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

by Maurice Leblanc

  The men were coming nearer, however.

  Then Lupin bent down, took the dead woman in his powerful arms, lifted the corpse with a single effort and, bent in two, stretched it across his back:

  “Let us go, Victoire.”

  “Let us go, dear.”

  “Good-bye, Beautrelet,” he said.

  And, bearing his precious and awful burden followed by his old servant, silent and fierce he turned toward the sea and plunged into the darkness of the night.

  THE END

  813

  Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos

  This sizeable novel began as a series in the French newspaper Le Journal between March and May 1910, before being published in book form in June 1910 by Lafitte Editions. It was then translated by Alexander Teixeira De Mottos and the English language edition was published by W. R. Caldwell of New York. In a new edition in 1917 the novel was produced in two volumes entitled The Double Life by Arsène Lupin and The Three Crimes of Arsène Lupin. Leblanc amended the narrative to include more anti-German sentiment, as the First World War was in progress. Herlock Sholmes (Sherlock Holmes) makes his fourth and final venture into a Lupin tale in 813, but the old rivals do not meet and Holmes plays a minor part in the plot, almost there simply to make the genius of Lupin seem more outstanding.

  Rudolf Kesselbach, ‘King of Diamonds’, is a man of fabulous wealth. As the story opens he is in an anxious state, convinced that a prowler has been rifling through his hotel room. His staff, including Chapman his secretary, are convinced this is imagined, but before long, Kesselbach is proved correct when he is held captive in his room and forced to hand over the key to his bank safe deposit box. There are two intruders — Marco, clearly the underling and the other man who introduces himself as ‘Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar.’

  Lupin, ever the urbane and courteous miscreant, but with a definite hint of menace, interrogates Kesselbach about the latter’s interest in a man named Leduc, but Kesselbach refuses to be drawn. Marco goes to the bank to empty the safe deposit box, which contains a large quantity of fine diamonds and a small box, on the base of which is a small circular paper label with the number 813 written on it. Marco relays this news to Lupin and here the reader leaves the scene at this tense impasse.

  The next morning, Sergeant Gourel of the Police arrives at the hotel for an appointment with Kesselbach. Receiving no answer, he breaks into Kesselbach’s suite, to find the two servants bound and gagged and Kesselbach dead. Pinned to the dead man’s chest is the business card for Lupin –, but Gourel says in disbelief: “No, no …..it’s not possible, because he’s dead!” – a dead man cannot imprison and murder another man. Incredulous though they are, Gourel and his superior, M. Lenormand of the detective squad, begin their investigation. On questioning the floor waiter who looked after the rooms, it transpired that a metal cigarette case was found in the rooms reserved for Mrs Kesselbach, who was expected imminently. The servant is sent to his room to retrieve the case, but does not return – he is found dead and the case nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, on the floor in the apartment used by the Kesselbachs, the police find a small circular label, with the number 813 on it.

  The police order the hotel to be locked and no one is to leave or enter and a thorough search of the building begins. The police are to find more than they expected — not just a black felt hat whose owner cannot be identified, but also the dead body of Chapman, Kesselbach’s secretary, who has been murdered as he had witnessed too much.

  One more source of information must be investigated and this is Kesselbach’s post, which was waiting in the office of the hotel. In one intriguing packet is a small ebony box, containing fragments of broken mirror and the calling card for Arsène Lupin. On the base of the box is a small circular label bearing the number 813. What do the two labels signify? What can be so important that it is worth the death of three men? Has Arsène Lupin really come back from the dead to wreak havoc in this way and what is his ultimate goal? This is a fast paced story with strong characterisation and a sense of mystery and tension that builds from the start. It is sure to please all Lupin mystery fans, or indeed anyone who enjoys crime fiction from the golden age of pre-1914 stories.

  Interestingly, 813 was adapted for the screen and released in 1920, written by Scott Darling, directed by Charles Christie and Scott Sidney and produced by Al Christie. It was released by the Christie Film Company and the Robertson-Cole Pictures Corporation and starred Wedgwood Nowell supported by Laura la Plante, Ralph Lewis and Wallace Beery. Reviews were indifferent; the Film Daily of 23 January 1920, summarised it thus: ‘Rather confusing in its attempt to mystify. Well acted, but the story sets forth an unnecessary amount of criminal elements.’ It is unclear as to whether a print of this film has survived.

  The Film Daily of 19 January 1921 reported that the Robertson-Cole company held an option on at least 19 of the Lupin stories, but had decided not to pursue the project. Wedgewood Nowell, after starring in 813, went on to set up his own company to recreate four Lupin stories for the cinema per year, in which he was to star in the leading role. However, his filmography does not reveal any references to the character of Lupin other than 813. In 1980, 813 was adapted for French television, with the title Arsène Lupin Joue et Perd, with Jean-Claude Brialy in the title role. In 1979, the French society 813: The Friends of Mystery Literature Association was founded, using the title of this novel as a key part of its name. Membership is limited to 813 persons.

  CONTENTS

  TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

  CHAPTER I. THE TRAGEDY AT THE PALACE HOTEL

  CHAPTER II. THE BLUE-EDGED LABEL

  CHAPTER III. M. LENORMAND OPENS HIS CAMPAIGN

  CHAPTER IV. PRINCE SERNINE AT WORK

  CHAPTER V. M. LENORMAND AT WORK

  CHAPTER VI. M. LENORMAND SUCCUMBS

  CHAPTER VII. PARBURY-RIBEIRA-ALTENHEIM

  CHAPTER VIII. THE OLIVE-GREEN FROCK-COAT

  CHAPTER IX. “SANTÉ PALACE”

  CHAPTER X. LUPIN’S GREAT SCHEME

  “813”

  CHAPTER XI. CHARLEMAGNE

  CHAPTER XII. THE EMPEROR’S LETTERS

  CHAPTER XIII. THE SEVEN SCOUNDRELS

  CHAPTER XIV. THE MAN IN BLACK

  CHAPTER XV. THE MAP OF EUROPE

  CHAPTER XVI. ARSÈNE LUPIN’S THREE MURDERS

  EPILOGUE THE SUICIDE

  The original frontispiece

  TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

  A ZEALOUS READER, collating the translation of this book with the original, would hit upon certain differences. These are due to alterations made, in most case, by the author himself, and, in all cases, with his full approval.

  A. T. de M.

  Chelsea, England, August, 1910.

  CHAPTER I. THE TRAGEDY AT THE PALACE HOTEL

  MR. KESSELBACH STOPPED short on the threshold of the sitting-room, took his secretary’s arm and, in an anxious voice, whispered:

  “Chapman, some one has been here again.”

  “Surely not, sir,” protested the secretary. “You have just opened the hall-door yourself; and the key never left your pocket while we were lunching in the restaurant.”

  “Chapman, some one has been here again,” Mr. Kesselbach repeated. He pointed to a traveling-bag on the mantelpiece. “Look, I can prove it. That bag was shut. It is now open.”

  Chapman protested.

  “Are you quite sure that you shut it, sir? Besides, the bag contains nothing but odds and ends of no value, articles of dress. . . .”

  “It contains nothing else, because I took my pocket-book out before we went down, by way of precaution. . . . But for that. . . . No, Chapman, I tell you, some one has been here while we were at lunch.”

  There was a telephone on the wall. He took down the receiver:

  “Hallo! . . . I’m Mr. Kesselbach. . . . Suite 415 . . . That’s right. . . . Mademoiselle, would you please put me on to the Prefecture of Police . . . the detective department. . . . I know the number . . . one secon
d . . . Ah, here it is! Number 822.48. . . . I’ll hold the line.”

  A moment later he continued:

  “Are you 822.48? I should like a word with M. Lenormand, the chief of the detective-service. My name’s Kesselbach. . . . Hullo! . . . Yes, the chief detective knows what it’s about. He has given me leave to ring him up. . . . Oh, he’s not there? . . . To whom am I speaking? . . . Detective-sergeant Gourel? . . . You were there yesterday, were you not, when I called on M. Lenormand? Well, the same thing that I told M. Lenormand yesterday has occurred again to-day. . . . Some one has entered the suite which I am occupying. And, if you come at once, you may be able to discover some clues. . . . In an hour or two? All right; thanks. . . . You have only to ask for suite 415. . . . Thank you again.”

  Rudolf Kesselbach, nicknamed alternatively the King of Diamonds and the Lord of the Cape, possessed a fortune estimated at nearly twenty millions sterling. For the past week, he had occupied suite 415, on the fourth floor of the Palace Hotel, consisting of three rooms, of which the two larger, on the right, the sitting-room and the principal bedroom, faced the avenue; while the other, on the left, in which Chapman, the secretary, slept, looked out on the Rue de Judée.

  Adjoining this bedroom, a suite of five rooms had been reserved for Mrs. Kesselbach, who was to leave Monte Carlo, where she was at present staying, and join her husband the moment she heard from him.

  Rudolf Kesselbach walked up and down for a few minutes with a thoughtful air. He was a tall man, with a ruddy complexion, and still young; and his dreamy eyes, which showed pale blue through his gold-rimmed spectacles, gave him an expression of gentleness and shyness that contrasted curiously with the strength of the square forehead and the powerfully-developed jaws.

  He went to the window: it was fastened. Besides, how could any one have entered that way? The private balcony that ran round the flat broke off on the right and was separated on the left by a stone channel from the balconies in the Rue de Judée.

  He went to his bedroom: it had no communication with the neighboring rooms. He went to his secretary’s bedroom: the door that led into the five rooms reserved for Mrs. Kesselbach was locked and bolted.

  “I can’t understand it at all, Chapman. Time after time I have noticed things here . . . funny things, as you must admit. Yesterday, my walking-stick was moved. . . . The day before that, my papers had certainly been touched. . . . And yet how was it possible? . . .

  “It is not possible, sir!” cried Chapman, whose honest, placid features displayed no anxiety. “You’re imagining things, that’s all. . . . You have no proof, nothing but impressions, to go upon. . . . Besides, look here: there is no way into this suite except through the entrance-lobby. Very well. You had a special key made on the day of our arrival: and your own man, Edwards, has the only duplicate. Do you trust him?”

  “Of course I do! . . . He’s been with me for ten years! . . . But Edwards goes to lunch at the same time that we do; and that’s a mistake. He must not go down, in future, until we come back.”

  Chapman gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. There was no doubt about it, the Lord of the Cape was becoming a trifle eccentric, with those incomprehensible fears of his. What risk can you run in an hotel, especially when you carry no valuables, no important sum of money on you or with you?

  They heard the hall-door opening. It was Edwards. Mr. Kesselbach called him:

  “Are you dressed, Edwards? Ah, that’s right! . . . I am expecting no visitors to-day, Edwards . . . or, rather, one visitor only, M. Gourel. Meantime, remain in the lobby and keep an eye on the door. Mr. Chapman and I have some serious work to do.”

  The serious work lasted for a few minutes, during which Mr. Kesselbach went through his correspondence, read three or four letters and gave instructions how they were to be answered. But, suddenly, Chapman, waiting with pen poised, saw that Mr. Kesselbach was thinking of something quite different from his correspondence. He was holding between his fingers and attentively examining a pin, a black pin bent like a fish-hook:

  “Chapman,” he said, “look what I’ve found on the table. This bent pin obviously means something. It’s a proof, a material piece of evidence. You can’t pretend now that no one has been in the room. For, after all, this pin did not come here of itself.”

  “Certainly not,” replied the secretary. “It came here through me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why, it’s a pin which I used to fasten my tie to my collar. I took it out last night, while you were reading, and I twisted it mechanically.”

  Mr. Kesselbach rose from his chair, with a great air of vexation, took a few steps and stopped.

  “You’re laughing at me, Chapman, I feel you are . . . and you’re quite right. . . . I won’t deny it, I have been rather . . . odd, since my last journey to the Cape. It’s because . . . well . . . you don’t know the new factor in my life . . . a tremendous plan . . . a huge thing . . . I can only see it, as yet, in the haze of the future . . . but it’s taking shape for all that . . . and it will be something colossal. . . . Ah, Chapman, you can’t imagine. . . . Money I don’t care a fig for: I have money, I have too much money. . . . But this, this means a great deal more; it means power, might, authority. If the reality comes up to my expectations, I shall be not only Lord of the Cape, but lord of other realms as well. . . . Rudolf Kesselbach, the son of the Augsburg ironmonger, will be on a par with many people who till now have looked down upon him. . . . He will even take precedence of them, Chapman; he will, take precedence of them, mark my words . . . and, if ever I . . .”

  He interrupted himself, looked at Chapman as though he regretted having said too much and, nevertheless, carried away by his excitement, concluded:

  “You now understand the reasons of my anxiety, Chapman. . . . Here, in this brain, is an idea that is worth a great deal . . . and this idea is suspected perhaps . . . and I am being spied upon. . . . I’m convinced of it. . . .”

  A bell sounded.

  “The telephone,” said Chapman.

  “Could it,” muttered Kesselbach, “by any chance be . . . ?” He took down the instrument. “Hullo! . . . Who? The Colonel? Ah, good! Yes, it’s I. . . . Any news? . . . Good! . . . Then I shall expect you. . . . You will come with one of your men? Very well. . . . What? No, we shan’t be disturbed. . . . I will give the necessary orders. . . . It’s as serious as that, is it? . . . I tell you, my instructions will be positive. . . . my secretary and my man shall keep the door; and no one shall be allowed in. . . . You know the way, don’t you? . . . Then don’t lose a minute.”

  He hung up the receiver and said:

  “Chapman, there are two gentlemen coming. Edwards will show them in. . . .”

  “But M. Gourel . . . the detective-sergeant. . . . ?”

  “He will come later . . . in an hour. . . . And, even then, there’s no harm in their meeting. So send Edwards down to the office at once, to tell them. I am at home to nobody . . . except two gentlemen, the Colonel and his friend, and M. Gourel. He must make them take down the names.”

  Chapman did as he was asked. When he returned to the room, he found Mr. Kesselbach holding in his hand an envelope, or, rather, a little pocket-case, in black morocco leather, apparently empty. He seemed to hesitate, as though he did not know what to do with it. Should he put it in his pocket or lay it down elsewhere? At last he went to the mantelpiece and threw the leather envelope into his traveling-bag:

  “Let us finish the mail, Chapman. We have ten minutes left. Ah, a letter from Mrs. Kesselbach! Why didn’t you tell me of it, Chapman? Didn’t you recognize the handwriting?”

  He made no attempt to conceal the emotion which he felt in touching and contemplating that paper which his wife had held in her fingers and to which she had added a look of her eyes, an atom of her scent, a suggestion of her secret thoughts. He inhaled its perfume and, unsealing it, read the letter slowly in an undertone, in fragments that reached Chapman’s ears:

  “Feeling a little tired. . . .
Shall keep my room to-day. . . . I feel so bored. . . . When can I come to you? I am longing for your wire. . . .”

  “You telegraphed this morning, Chapman? Then Mrs. Kesselbach will be here to-morrow, Wednesday.”

  He seemed quite gay, as though the weight of his business had been suddenly relieved and he freed from all anxiety. He rubbed his hands and heaved a deep breath, like a strong man certain of success, like a lucky man who possessed happiness and who was big enough to defend himself.

  “There’s some one ringing, Chapman, some one ringing at the hall door. Go and see who it is.”

  But Edwards entered and said:

  “Two gentlemen asking for you, sir. They are the ones. . . .”

  “I know. Are they there, in the lobby?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Close the hall-door and don’t open it again except to M. Gourel, the detective-sergeant. You go and bring the gentlemen in, Chapman, and tell them that I would like to speak to the Colonel first, to the Colonel alone.”

  Edwards and Chapman left the room, shutting the door after them. Rudolf Kesselbach went to the window and pressed his forehead against the glass.

  Outside, just below his eyes, the carriages and motor-cars rolled along in parallel furrows, marked by the double line of refuges. A bright spring sun made the brass-work and the varnish gleam again. The trees were putting forth their first green shoots; and the buds of the tall chestnuts were beginning to unfold their new-born leaves.

  “What on earth is Chapman doing?” muttered Kesselbach. “The time he wastes in palavering! . . .”

  He took a cigarette from the table, lit it and drew a few puffs. A faint exclamation escaped him. Close before him stood a man whom he did not know.

  He started back:

  “Who are you?”