The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar
The proprietor looked at him, thinking he was joking. But Arsène
repeated:
“Lupin, prisoner at the Santé, but now a fugitive. I venture to assume
that the name inspires you with perfect confidence in me.”
And he walked away, amidst shouts of laughter, whilst the proprietor
stood amazed.
Lupin strolled along the rue Soufflot, and turned into the rue Saint
Jacques. He pursued his way slowly, smoking his cigarettes and looking
into the shop-windows. At the Boulevard de Port Royal he took his
bearings, discovered where he was, and then walked in the direction of
the rue de la Santé. The high forbidding walls of the prison were
now before him. He pulled his hat forward to shade his face; then,
approaching the sentinel, he asked:
“Is this the prison de la Santé?”
“Yes.”
“I wish to regain my cell. The van left me on the way, and I would not
abuse--”
“Now, young man, move along--quick!” growled the sentinel.
“Pardon me, but I must pass through that gate. And if you prevent Arsène
Lupin from entering the prison it will cost you dear, my friend.”
“Arsène Lupin! What are you talking about!”
“I am sorry I haven’t a card with me,” said Arsène, fumbling in his
pockets.
The sentinel eyed him from head to foot, in astonishment. Then, without
a word, he rang a bell. The iron gate was partly opened, and Arsène
stepped inside. Almost immediately he encountered the keeper of the
prison, gesticulating and feigning a violent anger. Arsène smiled and
said:
“Come, monsieur, don’t play that game with me. What! they take
the precaution to carry me alone in the van, prepare a nice little
obstruction, and imagine I am going to take to my heels and rejoin
my friends. Well, and what about the twenty agents of the Sûreté who
accompanied us on foot, in fiacres and on bicycles? No, the arrangement
did not please me. I should not have got away alive. Tell me, monsieur,
did they count on that?”
He shrugged his shoulders, and added:
“I beg of you, monsieur, not to worry about me. When I wish to escape I
shall not require any assistance.”
On the second day thereafter, the _Echo de France_, which had apparently
become the official reporter of the exploits of Arsène Lupin,--it was
said that he was one of its principal shareholders--published a most
complete account of this attempted escape. The exact wording of the
messages exchanged between the prisoner and his mysterious friend, the
means by which correspondence was constructed, the complicity of the
police, the promenade on the Boulevard Saint Michel, the incident at the
café Soufflot, everything was disclosed. It was known that the search of
the restaurant and its waiters by Inspector Dieuzy had been fruitless.
And the public also learned an extraordinary thing which demonstrated
the infinite variety of resources that Lupin possessed: the prison-van,
in which he was being carried, was prepared for the occasion and
substituted by his accomplices for one of the six vans which did service
at the prison.
The next escape of Arsène Lupin was not doubted by anyone. He announced
it himself, in categorical terms, in a reply to Mon. Bouvier on the day
following his attempted escape. The judge having made a jest about
the affair, Arsène was annoyed, and, firmly eyeing the judge, he said,
emphatically:
“Listen to me, monsieur! I give you my word of honor that this attempted
flight was simply preliminary to my general plan of escape.”
“I do not understand,” said the judge.
“It is not necessary that you should understand.”
And when the judge, in the course of that examination which was reported
at length in the columns of the _Echo de France_, when the judge sought
to resume his investigation, Arsène Lupin exclaimed, with an assumed air
of lassitude:
“Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, what’s the use! All these questions are of no
importance!”
“What! No importance?” cried the judge.
“No; because I shall not be present at the trial.”
“You will not be present?”
“No; I have fully decided on that, and nothing will change my mind.”
Such assurance combined with the inexplicable indiscretions that Arsène
committed every day served to annoy and mystify the officers of the law.
There were secrets known only to Arsène Lupin; secrets that he alone
could divulge. But for what purpose did he reveal them? And how?
Arsène Lupin was changed to another cell. The judge closed his
preliminary investigation. No further proceedings were taken in his case
for a period of two months, during which time Arsène was seen almost
constantly lying on his bed with his face turned toward the wall. The
changing of his cell seemed to discourage him. He refused to see his
advocate. He exchanged only a few necessary words with his keepers.
During the fortnight preceding his trial, he resumed his vigorous life.
He complained of want of air. Consequently, early every morning he was
allowed to exercise in the courtyard, guarded by two men.
Public curiosity had not died out; every day it expected to be regaled
with news of his escape; and, it is true, he had gained a considerable
amount of public sympathy by reason of his verve, his gayety, his
diversity, his inventive genius and the mystery of his life. Arsène
Lupin must escape. It was his inevitable fate. The public expected it,
and was surprised that the event had been delayed so long. Every morning
the Préfect of Police asked his secretary:
“Well, has he escaped yet?”
“No, Monsieur le Préfect.”
“To-morrow, probably.”
And, on the day before the trial, a gentleman called at the office of
the ‘Grand Journal,’ asked to see the court reporter, threw his card in
the reporter’s face, and walked rapidly away. These words were written
on the card: “Arsène Lupin always keeps his promises.”
* * * * *
It was under these conditions that the trial commenced. An enormous
crowd gathered at the court. Everybody wished to see the famous Arsène
Lupin. They had a gleeful anticipation that the prisoner would play some
audacious pranks upon the judge. Advocates and magistrates, reporters
and men of the world, actresses and society women were crowded together
on the benches provided for the public.
It was a dark, sombre day, with a steady downpour of rain. Only a
dim light pervaded the courtroom, and the spectators caught a very
indistinct view of the prisoner when the guards brought him in. But his
heavy, shambling walk, the manner in which he dropped into his seat, and
his passive, stupid appearance were not at all prepossessing. Several
times his advocate--one of Mon. Danval’s assistants--spoke to him, but
he simply shook his head and said nothing.
The clerk read the indictment, then the judge spoke:
“Prisoner at the bar, stand up. Your name, age, and occupation?”
Not receiving any reply, the judge repeated:
“Your name? I ask you your name?”
A thick, slow voice muttered:
“Baudru, Désiré.”
A murmur of surprise pervaded the courtroom. But the judge proceeded:
“Baudru, Désiré? Ah! a new alias! Well, as you have already assumed a
dozen different names and this one is, no doubt, as imaginary as the
others, we will adhere to the name of Arsène Lupin, by which you are
more generally known.”
The judge referred to his notes, and continued:
“For, despite the most diligent search, your past history remains
unknown. Your case is unique in the annals of crime. We know not whom
you are, whence you came, your birth and breeding--all is a mystery
to us. Three years ago you appeared in our midst as Arsène Lupin,
presenting to us a strange combination of intelligence and perversion,
immorality and generosity. Our knowledge of your life prior to that date
is vague and problematical. It may be that the man called Rostat who,
eight years ago, worked with Dickson, the prestidigitator, was none
other than Arsène Lupin. It is probable that the Russian student who,
six years ago, attended the laboratory of Doctor Altier at the Saint
Louis Hospital, and who often astonished the doctor by the ingenuity
of his hypotheses on subjects of bacteriology and the boldness of his
experiments in diseases of the skin, was none other than Arsène Lupin.
It is probable, also, that Arsène Lupin was the professor who introduced
the Japanese art of jiu-jitsu to the Parisian public. We have some
reason to believe that Arsène Lupin was the bicyclist who won the Grand
Prix de l’Exposition, received his ten thousand francs, and was never
heard of again. Arsène Lupin may have been, also, the person who saved
so many lives through the little dormer-window at the Charity Bazaar;
and, at the same time, picked their pockets.”
The judge paused for a moment, then continued:
“Such is that epoch which seems to have been utilized by you in a
thorough preparation for the warfare you have since waged against
society; a methodical apprenticeship in which you developed your
strength, energy and skill to the highest point possible. Do you
acknowledge the accuracy of these facts?”
During this discourse the prisoner had stood balancing himself, first
on one foot, then on the other, with shoulders stooped and arms inert.
Under the strongest light one could observe his extreme thinness, his
hollow cheeks, his projecting cheek-bones, his earthen-colored face
dotted with small red spots and framed in a rough, straggling beard.
Prison life had caused him to age and wither. He had lost the
youthful face and elegant figure we had seen portrayed so often in the
newspapers.
It appeared as if he had not heard the question propounded by the
judge. Twice it was repeated to him. Then he raised his eyes, seemed to
reflect, then, making a desperate effort, he murmured:
“Baudru, Désiré.”
The judge smiled, as he said:
“I do not understand the theory of your defense, Arsène Lupin. If you
are seeking to avoid responsibility for your crimes on the ground of
imbecility, such a line of defense is open to you. But I shall proceed
with the trial and pay no heed to your vagaries.”
He then narrated at length the various thefts, swindles and forgeries
charged against Lupin. Sometimes he questioned the prisoner, but the
latter simply grunted or remained silent. The examination of witnesses
commenced. Some of the evidence given was immaterial; other portions
of it seemed more important, but through all of it there ran a vein of
contradictions and inconsistencies. A wearisome obscurity enveloped
the proceedings, until Detective Ganimard was called as a witness; then
interest was revived.
From the beginning the actions of the veteran detective appeared strange
and unaccountable. He was nervous and ill at ease. Several times he
looked at the prisoner, with obvious doubt and anxiety. Then, with his
hands resting on the rail in front of him, he recounted the events in
which he had participated, including his pursuit of the prisoner
across Europe and his arrival in America. He was listened to with great
avidity, as his capture of Arsène Lupin was well known to everyone
through the medium of the press. Toward the close of his testimony,
after referring to his conversations with Arsène Lupin, he stopped,
twice, embarrassed and undecided. It was apparent that he was possessed
of some thought which he feared to utter. The judge said to him,
sympathetically:
“If you are ill, you may retire for the present.”
“No, no, but---”
He stopped, looked sharply at the prisoner, and said:
“I ask permission to scrutinize the prisoner at closer range. There is
some mystery about him that I must solve.”
He approached the accused man, examined him attentively for several
minutes, then returned to the witness-stand, and, in an almost solemn
voice, he said:
“I declare, on oath, that the prisoner now before me is not Arsène
Lupin.”