Arsène Lupin intervenes
demonstrate his prodigious muscular strength.
The lesson came to an end, and, Del Prego put on his coat, fastened his
snowy spats, and gathered up his white gloves and ash-colored hat.
“See you to-night at the theatre, Madame Olga,” he said.
“Oh, aren’t you going to wait for me to-day, Del Prego? You might have
escorted me. You know maman is away.”
“Impossible, madame, I fear. Much as I regret, I fear I have another
appointment before dinner.”
He made for the door, but before he got there he was brought up short
by Jim Barnett, who stood in his way.
“A word with you, my friend,” said Barnett, “since chance has
obligingly brought us together.”
“I’m sorry, but really....”
“Must I, then, introduce myself afresh? Jim Barnett, private detective,
of the Barnett Agency—Inspector Béchoux’s friend.”
Del Prego took another step towards the door.
“A thousand apologies, Mr. Barnett, but I’m in rather a hurry.”
“Oh, I won’t keep you a moment. I only want to call to your
remembrance——” He paused dramatically.
“What?” snapped Del Prego.
“A certain Turk.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“A Turk called Ben-Vali.”
The professor’s face wore an expression of stony blankness.
“The name means nothing to me.”
“Then perhaps you may remember a certain Avernoff?”
“Never heard of him either. Who were they both, anyway?”
“Two—murderers.”
There was a brief, pregnant pause. Then Del Prego laughed noisily and
said:
“Scarcely a class among which I care to cultivate my friendships.”
“And yet,” pursued Barnett, “rumor persists in urging that you knew
both men well.”
Del Prego’s glance travelled like lightning up and down Barnett’s form.
Then he snarled, with scarcely a trace of foreign accent:
“What are you getting at? Cut out the mystery stuff. I don’t go in for
riddles.”
“Sit down, Signor Del Prego,” suggested Barnett. “We can chat more
comfortably sitting down!”
Del Prego was fuming with impatience. Olga had come up to them, full of
curiosity, looking like a bewitching boy in her gym kit.
“Do sit down, Del Prego,” she said, laying a hand on the professor’s
arm. “After all, it’s about my Pompadour bed.”
“Just so,” said Barnett. “And I can assure Signor Del Prego that I am
not asking a riddle. Only, on my very first visit here after the
robbery, I was forcibly reminded of two cases that made rather a
sensation some time ago. I should like his opinion on them. It’ll only
take a few minutes.”
Barnett’s attitude had subtly changed from one of deference to one of
authority. His tone was unmistakable in its note of command. Olga
Vaubant found herself feeling impressed by this strange man. Del Prego,
overborne, merely growled:
“Hurry up, then!”
Barnett began his story:
“Once upon a time—three years ago, to be precise—there lived in Paris a
jeweller called Saurois. He and his father shared a big top-floor flat.
This jeweller formed a business connection with a man named Ben-Vali.
The latter went about in a turban and full Turkish costumes, baggy
trousers and all, and traded in second-grade precious stones, such as
oriental topazes, irregular pearls, amethysts, and so forth. Well, one
evening, on a day when Ben-Vali had called several times at his flat,
Saurois came back from the theatre and found his father stabbed to
death, and all his jewels gone. The inquiry revealed that the crime had
been committed not by Ben-Vali himself—he produced an unshakable
alibi—but by someone he must have brought round in the afternoon. But
they never managed to lay hands on the assassin, nor on the Turk. The
case was shelved. Do you remember, now?”
“I’ve only been in Paris two years,” Del Prego parried swiftly. “And,
anyway, I don’t see the point....”
Jim Barnett went on:
“Nearly a year before that a similar crime took place. The victim in
this case was a collector of medals called Davoul. It was established
that the man who killed him was brought to his place and hidden by a
Count Avernoff, a Russian, who wore an astrakhan cap and a long
overcoat.”
“Why, I remember that,” exclaimed Olga Vaubant, who had turned suddenly
pale.
“I saw at once,” continued Barnett, “that between these two cases and
the burglary of your bedroom there existed not, perhaps, a very close
analogy, but a certain family resemblance. The robberies of Saurois the
jeweller and of Davoul the medal collector were both the work of a pair
of foreigners, and here again the method is identical. I mean, in each
case there was the introduction of an accomplice who was responsible
for the actual crime. The problem is—how were those accomplices
introduced? I own that at first this completely baffled me. For the
last few days I have been thrashing the solution out in silence and
solitude. Working with the two given quantities, so to speak, of the
Ben-Vali crime and the Avernoff crime, I set myself to reconstruct the
general scheme—the ‘constant’—of a crime-system that had probably been
applied in many other cases unknown to me.”
“And did you succeed?” asked Olga breathlessly.
“I did,” Barnett told her. “Frankly, the idea is superb. It’s the
highest form of art—a manifestation of creative genius, wholly original
in conception and execution. While the ordinary run of thieves and
gun-men work with great secrecy, disguising themselves sometimes as
plumbers or commercial travellers to gain entrance to a house, these
people keep full in the limelight, and do the job without any attempt
at concealment. The more observation they meet with, the better pleased
they are. The method is for one of them quite openly to enter a house
where he is already a frequent visitor, and his comings and goings are
familiar to the residents. Then, on a chosen day, he goes out ... and
comes in again ... and goes out once more ... and comes in yet again
... and then, while this man is in the house, another man comes in who
is so like the first man in appearance that no one spots the
difference! And there you have your accomplice introduced. The first
man leaves the house again, quite openly, and his accomplice remains
there concealed. Then, in the watches of the night, the first man
returns to the house, and is admitted by the accomplice. Ingenious,
isn’t it?”
Then, with a peculiar intensity in his tone, Barnett went on, now
directly to Del Prego:
“It’s genius, Del Prego, absolute genius. Ordinary crooks, as I said,
try to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible in their criminal
pursuits. They wear nondescript, neutral clothing, and do their best to
merge with their surroundings like creatures of the jungle. But the men
I’m telling you about realized that the great thing in their scheme was
to make a vivid and outstanding impression—to attract plenty of
attention. A Russian wearing a fur cap, or a Turk in baggy trousers is
a conspicuous and unusual figure. If such a man is habitually seen four
times a day going up and downstairs in a house, no one will notice
whether he comes in once oftener than he goes out. The point is,
though, that the fifth time he comes in, it’s the accomplice! And no
one suspects it. That’s how it’s done, and I take my hat off to the
inventor. It stands to reason that a man must be a master criminal to
evolve and apply such a method—the kind of arch-crook who only occurs
once in a generation. To me it is obvious that Ben-Vali and Count
Avernoff are the same person. From this, isn’t it only logical to
conclude that this man has materialized a third time, in yet another
guise, in the particular case which concerns us? He began by being a
Russian, later on he appeared as a Turk, and this time—well, who comes
here who, besides being a foreigner, dresses rather unusually?”
There was a dead silence. Olga put out a hand towards Barnett as if to
stop him from she hardly knew what. She had only just tumbled to what
he had been leading up to all this time, and the realization frightened
her.
“No, no!” she cried. “I won’t have you accusing people!”
Del Prego smiled blandly.
“Come, come, Madame Olga, don’t get upset. Mr. Barnett will have his
little joke.”
“That’s it, Del Prego,” said Barnett, “I will have my little joke.
You’re perfectly right not to take my yarn of mystery and adventure
seriously—that is, not until you know the finish. Of course, there’s
the obvious fact that you’re a foreigner, and that your get-up is
calculated to attract attention. White gloves ... white spats.... And,
of course, too, you’ve got one of those mobile, india rubber faces,
which could pretty easily turn you from a Russian into a Turk, and from
a Turk into a shady adventurer, nationality unspecified! And, of
course, you’re well known in this house, and business brings you here
several times a day. But, after all, your reputation for honesty is
unblemished, and you enjoy the patronage of no less a person than Olga
Vaubant. So no one would dream of accusing you.
“But what was I to think? You see my difficulty, don’t you? You were
the only possible suspect, and yet you were above suspicion. Isn’t that
so, madame?” He turned to Olga for confirmation.
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, eyes feverishly bright. “Then who are we to
suspect? How can we find out who did it?”
“Aha,” said Barnett, “that’s simple enough. I’ve set a trap for the
mystery mouse!”
“A trap? How could you do that?”
“Tell me, madame,” said Barnett, “Baron de Laureins telephoned you on
Saturday? I thought so. And yesterday he came to see you here?”
Olga nodded, full of wonder.
“And he brought you a chest full of silver, engraved with the Pompadour
crest?”
“That’s it,” said Olga, “on the table. But——”
Barnett cut her short. In the manner of a fortune-teller he continued:
“Baron de Laureins, who is very hard up, is trying to sell the silver
which is a family heirloom that has come down to him from the
d’Etoiles, and he has left it in your care until to-morrow.”
“How ... how do you know all this?” Olga was quite scared.
“I,” said Barnett, “and the Baron—very new noblesse! Have you displayed
the handsome silverware to your admiring friends?”
“Certainly.”
“And, on the other hand, I take it your mother has had a telegram from
the country, summoning her to the bedside of your ailing aunt?”
“How on earth do you know that?”
“I sent the telegram. Oh, believe me, I’m the whole works! So your
mother went off this morning, and the chest stays in this room till
to-morrow. What a temptation for the unknown friend who so cleverly
burgled your bedroom to get up to his tricks again and snaffle the
chest of silver. Much easier than a suite of furniture!”
Olga, now thoroughly alarmed, demanded:
“Will the attempt be made to-night?”
“Of course it will,” Barnett assured her.
“Oh, how awful!” she wailed.
Del Prego, who had listened to all this in silence, now got up.
“What’s so awful, madame?” he asked, with a faint sneer. “Forewarned is
forearmed. You have only to ring up the police. With your permission, I
will do so at once.”
“Oh, dear me, no,” protested Barnett. “I shall need you, Del Prego.”
“I fail to see in what way you can require my services.”
“Why, in helping to arrest the accomplice, of course!”
“Plenty of time for that, if the attempt is to be made to-night.”
“Yes, but do bear in mind,” urged Barnett gently but firmly, “that the
accomplice was, in each case, introduced beforehand!”
“You mean he’s already in the flat?” asked Del Prego.
“He’s been here for the last half-hour,” declared Barnett.
“Since I arrived, you mean?”
“Since you arrived the second time,” said Barnett quietly. “I saw him
as plainly as I see you now.”
“Then he’s hiding in the flat?”
Barnett pointed to the door.
“In the hall there’s a clothes cupboard which hasn’t been opened all
the afternoon. He’s in there.”