The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar
“A woman was looking at me, Ganimard, and I loved her. Do you fully
understand what that means: to be under the eyes of a woman that one
loves? I cared for nothing in the world but that. And that is why I am
here.”
“Permit me to say: you have been here a long time.”
“In the first place, I wished to forget. Do not laugh; it was a
delightful adventure and it is still a tender memory. Besides, I have
been suffering from neurasthenia. Life is so feverish these days that it
is necessary to take the ‘rest cure’ occasionally, and I find this spot
a sovereign remedy for my tired nerves.”
“Arsène Lupin, you are not a bad fellow, after all.”
“Thank you,” said Lupin. “Ganimard, this is Friday. On Wednesday next,
at four o’clock in the afternoon, I will smoke my cigar at your house in
the rue Pergolese.”
“Arsène Lupin, I will expect you.”
They shook hands like two old friends who valued each other at their
true worth; then the detective stepped to the door.
“Ganimard!”
“What is it?” asked Ganimard, as he turned back.
“You have forgotten your watch.”
“My watch?”
“Yes, it strayed into my pocket.”
He returned the watch, excusing himself.
“Pardon me.... a bad habit. Because they have taken mine is no reason why
I should take yours. Besides, I have a chronometer here that satisfies
me fairly well.”
He took from the drawer a large gold watch and heavy chain.
“From whose pocket did that come?” asked Ganimard.
Arsène Lupin gave a hasty glance at the initials engraved on the watch.
“J.B.....Who the devil can that be?....Ah! yes, I remember. Jules
Bouvier, the judge who conducted my examination. A charming fellow!....”
III. The Escape of Arsène Lupin
Arsène Lupin had just finished his repast and taken from his pocket an
excellent cigar, with a gold band, which he was examining with unusual
care, when the door of his cell was opened. He had barely time to
throw the cigar into the drawer and move away from the table. The guard
entered. It was the hour for exercise.
“I was waiting for you, my dear boy,” exclaimed Lupin, in his accustomed
good humor.
They went out together. As soon as they had disappeared at a turn in the
corridor, two men entered the cell and commenced a minute examination
of it. One was Inspector Dieuzy; the other was Inspector Folenfant. They
wished to verify their suspicion that Arsène Lupin was in communication
with his accomplices outside of the prison. On the preceding evening,
the ‘Grand Journal’ had published these lines addressed to its court
reporter:
“Monsieur:
“In a recent article you referred to me in most unjustifiable
terms. Some days before the opening of my trial I will call you to
account. Arsène Lupin.”
The handwriting was certainly that of Arsène Lupin. Consequently, he
sent letters; and, no doubt, received letters. It was certain that he
was preparing for that escape thus arrogantly announced by him.
The situation had become intolerable. Acting in conjunction with the
examining judge, the chief of the Sûreté, Mon. Dudouis, had visited the
prison and instructed the gaoler in regard to the precautions necessary
to insure Lupin’s safety. At the same time, he sent the two men to
examine the prisoner’s cell. They raised every stone, ransacked the bed,
did everything customary in such a case, but they discovered nothing,
and were about to abandon their investigation when the guard entered
hastily and said:
“The drawer.... look in the table-drawer. When I entered just now he was
closing it.”
They opened the drawer, and Dieuzy exclaimed:
“Ah! we have him this time.”
Folenfant stopped him.
“Wait a moment. The chief will want to make an inventory.”
“This is a very choice cigar.”
“Leave it there, and notify the chief.”
Two minutes later Mon. Dudouis examined the contents of the drawer.
First he discovered a bundle of newspaper clippings relating to Arsène
Lupin taken from the _Argus de la Presse_, then a tobacco-box, a pipe,
some paper called “onion-peel,” and two books. He read the titles of the
books. One was an English edition of Carlyle’s “Hero-worship”; the other
was a charming elzevir, in modern binding, the “Manual of Epictetus,” a
German translation published at Leyden in 1634. On examining the books,
he found that all the pages were underlined and annotated. Were they
prepared as a code for correspondence, or did they simply express the
studious character of the reader? Then he examined the tobacco-box and
the pipe. Finally, he took up the famous cigar with its gold band.
“Fichtre!” he exclaimed. “Our friend smokes a good cigar. It’s a Henry
Clay.”
With the mechanical action of an habitual smoker, he placed the cigar
close to his ear and squeezed it to make it crack. Immediately he
uttered a cry of surprise. The cigar had yielded under the pressure
of his fingers. He examined it more closely, and quickly discovered
something white between the leaves of tobacco. Delicately, with the aid
of a pin, he withdrew a roll of very thin paper, scarcely larger than
a toothpick. It was a letter. He unrolled it, and found these words,
written in a feminine handwriting:
“The basket has taken the place of the others. Eight out of ten are
ready. On pressing the outer foot the plate goes downward. From twelve
to sixteen every day, H-P will wait. But where? Reply at once. Rest
easy; your friend is watching over you.”
Mon. Dudouis reflected a moment, then said:
“It is quite clear.... the basket.... the eight compartments.... From
twelve to sixteen means from twelve to four o’clock.”
“But this H-P, that will wait?”
“H-P must mean automobile. H-P, horsepower, is the way they indicate
strength of the motor. A twenty-four H-P is an automobile of twenty-four
horsepower.”
Then he rose, and asked:
“Had the prisoner finished his breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“And as he has not yet read the message, which is proved by the
condition of the cigar, it is probable that he had just received it.”
“How?”
“In his food. Concealed in his bread or in a potato, perhaps.”
“Impossible. His food was allowed to be brought in simply to trap him,
but we have never found anything in it.”
“We will look for Lupin’s reply this evening. Detain him outside for a
few minutes. I shall take this to the examining judge, and, if he agrees
with me, we will have the letter photographed at once, and in an hour
you can replace the letter in the drawer in a cigar similar to this. The
prisoner must have no cause for suspicion.”
It was not without a certain curiosity that Mon. Dudouis returned to
the prison in the evening, accompanied by Inspector Dieuzy. Three empty
plates were sitting on the stove in the corner.
“He has eaten?”
“Yes,” replied the guard.
“Dieuzy, please cut that macaroni into very small pieces, and open that
bread-roll....Nothing?”
“No, chief.”
Mon. Dudouis examined the plates, the fork, the spoon, and the knife--an
ordinary knife with a rounded blade. He turned the handle to the left;
then to the right. It yielded and unscrewed. The knife was hollow, and
served as a hiding-place for a sheet of paper.
“Peuh!” he said, “that is not very clever for a man like Arsène. But we
mustn’t lose any time. You, Dieuzy, go and search the restaurant.”
Then he read the note:
“I trust to you, H-P will follow at a distance every day. I will go
ahead. Au revoir, dear friend.”
“At last,” cried Mon. Dudouis, rubbing his hands gleefully, “I think we
have the affair in our own hands. A little strategy on our part, and the
escape will be a success in so far as the arrest of his confederates are
concerned.”
“But if Arsène Lupin slips through your fingers?” suggested the guard.
“We will have a sufficient number of men to prevent that. If, however,
he displays too much cleverness, ma foi, so much the worse for him! As
to his band of robbers, since the chief refuses to speak, the others
must.”
* * * * *
And, as a matter of fact, Arsène Lupin had very little to say. For
several months, Mon. Jules Bouvier, the examining judge, had
exerted himself in vain. The investigation had been reduced to a few
uninteresting arguments between the judge and the advocate, Maître
Danval, one of the leaders of the bar. From time to time, through
courtesy, Arsène Lupin would speak. One day he said:
“Yes, monsieur, le judge, I quite agree with you: the robbery of the
Crédit Lyonnais, the theft in the rue de Babylone, the issue of
the counterfeit bank-notes, the burglaries at the various châteaux,
Armesnil, Gouret, Imblevain, Groseillers, Malaquis, all my work,
monsieur, I did it all.”
“Then will you explain to me---”
“It is useless. I confess everything in a lump, everything and even ten
times more than you know nothing about.”
Wearied by his fruitless task, the judge had suspended his examinations,
but he resumed them after the two intercepted messages were brought to
his attention; and regularly, at mid-day, Arsène Lupin was taken from
the prison to the Dépôt in the prison-van with a certain number of other
prisoners. They returned about three or four o’clock.
Now, one afternoon, this return trip was made under unusual conditions.
The other prisoners not having been examined, it was decided to take
back Arsène Lupin first, thus he found himself alone in the vehicle.
These prison-vans, vulgarly called “panniers à salade”--or
salad-baskets--are divided lengthwise by a central corridor from which
open ten compartments, five on either side. Each compartment is so
arranged that the occupant must assume and retain a sitting posture,
and, consequently, the five prisoners are seated one upon the other,
and yet separated one from the other by partitions. A municipal guard,
standing at one end, watches over the corridor.
Arsène was placed in the third cell on the right, and the heavy vehicle
started. He carefully calculated when they left the quai de l’Horloge,
and when they passed the Palais de Justice. Then, about the centre of
the bridge Saint Michel, with his outer foot, that is to say, his right
foot, he pressed upon the metal plate that closed his cell. Immediately
something clicked, and the metal plate moved. He was able to ascertain
that he was located between the two wheels.
He waited, keeping a sharp look-out. The vehicle was proceeding slowly
along the boulevard Saint Michel. At the corner of Saint Germain it
stopped. A truck horse had fallen. The traffic having been interrupted,
a vast throng of fiacres and omnibuses had gathered there. Arsène Lupin
looked out. Another prison-van had stopped close to the one he occupied.
He moved the plate still farther, put his foot on one of the spokes
of the wheel and leaped to the ground. A coachman saw him, roared with
laughter, then tried to raise an outcry, but his voice was lost in the
noise of the traffic that had commenced to move again. Moreover, Arsène
Lupin was already far away.
He had run for a few steps; but, once upon the sidewalk, he turned
and looked around; he seemed to scent the wind like a person who is
uncertain which direction to take. Then, having decided, he put his
hands in his pockets, and, with the careless air of an idle stroller,
he proceeded up the boulevard. It was a warm, bright autumn day, and
the cafés were full. He took a seat on the terrace of one of them. He
ordered a bock and a package of cigarettes. He emptied his glass slowly,
smoked one cigarette and lighted a second. Then he asked the waiter to
send the proprietor to him. When the proprietor came, Arsène spoke to
him in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone:
“I regret to say, monsieur, I have forgotten my pocketbook. Perhaps, on
the strength of my name, you will be pleased to give me credit for a few
days. I am Arsène Lupin.”