Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17)

by Maurice Leblanc

  “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!....”

  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 th
e 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.”

  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 compl
ained 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: