Arsène Lupin intervenes
“The pearls ... the necklace ... you shall know before I’m gone ... you
never loved me ... you married me ... for ... my money....”
She began to protest indignantly at his making such a cruel accusation
at this solemn moment, but he seized her wrist and repeated in a kind
of confused delirium: “... for my money, and your conduct has proved
it. You have never been a good wife to me—that’s why I wanted to punish
you—why I’m punishing you now—it’s an exquisite joy—the only pleasure
possible to me—and I can die happily now because the pearls are
vanishing away.... Can’t you hear them, falling, dropping away into the
swirling water. Ah, Valérie, my wife ... what a punishment! ... the
drops that trickle away!...”
His strength failed him again, and the servants lifted him onto his
bed. The doctor came very soon after, and two elderly spinster cousins
who had been summoned settled themselves in the room and refused to
budge. The final paroxysm was prolonged and painful. At dawn Baron
Assermann died, without uttering another word.
At the formal request of the cousins, a seal was placed on every drawer
and cupboard in the room. Then the long death vigil began....
Two days later, after the funeral, the dead man’s lawyer called and
asked to speak to Valérie in private. He looked grave and troubled and
said at once:
“Madame, I have a most painful duty to perform, and I prefer to get it
over as quickly as possible, while assuring you beforehand that the
injustice done to you was subject to my profound disapproval and
contrary to my advice and entreaty. But it was useless to oppose an
unshakable determination....”
“I beg you, monsieur,” stammered Valérie, “to make your meaning clear.”
“I am coming to it, madame la baronne—it is this. I hold a will drawn
up by Baron Assermann twenty years ago, appointing you his sole heiress
and residuary legatee. But I have to tell you that last month the baron
confided to me that he had made a fresh will ... by which he left his
entire fortune to his two cousins....”
“He made a new will?” cried Valérie.
“Yes.”
“And you have it?”
“After reading it to me he locked it in that desk. He did not wish it
to be read until a week after his death. It may not be unsealed before
that date.”
Now Valérie realized why, a few years before, after a series of violent
quarrels, her husband had advised her to sell all her own jewelry and
purchase a pearl necklace with the money. Disinherited, with no fortune
of her own, and with an imitation pearl necklace in place of the real
one, she was left penniless.
The day before the seals were to be broken, a car drew up in the rue
Laborde in front of rather dingy premises bearing the sign:
The Barnett Agency
OPEN FROM TWO TO THREE
Information Free
A veiled woman in deep mourning got out of the car and knocked on the
glass panel of the inner door.
“Come in,” called a voice from within.
She entered.
“Who’s that,” went on the voice in the back room, which was separated
from the office by a curtain. She recognized the tones.
“Baronne Assermann,” she replied.
“Excuse me, madame. Please take a seat. I won’t keep you a moment.”
While she waited, Valérie looked round the office. It was comparatively
empty; the furniture consisted of a table and two old armchairs. The
walls were quite bare and the place was innocent of files or papers. A
telephone was the only indication of activity. An ash-tray, however,
held the stubs of several expensive cigarettes, and a subtle fragrance
hung in the air.
The curtain swung back and Jim Barnett appeared suddenly, alert and
smiling. He wore the same shabby frock-coat, the same impossible,
made-up tie, the same monocle at the end of a black ribbon.
He seized and kissed his visitor’s gloved hand.
“How do you do, madame. This is indeed a pleasure. But what’s the
matter? I see you are in mourning—nothing serious, I hope—oh, but how
absent-minded I am—of course—Baron Assermann, was it not? So sad! A
charming man, and such a devoted husband. I should so much have liked
to meet him. Well, well. Let’s see—how did matters stand?”
As he spoke, he took from his pocket a slender note-book which he
fingered pensively.
“Baronne Assermann—here we are—I remember. Imitation pearls—husband the
thief—pretty woman.... A very pretty woman.... She is to telephone
me.... Well, dear lady,” he concluded, with increasing familiarity, “I
am still awaiting that telephone call.”
Once more, Valérie felt disconcerted by this man. Without wishing to
pretend overwhelming sorrow at the death of her husband, she yet felt
sad, and mingled with her sadness was a haunting dread of future
poverty. She had had a bad time during the last days—and her wan face
showed the ravages of terror and futile remorse resulting from her
nightmare visions of ruin and distress.... And here was this
impertinent upstart detective, not seeming to grasp the position at
all....
With great dignity she recounted all that had happened, and although
she avoided idle recriminations, she repeated what her husband’s lawyer
had said.
“Ah, yes; quite so,” interposed the detective, smiling approval. “Good
... that all fits in admirably. It’s quite a pleasure to see how
logically this enthralling and well constructed drama is working itself
out.”
“A pleasure?” asked Valérie tonelessly.
“Certainly—a pleasure which my friend Inspector Béchoux must have
enjoyed—for I suppose he’s explained to you....”
“What?”
“What? Why, the key to the mystery, of course. Isn’t it priceless? Old
Béchoux must have rocked with mirth!”
Jim Barnett, at any rate, was laughing heartily.
“That washbasin trick now—there’s a novelty! It’s certainly farcical
rather than dramatic—but so adroitly worked in—of course I spotted the
dodge at once when you told me about the plumber, and saw the
connection between the repairing of the washbasin and the baron’s
little plans. That was the crux of the whole thing. When he planned the
substitution of the false necklace, your husband arranged a good
hiding-place for the real pearls; it was essential for his purpose.
Merely to deprive you of them and throw them or cause them to be thrown
into the Seine like worthless rubbish, would only have been half a
revenge. For it to be complete and on the grand scale he had to keep
them close at hand, hidden in a spot at once near and inaccessible. And
that’s what he did.”
Jim Barnett was thoroughly enjoying himself and went on jocularly:
“Can’t you imagine your husband explaining it all to the plumber? ‘See
here, my man, just examine that waste-pipe under my washbasin. It goes
down to the wainscoting and leaves the bathroom at an almost
imperceptible gradient, doesn’t it? Well, reduce that gradient still
more—take up the pipe in this dark corner, so as to form a sort of
pocket—a blind alley, where something could be lodged if necessary.
When the tap is turned on the water will fill the pocket and carry away
the object lodged there. You understand? Then drill a hole about half
an inch in diameter in the wall side of the pipe, where it won’t be
noticed. Yes—there! Done it? Now plug it up with this rubber stopper.
Does it fit? That’s all right then. Now, you understand, don’t you—not
a word to anyone! Keep your mouth shut. Take this and catch the
Brussels express to-night. These three checks you can cash there—one
every month. In three months’ time you may come back to Paris.
Good-bye. That’s all, thanks.’... And that very night you heard a noise
in your boudoir, the imitation pearls were substituted for the real
ones, and the latter secreted in the hiding-place prepared for them in
the pocket of the pipe. Now do you see? Believing that the end has
come, the baron calls out to you: ‘A glass of water—not from the
carafe—from the tap there.’ You obey. And the terrible punishment is
brought about by your own hand as it turns on the tap—the water runs,
carries away the pearls, and the baron stammers out: ‘Do you hear?
They’re trickling away—away!’”
The baronne listened in distracted silence. What impressed her most in
Burnett’s terrible story was not the full revelation of her husband’s
rancor and hatred, but the one fact which it hammered home.
“Then you knew the truth?” she murmured at last.
“Of course,” he replied, “it’s my job. The Barnett Agency, you see....”
“And you said nothing of this to me?” Her tone was an accusation.
“But, my dear baronne, it was you yourself who stopped me from telling
you what I knew, or was just about to discover. You dismissed
me—somewhat peremptorily, I fear—and not wishing to be thought
officious, I did not press the matter. Besides, I had still to verify
my deductions.”
“And have you done so?” she faltered.
“Yes. Just out of curiosity, that’s all.”
“When?”
“The same night.”
“What! You got into the house that night—into our rooms? I heard
nothing....”
“Oh, I’ve a little way of working on the quiet.... Even Baron Assermann
didn’t hear me. And yet....”
“What?...”
“Well, just to make sure, I enlarged that hole, you see ... the one
through which he had pushed the pearls into the pipe.”
She started.
“Then you saw them?...”
“I did.”
“My pearls were actually there?”
He nodded.
Valérie choked, as she repeated under her breath: “My pearls were there
in the pipe and you could have taken them?...”
“Yes,” he admitted nonchalantly, “and I really believe that but for me,
Jim Barnett, at your service, they would have dropped away as the baron
intended they should on the day of his death, which he knew was not far
off. What were his words: ‘They’re vanishing ... can’t you hear them?
... drops that trickle away...!’ And his plan of revenge would have
come off—too bad—such a beautiful necklace—quite a collector’s piece!”
Valérie was not given to violent explosions of wrath, likely to upset
her complexion. But at this point she was worked up to such a pitch
that she rushed up to Barnett and convulsively seized the collar of his
coat.
“It’s theft! You’re a common adventurer! I suspected it all along—a
crook!”
At the word “crook” the young man hooted with joy.
“I—a crook? How frightfully amusing!”
She took no notice. Shaking with passion, she rushed up and down the
room shrieking: “I won’t have it, I tell you. Give me back my pearls at
once or I’ll call the police!”
“Oh—how ugly that sounds,” he exclaimed, “and how tactless for a pretty
woman like yourself to behave like this to a man who has shown himself
assiduous in serving you and only wants to coöperate peaceably with you
for your good!”
She shrugged her shoulders and demanded again: “Will you give me my
necklace?”
“Of course! it’s absolutely at your disposal. Good heavens, do you
suppose that Jim Barnett robs the people who pay him the compliment of
seeking his help! What do you think would become of the Barnett Agency,
which owes its popularity to its reputation for absolute integrity and
disinterested service? I don’t ask my clients for a single penny. If I
kept your pearls I should be a thief—a crook, as you would say—whereas
I am an honest man. Here, dear lady, is your necklace.”
He produced a small cloth bag containing the rescued pearls and laid it
on the table.
Thunderstruck, Valérie seized the precious necklace with shaking hands.
She could hardly believe her eyes; it seemed incredible that this man
should restore her property in this way, and with a sudden fear lest he
was merely acting on a momentary impulse, she made abruptly for the
door without a word of thanks.
“You’re in rather a hurry all at once,” laughed Jim Barnett. “Aren’t
you going to count them? Three hundred and forty-five. They’re all