk of yew and mahogany was discovered in the little house in which Marie Walêwska once lived in Boulogne, and, on one of the drawers there is this inscription: ‘
Dedicated to Napoleon I, Emperor of the French, by his very faithful servant, Mancion
.’ And above it, these words, engraved with the point of a knife: ‘To you, Marie.’ Afterwards, Napoleon had a similar desk made for the Empress Josephine; so that the secretary that was so much admired at the Malmaison was only an imperfect copy of the one that will henceforth form part of my collection.”

“Ah! If I had known, when in the shop, I would gladly have given it up to you,” said the professor.

Arsène Lupin smiled, as he replied:

“And you would have had the advantage of keeping for your own use lottery ticket number 514.”

“And you would not have found it necessary to abduct my daughter.”

“Abduct your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“My dear monsieur, you are mistaken. Mlle. Gerbois was not abducted.”

“No?”

“Certainly not. Abduction means force or violence. And I assure you that she served as hostage of her own free will.”

“Of her own free will!” repeated Mon. Gerbois, in amazement.

“In fact, she almost asked to be taken. Why, do you suppose that an intelligent young girl like Mlle. Gerbois, and who, moreover, nourishes an unacknowledged passion, would hesitate to do what was necessary to secure her dowry. Ah! I swear to you it was not difficult to make her understand that it was the only way to overcome your obstinacy.”

Mon. Detinan was greatly amused. He replied to Lupin:

“But I should think it was more difficult to get her to listen to you. How did you approach her?”

“Oh! I didn’t approach her myself. I have not the honor of her acquaintance. A friend of mine, a lady, carried on the negotiations.”

“The blonde woman in the automobile, no doubt.”

“Precisely. All arrangements were made at the first interview near the college. Since then, Mlle. Gerbois and her new friend have been travelling in Belgium and Holland in a manner that should prove most pleasing and instructive to a young girl. She will tell you all about it herself—”

The bell of the vestibule door rang, three rings in quick succession, followed by two isolated rings.

“It is she,” said Lupin. “Monsieur Detinan, if you will be so kind—”

The lawyer hastened to the door.

Two young women entered. One of them threw herself into the arms of Mon. Gerbois. The other approached Lupin. The latter was a tall woman of a good figure, very pale complexion, and with blonde hair, parted over her forehead in undulating waves, that glistened and shone like the setting sun. She was dressed in black, with no display of jewelled ornaments; but, on the contrary, her appearance indicated good taste and refined elegance. Arsène Lupin spoke a few words to her; then, bowing to Mlle. Gerbois, he said:

“I owe you an apology, mademoiselle, for all your troubles, but I hope you have not been too unhappy—”

“Unhappy! Why, I should have been very happy, indeed, if it hadn’t been for leaving my poor father.”

“Then all is for the best. Kiss him again, and take advantage of the opportunity—it is an excellent one—to speak to him about your cousin.”

“My cousin! What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you understand. Your cousin Philippe. The young man whose letters you kept so carefully.”

Suzanne blushed; but, following Lupin’s advice, she again threw herself into her father’s arms. Lupin gazed upon them with a tender look.

“Ah! Such is my reward for a virtuous act! What a touching picture! A happy father and a happy daughter! And to know that their joy is your work, Lupin! Hereafter these people will bless you, and reverently transmit your name unto their descendants, even unto the fourth generation. What a glorious reward, Lupin, for one act of kindness!”

He walked to the window.

“Is dear old Ganimard still waiting? … He would like very much to be present at this charming domestic scene! … Ah! He is not there … Nor any of the others … I don’t see anyone. The deuce! The situation is becoming serious. I dare say they are already under the porte-cochère … talking to the concierge, perhaps … or, even, ascending the stairs!”

Mon. Gerbois made a sudden movement. Now, that his daughter had been restored to him, he saw the situation in a different light. To him, the arrest of his adversary meant half-a-million francs. Instinctively, he made a step forward. As if by chance, Lupin stood in his way.

“Where are you going, Monsieur Gerbois! To defend me against them! That is very kind of you, but I assure you it is not necessary. They are more worried than I.”

Then he continued to speak, with calm deliberation:

“But, really, what do they know! That you are here, and, perhaps, that Mlle. Gerbois is here, for they may have seen her arrive with an unknown lady. But they do not imagine that I am here. How is it possible that I could be in a house that they ran-sacked from cellar to garret this morning! They suppose that the unknown lady was sent by me to make the exchange, and they will be ready to arrest her when she goes out—”

At that moment, the bell rang. With a brusque movement, Lupin seized Mon. Gerbois, and said to him, in an imperious tone:

“Do not move! Remember your daughter, and be prudent—otherwise—As to you, Monsieur Detinan, I have your promise.”

Mon. Gerbois was rooted to the spot. The lawyer did not stir. Without the least sign of haste, Lupin picked up his hat and brushed the dust from off it with his sleeve.

“My dear Monsieur Detinan, if I can ever be of service to you … My best wishes, Mademoiselle Suzanne, and my kind regards to Monsieur Philippe.”

He drew a heavy gold watch from his pocket.

“Monsieur Gerbois, it is now forty-two minutes past three. At forty-six minutes past three, I give you permission to leave this room. Not one minute sooner than forty-six minutes past three.”

“But they will force an entrance,” suggested Mon. Detinan.

“You forget the law, my dear monsieur! Ganimard would never venture to violate the privacy of a French citizen. But, pardon me, time flies, and you are all slightly nervous.”

He placed his watch on the table, opened the door of the room and addressing the Blonde Lady he said:

“Are you ready my dear?”

He drew back to let her pass, bowed respectfully to Mlle. Gerbois, and went out, closing the door behind him. Then they heard him in the vestibule, speaking, in a loud voice: “Good-day, Ganimard, how goes it? Remember me to Madame Ganimard. One of these days, I shall invite her to breakfast. Au revoir, Ganimard.”

The bell rang violently, followed by repeated rings, and voices on the landing.

“Forty-five minutes,” muttered Mon. Gerbois.

After a few seconds, he left the room and stepped into the vestibule. Arsène Lupin and the Blonde Lady had gone.

“Papa! … You mustn’t! Wait!” cried Suzanne.

“Wait! You are foolish! … No quarter for that rascal! … And the half-million?”

He opened the outer door. Ganimard rushed in.

“That woman—where is she? And Lupin?”

“He was here … he is here.”

Ganimard uttered a cry of triumph.

“We have him. The house is surrounded.”

“But the servant’s stairway?” suggested Mon. Detinan.

“It leads to the court,” said Ganimard. “There is only one exit—the street-door. Ten men are guarding it.”

“But he didn’t come in by the street-door, and he will not go out that way.”

“What way, then?” asked Ganimard. “Through the air?”

He drew aside a curtain and exposed a long corridor leading to the kitchen. Ganimard ran along it and tried the door of the servants’ stairway. It was locked. From the window he called to one of his assistants:

“Seen anyone?”

“No.”

“Then they are still in the house!” he exclaimed. “They are hiding in one of the rooms! They cannot have escaped. Ah! Lupin, you fooled me before, but, this time, I get my revenge.”

At seven o’clock in the evening, Mon. Dudonis, chief of the detective service, astonished at not receiving any news, visited the rue Clapeyron. He questioned the detectives who were guarding the house, then ascended to Mon. Detinan’s apartment. The lawyer led him into his room. There, Mon. Dudonis beheld a man, or rather two legs kicking in the air, while the body to which they belonged was hidden in the depths of the chimney.

“Ohé! … Ohé!” gasped a stifled voice. And a more distant voice, from on high, replied:

“Ohé! … Ohé!”

Mon. Dudonis laughed, and exclaimed:

“Here! Ganimard, have you turned chimney-sweep?”

The detective crawled out of the chimney. With his blackened face, his sooty clothes, and his feverish eyes, he was quite unrecognizable.
“I am looking for 
him
,” he growled.

“Who?”

“Arsène Lupin … and his friend.”

“Well, do you suppose they are hiding in the chimney?”

Ganimard arose, laid his sooty hand on the sleeve of his superior officer’s coat, and exclaimed, angrily:

“Where do you think they are, chief? They must be somewhere! They are flesh and blood like you and me, and can’t fade away like smoke.”

“No, but they have faded away just the same.”

“But how? How? The house is surrounded by our men—even on the roof.”

“What about the adjoining house?”

“There’s no communication with it.”

“And the apartments on the other floors?”

“I know all the tenants. They have not seen anyone.”

“Are you sure you know all of them?”

“Yes. The concierge answers for them. Besides, as an extra precaution, I have placed a man in each apartment. They can’t escape. If I don’t get them to-night, I will get them to-morrow. I shall sleep here.”

He slept there that night and the two following nights. Three days and nights passed away without the discovery of the irrepressible Lupin or his female companion; more than that, Ganimard did not unearth the slightest clue on which to base a theory to explain their escape. For that reason, he adhered to his first opinion.

“There is no trace of their escape; therefore, they are here.”

It may be that, at the bottom of his heart, his conviction was less firmly established, but he would not confess it. No, a thousand times, no! A man and a woman could not vanish like the evil spirits in a fairy tale. And, without losing his courage, he continued his searches, as if he expected to find the fugitives concealed in some impenetrable retreat, or embodied in the stone walls of the house.

CHAPTER II.

THE BLUE DIAMOND.

ON THE EVENING OF MARCH 27
, at number 134 avenue Henri-Martin, in the house that he had inherited from his brother six months before, the old general Baron d’Hautrec, ambassador at Berlin under the second Empire, was asleep in a comfortable armchair, while his secretary was reading to him, and the Sister Auguste was warming his bed and preparing the night-lamp. At eleven o’clock, the Sister, who was obliged to return to the convent of her order at that hour, said to the secretary:

“Mademoiselle Antoinette, my work is finished; I am going.”

“Very well, Sister.”

“Do not forget that the cook is away, and that you are alone in the house with the servant.”

“Have no fear for the Baron. I sleep in the adjoining room and always leave the door open.”

The Sister left the house. A few moments later, Charles, the servant, came to receive his orders. The Baron was now awake, and spoke for himself.

“The usual orders, Charles: see that the electric bell rings in your room, and, at the first alarm, run for the doctor. Now, Mademoiselle Antoinette, how far did we get in our reading?”

“Is Monsieur not going to bed now?”

“No, no, I will go later. Besides, I don’t need anyone.”

Twenty minutes later, he was sleeping again, and Antoinette crept away on tiptoe. At that moment, Charles was closing the shutters on the lower floor. In the kitchen, he bolted the door leading to the garden, and, in the vestibule, he not only locked the door but hooked the chain as well. Then he ascended to his room on the third floor, went to bed, and was soon asleep.

Probably an hour had passed, when he leaped from his bed in alarm. The bell was ringing. It rang for some time, seven or eight seconds perhaps, without intermission.

“Well!” muttered Charles, recovering his wits, “another of the Baron’s whims.”

He dressed himself quickly, descended the stairs, stopped in front of the door, and rapped, according to his custom. He received no reply. He opened the door and entered.

“Ah! No light,” he murmured. “What is that for?”

Then, in a low voice, he called:

“Mademoiselle?”

No reply.

“Are you there, mademoiselle? What’s the matter? Is Monsieur le Baron ill?”

No reply. Nothing but a profound silence that soon became depressing. He took two steps forward; his foot struck a chair, and, having touched it, he noticed that it was overturned. Then, with his hand, he discovered other objects on the floor—a small table and a screen. Anxiously, he approached the wall, felt for the electric button, and turned on the light.

In the centre of the room, between the table and dressing-case, lay the body of his master, the Baron d’Hautrec.