The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar
distance into the room. Then she uttered a faint cry. No doubt she had
discovered the broken and dismantled cabinet.
She advanced again. Now he could smell the perfume, and hear the
throbbing of her heart as she drew closer to the window where he was
concealed. She passed so close that her skirt brushed against the
window-curtain, and Lupin felt that she suspected the presence of
another, behind her, in the shadow, within reach of her hand. He
thought: “She is afraid. She will go away.” But she did not go. The
candle, that she carried in her trembling hand, grew brighter. She
turned, hesitated a moment, appeared to listen, then suddenly drew aside
the curtain.
They stood face to face. Arsène was astounded. He murmured,
involuntarily:
“You--you--mademoiselle.”
It was Miss Nelly. Miss Nelly! his fellow passenger on the transatlantic
steamer, who had been the subject of his dreams on that memorable
voyage, who had been a witness to his arrest, and who, rather than
betray him, had dropped into the water the Kodak in which he had
concealed the bank-notes and diamonds. Miss Nelly! that charming
creature, the memory of whose face had sometimes cheered, sometimes
saddened the long hours of imprisonment.
It was such an unexpected encounter that brought them face to face in
that castle at that hour of the night, that they could not move,
nor utter a word; they were amazed, hypnotized, each at the sudden
apparition of the other. Trembling with emotion, Miss Nelly staggered to
a seat. He remained standing in front of her.
Gradually, he realized the situation and conceived the impression he
must have produced at that moment with his arms laden with knick-knacks,
and his pockets and a linen sack overflowing with plunder. He was
overcome with confusion, and he actually blushed to find himself in
the position of a thief caught in the act. To her, henceforth, he was
a thief, a man who puts his hand in another’s pocket, who steals into
houses and robs people while they sleep.
A watch fell upon the floor; then another. These were followed by other
articles which slipped from his grasp one by one. Then, actuated by a
sudden decision, he dropped the other articles into an armchair, emptied
his pockets and unpacked his sack. He felt very uncomfortable in Nelly’s
presence, and stepped toward her with the intention of speaking to her,
but she shuddered, rose quickly and fled toward the salon. The portière
closed behind her. He followed her. She was standing trembling and
amazed at the sight of the devastated room. He said to her, at once:
“To-morrow, at three o’clock, everything will be returned. The furniture
will be brought back.”
She made no reply, so he repeated:
“I promise it. To-morrow, at three o’clock. Nothing in the world could
induce me to break that promise....To-morrow, at three o’clock.”
Then followed a long silence that he dared not break, whilst the
agitation of the young girl caused him a feeling of genuine regret.
Quietly, without a word, he turned away, thinking: “I hope she will go
away. I can’t endure her presence.” But the young girl suddenly spoke,
and stammered:
“Listen.... footsteps....I hear someone....”
He looked at her with astonishment. She seemed to be overwhelmed by the
thought of approaching peril.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“But you must go--you must escape!”
“Why should I go?”
“Because--you must. Oh! do not remain here another minute. Go!”
She ran, quickly, to the door leading to the gallery and listened. No,
there was no one there. Perhaps the noise was outside. She waited a
moment, then returned reassured.
But Arsène Lupin had disappeared.
* * * * *
As soon as Mon. Devanne was informed of the pillage of his castle, he
said to himself: It was Velmont who did it, and Velmont is Arsène Lupin.
That theory explained everything, and there was no other plausible
explanation. And yet the idea seemed preposterous. It was ridiculous to
suppose that Velmont was anyone else than Velmont, the famous artist,
and club-fellow of his cousin d’Estevan. So, when the captain of the
gendarmes arrived to investigate the affair, Devanne did not even think
of mentioning his absurd theory.
Throughout the forenoon there was a lively commotion at the castle.
The gendarmes, the local police, the chief of police from Dieppe, the
villagers, all circulated to and fro in the halls, examining every
nook and corner that was open to their inspection. The approach of the
maneuvering troops, the rattling fire of the musketry, added to the
picturesque character of the scene.
The preliminary search furnished no clue. Neither the doors nor windows
showed any signs of having been disturbed. Consequently, the removal of
the goods must have been effected by means of the secret passage. Yet,
there were no indications of footsteps on the floor, nor any unusual
marks upon the walls.
Their investigations revealed, however, one curious fact that denoted
the whimsical character of Arsène Lupin: the famous Chronique of the
sixteenth century had been restored to its accustomed place in the
library and, beside it, there was a similar book, which was none other
than the volume stolen from the National Library.
At eleven o’clock the military officers arrived. Devanne welcomed them
with his usual gayety; for, no matter how much chagrin he might suffer
from the loss of his artistic treasures, his great wealth enabled him to
bear his loss philosophically. His guests, Monsieur and Madame d’Androl
and Miss Nelly, were introduced; and it was then noticed that one of the
expected guests had not arrived. It was Horace Velmont. Would he come?
His absence had awakened the suspicions of Mon. Devanne. But at twelve
o’clock he arrived. Devanne exclaimed:
“Ah! here you are!”
“Why, am I not punctual?” asked Velmont.
“Yes, and I am surprised that you are.... after such a busy night! I
suppose you know the news?”
“What news?”
“You have robbed the castle.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Velmont, smiling.
“Exactly as I predicted. But, first escort Miss Underdown to the
dining-room. Mademoiselle, allow me--”
He stopped, as he remarked the extreme agitation of the young girl.
Then, recalling the incident, he said:
“Ah! of course, you met Arsène Lupin on the steamer, before his arrest,
and you are astonished at the resemblance. Is that it?”
She did not reply. Velmont stood before her, smiling. He bowed. She
took his proffered arm. He escorted her to her place, and took his seat
opposite her. During the breakfast, the conversation related exclusively
to Arsène Lupin, the stolen goods, the secret passage, and Sherlock
Holmes. It was only at the close of the repast, when the conversation
had drifted to other subjects, that Velmont took any part in it. Then
he was, by turns, amusing and grave, talkative and pensive. And all
his remarks seemed to be directed to the young girl. But she, quite
absorbed, did not appear to hear them.
Coffee was served on the terrace overlooking the court of honor and
the flower garden in front of the principal façade. The regimental band
played on the lawn, and scores of soldiers and peasants wandered through
the park.
Miss Nelly had not forgotten, for one moment, Lupin’s solemn promise:
“To-morrow, at three o’clock, everything will be returned.”
At three o’clock! And the hands of the great clock in the right wing of
the castle now marked twenty minutes to three. In spite of herself, her
eyes wandered to the clock every minute. She also watched Velmont, who
was calmly swinging to and fro in a comfortable rocking chair.
Ten minutes to three!....Five minutes to three!....Nelly was impatient
and anxious. Was it possible that Arsène Lupin would carry out his
promise at the appointed hour, when the castle, the courtyard, and the
park were filled with people, and at the very moment when the officers
of the law were pursuing their investigations? And yet....Arsène Lupin
had given her his solemn promise. “It will be exactly as he said,”
thought she, so deeply was she impressed with the authority, energy and
assurance of that remarkable man. To her, it no longer assumed the form
of a miracle, but, on the contrary, a natural incident that must occur
in the ordinary course of events. She blushed, and turned her head.
Three o’clock! The great clock struck slowly:
one.... two.... three....Horace Velmont took out his watch, glanced at the
clock, then returned the watch to his pocket. A few seconds passed in
silence; and then the crowd in the courtyard parted to give passage
to two wagons, that had just entered the park-gate, each drawn by two
horses. They were army-wagons, such as are used for the transportation
of provisions, tents, and other necessary military stores. They stopped
in front of the main entrance, and a commissary-sergeant leaped from
one of the wagons and inquired for Mon. Devanne. A moment later, that
gentleman emerged from the house, descended the steps, and, under
the canvas covers of the wagons, beheld his furniture, pictures and
ornaments carefully packaged and arranged.
When questioned, the sergeant produced an order that he had received
from the officer of the day. By that order, the second company of the
fourth battalion were commanded to proceed to the crossroads of Halleux
in the forest of Arques, gather up the furniture and other articles
deposited there, and deliver same to Monsieur Georges Devanne, owner of
the Thibermesnil castle, at three o’clock. Signed: Col. Beauvel.
“At the crossroads,” explained the sergeant, “we found everything ready,
lying on the grass, guarded by some passers-by. It seemed very strange,
but the order was imperative.”
One of the officers examined the signature. He declared it a forgery;
but a clever imitation. The wagons were unloaded, and the goods restored
to their proper places in the castle.
During this commotion, Nelly had remained alone at the extreme end of
the terrace, absorbed by confused and distracted thoughts. Suddenly, she
observed Velmont approaching her. She would have avoided him, but the
balustrade that surrounded the terrace cut off her retreat. She was
cornered. She could not move. A gleam of sunshine, passing through the
scant foliage of a bamboo, lighted up her beautiful golden hair. Some
one spoke to her in a low voice:
“Have I not kept my promise?”
Arsène Lupin stood close to her. No one else was near. He repeated, in a
calm, soft voice:
“Have I not kept my promise?”
He expected a word of thanks, or at least some slight movement that
would betray her interest in the fulfillment of his promise. But she
remained silent.
Her scornful attitude annoyed Arsène Lupin; and he realized the vast
distance that separated him from Miss Nelly, now that she had learned
the truth. He would gladly have justified himself in her eyes, or at
least pleaded extenuating circumstances, but he perceived the absurdity
and futility of such an attempt. Finally, dominated by a surging flood
of memories, he murmured:
“Ah! how long ago that was! You remember the long hours on the deck of
the ‘Provence.’ Then, you carried a rose in your hand, a white rose like
the one you carry to-day. I asked you for it. You pretended you did
not hear me. After you had gone away, I found the rose--forgotten, no
doubt--and I kept it.”
She made no reply. She seemed to be far away. He continued:
“In memory of those happy hours, forget what you have learned since.
Separate the past from the present. Do not regard me as the man you saw
last night, but look at me, if only for a moment, as you did in those
far-off days when I was Bernard d’Andrezy, for a short time. Will you,
please?”
She raised her eyes and looked at him as he had requested. Then, without