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

by Maurice Leblanc

  Gaston Sauverand was watching the face of his former enemy. Standing close to Don Luis, his features lit up with the expression of feelings and passions which he no longer strove to check, he asked, in a low voice:

  “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Perenna, hardening himself to resist the man’s influence.

  “You must!” cried Sauverand, with a fierce outburst of violence. “You must believe in the strength of my love. It is the cause of everything. My hatred for you comes only from my love. Marie is my life. If she were dead, there would be nothing for me to do but die. Oh, this morning, when I read in the papers that the poor woman had opened her veins — and through your fault, after Hippolyte’s letters accusing her — I did not want to kill you so much as to inflict upon you the most barbarous tortures! My poor Marie, what a martyrdom she must be enduring!…

  “As you were not back, Florence and I wandered about all morning to have news of her: first around the prison, next to the police office and the law courts. And it was there, in the magistrates’ corridor, that I saw you. At that moment you were mentioning Marie Fauville’s name to a number of journalists; and you told them that Marie Fauville was innocent; and you informed them of the evidence which you possessed in Marie’s favour!

  “My hatred ceased then and there, Monsieur. In one second the enemy had become the ally, the master to whom one kneels. So you had had the wonderful courage to repudiate all your work and to devote yourself to Marie’s rescue! I ran off, trembling with joy and hope, and, as I joined Florence, I shouted, ‘Marie is saved! He proclaims her innocent! I must see him and speak to him!’…

  “We came back here. Florence refused to lay down her arms and begged me not to carry out my plan before your new attitude in the case was confirmed by deeds. I promised everything that she asked. But my mind was made up. And my will was still further strengthened when I had read your declaration in the newspaper. I would place Marie’s fate in your hands whatever happened and without an hour’s delay, I waited for your return and came up here.”

  He was no longer the same man who had displayed such coolness at the commencement of the interview. Exhausted by his efforts and by a struggle that had lasted for weeks, costing him so much fruitless energy, he was now trembling; and clinging to Don Luis, with one of his knees on the chair beside which Don Luis was standing, he stammered:

  “Save her, I implore you! You have it in your power. Yes, you can do anything. I learnt to know you in fighting you. There was more than your genius defending you against me; there is a luck that protects you. You are different from other men. Why, the mere fact of your not killing me at once, though I had pursued you so savagely, the fact of your listening to the inconceivable truth of the innocence of all three of us and accepting it as admissible, surely these constitute an unprecedented miracle.

  “While I was waiting for you and preparing to speak to you, I received an intuition of it all!” he exclaimed. “I saw clearly that the man who was proclaiming Marie’s innocence with nothing to guide him but his reason, I saw that this man alone could save her and that he would save her. Ah, I beseech you, save her — and save her at once. Otherwise it will be too late.

  “In a few days Marie will have ended her life. She cannot go on living in prison. You see, she means to die. No obstacle can prevent her. Can any one be prevented from committing suicide? And how horrible if she were to die!… Oh, if the law requires a criminal I will confess anything that I am asked to. I will joyfully accept every charge and pay every penalty, provided that Marie is free! Save her!… I did not know, I do not yet know the best thing to be done! Save her from prison and death, save her, for God’s sake, save her!”

  Tears flowed down his anguish-stricken face. Florence also was crying, bowed down with sorrow. And Perenna suddenly felt the most terrible dread steal over him.

  Although, ever since the beginning of the interview, a fresh conviction had gradually been mastering him, it was only as it were a glance that he became aware of it. Suddenly he perceived that his belief in Sauverand’s words was unrestricted, and that Florence was perhaps not the loathsome creature that he had had the right to think, but a woman whose eyes did not lie and whose face and soul were alike beautiful.

  Suddenly he learnt that the two people before him, as well as Marie Fauville, for love of whom they had fought so unskilful a fight, were imprisoned in an iron circle which their efforts would not succeed in breaking. And that circle traced by an unknown hand he, Perenna, had drawn tighter around them with the most ruthless determination.

  “If only it is not too late!” he muttered.

  He staggered under the shock of the sensations and ideas that crowded upon him. Everything clashed in his brain with tragic violence: certainty, joy, dismay, despair, fury. He was struggling in the clutches of the most hideous nightmare; and he already seemed to see a detective’s heavy hand descending on Florence’s shoulder.

  “Come away! Come away!” he cried, starting up in alarm. “It is madness to remain!”

  “But the house is surrounded,” Sauverand objected.

  “And then? Do you think that I will allow for a second — ? No, no, come! We must fight side by side. I shall still entertain some doubts, that is certain. You must destroy them; and we will save Mme. Fauville.”

  “But the detectives round the house?”

  “We’ll manage them.”

  “Weber, the deputy chief?”

  “He’s not here. And as long as he’s not here I’ll take everything on myself. Come, follow me, but at some little distance. When I give the signal and not till then—”

  He drew the bolt and turned the handle of the door. At that moment some one knocked. It was the butler.

  “Well?” asked Don Luis. “Why am I disturbed?”

  “The deputy chief detective, M. Weber, is here, sir.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ROUTED

  DON LUIS HAD certainly expected this formidable blow; and yet it appeared to take him unawares, and he repeated more than once:

  “Ah, Weber is here! Weber is here!”

  All his buoyancy left him, and he felt like a retreating army which, after almost making good its escape, suddenly finds itself brought to a stop by a steep mountain. Weber was there — that is to say, the chief leader of the enemies, the man who would be sure to plan the attack and the resistance in such a manner as to dash Perenna’s hopes to the ground. With Weber at the head of the detectives, any attempt to force a way out would have been absurd.

  “Did you let him in?” he asked.

  “You did not tell me not to, sir.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “No, sir, the deputy chief has six men with him. He has left them in the courtyard.”

  “And where is he?”

  “He asked me to take him to the first floor. He expected to find you in your study, sir.”

  “Does he know now that I am with Sergeant Mazeroux and Mlle. Levasseur?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Perenna thought for a moment and then said:

  “Tell him that you have not found me and that you are going to look for me in Mlle. Levasseur’s rooms. Perhaps he will go with you. All the better if he does.”

  And he locked the door again.

  The struggle through which he had just passed did not show itself on his face; and, now that all was lost, now that he was called upon to act, he recovered that wonderful composure which never abandoned him at decisive moments. He went up to Florence. She was very pale and was silently weeping. He said:

  “You must not be frightened, Mademoiselle. If you obey me implicitly, you will have nothing to fear.”

  She did not reply and he saw that she still mistrusted him. And he almost rejoiced at the thought that he would compel her to believe in him.

  “Listen to me,” he said to Sauverand. “In case I should not succeed after all, there are still several things which you must explain.”

 
“What are they?” asked Sauverand, who had lost none of his coolness.

  Then, collecting all his riotous thoughts, resolved to omit nothing, but at the same time to speak only what was essential, Don Luis asked, in a calm voice:

  “Where were you on the morning before the murder, when a man carrying an ebony walking-stick and answering to your description entered the Cafe du Pont-Neuf immediately after Inspector Vérot?”

  “At home.”

  “Are you sure that you did not go out?”

  “Absolutely sure. And I am also sure that I have never been to the Cafe du Pont-Neuf, of which I had never even heard.”

  “Good. Next question. Why, when you learned all about this business, did you not go to the Prefect of Police or the examining magistrate? It would have been simpler for you to give yourself up and tell the exact truth than to engage in this unequal fight.”

  “I was thinking of doing so. But I at once realized that the plot hatched against me was so clever that no bare statement of the truth would have been enough to convince the authorities. They would never have believed me. What proof could I supply? None at all — whereas, on the other hand, the proofs against us were overwhelming and undeniable. Were not the marks of the teeth evidence of Marie’s undoubted guilt? And were not my silence, my flight, the shooting of Chief Inspector Ancenis so many crimes? No, if I would rescue Marie, I must remain free.”

  “But she could have spoken herself?”

  “And confessed our love? Apart from the fact that her womanly modesty would have prevented her, what good would it have done? On the contrary, it meant lending greater weight to the accusation. That was just what happened when Hippolyte Fauville’s letters, appearing one by one, revealed to the police the as yet unknown motives of the crimes imputed to us. We loved each other.”

  “How do you explain the letters?”

  “I can’t explain them. We did not know of Fauville’s jealousy. He kept it to himself. And then, again, why did he suspect us? What can have put it into his head that we meant to kill him? Where did his fears, his nightmares, come from? It is a mystery. He wrote that he had letters of ours in his possession: what letters?”

  “And the marks of the teeth, those marks which were undoubtedly made by

  Mme. Fauville?”

  “I don’t know. It is all incomprehensible.”

  “You don’t know either what she can have done after leaving the opera between twelve and two in the morning?”

  “No. She was evidently lured into a trap. But how and by whom? And why does she not say what she was doing? More mystery.”

  “You were seen that evening, the evening of the murders, at Auteuil station. What were you doing there?”

  “I was going to the Boulevard Suchet and I passed under Marie’s windows. Remember that it was a Wednesday. I came back on the following Wednesday, and, still knowing nothing of the tragedy or of Marie’s arrest, I came back again on the second Wednesday, which was the evening on which you found out where I lived and informed Sergeant Mazeroux against me.”

  “Another thing. Did you know of the Mornington inheritance?”

  “No, nor Florence either; and we have every reason to think that Marie and her husband knew no more about it than we did.”

  “That barn at Damigni: was it the first time that you had entered it?”

  “Yes; and our astonishment at the sight of the two skeletons hanging from the rafters equalled yours.”

  Don Luis was silent. He cast about for a few seconds longer to see if he had any more questions to ask. Then he said:

  “That is all I wanted to know. Are you, on your side, certain that everything that is necessary has been said?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is a serious moment. It is possible that we may not meet again. Now you have not given me a single proof of your statements.”

  “I have told you the truth. To a man like yourself, the truth is enough. As for me, I am beaten. I give up the struggle, or, rather, I place myself under your orders. Save Marie.”

  “I will save the three of you,” said Perenna. “The fourth of the mysterious letters is to make its appearance to-morrow: that leaves ample time for us to lay our heads together and study the matter fully. And to-morrow evening I shall go there and, with the help of all that you have told me, I shall prove the innocence of you all. The essential thing is to be present at the meeting on the twenty-fifth of May.”

  “Please think only of Marie. Sacrifice me, if necessary. Sacrifice Florence even. I am speaking in her name as well as my own when I tell you that it is better to desert us than to jeopardize the slightest chance of success.”

  “I will save the three of you,” Perenna repeated.

  He pushed the door ajar and, after listening outside, said:

  “Don’t move. And don’t open the door to anybody, on any pretext whatever, before I come to fetch you. I shall not be long.”

  He locked the door behind him and went down to the first floor. He did not feel those high spirits which usually cheered him on the eve of his great battles. This time, Florence Levasseur’s life and liberty were at stake; and the consequences of a defeat seemed to him worse than death.

  Through the window on the landing he saw the detectives guarding the courtyard. He counted six of them. And he also saw the deputy chief at one of the windows of his study, watching the courtyard and keeping in touch with his detectives.

  “By Jove!” he thought, “he’s sticking to his post. It will be a tough job. He suspects something. However, let’s make a start!”

  He went through the drawing-room and entered his study. Weber saw him.

  The two enemies were face to face.

  There was a few seconds’ silence before the duel opened, the duel which was bound to be swift and vigorous, without the least sign of weakness or distraction on either side. It could not last longer than three minutes.

  The deputy chief’s face bore an expression of mingled joy and anxiety. For the first time he had permission, he had orders, to fight that accursed Don Luis, against whom he had never yet been able to satisfy his hatred. And his delight was all the greater because he held every trump, whereas Don Luis had put himself in the wrong by defending Florence Levasseur and tampering with the girl’s portrait. On the other hand, Weber did not forget that Don Luis was identical with Arsène Lupin; and this consideration caused him a certain uneasiness. He was obviously thinking:

  “The least blunder, and I’m done for.”

  He crossed swords with a jest.

  “I see that you were not in Mlle. Levasseur’s lodge, as your man pretended.”

  “My man spoke in accordance with my instructions, I was in my bedroom, upstairs. But I wanted to finish the job before I came down.”

  “And is it done?”

  “It’s done. Florence Levasseur and Gaston Sauverand are in my room, gagged and bound. You have only to accept delivery of the goods.”

  “Gaston Sauverand!” cried Weber. “Then it was he who was seen coming in?”

  “Yes. He was simply living with Florence Levasseur, whose lover he is.”

  “Oho!” said the deputy chief, in a bantering tone. “Her lover!”

  “Yes; and when Sergeant Mazeroux brought Florence Levasseur to my room, to question her out of hearing of the servants, Sauverand, foreseeing the arrest of his mistress, had the audacity to join us. He tried to rescue her from our hands.”

  “And you checkmated him?”

  “Yes.”

  It was clear that the deputy chief did not believe one word of the story.

  He knew through M. Desmalions and Mazeroux that Don Luis was in love with

  Florence; and Don Luis was not the man even through jealousy to hand over

  a woman whom he loved. He increased his attention.

  “Good business!” he said. “Take me up to your room. Was it a hard struggle?”

  “Not very. I managed to disarm the scoundrel. All the same, Mazeroux got stabbed i
n the thumb.”

  “Nothing serious?”

  “Oh, dear, no; but he has gone to have his wound dressed at the chemist’s.”

  The deputy chief stopped, greatly surprised.

  “What! Isn’t Mazeroux in your room with the two prisoners?”

  “I never told you that he was.”

  “No, but your butler—”

  “The butler made a mistake. Mazeroux went out a few minutes before you came.”

  “It’s funny,” said Weber, watching Don Luis closely, “but my men all think he’s here. They haven’t seen him go out.”

  “They haven’t seen him go out?” echoed Don Luis, pretending to feel anxious. “But, then, where can he be? He told me he wanted to have his thumb seen to.”

  The deputy chief was growing more and more suspicious. Evidently Perenna was trying to get rid of him by sending him in search of the sergeant.

  “I will send one of my men,” he said. “Is the chemist’s near?”

  “Just around the corner, in the Rue de Bourgogne. Besides, we can telephone.”

  “Oh, we can telephone!” muttered Weber.

  He was quite at a loss and looked like a man who does not know what is going to happen next. He moved slowly toward the instrument, while barring the way to Don Luis to prevent his escaping. Don Luis therefore retreated to the telephone box, as if forced to do so, took down the receiver with one hand, and, calling, “Hullo! Hullo! Saxe, 2409,” with the other hand, which was resting against the wall, he cut one of the wires with a pair of pliers which he had taken off the table as he passed.

  “Hullo! Are you there? Is that 2409? Are you the chemist?… Hullo!… Sergeant Mazeroux of the detective service is with you, isn’t he? Eh? What? What do you say? But it’s too awful! Are you sure? Do you mean to say the wound is poisoned?”

  Without thinking what he was doing, the deputy chief pushed Don Luis aside and took hold of the receiver. The thought of the poisoned wound was too much for him.

  “Are you there?” he cried, keeping an eye on Don Luis and motioning to him not to go away. “Are you there? … Eh? … It’s Deputy Chief Weber, of the detective office, speaking…. Hullo! Are you there? … I want to know about Sergeant Mazeroux. … Are you there?. . . Oh, hang it, why don’t you answer!”