The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar
Danègre was trembling with fear, and yet he struggled desperately to
maintain an air of indifference.
“Is that all the evidence you have?”
“Oh! no, not at all. I have plenty more. For instance, after the crime,
you went out the same way you had entered. But, in the centre of the
wardrobe-room, being seized by some sudden fear, you leaned against the
wall for support.”
“How do you know that? No one could know such a thing,” argued the
desperate man.
“The police know nothing about it, of course. They never think of
lighting a candle and examining the walls. But if they had done so, they
would have found on the white plaster a faint red spot, quite distinct,
however, to trace in it the imprint of your thumb which you had pressed
against the wall while it was wet with blood. Now, as you are well
aware, under the Bertillon system, thumb-marks are one of the principal
means of identification.”
Victor Danègre was livid; great drops of perspiration rolled down his
face and fell upon the table. He gazed, with a wild look, at the strange
man who had narrated the story of his crime as faithfully as if he had
been an invisible witness to it. Overcome and powerless, Victor bowed
his head. He felt that it was useless to struggle against this marvelous
man. So he said:
“How much will you give me, if I give you the pearl?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh! you are joking! Or do you mean that I should give you an article
worth thousands and hundreds of thousands and get nothing in return?”
“You will get your life. Is that nothing?”
The unfortunate man shuddered. Then Grimaudan added, in a milder tone:
“Come, Danègre, that pearl has no value in your hands. It is quite
impossible for you to sell it; so what is the use of your keeping it?”
“There are pawnbrokers.... and, some day, I will be able to get something
for it.”
“But that day may be too late.”
“Why?”
“Because by that time you may be in the hands of the police, and,
with the evidence that I can furnish--the knife, the key, the
thumb-mark--what will become of you?”
Victor rested his head on his hands and reflected. He felt that he was
lost, irremediably lost, and, at the same time, a sense of weariness and
depression overcame him. He murmured, faintly:
“When must I give it to you?”
“To-night---within an hour.”
“If I refuse?”
“If you refuse, I shall post this letter to the Procureur of the
Republic; in which letter Mademoiselle de Sinclèves denounces you as the
assassin.”
Danègre poured out two glasses of wine which he drank in rapid
succession, then, rising, said:
“Pay the bill, and let us go. I have had enough of the cursed affair.”
Night had fallen. The two men walked down the rue Lepic and followed
the exterior boulevards in the direction of the Place de l’Etoile.
They pursued their way in silence; Victor had a stooping carriage and a
dejected face. When they reached the Parc Monceau, he said:
“We are near the house.”
“Parbleu! You only left the house once, before your arrest, and that was
to go to the tobacco-shop.”
“Here it is,” said Danègre, in a dull voice.
They passed along the garden wall of the countess’ house, and crossed a
street on a corner of which stood the tobacco-shop. A few steps further
on, Danègre stopped; his limbs shook beneath him, and he sank to a
bench.
“Well! what now?” demanded his companion.
“It is there.”
“Where? Come, now, no nonsense!”
“There--in front of us.”
“Where?”
“Between two paving-stones.”
“Which?”
“Look for it.”
“Which stones?”
Victor made no reply.
“Ah; I see!” exclaimed Grimaudan, “you want me to pay for the
information.”
“No.... but....I am afraid I will starve to death.”
“So! that is why you hesitate. Well, I’ll not be hard on you. How much
do you want?”
“Enough to buy a steerage pass to America.”
“All right.”
“And a hundred francs to keep me until I get work there.”
“You shall have two hundred. Now, speak.”
“Count the paving-stones to the right from the sewer-hole. The pearl is
between the twelfth and thirteenth.”
“In the gutter?”
“Yes, close to the sidewalk.”
Grimaudan glanced around to see if anyone were looking. Some tram-cars
and pedestrians were passing. But, bah, they will not suspect anything.
He opened his pocketknife and thrust it between the twelfth and
thirteenth stones.
“And if it is not there?” he said to Victor.
“It must be there, unless someone saw me stoop down and hide it.”
Could it be possible that the black pearl had been cast into the mud
and filth of the gutter to be picked up by the first comer? The black
pearl--a fortune!
“How far down?” he asked.
“About ten centimetres.”
He dug up the wet earth. The point of his knife struck something. He
enlarged the hole with his finger. Then he abstracted the black pearl
from its filthy hiding-place.
“Good! Here are your two hundred francs. I will send you the ticket for
America.”
On the following day, this article was published in the _Echo de
France_, and was copied by the leading newspapers throughout the world:
“Yesterday, the famous black pearl came into the possession of
Arsène Lupin, who recovered it from the murderer of the Countess
d’Andillot. In a short time, fac-similes of that precious jewel
will be exhibited in London, St. Petersburg, Calcutta, Buenos Ayres
and New York.
“Arsène Lupin will be pleased to consider all propositions
submitted to him through his agents.”
* * * * *
“And that is how crime is always punished and virtue rewarded,” said
Arsène Lupin, after he had told me the foregoing history of the black
pearl.
“And that is how you, under the assumed name of Grimaudan, ex-inspector
of detectives, were chosen by fate to deprive the criminal of the
benefit of his crime.”
“Exactly. And I confess that the affair gives me infinite satisfaction
and pride. The forty minutes that I passed in the apartment of the
Countess d’Andillot, after learning of her death, were the most
thrilling and absorbing moments of my life. In those forty minutes,
involved as I was in a most dangerous plight, I calmly studied the scene
of the murder and reached the conclusion that the crime must have been
committed by one of the house servants. I also decided that, in order
to get the pearl, that servant must be arrested, and so I left the
wainscoat button; it was necessary, also, for me to hold some convincing
evidence of his guilt, so I carried away the knife which I found upon
the floor, and the key which I found in the lock. I closed and
locked the door, and erased the finger-marks from the plaster in the
wardrobe-closet. In my opinion, that was one of those flashes--”
“Of genius,” I said, interrupting.
“Of genius, if you wish. But, I flatter myself, it would not have
occurred to the average mortal. To frame, instantly, the two elements of
the problem--an arrest and an acquittal; to make use of the formidable
machinery of the law to crush and humble my victim, and reduce him to a
condition in which, when free, he would be certain to fall into the trap
I was laying for him!”
“Poor devil--”
“Poor devil, do you say? Victor Danègre, the assassin! He might have
descended to the lowest depths of vice and crime, if he had retained the
black pearl. Now, he lives! Think of that: Victor Danègre is alive!”
“And you have the black pearl.”
He took it out of one of the secret pockets of his wallet, examined it,
gazed at it tenderly, and caressed it with loving fingers, and sighed,
as he said:
“What cold Russian prince, what vain and foolish rajah may some day
possess this priceless treasure! Or, perhaps, some American millionaire
is destined to become the owner of this morsel of exquisite beauty that
once adorned the fair bosom of Leontine Zalti, the Countess d’Andillot.”
IX. Sherlock Holmes Arrives Too Late
“It is really remarkable, Velmont, what a close resemblance you bear to
Arsène Lupin!”
“How do you know?”
“Oh! like everyone else, from photographs, no two of which are alike,
but each of them leaves the impression of a face.... something like
yours.”
Horace Velmont displayed some vexation.
“Quite so, my dear Devanne. And, believe me, you are not the first one
who has noticed it.”
“It is so striking,” persisted Devanne, “that if you had not been
recommended to me by my cousin d’Estevan, and if you were not the
celebrated artist whose beautiful marine views I so admire, I have no
doubt I should have warned the police of your presence in Dieppe.”
This sally was greeted with an outburst of laughter. The large
dining-hall of the Château de Thibermesnil contained on this occasion,
besides Velmont, the following guests: Father Gélis, the parish priest,
and a dozen officers whose regiments were quartered in the vicinity and
who had accepted the invitation of the banker Georges Devanne and his
mother. One of the officers then remarked:
“I understand that an exact description of Arsène Lupin has been
furnished to all the police along this coast since his daring exploit on
the Paris-Havre express.”
“I suppose so,” said Devanne. “That was three months ago; and a week
later, I made the acquaintance of our friend Velmont at the casino, and,
since then, he has honored me with several visits--an agreeable preamble
to a more serious visit that he will pay me one of these days--or,
rather, one of these nights.”
This speech evoked another round of laughter, and the guests then passed
into the ancient “Hall of the Guards,” a vast room with a high ceiling,
which occupied the entire lower part of the Tour Guillaume--William’s
Tower--and wherein Georges Devanne had collected the incomparable
treasures which the lords of Thibermesnil had accumulated through
many centuries. It contained ancient chests, credences, andirons and
chandeliers. The stone walls were overhung with magnificent tapestries.
The deep embrasures of the four windows were furnished with benches, and
the Gothic windows were composed of small panes of colored glass set
in a leaden frame. Between the door and the window to the left stood
an immense bookcase of Renaissance style, on the pediment of which, in
letters of gold, was the word “Thibermesnil,” and, below it, the proud
family device: “Fais ce que veulx” (Do what thou wishest). When the
guests had lighted their cigars, Devanne resumed the conversation.
“And remember, Velmont, you have no time to lose; in fact, to-night is
the last chance you will have.”
“How so?” asked the painter, who appeared to regard the affair as a
joke. Devanne was about to reply, when his mother mentioned to him to
keep silent, but the excitement of the occasion and a desire to interest
his guests urged him to speak.
“Bah!” he murmured. “I can tell it now. It won’t do any harm.”
The guests drew closer, and he commenced to speak with the satisfied air
of a man who has an important announcement to make.
“To-morrow afternoon at four o’clock, Sherlock Holmes, the famous
English detective, for whom such a thing as mystery does not exist;
Sherlock Holmes, the most remarkable solver of enigmas the world has
ever known, that marvelous man who would seem to be the creation of a
romantic novelist--Sherlock Holmes will be my guest!”
Immediately, Devanne was the target of numerous eager questions. “Is
Sherlock Holmes really coming?” “Is it so serious as that?” “Is Arsène
Lupin really in this neighborhood?”
“Arsène Lupin and his band are not far away. Besides the robbery of the
Baron Cahorn, he is credited with the thefts at Montigny, Gruchet and
Crasville. And now it is my turn.”
“Has he sent you a warning, as he did to Baron Cahorn?”
“No,” replied Devanne, “he can’t work the same trick twice.”
“What then?”
“I will show you.”