“Monsieur Lupin, Mademoiselle Destange is free.”
“Is her future safety assured? Has she nothing to fear from you?”
“Neither from me, nor anyone else.”
“How can you manage it?”
“Quite easily. I have forgotten her name and address.”
“Thank you. And au revoir — for I will see you again, sometime, Monsieur Sholmes?”
“I have no doubt of it.”
Then followed an animated conversation between Sholmes and Ganimard, which was abruptly terminated by the Englishman, who said:
“I am very sorry, Monsieur Ganimard, that we cannot agree on that point, but I have no time to waste trying to convince you. I leave for England within an hour.”
“But ... the blonde Lady?”
“I do not know such a person.”
“And yet, a moment ago — —”
“You must take the affair as it stands. I have delivered Arsène Lupin into your hands. Here is the blue diamond, which you will have the pleasure of returning to the Countess de Crozon. What more do you want?”
“The blonde Lady.”
“Find her.”
Sholmes pulled his cap down over his forehead and walked rapidly away, like a man who is accustomed to go as soon as his business is finished.
“Bon voyage, monsieur,” cried Lupin, “and, believe me, I shall never forget the friendly way in which our little business affairs have been arranged. My regards to Monsieur Wilson.”
Not receiving any reply, Lupin added, sneeringly:
“That is what is called ‘taking British leave.’ Ah! their insular dignity lacks the flower of courtesy by which we are distinguished. Consider for a moment, Ganimard, what a charming exit a Frenchman would have made under similar circumstances! With what exquisite courtesy he would have masked his triumph!... But, God bless me, Ganimard, what are you doing? Making a search? Come, what’s the use? There is nothing left — not even a scrap of paper. I assure you my archives are in a safe place.”
“I am not so sure of that,” replied Ganimard. “I must search everything.”
Lupin submitted to the operation. Held by two detectives and surrounded by the others, he patiently endured the proceedings for twenty minutes, then he said:
“Hurry up, Ganimard, and finish!”
“You are in a hurry.”
“Of course I am. An important appointment.”
“At the police station?”
“No; in the city.”
“Ah! at what time?”
“Two o’clock.”
“It is three o’clock now.”
“Just so; I will be late. And punctuality is one of my virtues.”
“Well, give me five minutes.”
“Not a second more,” said Lupin.
“I am doing my best to expedite — —”
“Oh! don’t talk so much.... Still searching that cupboard? It is empty.”
“Here are some letters.”
“Old invoices, I presume!”
“No; a packet tied with a ribbon.”
“A red ribbon? Oh! Ganimard, for God’s sake, don’t untie it!”
“From a woman?”
“Yes.”
“A woman of the world?”
“The best in the world.”
“Her name?”
“Madame Ganimard.”
“Very funny! very funny!” exclaimed the detective.
At that moment the men, who had been sent to search the other rooms, returned and announced their failure to find anything. Lupin laughed and said:
“Parbleu! Did you expect to find my visiting list, or evidence of my business relations with the Emperor of Germany? But I can tell you what you should investigate, Ganimard: All the little mysteries of this apartment. For instance, that gas-pipe is a speaking tube. That chimney contains a stairway. That wall is hollow. And the marvellous system of bells! Ah! Ganimard, just press that button!”
Ganimard obeyed.
“Did you hear anything?” asked Lupin.
“No.”
“Neither did I. And yet you notified my aeronaut to prepare the dirigible balloon which will soon carry us into the clouds.
“Come!” said Ganimard, who had completed his search; “we’ve had enough nonsense — let’s be off.”
He started away, followed by his men. Lupin did not move. His guardians pushed him in vain.
“Well,” said Ganimard, “do you refuse to go?”
“Not at all. But it depends.”
“On what?”
“Where you want to take me.”
“To the station-house, of course.”
“Then I refuse to go. I have no business there.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Did I not tell you that I had an important appointment?”
“Lupin!”
“Why, Ganimard, I have an appointment with the blonde Lady, and do you suppose I would be so discourteous as to cause her a moment’s anxiety? That would be very ungentlemanly.”
“Listen, Lupin,” said the detective, who was becoming annoyed by this persiflage; “I have been very patient with you, but I will endure no more. Follow me.”
“Impossible; I have an appointment and I shall keep it.”
“For the last time — follow me!”
“Im-pos-sible!”
At a sign from Ganimard two men seized Lupin by the arms; but they released him at once, uttering cries of pain. Lupin had thrust two long needles into them. The other men now rushed at Lupin with cries of rage and hatred, eager to avenge their comrades and to avenge themselves for the many affronts he had heaped upon them; and now they struck and beat him to their heart’s desire. A violent blow on the temple felled Lupin to the floor.
“If you hurt him you will answer to me,” growled Ganimard, in a rage.
He leaned over Lupin to ascertain his condition. Then, learning that he was breathing freely, Ganimard ordered his men to carry the prisoner by the head and feet, while he himself supported the body.
“Go gently, now!... Don’t jolt him. Ah! the brutes would have killed him.... Well, Lupin, how goes it?”
“None too well, Ganimard ... you let them knock me out.”
“It was your own fault; you were so obstinate,” replied Ganimard. “But I hope they didn’t hurt you.”
They had left the apartment and were now on the landing. Lupin groaned and stammered:
“Ganimard ... the elevator ... they are breaking my bones.”
“A good idea, an excellent idea,” replied Ganimard. “Besides, the stairway is too narrow.”
He summoned the elevator. They placed Lupin on the seat with the greatest care. Ganimard took his place beside him and said to his men:
“Go down the stairs and wait for me below. Understand?”
Ganimard closed the door of the elevator. Suddenly the elevator shot upward like a balloon released from its cable. Lupin burst into a fit of sardonic laughter.
“Good God!” cried Ganimard, as he made a frantic search in the dark for the button of descent. Having found it, he cried:
“The fifth floor! Watch the door of the fifth floor.”
His assistants clambered up the stairs, two and three steps at a time. But this strange circumstance happened: The elevator seemed to break through the ceiling of the last floor, disappeared from the sight of Ganimard’s assistants, suddenly made its appearance on the upper floor — the servants’ floor — and stopped. Three men were there waiting for it. They opened the door. Two of them seized Ganimard, who, astonished at the sudden attack, scarcely made any defence. The other man carried off Lupin.
“I warned you, Ganimard ... about the dirigible balloon. Another time, don’t be so tender-hearted. And, moreover, remember that Arsène Lupin doesn’t allow himself to be struck and knocked down without sufficient reason. Adieu.”
The door of the elevator was already closed on Ganimard, and the machine began to descend; and it all happened so quickl
y that the old detective reached the ground floor as soon as his assistants. Without exchanging a word they crossed the court and ascended the servants’ stairway, which was the only way to reach the servants’ floor through which the escape had been made.
A long corridor with several turns and bordered with little numbered rooms led to a door that was not locked. On the other side of this door and, therefore, in another house there was another corridor with similar turns and similar rooms, and at the end of it a servants’ stairway. Ganimard descended it, crossed a court and a vestibule and found himself in the rue Picot. Then he understood the situation: the two houses, built the entire depth of the lots, touched at the rear, while the fronts of the houses faced upon two streets that ran parallel to each other at a distance of more than sixty metres apart.
He found the concierge and, showing his card, enquired:
“Did four men pass here just now?”
“Yes; the two servants from the fourth and fifth floors, with two friends.”
“Who lives on the fourth and fifth floors?”
“Two men named Fauvel and their cousins, whose name is Provost. They moved to-day, leaving the two servants, who went away just now.”
“Ah!” thought Ganimard; “what a grand opportunity we have missed! The entire band lived in these houses.”
And he sank down on a chair in despair.
Forty minutes later two gentlemen were driven up to the station of the Northern Railway and hurried to the Calais express, followed by a porter who carried their valises. One of them had his arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face denoted some illness. The other man was in a jovial mood.
“We must hurry, Wilson, or we will miss the train.... Ah! Wilson, I shall never forget these ten days.”
“Neither will I.”
“Ah! it was a great struggle!”
“Superb!”
“A few repulses, here and there—”
“Of no consequence.”
“And, at last, victory all along the line. Lupin arrested! The blue diamond recovered!”
“My arm broken!”
“What does a broken arm count for in such a victory as that?”
“Especially when it is my arm.”
“Ah! yes, don’t you remember, Wilson, that it was at the very time you were in the pharmacy, suffering like a hero, that I discovered the clue to the whole mystery?”
“How lucky!”
The doors of the carriages were being closed.
“All aboard. Hurry up, gentlemen!”
The porter climbed into an empty compartment and placed their valises in the rack, whilst Sholmes assisted the unfortunate Wilson.
“What’s the matter, Wilson? You’re not done up, are you? Come, pull your nerves together.”
“My nerves are all right.”
“Well, what is it, then?”
“I have only one hand.”
“What of it?” exclaimed Sholmes, cheerfully. “You are not the only one who has had a broken arm. Cheer up!”
Sholmes handed the porter a piece of fifty centimes.
“Thank you, Monsieur Sholmes,” said the porter.
The Englishman looked at him; it was Arsène Lupin.
“You!... you!” he stammered, absolutely astounded.
And Wilson brandished his sound arm in the manner of a man who demonstrates a fact as he said:
“You! you! but you were arrested! Sholmes told me so. When he left you Ganimard and thirty men had you in charge.”
Lupin folded his arms and said, with an air of indignation:
“Did you suppose I would let you go away without bidding you adieu? After the very friendly relations that have always existed between us! That would be discourteous and ungrateful on my part.”
The train whistled. Lupin continued:
“I beg your pardon, but have you everything you need? Tobacco and matches ... yes ... and the evening papers? You will find in them an account of my arrest — your last exploit, Monsieur Sholmes. And now, au revoir. Am delighted to have made your acquaintance. And if ever I can be of any service to you, I shall be only too happy....” He leaped to the platform and closed the door.
“Adieu,” he repeated, waving his handkerchief. “Adieu.... I shall write to you.... You will write also, eh? And your arm broken, Wilson.... I am truly sorry.... I shall expect to hear from both of you. A postal card, now and then, simply address: Lupin, Paris. That is sufficient.... Adieu.... See you soon.”
THE JEWISH LAMP.
HERLOCK SHOLMES AND Wilson were sitting in front of the fireplace, in comfortable armchairs, with the feet extended toward the grateful warmth of a glowing coke fire.
Sholmes’ pipe, a short brier with a silver band, had gone out. He knocked out the ashes, filled it, lighted it, pulled the skirts of his dressing-gown over his knees, and drew from his pipe great puffs of smoke, which ascended toward the ceiling in scores of shadow rings.
Wilson gazed at him, as a dog lying curled up on a rug before the fire might look at his master, with great round eyes which have no hope other than to obey the least gesture of his owner. Was the master going to break the silence? Would he reveal to Wilson the subject of his reverie and admit his satellite into the charmed realm of his thoughts? When Sholmes had maintained his silent attitude for some time. Wilson ventured to speak:
“Everything seems quiet now. Not the shadow of a case to occupy our leisure moments.”
Sholmes did not reply, but the rings of smoke emitted by Sholmes were better formed, and Wilson observed that his companion drew considerable pleasure from that trifling fact — an indication that the great man was not absorbed in any serious meditation. Wilson, discouraged, arose and went to the window.
The lonely street extended between the gloomy façades of grimy houses, unusually gloomy this morning by reason of a heavy downfall of rain. A cab passed; then another. Wilson made an entry of their numbers in his memorandum-book. One never knows!
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “the postman.”
The man entered, shown in by the servant.
“Two registered letters, sir ... if you will sign, please?”
Sholmes signed the receipts, accompanied the man to the door, and was opening one of the letters as he returned.
“It seems to please you,” remarked Wilson, after a moment’s silence.
“This letter contains a very interesting proposition. You are anxious for a case — here’s one. Read — —”
Wilson read:
“Monsieur,
“I desire the benefit of your services and experience. I have been the victim of a serious theft, and the investigation has as yet been unsuccessful. I am sending to you by this mail a number of newspapers which will inform you of the affair, and if you will undertake the case, I will place my house at your disposal and ask you to fill in the enclosed check, signed by me, for whatever sum you require for your expenses.
“Kindly reply by telegraph, and much oblige,
“Your humble servant,
“Baron Victor d’Imblevalle,
“18 rue Murillo, Paris.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Sholmes, “that sounds good ... a little trip to Paris ... and why not, Wilson? Since my famous duel with Arsène Lupin, I have not had an excuse to go there. I should be pleased to visit the capital of the world under less strenuous conditions.”
He tore the check into four pieces and, while Wilson, whose arm had not yet regained its former strength, uttered bitter words against Paris and the Parisians, Sholmes opened the second envelope. Immediately, he made a gesture of annoyance, and a wrinkle appeared on his forehead during the reading of the letter; then, crushing the paper into a ball, he threw it, angrily, on the floor.
“Well? What’s the matter?” asked Wilson, anxiously.
He picked up the ball of paper, unfolded it, and read, with increasing amazement:
“My Dear Monsieur:
“You know full well the admiration I have for you and the interest I ta
ke in your renown. Well, believe me, when I warn you to have nothing whatever to do with the case on which you have just now been called to Paris. Your intervention will cause much harm; your efforts will produce a most lamentable result; and you will be obliged to make a public confession of your defeat.
“Having a sincere desire to spare you such humiliation, I implore you, in the name of the friendship that unites us, to remain peacefully reposing at your own fireside.
“My best wishes to Monsieur Wilson, and, for yourself, the sincere regards of your devoted ARSÈNE LUPIN.”
“Arsène Lupin!” repeated Wilson, astounded.
Sholmes struck the table with his fist, and exclaimed:
“Ah! he is pestering me already, the fool! He laughs at me as if I were a schoolboy! The public confession of my defeat! Didn’t I force him to disgorge the blue diamond?”
“I tell you — he’s afraid,” suggested Wilson.
“Nonsense! Arsène Lupin is not afraid, and this taunting letter proves it.”
“But how did he know that the Baron d’Imblevalle had written to you?”
“What do I know about it? You do ask some stupid questions, my boy.”
“I thought ... I supposed — —”
“What? That I am a clairvoyant? Or a sorcerer?”
“No, but I have seen you do some marvellous things.”
“No person can perform marvellous things. I no more than you. I reflect, I deduct, I conclude — that is all; but I do not divine. Only fools divine.”
Wilson assumed the attitude of a whipped cur, and resolved not to make a fool of himself by trying to divine why Sholmes paced the room with quick, nervous strides. But when Sholmes rang for the servant and ordered his valise, Wilson thought that he was in possession of a material fact which gave him the right to reflect, deduct and conclude that his associate was about to take a journey. The same mental operation permitted him to assert, with almost mathematical exactness:
“Sholmes, you are going to Paris.”
“Possibly.”
“And Lupin’s affront impels you to go, rather than the desire to assist the Baron d’Imblevalle.”
“Possibly.”
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 33
