The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar
He rose, and pointing to a small empty space between the two enormous
folios on one of the shelves of the bookcase, he said:
“There used to be a book there--a book of the sixteenth century entitled
‘Chronique de Thibermesnil,’ which contained the history of the castle
since its construction by Duke Rollo on the site of a former feudal
fortress. There were three engraved plates in the book; one of which was
a general view of the whole estate; another, the plan of the buildings;
and the third--I call your attention to it, particularly--the third was
the sketch of a subterranean passage, an entrance to which is outside
the first line of ramparts, while the other end of the passage is here,
in this very room. Well, that book disappeared a month ago.”
“The deuce!” said Velmont, “that looks bad. But it doesn’t seem to be a
sufficient reason for sending for Sherlock Holmes.”
“Certainly, that was not sufficient in itself, but another incident
happened that gives the disappearance of the book a special
significance. There was another copy of this book in the National
Library at Paris, and the two books differed in certain details relating
to the subterranean passage; for instance, each of them contained
drawings and annotations, not printed, but written in ink and more or
less effaced. I knew those facts, and I knew that the exact location of
the passage could be determined only by a comparison of the two books.
Now, the day after my book disappeared, the book was called for in the
National Library by a reader who carried it away, and no one knows how
the theft was effected.”
The guests uttered many exclamations of surprise.
“Certainly, the affair looks serious,” said one.
“Well, the police investigated the matter, and, as usual, discovered no
clue whatever.”
“They never do, when Arsène Lupin is concerned in it.”
“Exactly; and so I decided to ask the assistance of Sherlock Holmes,
who replied that he was ready and anxious to enter the lists with Arsène
Lupin.”
“What glory for Arsène Lupin!” said Velmont. “But if our national thief,
as they call him, has no evil designs on your castle, Sherlock Holmes
will have his trip in vain.”
“There are other things that will interest him, such as the discovery of
the subterranean passage.”
“But you told us that one end of the passage was outside the ramparts
and the other was in this very room!”
“Yes, but in what part of the room? The line which represents the
passage on the charts ends here, with a small circle marked with the
letters ‘T.G.,’ which no doubt stand for ‘Tour Guillaume.’ But the tower
is round, and who can tell the exact spot at which the passage touches
the tower?”
Devanne lighted a second cigar and poured himself a glass of
Benedictine. His guests pressed him with questions and he was pleased to
observe the interest that his remarks had created. Then he continued:
“The secret is lost. No one knows it. The legend is to the effect that
the former lords of the castle transmitted the secret from father to son
on their deathbeds, until Geoffroy, the last of the race, was beheaded
during the Revolution in his nineteenth year.”
“That is over a century ago. Surely, someone has looked for it since
that time?”
“Yes, but they failed to find it. After I purchased the castle, I made a
diligent search for it, but without success. You must remember that this
tower is surrounded by water and connected with the castle only by a
bridge; consequently, the passage must be underneath the old moat. The
plan that was in the book in the National Library showed a series of
stairs with a total of forty-eight steps, which indicates a depth of
more than ten meters. You see, the mystery lies within the walls of this
room, and yet I dislike to tear them down.”
“Is there nothing to show where it is?”
“Nothing.”
“Mon. Devanne, we should turn our attention to the two quotations,”
suggested Father Gélis.
“Oh!” exclaimed Mon. Devanne, laughing, “our worthy father is fond
of reading memoirs and delving into the musty archives of the castle.
Everything relating to Thibermesnil interests him greatly. But the
quotations that he mentions only serve to complicate the mystery. He
has read somewhere that two kings of France have known the key to the
puzzle.”
“Two kings of France! Who were they?”
“Henry the Fourth and Louis the Sixteenth. And the legend runs like
this: On the eve of the battle of Arques, Henry the Fourth spent the
night in this castle. At eleven o’clock in the evening, Louise de
Tancarville, the prettiest woman in Normandy, was brought into the
castle through the subterranean passage by Duke Edgard, who, at the
same time, informed the king of the secret passage. Afterward, the king
confided the secret to his minister Sully, who, in turn, relates the
story in his book, “Royales Economies d’Etat,” without making any
comment upon it, but linking with it this incomprehensible sentence:
‘Turn one eye on the bee that shakes, the other eye will lead to God!’”
After a brief silence, Velmont laughed and said:
“Certainly, it doesn’t throw a dazzling light upon the subject.”
“No; but Father Gélis claims that Sully concealed the key to the
mystery in this strange sentence in order to keep the secret from the
secretaries to whom he dictated his memoirs.”
“That is an ingenious theory,” said Velmont.
“Yes, and it may be nothing more; I cannot see that it throws any light
on the mysterious riddle.”
“And was it also to receive the visit of a lady that Louis the Sixteenth
caused the passage to be opened?”
“I don’t know,” said Mon. Devanne. “All I can say is that the king
stopped here one night in 1784, and that the famous Iron Casket found
in the Louvre contained a paper bearing these words in the king’s own
writing: ‘Thibermesnil 3-4-11.’”
Horace Velmont laughed heartily, and exclaimed:
“At last! And now that we have the magic key, where is the man who can
fit it to the invisible lock?”
“Laugh as much as you please, monsieur,” said Father Gélis, “but I am
confident the solution is contained in those two sentences, and some day
we will find a man able to interpret them.”
“Sherlock Holmes is the man,” said Mon. Devanne, “unless Arsène Lupin
gets ahead of him. What is your opinion, Velmont?”
Velmont arose, placed his hand on Devanne’s shoulder, and declared:
“I think that the information furnished by your book and the book of the
National Library was deficient in a very important detail which you have
now supplied. I thank you for it.”
“What is it?”
“The missing key. Now that I have it, I can go to work at once,” said
Velmont.
“Of course; without losing a minute,” said Devanne, smiling.
“Not even a second!” replied Velmont. “To-night, before the arrival of
Sherlock Holmes, I must plunder your castle.”
“You have no time to lose. Oh! by the way, I can drive you over this
evening.”
“To Dieppe?”
“Yes. I am going to meet Monsieur and Madame d’Androl and a young lady
of their acquaintance who are to arrive by the midnight train.”
Then addressing the officers, Devanne added:
“Gentlemen, I shall expect to see all of you at breakfast to-morrow.”
The invitation was accepted. The company dispersed, and a few moments
later Devanne and Velmont were speeding toward Dieppe in an automobile.
Devanne dropped the artist in front of the Casino, and proceeded to the
railway station. At twelve o’clock his friends alighted from the train.
A half hour later the automobile was at the entrance to the castle.
At one o’clock, after a light supper, they retired. The lights were
extinguished, and the castle was enveloped in the darkness and silence
of the night.
* * * * *
The moon appeared through a rift in the clouds, and filled the
drawing-room with its bright white light. But only for a moment. Then
the moon again retired behind its ethereal draperies, and darkness and
silence reigned supreme. No sound could be heard, save the monotonous
ticking of the clock. It struck two, and then continued its endless
repetitions of the seconds. Then, three o’clock.
Suddenly, something clicked, like the opening and closing of a
signal-disc that warns the passing train. A thin stream of light flashed
to every corner of the room, like an arrow that leaves behind it a
trail of light. It shot forth from the central fluting of a column that
supported the pediment of the bookcase. It rested for a moment on
the panel opposite like a glittering circle of burnished silver, then
flashed in all directions like a guilty eye that scrutinizes every
shadow. It disappeared for a short time, but burst forth again as a
whole section of the bookcase revolved on a pivot and disclosed a large
opening like a vault.
A man entered, carrying an electric lantern. He was followed by a second
man, who carried a coil of rope and various tools. The leader inspected
the room, listened a moment, and said:
“Call the others.”
Then eight men, stout fellows with resolute faces, entered the room,
and immediately commenced to remove the furnishings. Arsène Lupin passed
quickly from one piece of furniture to another, examined each, and,
according to its size or artistic value, he directed his men to take it
or leave it. If ordered to be taken, it was carried to the gaping mouth
of the tunnel, and ruthlessly thrust into the bowels of the earth. Such
was the fate of six armchairs, six small Louis XV chairs, a quantity
of Aubusson tapestries, some candelabra, paintings by Fragonard and
Nattier, a bust by Houdon, and some statuettes. Sometimes, Lupin would
linger before a beautiful chest or a superb picture, and sigh:
“That is too heavy.... too large.... what a pity!”
In forty minutes the room was dismantled; and it had been accomplished
in such an orderly manner and with as little noise as if the various
articles had been packed and wadded for the occasion.
Lupin said to the last man who departed by way of the tunnel:
“You need not come back. You understand, that as soon as the auto-van is
loaded, you are to proceed to the grange at Roquefort.”
“But you, patron?”
“Leave me the motor-cycle.”
When the man had disappeared, Arsène Lupin pushed the section of the
bookcase back into its place, carefully effaced the traces of the men’s
footsteps, raised a portière, and entered a gallery, which was the only
means of communication between the tower and the castle. In the center
of this gallery there was a glass cabinet which had attracted Lupin’s
attentions. It contained a valuable collection of watches, snuff-boxes,
rings, chatelaines and miniatures of rare and beautiful workmanship. He
forced the lock with a small jimmy, and experienced a great pleasure in
handling those gold and silver ornaments, those exquisite and delicate
works of art.
He carried a large linen bag, specially prepared for the removal of
such knick-knacks. He filled it. Then he filled the pockets of his coat,
waistcoat and trousers. And he was just placing over his left arm a
number of pearl reticules when he heard a slight sound. He listened. No,
he was not deceived. The noise continued. Then he remembered that, at
one end of the gallery, there was a stairway leading to an unoccupied
apartment, but which was probably occupied that night by the young lady
whom Mon. Devanne had brought from Dieppe with his other visitors.
Immediately he extinguished his lantern, and had scarcely gained the
friendly shelter of a window-embrasure, when the door at the top of the
stairway was opened and a feeble light illuminated the gallery. He could
feel--for, concealed by a curtain, he could not see--that a woman was
cautiously descending the upper steps of the stairs. He hoped she would
come no closer. Yet, she continued to descend, and even advanced some