“How do you mean?”
“I want to know not, of course, if you are empowered to settle this business here and now, but if, in dealing with me, you represent the views of those who know the business and who are qualified to settle it.”
“Yes,” declared Prasville, forcibly.
“So that I can have your answer within an hour after I have told you my conditions?”
“Yes.”
“Will the answer be that of the government?”
“Yes.”
Clarisse bent forward and, sinking her voice:
“Will the answer be that of the Elysee?”
Prasville appeared surprised. He reflected for a moment and then said:
“Yes.”
“It only remains for me to ask you to give me your word of honour that, however incomprehensible my conditions may appear to you, you will not insist on my revealing the reason. They are what they are. Your answer must be yes or no.”
“I give you my word of honour,” said Prasville, formally.
Clarisse underwent a momentary agitation that made her turn paler still. Then, mastering herself, with her eyes fixed on Prasville’s eyes, she said:
“You shall have the list of the Twenty-seven in exchange for the pardon of Gilbert and Vaucheray.”
“Eh? What?”
Prasville leapt from his chair, looking absolutely dumbfounded:
“The pardon of Gilbert and Vaucheray? Of Arsène Lupin’s accomplices?”
“Yes,” she said.
“The murderers of the Villa Marie-Therese? The two who are due to die to-morrow?”
“Yes, those two,” she said, in a loud voice. “I ask? I demand their pardon.”
“But this is madness! Why? Why should you?”
“I must remind you, Prasville, that you gave me your word...”
“Yes... yes... I know... But the thing is so unexpected...”
“Why?”
“Why? For all sorts of reasons!”
“What reasons?”
“Well... well, but... think! Gilbert and Vaucheray have been sentenced to death!”
“Send them to penal servitude: that’s all you have to do.”
“Impossible! The case has created an enormous sensation. They are Arsène Lupin’s accomplices. The whole world knows about the verdict.”
“Well?”
“Well, we cannot, no, we cannot go against the decrees of justice.”
“You are not asked to do that. You are asked for a commutation of punishment as an act of mercy. Mercy is a legal thing.”
“The pardoning-commission has given its finding...”
“True, but there remains the president of the Republic.”
“He has refused.”
“He can reconsider his refusal.”
“Impossible!”
“Why?”
“There’s no excuse for it.”
“He needs no excuse. The right of mercy is absolute. It is exercised without control, without reason, without excuse or explanation. It is a royal prerogative; the president of the Republic can wield it according to his good pleasure, or rather according to his conscience, in the best interests of the State.”
“But it is too late! Everything is ready. The execution is to take place in a few hours.”
“One hour is long enough to obtain your answer; you have just told us so.”
“But this is confounded madness! There are insuperable obstacles to your conditions. I tell you again, it’s impossible, physically impossible.”
“Then the answer is no?”
“No! No! A thousand times no!”
“In that case, there is nothing left for us to do but to go.”
She moved toward the door. M. Nicole followed her. Prasville bounded across the room and barred their way:
“Where are you going?”
“Well, my friend, it seems to me that our conversation is at an end. As you appear to think, as, in fact, you are certain that the president of the Republic will not consider the famous list of the Twenty-seven to be worth...”
“Stay where you are,” said Prasville.
He turned the key in the door and began to pace the room, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the floor.
And Lupin, who had not breathed a word during the whole of this scene and who had prudently contented himself with playing a colourless part, said to himself:
“What a fuss! What a lot of affectation to arrive at the inevitable result! As though Prasville, who is not a genius, but not an absolute blockhead either, would be likely to lose the chance of revenging himself on his mortal enemy! There, what did I say? The idea of hurling Daubrecq into the bottomless pit appeals to him. Come, we’ve won the rubber.”
Prasville was opening a small inner door which led to the office of his private secretary.
He gave an order aloud:
“M. Lartigue, telephone to the Elysee and say that I request the favour of an audience for a communication of the utmost importance.”
He closed the door, came back to Clarisse and said:
“In any case, my intervention is limited to submitting your proposal.”
“Once you submit it, it will be accepted.”
A long silence followed. Clarisse’s features expressed so profound a delight that Prasville was struck by it and looked at her with attentive curiosity. For what mysterious reason did Clarisse wish to save Gilbert and Vaucheray? What was the incomprehensible link that bound her to those two men? What tragedy connected those three lives and, no doubt, Daubrecq’s in addition?
“Go ahead, old boy,” thought Lupin, “cudgel your brains: you’ll never spot it! Ah, if we had asked for Gilbert’s pardon only, as Clarisse wished, you might have twigged the secret! But Vaucheray, that brute of a Vaucheray, there really could not be the least bond between Mme. Mergy and him.... Aha, by Jingo, it’s my turn now!... He’s watching me ... The inward soliloquy is turning upon myself... ‘I wonder who that M. Nicole can be? Why has that little provincial usher devoted himself body and soul to Clarisse Mergy? Who is that old bore, if the truth were known? I made a mistake in not inquiring... I must look into this.... I must rip off the beggar’s mask. For, after all, it’s not natural that a man should take so much trouble about a matter in which he is not directly interested. Why should he also wish to save Gilbert and Vaucheray? Why? Why should he?...” Lupin turned his head away. “Look out!... Look out!... There’s a notion passing through that red-tape-merchant’s skull: a confused notion which he can’t put into words. Hang it all, he mustn’t suspect M. Lupin under M. Nicole! The thing’s complicated enough as it is, in all conscience!...”
But there was a welcome interruption. Prasville’s secretary came to say that the audience would take place in an hour’s time.
“Very well. Thank you,” said Prasville. “That will do.”
And, resuming the interview, with no further circumlocution, speaking like a man who means to put a thing through, he declared:
“I think that we shall be able to manage it. But, first of all, so that I may do what I have undertaken to do, I want more precise information, fuller details. Where was the paper?”
“In the crystal stopper, as we thought,” said Mme. Mergy.
“And where was the crystal stopper?”
“In an object which Daubrecq came and fetched, a few days ago, from the writing-desk in his study in the Square Lamartine, an object which I took from him yesterday.”
“What sort of object?”
“Simply a packet of tobacco, Maryland tobacco, which used to lie about on the desk.”
Prasville was petrified. He muttered, guilelessly:
“Oh, if I had only known! I’ve had my hand on that packet of Maryland a dozen times! How stupid of me!”
“What does it matter?” said Clarisse. “The great thing is that the discovery is made.”
Prasville pulled a face which implied that the discovery would have been much pleasanter if h
e himself had made it. Then he asked:
“So you have the list?”
“Yes.”
“Show it to me.”
And, when Clarisse hesitated, he added:
“Oh, please, don’t be afraid! The list belongs to you, and I will give it back to you. But you must understand that I cannot take the step in question without making certain.”
Clarisse consulted M. Nicole with a glance which did not escape Prasville. Then she said:
“Here it is.”
He seized the scrap of paper with a certain excitement, examined it and almost immediately said:
“Yes, yes... the secretary’s writing: I recognize it.... And the signature of the chairman of the company: the signature in red.... Besides, I have other proofs.... For instance, the torn piece which completes the left-hand top corner of this sheet...”
He opened his safe and, from a special cash-box, produced a tiny piece of paper which he put against the top left corner:
“That’s right. The torn edges fit exactly. The proof is undeniable. All that remains is to verify the make of this foreign-post-paper.”
Clarisse was radiant with delight. No one would have believed that the most terrible torture had racked her for weeks and weeks and that she was still bleeding and quivering from its effects.
While Prasville was holding the paper against a window-pane, she said to Lupin:
“I insist upon having Gilbert informed this evening. He must be so awfully unhappy!”
“Yes,” said Lupin. “Besides, you can go to his lawyer and tell him.”
She continued:
“And then I must see Gilbert to-morrow. Prasville can think what he likes.”
“Of course. But he must first gain his cause at the Elysee.”
“There can’t be any difficulty, can there?”
“No. You saw that he gave way at once.”
Prasville continued his examination with the aid of a magnifying-glass and compared the sheet with the scrap of torn paper. Next, he took from the cash-box some other sheets of letter-paper and examined one of these by holding it up to the light:
“That’s done,” he said. “My mind is made up. Forgive me, dear friend: it was a very difficult piece of work.... I passed through various stages. When all is said, I had my suspicions... and not without cause...”
“What do you mean?” asked Clarisse.
“One second.... I must give an order first.”
He called his secretary:
“Please telephone at once to the Elysee, make my apologies and say that I shall not require the audience, for reasons which I will explain later.”
He closed the door and returned to his desk. Clarisse and Lupin stood choking, looking at him in stupefaction, failing to understand this sudden change. Was he mad? Was it a trick on his part? A breach of faith? And was he refusing to keep his promise, now that he possessed the list?
He held it out to Clarisse:
“You can have it back.”
“Have it back?”
“And return it to Daubrecq.”
“To Daubrecq?”
“Unless you prefer to burn it.”
“What do you say?”
“I say that, if I were in your place, I would burn it.”
“Why do you say that? It’s ridiculous!”
“On the contrary, it is very sensible.”
“But why? Why?”
“Why? I will tell you. The list of the Twenty-seven, as we know for absolutely certain, was written on a sheet of letter-paper belonging to the chairman of the Canal Company, of which there are a few samples in this cash-box. Now all these samples have as a water-mark a little cross of Lorraine which is almost invisible, but which can just be seen in the thickness of the paper when you hold it up to the light. The sheet which you have brought me does not contain that little cross of Lorraine.” [*]
* The Cross of Lorraine is a cross with two horizontal lines
or bars across the upper half of the perpendicular beam.
— Translator’s Note.
Lupin felt a nervous trembling shake him from head to foot and he dared not turn his eyes on Clarisse, realizing what a terrible blow this was to her. He heard her stammer:
“Then are we to suppose... that Daubrecq was taken in?”
“Not a bit of it!” exclaimed Prasville. “It is you who have been taken in, my poor friend. Daubrecq has the real list, the list which he stole from the dying man’s safe.”
“But this one...”
“This one is a forgery.”
“A forgery?”
“An undoubted forgery. It was an admirable piece of cunning on Daubrecq’s part. Dazzled by the crystal stopper which he flashed before your eyes, you did nothing but look for that stopper in which he had stowed away no matter what, the first bit of paper that came to hand, while he quietly kept...”
Prasville interrupted himself. Clarisse was walking up to him with short, stiff steps, like an automaton. She said:
“Then...”
“Then what, dear friend?”
“You refuse?”
“Certainly, I am obliged to; I have no choice.”
“You refuse to take that step?”
“Look here, how can I do what you ask? It’s not possible, on the strength of a valueless document...”
“You won’t do it?... You won’t do it?... And, to-morrow morning... in a few hours... Gilbert...”
She was frightfully pale, her face sunk, like the face of one dying. Her eyes opened wider and wider and her teeth chattered...
Lupin, fearing the useless and dangerous words which she was about to utter, seized her by the shoulders and tried to drag her away. But she thrust him back with indomitable strength, took two or three more steps, staggered, as though on the point of falling, and, suddenly, in a burst of energy and despair, laid hold of Prasville and screamed:
“You shall go to the Elysee!... You shall go at once!... You must!... You must save Gilbert!”
“Please, please, my dear friend, calm yourself...”
She gave a strident laugh:
“Calm myself!... When, to-morrow morning, Gilbert... Ah, no, no, I am terrified... it’s appalling.... Oh, run, you wretch, run! Obtain his pardon!... Don’t you understand? Gilbert... Gilbert is my son! My son! My son!”
Prasville gave a cry. The blade of a knife flashed in Clarisse’s hand and she raised her arm to strike herself. But the movement was not completed. M. Nicole caught her arm in its descent and, taking the knife from Clarisse, reducing her to helplessness, he said, in a voice that rang through the room like steel:
“What you are doing is madness!... When I gave you my oath that I would save him! You must... live for him... Gilbert shall not die.... How can he die, when... I gave you my oath?...”
“Gilbert... my son...” moaned Clarisse.
He clasped her fiercely, drew her against himself and put his hand over her mouth:
“Enough! Be quiet!... I entreat you to be quiet.... Gilbert shall not die...”
With irresistible authority, he dragged her away like a subdued child that suddenly becomes obedient; but, at the moment of opening the door, he turned to Prasville:
“Wait for me here, monsieur,” he commanded, in an imperative tone. “If you care about that list of the Twenty-seven, the real list, wait for me. I shall be back in an hour, in two hours, at most; and then we will talk business.”
And abruptly, to Clarisse:
“And you, madame, a little courage yet. I command you to show courage, in Gilbert’s name.”
He went away, through the passages, down the stairs, with a jerky step, holding Clarisse under the arm, as he might have held a lay-figure, supporting her, carrying her almost. A court-yard, another court-yard, then the street.
Meanwhile, Prasville, surprised at first, bewildered by the course of events, was gradually recovering his composure and thinking. He thought of that M. Nicole, a mere supernumerary at first, who played beside Cl
arisse the part of one of those advisers to whom we cling in the serious crises of our lives and who suddenly, shaking off his torpor, appeared in the full light of day, resolute, masterful, mettlesome, brimming over with daring, ready to overthrow all the obstacles that fate placed on his path.
Who was there that was capable of acting thus?
Prasville started. The question had no sooner occurred to his mind than the answer flashed on him, with absolute certainty. All the proofs rose up, each more exact, each more convincing than the last.
Hurriedly he rang. Hurriedly he sent for the chief detective-inspector on duty. And, feverishly:
“Were you in the waiting-room, chief-inspector?”
“Yes, monsieur le secretaire-general.”
“Did you see a gentleman and a lady go out?”
“Yes.”
“Would you know the man again?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t lose a moment, chief-inspector. Take six inspectors with you. Go to the Place de Clichy. Make inquiries about a man called Nicole and watch the house. The Nicole man is on his way back there.”
“And if he comes out, monsieur le secretaire-general?”
“Arrest him. Here’s a warrant.”
He sat down to his desk and wrote a name on a form:
“Here you are, chief-inspector. I will let the chief-detective know.”
The chief-inspector seemed staggered:
“But you spoke to me of a man called Nicole, monsieur le secretaire-general.”
“Well?”
“The warrant is in the name of Arsène Lupin.”
“Arsène Lupin and the Nicole man are one and the same individual.”
CHAPTER XII. THE SCAFFOLD
“I WILL SAVE him, I will save him,” Lupin repeated, without ceasing, in the taxicab in which he and Clarisse drove away. “I swear that I will save him.”
Clarisse did not listen, sat as though numbed, as though possessed by some great nightmare of death, which left her ignorant of all that was happening outside her. And Lupin set forth his plans, perhaps more to reassure himself than to convince Clarisse. “No, no, the game is not lost yet. There is one trump left, a huge trump, in the shape of the letters and documents which Vorenglade, the ex-deputy, is offering to sell to Daubrecq and of which Daubrecq spoke to you yesterday at Nice. I shall buy those letters and documents of Stanislas Vorenglade at whatever price he chooses to name. Then we shall go back to the police-office and I shall say to Prasville, ‘Go to the Elysee at once ... Use the list as though it were genuine, save Gilbert from death and be content to acknowledge to-morrow, when Gilbert is saved, that the list is forged.
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 138
