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

by Maurice Leblanc

  While chattering, Lupin had gone through the same performance as Ganimard and was now near the door. Ganimard saw that his foe was about to escape him. Forgetting all prudence, he tried to block his way and received a tremendous butt in the stomach, which sent him rolling to the opposite wall.

  Lupin dexterously touched a spring, turned the handle, opened the door and slipped away, roaring with laughter as he went.

  Twenty minutes later, when Ganimard at last succeeded in joining his men, one of them said to him:

  “A house-painter left the house, as his mates were coming back from breakfast, and put a letter in my hand. ‘Give that to your governor,’ he said. ‘Which governor?’ I asked; but he was gone. I suppose it’s meant for you.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  Ganimard opened the letter. It was hurriedly scribbled in pencil and contained these words:

  “This is to warn you, friend of my youth, against excessive credulity. When a fellow tells you that the cartridges in your revolver are damp, however great your confidence in that fellow may be, even though his name be Arsène Lupin, never allow yourself to be taken in. Fire first; and, if the fellow hops the twig, you will have acquired the proof (1) that the cartridges are not damp; and (2) that old Catherine is the most honest and respectable of housekeepers.

  “One of these days, I hope to have the pleasure of making her acquaintance.

  “Meanwhile, friend of my youth, believe me always affectionately and sincerely yours,

  “Arsène Lupin.”

  SHADOWED BY DEATH

  AFTER HE HAD been round the walls of the property, Arsène Lupin returned to the spot from which he started. It was perfectly clear to him that there was no breach in the walls; and the only way of entering the extensive grounds of the Château de Maupertuis was through a little low door, firmly bolted on the inside, or through the principal gate, which was overlooked by the lodge.

  “Very well,” he said. “We must employ heroic methods.”

  Pushing his way into the copsewood where he had hidden his motor-bicycle, he unwound a length of twine from under the saddle and went to a place which he had noticed in the course of his exploration. At this place, which was situated far from the road, on the edge of a wood, a number of large trees, standing inside the park, overlapped the wall.

  Lupin fastened a stone to the end of the string, threw it up and caught a thick branch, which he drew down to him and bestraddled. The branch, in recovering its position, raised him from the ground. He climbed over the wall, slipped down the tree, and sprang lightly on the grass.

  It was winter; and, through the leafless boughs, across the undulating lawns, he could see the little Château de Maupertuis in the distance. Fearing lest he should be perceived, he concealed himself behind a clump of fir-trees. From there, with the aid of a field-glass, he studied the dark and melancholy front of the manor-house. All the windows were closed and, as it were, barricaded with solid shutters. The house might easily have been uninhabited.

  “By Jove!” muttered Lupin. “It’s not the liveliest of residences. I shall certainly not come here to end my days!”

  But the clock struck three; one of the doors on the ground-floor opened; and the figure of a woman appeared, a very slender figure wrapped in a brown cloak.

  The woman walked up and down for a few minutes and was at once surrounded by birds, to which she scattered crumbs of bread. Then she went down the stone steps that led to the middle lawn and skirted it, taking the path on the right.

  With his field-glass, Lupin could distinctly see her coming in his direction. She was tall, fair-haired, graceful in appearance, and seemed to be quite a young girl. She walked with a sprightly step, looking at the pale December sun and amusing herself by breaking the little dead twigs on the shrubs along the road.

  She had gone nearly two thirds of the distance that separated her from Lupin when there came a furious sound of barking and a huge dog, a colossal Danish boarhound, sprang from a neighbouring kennel and stood erect at the end of the chain by which it was fastened.

  The girl moved a little to one side, without paying further attention to what was doubtless a daily incident. The dog grew angrier than ever, standing on its legs and dragging at its collar, at the risk of strangling itself.

  Thirty or forty steps farther, yielding probably to an impulse of impatience, the girl turned round and made a gesture with her hand. The great Dane gave a start of rage, retreated to the back of its kennel and rushed out again, this time unfettered. The girl uttered a cry of mad terror. The dog was covering the space between them, trailing its broken chain behind it.

  She began to run, to run with all her might, and screamed out desperately for help. But the dog came up with her in a few bounds.

  She fell, at once exhausted, giving herself up for lost. The animal was already upon her, almost touching her.

  At that exact moment a shot rang out. The dog turned a complete somersault, recovered its feet, tore the ground and then lay down, giving a number of hoarse, breathless howls, which ended in a dull moan and an indistinct gurgling. And that was all.

  “Dead,” said Lupin, who had hastened up at once, prepared, if necessary, to fire his revolver a second time.

  The girl had risen and stood pale, still staggering. She looked in great surprise at this man whom she did not know and who had saved her life; and she whispered:

  “Thank you.... I have had a great fright.... You were in the nick of time.... I thank you, monsieur.”

  Lupin took off his hat:

  “Allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle.... My name is Paul Daubreuil.... But before entering into any explanations, I must ask for one moment....”

  He stooped over the dog’s dead body and examined the chain at the part where the brute’s effort had snapped it:

  “That’s it,” he said, between his teeth. “It’s just as I suspected. By Jupiter, things are moving rapidly!... I ought to have come earlier.”

  Returning to the girl’s side, he said to her, speaking very quickly:

  “Mademoiselle, we have not a minute to lose. My presence in these grounds is quite irregular. I do not wish to be surprised here; and this for reasons that concern yourself alone. Do you think that the report can have been heard at the house?”

  The girl seemed already to have recovered from her emotion; and she replied, with a calmness that revealed all her pluck:

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Is your father in the house to-day?”

  “My father is ill and has been in bed for months. Besides, his room looks out on the other front.”

  “And the servants?”

  “Their quarters and the kitchen are also on the other side. No one ever comes to this part. I walk here myself, but nobody else does.”

  “It is probable, therefore, that I have not been seen either, especially as the trees hide us?”

  “It is most probable.”

  “Then I can speak to you freely?”

  “Certainly, but I don’t understand....”

  “You will, presently. Permit me to be brief. The point is this: four days ago, Mlle. Jeanne Darcieux....”

  “That is my name,” she said, smiling.

  “Mlle. Jeanne Darcieux,” continued Lupin, “wrote a letter to one of her friends, called Marceline, who lives at Versailles....”

  “How do you know all that?” asked the girl, in astonishment. “I tore up the letter before I had finished it.”

  “And you flung the pieces on the edge of the road that runs from the house to Vendôme.”

  “That’s true.... I had gone out walking....”

  “The pieces were picked up and they came into my hands next day.”

  “Then ... you must have read them,” said Jeanne Darcieux, betraying a certain annoyance by her manner.

  “Yes, I committed that indiscretion; and I do not regret it, because I can save you.”

  “Save me? From what?”

  “From death.”


  Lupin spoke this little sentence in a very distinct voice. The girl gave a shudder. Then she said:

  “I am not threatened with death.”

  “Yes, you are, mademoiselle. At the end of October, you were reading on a bench on the terrace where you were accustomed to sit at the same hour every day, when a block of stone fell from the cornice above your head and you were within a few inches of being crushed.”

  “An accident....”

  “One fine evening in November, you were walking in the kitchen-garden, by moonlight. A shot was fired, The bullet whizzed past your ear.”

  “At least, I thought so.”

  “Lastly, less than a week ago, the little wooden bridge that crosses the river in the park, two yards from the waterfall, gave way while you were on it. You were just able, by a miracle, to catch hold of the root of a tree.”

  Jeanne Darcieux tried to smile.

  “Very well. But, as I wrote to Marceline, these are only a series of coincidences, of accidents....”

  “No, mademoiselle, no. One accident of this sort is allowable.... So are two ... and even then!... But we have no right to suppose that the chapter of accidents, repeating the same act three times in such different and extraordinary circumstances, is a mere amusing coincidence. That is why I thought that I might presume to come to your assistance. And, as my intervention can be of no use unless it remains secret, I did not hesitate to make my way in here ... without walking through the gate. I came in the nick of time, as you said. Your enemy was attacking you once more.”

  “What!... Do you think?... No, it is impossible.... I refuse to believe....”

  Lupin picked up the chain and, showing it to her:

  “Look at the last link. There is no question but that it has been filed. Otherwise, so powerful a chain as this would never have yielded. Besides, you can see the mark of the file here.”

  Jeanne turned pale and her pretty features were distorted with terror:

  “But who can bear me such a grudge?” she gasped. “It is terrible.... I have never done any one harm.... And yet you are certainly right.... Worse still....”

  She finished her sentence in a lower voice:

  “Worse still, I am wondering whether the same danger does not threaten my father.”

  “Has he been attacked also?”

  “No, for he never stirs from his room. But his is such a mysterious illness!... He has no strength ... he cannot walk at all.... In addition to that, he is subject to fits of suffocation, as though his heart stopped beating.... Oh, what an awful thing!”

  Lupin realized all the authority which he was able to assert at such a moment, and he said:

  “Have no fear, mademoiselle. If you obey me blindly, I shall be sure to succeed.”

  “Yes ... yes ... I am quite willing ... but all this is so terrible....”

  “Trust me, I beg of you. And please listen to me, I shall want a few particulars.”

  He rapped out a number of questions, which Jeanne Darcieux answered hurriedly:

  “That animal was never let loose, was he?”

  “Never.”

  “Who used to feed him?”

  “The lodge-keeper. He brought him his food every evening.”

  “Consequently, he could go near him without being bitten?”

  “Yes; and he only, for the dog was very savage.”

  “You don’t suspect the man?”

  “Oh, no!... Baptiste?... Never!”

  “And you can’t think of anybody?”

  “No. Our servants are quite devoted to us. They are very fond of me.”

  “You have no friends staying in the house?”

  “No.”

  “No brother?”

  “No.”

  “Then your father is your only protector?”

  “Yes; and I have told you the condition he is in.”

  “Have you told him of the different attempts?”

  “Yes; and it was wrong of me to do so. Our doctor, old Dr. Guéroult, forbade me to cause him the least excitement.”

  “Your mother?...”

  “I don’t remember her. She died sixteen years ago ... just sixteen years ago.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “I was not quite five years old.”

  “And were you living here?”

  “We were living in Paris. My father only bought this place the year after.”

  Lupin was silent for a few moments. Then he concluded:

  “Very well, mademoiselle, I am obliged to you. Those particulars are all I need for the present. Besides, it would not be wise for us to remain together longer.”

  “But,” she said, “the lodge-keeper will find the dog soon.... Who will have killed him?”

  “You, mademoiselle, to defend yourself against an attack.”

  “I never carry firearms.”

  “I am afraid you do,” said Lupin, smiling, “because you killed the dog and there is no one but you who could have killed him. For that matter, let them think what they please. The great thing is that I shall not be suspected when I come to the house.”

  “To the house? Do you intend to?”

  “Yes. I don’t yet know how ... But I shall come.... This very evening.... So, once more, be easy in your mind. I will answer for everything.”

  Jeanne looked at him and, dominated by him, conquered by his air of assurance and good faith, she said, simply:

  “I am quite easy.”

  “Then all will go well. Till this evening, mademoiselle.”

  “Till this evening.”

  She walked away; and Lupin, following her with his eyes until the moment when she disappeared round the corner of the house, murmured:

  “What a pretty creature! It would be a pity if any harm were to come to her. Luckily, Arsène Lupin is keeping his weather-eye open.”

  Taking care not to be seen, with eyes and ears attentive to the least sight or sound, he inspected every nook and corner of the grounds, looked for the little low door which he had noticed outside and which was the door of the kitchen garden, drew the bolt, took the key and then skirted the walls and found himself once more near the tree which he had climbed. Two minutes later, he was mounting his motor-cycle.

  The village of Maupertuis lay quite close to the estate. Lupin inquired and learnt that Dr. Guéroult lived next door to the church.

  He rang, was shown into the consulting-room and introduced himself by his name of Paul Daubreuil, of the Rue de Surène, Paris, adding that he had official relations with the detective-service, a fact which he requested might be kept secret. He had become acquainted, by means of a torn letter, with the incidents that had endangered Mlle. Darcieux’s life; and he had come to that young lady’s assistance.

  Dr. Guéroult, an old country practitioner, who idolized Jeanne, on hearing Lupin’s explanations at once admitted that those incidents constituted undeniable proofs of a plot. He showed great concern, offered his visitor hospitality and kept him to dinner.

  The two men talked at length. In the evening, they walked round to the manor-house together.

  The doctor went to the sick man’s room, which was on the first floor, and asked leave to bring up a young colleague, to whom he intended soon to make over his practice, when he retired.

  Lupin, on entering, saw Jeanne Darcieux seated by her father’s bedside. She suppressed a movement of surprise and, at a sign from the doctor, left the room.

  The consultation thereupon took place in Lupin’s presence. M. Darcieux’s face was worn, with much suffering and his eyes were bright with fever. He complained particularly, that day, of his heart. After the auscultation, he questioned the doctor with obvious anxiety; and each reply seemed to give him relief. He also spoke of Jeanne and expressed his conviction that they were deceiving him and that his daughter had escaped yet more accidents. He continued perturbed, in spite of the doctor’s denials. He wanted to have the police informed and inquiries set on foot.

  But his excitem
ent tired him and he gradually dropped off to sleep.

  Lupin stopped the doctor in the passage:

  “Come, doctor, give me your exact opinion. Do you think that M. Darcieux’s illness can be attributed to an outside cause?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, suppose that the same enemy should be interested in removing both father and daughter.”

  The doctor seemed struck by the suggestion.

  “Upon my word, there is something in what you say.... The father’s illness at times adopts such a very unusual character!... For instance, the paralysis of the legs, which is almost complete, ought to be accompanied by....”

  The doctor reflected for a moment and then said in a low voice:

  “You think it’s poison, of course ... but what poison?... Besides, I see no toxic symptoms.... It would have to be.... But what are you doing? What’s the matter?...”

  The two men were talking outside a little sitting-room on the first floor, where Jeanne, seizing the opportunity while the doctor was with her father, had begun her evening meal. Lupin, who was watching her through the open door, saw her lift a cup to her lips and take a few sups.

  Suddenly, he rushed at her and caught her by the arm:

  “What are you drinking there?”

  “Why,” she said, taken aback, “only tea!”

  “You pulled a face of disgust ... what made you do that?”

  “I don’t know ... I thought....”

  “You thought what?”

  “That ... that it tasted rather bitter.... But I expect that comes from the medicine I mixed with it.”

  “What medicine?”

  “Some drops which I take at dinner ... the drops which you prescribed for me, you know, doctor.”

  “Yes,” said Dr. Guéroult, “but that medicine has no taste of any kind.... You know it hasn’t, Jeanne, for you have been taking it for a fortnight and this is the first time....”

  “Quite right,” said the girl, “and this does have a taste.... There — oh! — my mouth is still burning.”