“Well, then, answer. Who is Pierre Leduc?”
“Hermann IV., Grand Duke of Zweibrucken-Veldenz, Prince of Berncastel, Count of Fistingen, Lord of Wiesbaden and other places.”
Lupin felt a thrill of joy at learning that his protégé was definitely not the son of a pork-butcher!
“The devil!” he muttered. “So we have a handle to our name! . . . As far as I remember, the Grand-duchy of Zweibrucken-Veldenz is in Prussia?”
“Yes, on the Moselle. The house of Veldenz is a branch of the Palatine house of Zweibrucken. The grand-duchy was occupied by the French after the peace of Luneville and formed part of the department of Mont-Tonnerre. In 1814, it was restored in favor of Hermann I., the great grandfather of Pierre Leduc. His son, Hermann II., spent a riotous youth, ruined himself, squandered the finances of his country and made himself impossible to his subjects, who ended by partly burning the old castle at Veldenz and driving their sovereign out of his dominions. The grand-duchy was then administered and governed by three regents, in the name of Hermann II., who, by a curious anomaly, did not abdicate, but retained his title as reigning grand-duke. He lived, rather short of cash, in Berlin; later, he fought in the French war, by the side of Bismarck, of whom he was a friend. He was killed by a shell at the siege of Paris and, in dying, entrusted Bismarck with the charge of his son Hermann, that is, Hermann III.”
“The father, therefore, of our Leduc,” said Lupin.
“Yes. The chancellor took a liking to Hermann III., and used often to employ him as a secret envoy to persons of distinction abroad. At the fall of his patron Hermann III., left Berlin, travelled about and returned and settled in Dresden. When Bismarck died, Hermann III., was there. He himself died two years later. These are public facts, known to everybody in Germany; and that is the story of the three Hermanns, Grand-dukes of Zweibrucken-Veldenz in the nineteenth century.”
“But the fourth, Hermann IV., the one in whom we are interested?”
“We will speak of him presently. Let us now pass on to unknown facts.”
“Facts known to you alone,” said Lupin.
“To me alone and to a few others.”
“How do you mean, a few others? Hasn’t the secret been kept?”
“Yes, yes, the secret has been well kept by all who know it. Have no fear; it is very much to their interest, I assure you, not to divulge it.”
“Then how do you know it?”
“Through an old servant and private secretary of the Grand-duke Hermann, the last of the name. This servant, who died in my arms in South Africa, began by confiding to me that his master was secretly married and had left a son behind him. Then he told me the great secret.”
“The one which you afterwards revealed to Kesselbach.”
“Yes.”
“One second . . . Will you excuse me? . . .”
Lupin bent over M. Formerie, satisfied himself that all was well and the heart beating normally, and said:
“Go on.”
Steinweg resumed:
“On the evening of the day on which Bismarck died, the Grand-duke Hermann III. and his faithful manservant — my South African friend — took a train which brought them to Munich in time to catch the express for Vienna. From Vienna, they went to Constantinople, then to Cairo, then to Naples, then to Tunis, then to Spain, then to Paris, then to London, to St. Petersburg, to Warsaw . . . and in none of these towns did they stop. They took a cab, had their two bags put on the top, rushed through the streets, hurried to another station or to the landing-stage, and once more took the train or the steamer.”
“In short, they were being followed and were trying to put their pursuers off the scent,” Arsène Lupin concluded.
“One evening, they left the city of Treves, dressed in workmen’s caps and linen jackets, each with a bundle slung over his shoulder at the end of a stick. They covered on foot the twenty-two miles to Veldenz, where the old Castle of Zweibrucken stands, or rather the ruins of the old castle.”
“No descriptions, please.”
“All day long, they remained hidden in a neighboring forest. At night, they went up to the old walls. Hermann ordered his servant to wait for him and himself scaled the wall at a breach known as the Wolf’s Gap. He returned in an hour’s time. In the following week, after more peregrinations, he went back home to Dresden. The expedition was over.”
“And what was the object of the expedition?”
“The grand-duke never breathed a word about it to his servant. But certain particulars and the coincidence of facts that ensued enabled the man to build up the truth, at least, in part.”
“Quick, Steinweg, time is running short now: and I am eager to know.”
“A fortnight after the expedition, Count von Waldemar, an officer in the Emperor’s body-guard and one of his personal friends, called on the grand-duke, accompanied by six men. He was there all day, locked up with the grand-duke in his study. There were repeated sounds of altercations, of violent disputes. One phrase even was overheard by the servant, who was passing through the garden, under the windows: ‘Those papers were handed to you; His imperial Majesty is sure of it. If you refuse to give them to me of your own free will . . .’ The rest of the sentence, the meaning of the threat and, for that matter, the whole scene can be easily guessed by what followed; Hermann’s house was ransacked from top to bottom.”
“But that is against the law.”
“It would have been against the law if the grand-duke had objected; but he himself accompanied the count in his search.”
“And what were they looking for? The chancellor’s memoirs?”
“Something better than that. They were looking for a parcel of secret documents which were known to exist, owing to indiscretions that had been committed, and which were known for certain to have been entrusted to the Grand-duke Hermann’s keeping.”
Lupin muttered, excitedly:
“Secret documents . . . and very important ones, no doubt?”
“Of the highest importance. The publication of those papers would lead to results which it would be impossible to foresee, not only from the point of view of home politics, but also from that of Germany’s relations with the foreign powers.”
“Oh!” said Lupin, throbbing with emotion. “Oh, can it be possible? What proof have you?”
“What proof? The evidence of the grand-duke’s wife, the confidences which she made to the servant after her husband’s death.”
“Yes . . . yes . . .” stammered Lupin. “We have the evidence of the grand-duke himself.”
“Better still,” said Steinweg.
“What?”
“A document, a document written in his own hand, signed by him and containing . . .”
“Containing what?”
“A list of the secret papers confided to his charge.”
“Tell me, in two words. . . .”
“In two words? That can’t be done. The document is a very long one, scattered all over with annotations and remarks which are sometimes impossible to understand. Let me mention just two titles which obviously refer to two bundles of secret papers: Original letters of the Crown Prince to Bismarck is one. The dates show that these letters were written during the three months of the reign of Frederick III. To picture what the letters may contain, you have only to think of the Emperor Frederick’s illness, his quarrels with his son . . .”
“Yes, yes, I know. . . . And the other title?”
“Photographs of the letters of Frederick III., and the Empress Victoria to the Queen of England.”
“Do you mean to say that that’s there?” asked Lupin, in a choking voice.
“Listen to the grand-duke’s notes: Text of the treaty with Great Britain and France. And these rather obscure words: ‘Alsace-Lorraine. . . . Colonies. . . . Limitation of naval armaments. . . .”
“It says that?” blurted Lupin. “And you call that obscure? . . . Why, the words are dazzling with light! . . . Oh, can it be possible? . . . And what next,
what next?”
As he spoke there was a noise at the door. Some one was knocking.
“You can’t come in,” said Lupin. “I am busy. . . . Go on, Steinweg.”
“But . . .” said the old man, in a great state of alarm.
The door was shaken violently and Lupin recognized Weber’s voice. He shouted:
“A little patience, Weber. I shall have done in five minutes.”
He gripped the old man’s arm and, in a tone of command:
“Be easy and go on with your story. So, according to you, the expedition of the grand duke and his servant to Veldenz Castle had no other object than to hide those papers?”
“There can be no question about that.”
“Very well. But the grand-duke may have taken them away since.”
“No, he did not leave Dresden until his death.”
“But the grand-duke’s enemies, the men who had everything to gain by recovering them and destroying them: can’t they have tried to find out where the papers were?”
“They have tried.”
“How do you know?”
“You can understand that I did not remain inactive and that my first care, after receiving those revelations, was to go to Veldenz and make inquiries for myself in the neighboring villages. Well, I learnt that, on two separate occasions, the castle was invaded by a dozen men, who came from Berlin furnished with credentials to the regents.”
“Well?”
“Well, they found nothing, for, since that time, the castle has been found closed to the public.”
“But what prevents anybody from getting in?”
“A garrison of fifty soldiers, who keep watch day and night.”
“Soldiers of the grand-duchy?”
“No, soldiers drafted from the Emperor’s own body-guard.”
The din in the passage increased:
“Open the door!” a voice cried. “I order you to open the door!”
“I can’t. Weber, old chap; the lock has stuck. If you take my advice, you had better cut the door all round the lock.”
“Open the door!”
“And what about the fate of Europe, which we are discussing?”
He turned to the old man:
“So you were not able to enter the castle?”
“No.”
“But you are persuaded that the papers in question are hidden there?”
“Look here, haven’t I given you proofs enough? Aren’t you convinced?”
“Yes, yes,” muttered Lupin, “that’s where they are hidden . . . there’s no doubt about it . . . that’s where they are hidden. . . .”
He seemed to see the castle. He seemed to conjure up the mysterious hiding-place. And the vision of an inexhaustible treasure, the dream of chests filled with riches and precious stones could not have excited him more than the idea of those few scraps of paper watched over by the Kaiser’s guards. What a wonderful conquest to embark upon! And how worthy of his powers! And what a proof of perspicacity and intuition he had once more given by throwing himself at a venture upon that unknown track!
Outside, the men were “working” at the lock.
Lupin asked of old Steinweg:
“What did the grand-duke die of?”
“An attack of pleurisy, which carried him off in a few days. He hardly recovered consciousness before the end; and the horrible thing appears to have been that he was seen to make violent efforts, between his fits of delirium, to collect his thoughts and utter connected words. From time to time, he called his wife, looked at her in a desperate way and vainly moved his lips.”
“In a word, he spoke?” said Lupin, cutting him short, for the “working” at the lock was beginning to make him anxious.
“No, he did not speak. But, in a comparatively lucid moment, he summoned up the energy to make some marks on a piece of paper which his wife gave him.”
“Well, those marks . . . ?”
“They were illegible, for the most part.”
“For the most part? But the others?” asked Lupin, greedily. “The others?”
“There were, first, three perfectly distinct figures: an 8, a 1, and a 3. . . .”
“Yes, 813, I know . . . and next?”
“And next, there were some letters . . . several letters, of which all that can be made out for certain are a group of three followed, immediately after, by a group of two letters.”
“‘APO ON,’ is that it?”
“Oh, so you know! . . .”
The lock was yielding; almost all the screws had been taken out. Lupin, suddenly alarmed at the thought of being interrupted, asked:
“So that this incomplete word ‘APO ON’ and the number 813 are the formulas which the grand-duke bequeathed to his wife and son to enable them to find the secret papers?”
“Yes.”
“What became of the grand-duke’s wife?”
“She died soon after her husband, of grief, one might say.”
“And was the child looked after by the family?”
“What family? The grand-duke had no brothers or sisters. Moreover, he was only morganatically and secretly married. No, the child was taken away by Hermann’s old man-servant, who brought him up under the name of Pierre Leduc. He was a bad type of boy, self-willed, capricious and troublesome. One day, he went off and was never seen again.”
“Did he know the secret of his birth?”
“Yes; and he was shown the sheet of paper on which Hermann III. had written the letters and figures.”
“And after that this revelation was made to no one but yourself?”
“That’s all.”
“And you confided only in Mr. Kesselbach?”
“Yes. But, out of prudence, while showing him the sheet of letters and figures and the list of which I spoke to you, I kept both those documents in my own possession. Events have proved that I was right.”
Lupin was now clinging to the door with both hands:
“Weber,” he roared, “you’re very indiscreet! I shall report you! . . . Steinweg, have you those documents?”
“Yes.”
“Are they in a safe place?”
“Absolutely.”
“In Paris?”
“No.”
“So much the better. Don’t forget that your life is in danger and that you have people after you.”
“I know. The least false step and I am done for.”
“Exactly. So take your precautions, throw the enemy off the scent, go and fetch your papers and await my instructions. The thing is cut and dried. In a month, at latest, we will go to Veldenz Castle together.”
“Suppose I’m in prison?”
“I will take you out.”
“Can you?”
“The very day after I come out myself. No, I’m wrong: the same evening . . . an hour later.”
“You have the means?”
“Since the last ten minutes, an infallible means. You have nothing more to say to me?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll open the door.”
He pulled back the door, and bowing to M. Weber:
“My poor old Weber, I don’t know what excuse to make . . .”
He did not finish his sentence. The sudden inrush of the deputy-chief and three policeman left him no time.
M. Weber was white with rage and indignation. The sight of the two men lying outstretched quite unsettled him.
“Dead!” he exclaimed.
“Not a bit of it, not a bit of it,” chuckled Lupin, “only asleep! Formerie was tired out . . . so I allowed him a few moments’ rest.”
“Enough of this humbug!” shouted M. Weber. And, turning to the policemen, “Take him back to the Santé. And keep your eyes open, damn it! As for this visitor . . .”
Lupin learnt nothing more as to Weber’s intentions with regard to old Steinweg. A crowd of municipal guards and police constables hustled him down to the prison-van.
On the stairs Doudeville whispered:
“Weber
had a line to warn him. It told him to mind the confrontation and to be on his guard with Steinweg. The note was signed ‘L. M.’”
But Lupin hardly bothered his head about all this. What did he care for the murderer’s hatred or old Steinweg’s fate? He possessed Rudolf Kesselbach’s secret!
CHAPTER X. LUPIN’S GREAT SCHEME
CONTRARY TO HIS expectations, Lupin had no sort of annoyance to undergo in consequence of his assault on M. Formerie.
The examining-magistrate came to the Santé in person, two days later, and told him, with some embarrassment and with an affectation of kindness, that he did not intend to pursue the matter further.
“Nor I, either,” retorted Lupin.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean that I shall send no communication to the press about this particular matter nor do anything that might expose you to ridicule, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. The scandal shall not be made public, I promise. That is what you want, is it not?”
M. Formerie blushed and, without replying, continued:
“Only, henceforth, your examinations will take place here.”
“It’s quite right that the law should put itself out for Lupin!” said that gentleman.
The announcement of this decision, which interrupted his almost daily meetings with the Doudevilles, did not disturb Lupin. He had taken his precautions from the first day, by giving the Doudevilles all the necessary instructions and, now that the preparations were nearly completed, reckoned upon being able to turn old Steinweg’s confidences to the best account without delay and to obtain his liberty by one of the most extraordinary and ingenious schemes that had ever entered his brain.
His method of correspondence was a simple one; and he had devised it at once. Every morning he was supplied with sheets of paper in numbered packets. He made these into envelopes; and, every evening, the envelopes, duly folded and gummed, were fetched away. Now Lupin, noticing that his packet always bore the same number, had drawn the inference that the distribution of the numbered packets was always affected in the same order among the prisoners who had chosen that particular kind of work. Experience showed that he was right.
It only remained for the Doudevilles to bribe one of the employees of the private firm entrusted with the supply and dispatch of the envelopes. This was easily done; and, thenceforward, Lupin, sure of success, had only to wait quietly until the sign agreed upon between him and his friends appeared upon the top sheet of the packet.
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 103
