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

by Maurice Leblanc

  “The wish to see you and Mademoiselle Destange.”

  “When did you return from your journey?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “You must stay to dinner.”

  “No, thank you, I am sorry, but I have an appointment to dine with some friends at a restaurant.”

  “Come, to-morrow, then, Clotilde, you must urge him to come to-morrow. Ah! my dear Maxime.... I thought of you many times during your absence.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I went through all my old papers in that cupboard, and found our last statement of account.”

  “What account?”

  “Relating to the avenue Henri-Martin.”

  “Ah! do you keep such papers? What for?”

  Then the three of them left the room, and continued their conversation in a small parlor which adjoined the library.

  “Is it Lupin?” Sholmes asked himself, in a sudden access of doubt. Certainly, from all appearances, it was he; and yet it was also someone else who resembled Arsène Lupin in certain respects, and who still maintained his own individuality, features, and color of hair. Sholmes could hear Lupin’s voice in the adjoining room. He was relating some stories at which Mon. Destange laughed heartily, and which even brought a smile to the lips of the melancholy Clotilde. And each of those smiles appeared to be the reward which Arsène Lupin was seeking, and which he was delighted to have secured. His success caused him to redouble his efforts and, insensibly, at the sound of that clear and happy voice, Clotilde’s face brightened and lost that cold and listless expression which usually pervaded it.

  “They love each other,” thought Sholmes, “but what the deuce can there be in common between Clotilde Destange and Maxime Bermond? Does she know that Maxime is none other than Arsène Lupin?”

  Until seven o’clock Sholmes was an anxious listener, seeking to profit by the conversation. Then, with infinite precaution, he descended from the gallery, crept along the side of the room to the door in such a manner that the people in the adjoining room did not see him.

  When he reached the street Sholmes satisfied himself that there was neither an automobile nor a cab waiting there; then he slowly limped along the boulevard Malesherbes. He turned into an adjacent street, donned the overcoat which he had carried on his arm, altered the shape of his hat, assumed an upright carriage, and, thus transformed, returned to a place whence he could watch the door of Mon. Destange’s house.

  In a few minutes Arsène Lupin came out, and proceeded to walk toward the center of Paris by way of the rues de Constantinople and London. Herlock Sholmes followed at a distance of a hundred paces.

  Exciting moments for the Englishman! He sniffed the air, eagerly, like a hound following a fresh scent. It seemed to him a delightful thing thus to follow his adversary. It was no longer Herlock Sholmes who was being watched, but Arsène Lupin, the invisible Arsène Lupin. He held him, so to speak, within the grasp of his eye, by an imperceptible bond that nothing could break. And he was pleased to think that the quarry belonged to him.

  But he soon observed a suspicious circumstance. In the intervening space between him and Arsène Lupin he noticed several people traveling in the same direction, particularly two husky fellows in slouch hats on the left side of the street, and two others on the right wearing caps and smoking cigarettes. Of course, their presence in that vicinity may have been the result of chance, but Sholmes was more astonished when he observed that the four men stopped when Lupin entered a tobacco shop; and still more surprised when the four men started again after Lupin emerged from the shop, each keeping to his own side of the street.

  “Curse it!” muttered Sholmes; “he is being followed.”

  He was annoyed at the idea that others were on the trail of Arsène Lupin; that someone might deprive him, not of the glory — he cared little for that — but of the immense pleasure of capturing, single-handed, the most formidable enemy he had ever met. And he felt that he was not mistaken; the men presented to Sholmes’ experienced eye the appearance and manner of those who, while regulating their gait to that of another, wish to present a careless and natural air.

  “Is this some of Ganimard’s work?” muttered Sholmes. “Is he playing me false?”

  He felt inclined to speak to one of the men with a view of acting in concert with him; but as they were now approaching the boulevard the crowd was becoming denser, and he was afraid he might lose sight of Lupin. So he quickened his pace and turned into the boulevard just in time to see Lupin ascending the steps of the Hungarian restaurant at the corner of the rue du Helder. The door of the restaurant was open, so that Sholmes, while sitting on a bench on the other side of the boulevard, could see Lupin take a seat at a table, luxuriously appointed and decorated with flowers, at which three gentlemen and two ladies of elegant appearance were already seated and who extended to Lupin a hearty greeting.

  Sholmes now looked about for the four men and perceived them amongst a crowd of people who were listening to a gipsy orchestra that was playing in a neighboring café. It was a curious thing that they were paying no attention to Arsène Lupin, but seemed to be friendly with the people around them. One of them took a cigarette from his pocket and approached a gentleman who wore a frock coat and silk hat. The gentleman offered the other his cigar for a light, and Sholmes had the impression that they talked to each other much longer than the occasion demanded. Finally the gentleman approached the Hungarian restaurant, entered and looked around. When he caught sight of Lupin he advanced and spoke to him for a moment, then took a seat at an adjoining table. Sholmes now recognized this gentleman as the horseman who had tried to run him down in the avenue Henri-Martin.

  Then Sholmes understood that these men were not tracking Arsène Lupin; they were a part of his band. They were watching over his safety. They were his bodyguard, his satellites, his vigilant escort. Wherever danger threatened Lupin, these confederates were at hand to avert it, ready to defend him. The four men were accomplices. The gentleman in the frock coat was an accomplice. These facts furnished the Englishman with food for reflection. Would he ever succeed in capturing that inaccessible individual? What unlimited power was possessed by such an organization, directed by such a chief!

  He tore a leaf from his notebook, wrote a few lines in pencil, which he placed in an envelope, and said to a boy about fifteen years of age who was sitting on the bench beside him:

  “Here, my boy; take a carriage and deliver this letter to the cashier of the Suisse tavern, Place du Châtelet. Be quick!”

  He gave him a five-franc piece. The boy disappeared.

  A half hour passed away. The crowd had grown larger, and Sholmes perceived only at intervals the accomplices of Arsène Lupin. Then someone brushed against him and whispered in his ear:

  “Well? what is it, Monsieur Sholmes?”

  “Ah! it is you, Ganimard?”

  “Yes; I received your note at the tavern. What’s the matter?”

  “He is there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There ... in the restaurant. Lean to the right.... Do you see him now?”

  “No.”

  “He is pouring a glass of champagne for the lady.”

  “That is not Lupin.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “But I tell you.... Ah! yet, it may be. It looks a great deal like him,” said Ganimard, naively. “And the others — accomplices?”

  “No; the lady sitting beside him is Lady Cliveden; the other is the Duchess de Cleath. The gentleman sitting opposite Lupin is the Spanish Ambassador to London.”

  Ganimard took a step forward. Sholmes retained him.

  “Be prudent. You are alone.”

  “So is he.”

  “No, he has a number of men on the boulevard mounting guard. And inside the restaurant that gentleman — —”

  “And I, when I take Arsène Lupin by the collar and announce his name, I shall have the entire room on my side and all the waiters.”

  “I should prefer
to have a few policemen.”

  “But, Monsieur Sholmes, we have no choice. We must catch him when we can.”

  He was right; Sholmes knew it. It was better to take advantage of the opportunity and make the attempt. Sholmes simply gave this advice to Ganimard:

  “Conceal your identity as long as possible.”

  Sholmes glided behind a newspaper kiosk, whence he could still watch Lupin, who was leaning toward Lady Cliveden, talking and smiling.

  Ganimard crossed the street, hands in his pockets, as if he were going down the boulevard, but when he reached the opposite sidewalk he turned quickly and bounded up the steps of the restaurant. There was a shrill whistle. Ganimard ran against the head waiter, who had suddenly planted himself in the doorway and now pushed Ganimard back with a show of indignation, as if he were an intruder whose presence would bring disgrace upon the restaurant. Ganimard was surprised. At the same moment the gentleman in the frock coat came out. He took the part of the detective and entered into an exciting argument with the waiter; both of them hung on to Ganimard, one pushing him in, the other pushing him out in such a manner that, despite all his efforts and despite his furious protestations, the unfortunate detective soon found himself on the sidewalk.

  The struggling men were surrounded by a crowd. Two policemen, attracted by the noise, tried to force their way through the crowd, but encountered a mysterious resistance and could make no headway through the opposing backs and pressing shoulders of the mob.

  But suddenly, as if by magic, the crowd parted and the passage to the restaurant was clear. The head waiter, recognizing his mistake, was profuse in his apologies; the gentleman in the frock coat ceased his efforts on behalf of the detective, the crowd dispersed, the policemen passed on, and Ganimard hastened to the table at which the six guests were sitting. But now there were only five! He looked around.... The only exit was the door.

  “The person who was sitting here!” he cried to the five astonished guests. “Where is he?”

  “Monsieur Destro?”

  “No; Arsène Lupin!”

  A waiter approached and said:

  “The gentleman went upstairs.”

  Ganimard rushed up in the hope of finding him. The upper floor of the restaurant contained private dining-rooms and had a private stairway leading to the boulevard.

  “No use looking for him now,” muttered Ganimard. “He is far away by this time.”

  He was not far away — two hundred yards at most — in the Madeleine-Bastille omnibus, which was rolling along very peacefully with its three horses across the Place de l’Opéra toward the Boulevard des Capucines. Two sturdy fellows were talking together on the platform. On the roof of the omnibus near the stairs an old fellow was sleeping; it was Herlock Sholmes.

  With bobbing head, rocked by the movement of the vehicle, the Englishman said to himself:

  “If Wilson could see me now, how proud he would be of his collaborator!... Bah! It was easy to foresee that the game was lost, as soon as the man whistled; nothing could be done but watch the exits and see that our man did not escape. Really, Lupin makes life exciting and interesting.”

  At the terminal point Herlock Sholmes, by leaning over, saw Arsène Lupin leaving the omnibus, and as he passed in front of the men who formed his bodyguard Sholmes heard him say: “A l’Etoile.”

  “A l’Etoile, exactly, a rendezvous. I shall be there,” thought Sholmes. “I will follow the two men.”

  Lupin took an automobile; but the men walked the entire distance, followed by Sholmes. They stopped at a narrow house, No. 40 rue Chalgrin, and rang the bell. Sholmes took his position in the shadow of a doorway, whence he could watch the house in question. A man opened one of the windows of the ground floor and closed the shutters. But the shutters did not reach to the top of the window. The impost was clear.

  At the end of ten minutes a gentleman rang at the same door and a few minutes later another man came. A short time afterward an automobile stopped in front of the house, bringing two passengers: Arsène Lupin and a lady concealed beneath a large cloak and a thick veil.

  “The blonde Lady, no doubt,” said Sholmes to himself, as the automobile drove away.

  Herlock Sholmes now approached the house, climbed to the window-ledge and, by standing on tiptoe, he was able to see through the window above the shutters. What did he see?

  Arsène Lupin, leaning against the mantel, was speaking with considerable animation. The others were grouped around him, listening to him attentively. Amongst them Sholmes easily recognized the gentleman in the frock coat and he thought one of the other men resembled the head-waiter of the restaurant. As to the blonde Lady, she was seated in an armchair with her back to the window.

  “They are holding a consultation,” thought Sholmes. “They are worried over the incident at the restaurant and are holding a council of war. Ah! what a master stroke it would be to capture all of them at one fell stroke!”

  One of them, having moved toward the door, Sholmes leaped to the ground and concealed himself in the shadow. The gentleman in the frock coat and the head-waiter left the house. A moment later a light appeared at the windows of the first floor, but the shutters were closed immediately and the upper part of the house was dark as well as the lower.

  “Lupin and the woman are on the ground floor; the two confederates live on the upper floor,” said Sholmes.

  Sholmes remained there the greater part of the night, fearing that if he went away Arsène Lupin might leave during his absence. At four o’clock, seeing two policemen at the end of the street, he approached them, explained the situation and left them to watch the house. He went to Ganimard’s residence in the rue Pergolese and wakened him.

  “I have him yet,” said Sholmes.

  “Arsène Lupin?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you haven’t got any better hold on him than you had a while ago, I might as well go back to bed. But we may as well go to the station-house.”

  They went to the police station in the rue Mesnil and from there to the residence of the commissary, Mon. Decointre. Then, accompanied by half a dozen policemen, they went to the rue Chalgrin.

  “Anything new?” asked Sholmes, addressing the two policemen.

  “Nothing.”

  It was just breaking day when, after taking necessary measures to prevent escape, the commissary rang the bell and commenced to question the concierge. The woman was greatly frightened at this early morning invasion, and she trembled as she replied that there were no tenants on the ground floor.

  “What! not a tenant?” exclaimed Ganimard.

  “No; but on the first floor there are two men named Leroux. They have furnished the apartment on the ground floor for some country relations.”

  “A gentleman and lady.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who came here last night.”

  “Perhaps ... but I don’t know ... I was asleep. But I don’t think so, for the key is here. They did not ask for it.”

  With that key the commissary opened the door of the ground-floor apartment. It comprised only two rooms and they were empty.

  “Impossible!” exclaimed Sholmes. “I saw both of them in this room.”

  “I don’t doubt your word,” said the commissary; “but they are not here now.”

  “Let us go to the first floor. They must be there.”

  “The first floor is occupied by two men named Leroux.”

  “We will examine the Messieurs Leroux.”

  They all ascended the stairs and the commissary rang. At the second ring a man opened the door; he was in his shirt-sleeves. Sholmes recognized him as one of Lupin’s bodyguard. The man assumed a furious air:

  “What do you mean by making such a row at this hour of the morning ... waking people up....”

  But he stopped suddenly, astounded.

  “God forgive me!... really, gentlemen, I didn’t notice who it was. Why, it is Monsieur Decointre!... and you, Monsieur Ganimard. What can I do for you!”
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  Ganimard burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, which caused him to bend double and turn black in the face.

  “Ah! it is you, Leroux,” he stammered. “Oh! this is too funny! Leroux, an accomplice of Arsène Lupin! Oh, I shall die! and your brother, Leroux, where is he?”

  “Edmond!” called the man. “It is Ganimard, who has come to visit us.”

  Another man appeared and at sight of him Ganimard’s mirth redoubled.

  “Oh! oh! we had no idea of this! Ah! my friends, you are in a bad fix now. Who would have ever suspected it?”

  Turning to Sholmes, Ganimard introduced the man:

  “Victor Leroux, a detective from our office, one of the best men in the iron brigade ... Edmond Leroux, chief clerk in the anthropometric service.”

  AN ABDUCTION.

  HERLOCK SHOLMES SAID nothing. To protest? To accuse the two men? That would be useless. In the absence of evidence which he did not possess and had no time to seek, no one would believe him. Moreover, he was stifled with rage, but would not display his feelings before the triumphant Ganimard. So he bowed respectfully to the brothers Leroux, guardians of society, and retired.

  In the vestibule he turned toward a low door which looked like the entrance to a cellar, and picked up a small red stone; it was a garnet. When he reached the street he turned and read on the front of the house this inscription: “Lucien Destange, architect, 1877.”

  The adjoining house, No. 42, bore the same inscription.

  “Always the double passage — numbers 40 and 42 have a secret means of communication. Why didn’t I think of that? I should have remained with the two policemen.”

  He met the policemen near the corner and said to them:

  “Two people came out of house No. 42 during my absence, didn’t they?”

  “Yes; a gentleman and lady.”

  Ganimard approached. Sholmes took his arm, and as they walked down the street he said:

  “Monsieur Ganimard, you have had a good laugh and will no doubt forgive me for the trouble I have caused you.”