Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-thief (Penguin Classics)

by Leblanc, Maurice

  I had sent my motor-car to Rouen by road on the previous day. I was to meet it by train, and go on to some friends, who have a house on the Seine.1

  A few minutes before we left Paris my compartment was invaded by seven gentlemen, five of whom were smoking. Short though the journey by the fast train be, I did not relish the prospect of taking it in such company, the more so as the old-fashioned carriage had no corridor. I therefore collected my overcoat, my newspapers, and my railway guide, and sought refuge in one of the neighboring compartments.

  It was occupied by a lady. At the sight of me, she made a movement of vexation which did not escape my notice, and leaned towards a gentleman standing on the foot-board—her husband, no doubt, who had come to see her off. The gentleman took stock of me, and the examination seemed to conclude to my advantage; for he whispered to his wife and smiled, giving her the look with which we reassure a frightened child. She smiled in her turn, and cast a friendly glance in my direction, as though she suddenly realized that I was one of those well-bred men with whom a woman can remain locked up for an hour or two in a little box six feet square without having anything to fear.

  Her husband said to her:

  “You must not mind, darling; but I have an important appointment, and I must not wait.”

  He kissed her affectionately, and went away. His wife blew him some discreet little kisses through the window, and waved her handkerchief.

  Then the guard’s whistle sounded, and the train started.

  At that moment, and in spite of the warning shouts of the railway officials, the door opened, and a man burst into our carriage. My travelling companion, who was standing up and arranging her things in the rack, uttered a cry of terror, and dropped down upon the seat.

  I am no coward—far from it; but I confess that these sudden incursions at the last minute are always annoying. They seem so ambiguous, so unnatural. There must be something behind them, else….

  The appearance of the new-comer, however, and his bearing were such as to correct the bad impression produced by the manner of his entrance. He was neatly, almost smartly, dressed; his tie was in good taste, his gloves clean; he had a powerful face…. But, speaking of his face, where on earth had I seen it before? For I had seen it: of that there was no possible doubt; or at least, to be accurate, I found within myself that sort of recollection which is left by the sight of an oft-seen portrait of which one has never beheld the original. And at the same time I felt the uselessness of any effort of memory that I might exert, so inconsistent and vague was that recollection.

  But when my eyes reverted to the lady I sat astounded at the pallor and disorder of her features. She was staring at her neighbor—he was seated on the same side of the carriage—with an expression of genuine affright, and I saw one of her hands steal trembling towards a little travelling-bag that lay on the cushion a few inches from her lap. She ended by taking hold of it, and nervously drew it to her.

  Our eyes met, and I read in hers so great an amount of uneasiness and anxiety that I could not help saying:

  “I hope you are not unwell, madame…. Would you like me to open the window?”

  She made no reply, but, with a timid gesture, called my attention to the individual beside her. I smiled as her husband had done, shrugged my shoulders, and explained to her by signs that she had nothing to fear, that I was there, and that, besides, the gentleman in question seemed quite harmless.

  Just then he turned towards us, contemplated us, one after the other, from head to foot, and then huddled himself into his corner, and made no further movement.

  A silence ensued; but the lady, as though she had summoned up all her energies to perform an act of despair, said to me, in a hardly audible voice:

  “You know he is in our train.”

  “Who?”

  “Why, he… he himself… I assure you.”

  “Whom do you mean?”

  “Arsène Lupin!”

  She had not removed her eyes from the passenger, and it was at him rather than at me that she flung the syllables of that alarming name.

  He pulled his hat down upon his nose. Was this to conceal his agitation, or was he merely preparing to go to sleep?

  I objected.

  “Arsène Lupin was sentenced yesterday, in his absence, to twenty years’ penal servitude. It is not likely that he would commit the imprudence of showing himself in public to-day. Besides, the newspapers have discovered that he has been spending the winter in Turkey ever since his famous escape from the Santé.”

  “He is in this train,” repeated the lady, with the ever more marked intention of being overheard by our companion. “My husband is a deputy prison-governor, and the station-inspector himself told us that they were looking for Arsène Lupin.”

  “That is no reason why…”

  “He was seen at the booking-office. He took a ticket for Rouen.”

  “It would have been easy to lay hands upon him.”

  “He disappeared. The ticket-collector at the door of the waiting-room did not see him; but they thought that he must have gone round by the suburban platforms and stepped into the express that leaves ten minutes after us.”

  “In that case, they will have caught him there.”

  “And supposing that, at the last moment, he jumped out of that express and entered this, our own train… as he probably… as he most certainly did?”

  “In that case they will catch him here; for the porters and the police cannot have failed to see him going from one train to the other, and, when we reach Rouen, they will net him finely.”

  “Him? Never! He will find some means of escaping again.”

  “In that case I wish him a good journey.”

  “But think of all that he may do in the mean time!”

  “What?”

  “How can I tell? One must be prepared for anything.”

  She was greatly agitated; and, in point of fact, the situation, to a certain degree, warranted her nervous state of excitement. Almost in spite of myself, I said:

  “There are such things as curious coincidences, it is true…. But calm yourself. Admitting that Arsène Lupin is in one of these carriages, he is sure to keep quiet, and, rather than bring fresh trouble upon himself, he will have no other idea than that of avoiding the danger that threatens him.”

  My words failed to reassure her. However, she said no more, fearing, no doubt, lest I should think her troublesome.

  As for myself, I opened my newspapers and read the reports of Arsène Lupin’s trial. They contained nothing that was not already known, and they interested me but slightly. Moreover, I was tired, I had had a poor night, I felt my eyelids growing heavy, and my head began to nod.

  “But surely, sir, you are not going to sleep?”

  The lady snatched my paper from my hands, and looked at me with indignation.

  “Certainly not,” I replied. “I have no wish to.”

  “It would be most imprudent,” she said.

  “Most,” I repeated.

  And I struggled hard, fixing my eyes on the landscape, on the clouds that streaked the sky. And soon all this became confused in space, the image of the excited lady and the drowsy man was obliterated in my mind, and I was filled with the great, deep silence of sleep.

  It was soon made agreeable by light and incoherent dreams, in which a being who played the part and bore the name of Arsene Lupin occupied a certain place. He turned and shifted on the horizon, his back laden with valuables, clambering over walls and stripping country-houses of their contents.

  But the outline of this being, who had ceased to be Arsène Lupin, grew more distinct. He came towards me, grew bigger and bigger, leaped into the carriage with incredible agility, and fell full upon my chest.

  A sharp pain… a piercing scream… I awoke. The man, my fellow-traveller, with one knee on my chest, was clutching my throat.

  I saw this very dimly, for my eyes were shot with blood. I also saw the lady in a corner writhing in a violent
fit of hysterics. I did not even attempt to resist. I should not have had the strength for it had I wished to: my temples were throbbing, I choked… my throat rattled…. Another minute… and I should have been suffocated.

  The man must have felt this. He loosened his grip. Without leaving hold of me, with his right hand he stretched a rope, in which he had prepared a slipknot, and, with a quick turn, tied my wrists together. In a moment I was bound, gagged— rendered motionless and helpless.

  And he performed this task in the most natural manner in the world, with an ease that revealed the knowledge of a master, of an expert in theft and crime. Not a word, not a fevered movement. Sheer coolness and audacity. And there lay I on the seat, roped up like a mummy—I, Arsène Lupin!

  It was really ridiculous. And notwithstanding the seriousness of the circumstances I could not but appreciate and almost enjoy the irony of the situation. Arsène Lupin “done” like a novice, stripped like the first-comer! For of course the scoundrel relieved me of my pocket-book and purse! Arsène Lupin victimized in his turn—duped and beaten! What an adventure!

  There remained the lady. He took no notice of her at all. He contented himself with picking up the wrist-bag that lay on the floor, and extracting the jewels, the purse, the gold and silver knicknacks which it contained. The lady opened her eyes, shuddered with fright, took off her rings and handed them to the man as though she wished to spare him any superfluous exertion. He took the rings, and looked at her: she fainted away.

  Then, calm and silent as before, without troubling about us further, he resumed his seat, lit a cigarette, and abandoned himself to a careful scrutiny of the treasures which he had captured, the inspection of which seemed to satisfy him completely.

  I was much less satisfied. I am not speaking of the twelve thousand francs of which I had been unduly plundered: this was a loss which I accepted only for the time; I had no doubt that those twelve thousand francs would return to my possession after a short interval, together with the exceedingly important papers which my pocket-book contained: plans, estimates, specifications, addresses, lists of correspondents, letters of a compromising character. But, for the moment, a more immediate and serious care was worrying me: what was to happen next?

  As may be readily imagined, the excitement caused by my passing through the Gare Saint-Lazare2 had not escaped me. As I was going to stay with friends who knew me by the name of Guillaume Berlat, and to whom my resemblance to Arsène Lupin was the occasion of many a friendly jest, I had not been able to disguise myself after my wont, and my presence had been discovered. Moreover, a man, doubtless Arsène Lupin, had been seen to rush from the express into the fast train. Hence it was inevitable and fated that the commissary of police at Rouen, warned by telegram, would await the arrival of the train, assisted by a respectable number of constables, question any suspicious passengers, and proceed to make a minute inspection of the carriages.

  All this I had foreseen, and had not felt greatly excited about it; for I was certain that the Rouen police would display no greater perspicacity than the Paris police, and that I should have been able to pass unperceived: was it not sufficient for me, at the wicket, carelessly to show my deputy’s card, thanks to which I had already inspired the ticket-collector at Saint-Lazare with every confidence? But how things had changed since then! I was no longer free. It was impossible to attempt one of my usual moves. In one of the carriages the commissary would discover the Sieur Arsène Lupin, whom a propitious fate was sending to him bound hand and foot, gentle as a lamb, packed up complete. He had only to accept delivery, just as you receive a parcel addressed to you at a railway station, a hamper of game, or a basket of vegetables and fruit.

  And to avoid this annoying catastrophe, what could I do, entangled as I was in my bonds?

  And the train was speeding towards Rouen, the next and the only stopping-place; it rushed through Vernon, through Saint-Pierre….

  I was puzzled also by another problem in which I was not so directly interested, but the solution of which aroused my professional curiosity: What were my fellow-traveller’s intentions?

  If I had been alone he would have had ample time to alight quite calmly at Rouen. But the lady? As soon as the carriage door was opened the lady, meek and quiet as she sat at present, would scream, and throw herself about, and cry for help!

  Hence my astonishment. Why did he not reduce her to the same state of powerlessness as myself, which would have given him time to disappear before his twofold misdeed was discovered?

  He was still smoking, his eyes fixed on the view outside, which a hesitating rain was beginning to streak with long, slanting lines. Once, however, he turned round, took up my railway guide, and consulted it.

  As for the lady, she made every effort to continue fainting, so as to quiet her enemy. But a fit of coughing, produced by the smoke, gave the lie to her pretended swoon.

  Myself, I was very uncomfortable, and had pains all over my body. And I thought… I planned…

  Pont-de-l’Arche… Oissel…. The train was hurrying on, glad, drunk with speed…. Saint-Etienne….

  At that moment the man rose and took two steps towards us, to which the lady hastened to reply with a new scream and a genuine fainting fit.

  But what could his object be? He lowered the window on our side. The rain was now falling in torrents, and he made a movement of annoyance at having neither umbrella nor overcoat. He looked up at the rack: the lady’s en-tout-cas3 was there; he took it. He also took my overcoat and put it on.

  We were crossing the Seine. He turned up his trousers, and then, leaning out of the window, raised the outer latch.

  Did he mean to fling himself on the permanent way? At the rate at which we were going it would have been certain death. We plunged into the tunnel pierced under the Côte Sainte-Catherine. The man opened the door, and, with one foot, felt for the step. What madness! The darkness, the smoke, the din—all combined to give a fantastic appearance to any such attempt. But suddenly the train slowed up, the Westinghouse brakes counteracted the movement of the wheels. In a minute the pace from fast became normal, and decreased still more. Without a doubt there was a gang at work repairing this part of the tunnel; this would necessitate a slower passage of the trains for some days perhaps, and the man knew it.

  He had only, therefore, to put his other foot on the step, climb down to the foot-board, and walk away quietly, not without first closing the door, and throwing back the latch.

  He had scarcely disappeared when the smoke showed whiter in the daylight. We emerged into a valley. One more tunnel, and we should be at Rouen.

  The lady at once recovered her wits, and her first care was to bewail the loss of her jewels. I gave her a beseeching glance. She understood, and relieved me of the gag which was stifling me. She wanted also to unfasten my bonds, but I stopped her.

  “No, no; the police must see everything as it was. I want them to be fully informed as regards that blackguard’s actions.”

  “Shall I pull the alarm-signal?”

  “Too late. You should have thought of that while he was attacking me.”

  “But he would have killed me! Ah, sir, didn’t I tell you that he was travelling by this train? I knew him at once, by his portrait. And now he’s taken my jewels!”

  “They’ll catch him, have no fear.”

  “Catch Arsène Lupin! Never.”

  “It all depends on you, madam. Listen. When we arrive be at the window, call out, make a noise. The police and porters will come up. Tell them what you have seen in a few words: the assault of which I was the victim, and the flight of Arsène Lupin. Give his description: a soft hat, an umbrella—yours—a gray frock-overcoat…”

  “Yours,” she said.

  “Mine? No, his own. I didn’t have one.”

  “I thought that he had none either when he got in.”

  “He must have had… unless it was a coat which some one left behind in the rack. In any case, he had it when he got out, and that is the essen
tial thing…. A gray frock-overcoat, remember…. Oh, I was forgetting… tell them your name to start with. Your husband’s functions will stimulate the zeal of all those men.”

  We were arriving. She was already leaning out of the window. I resumed, in a louder, almost imperious voice, so that my words should sink into her brain:

  “Give my name also, Guillaume Berlat. If necessary, say you know me… That will save time… we must hurry on the preliminary inquiries… the important thing is to catch Arsène Lupin… with your jewels…. You quite understand, don’t you? Guillaume Berlat, a friend of your husband’s.”

  “Quite… Guillaume Berlat.”

  She was already calling out and gesticulating. Before the train had come to a standstill a gentleman climbed in, followed by a number of other men. The critical hour was at hand.

  Breathlessly the lady exclaimed:

  “Arsène Lupin… he attacked us… he has stolen my jewels…. I am Madame Renaud… my husband is a deputy prison-governor…. Ah, here’s my brother, Georges Andelle, manager of the Credit Rouennais…. What I want to say is…”

  She kissed a young man who had just come up, and who exchanged greetings with the commissary. She continued, weeping:

  “Yes, Arsène Lupin…. He flew at this gentleman’s throat in his sleep…. Monsieur Berlat, a friend of my husband’s.”

  “But where is Arsène Lupin?”

  “He jumped out of the train in the tunnel, after we had crossed the Seine.”

  “Are you sure it was he?”

  “Certain. I recognized him at once. Besides, he was seen at the Gare Saint-Lazare. He was wearing a soft hat…”

  “No; a hard felt hat, like this,” said the commissary, pointing to my hat.

  “A soft hat, I assure you,” repeated Madame Renaud, “and a gray frock-overcoat.”

  “Yes,” muttered the commissary; “the telegram mentions a gray frock-overcoat with a black velvet collar.”

  “A black velvet collar, that’s it!” exclaimed Madame Renaud, triumphantly.

  I breathed again. What a good, excellent friend I had found in her!

  Meanwhile the policemen had released me from my bonds. I bit my lips violently till the blood flowed. Bent in two, with my handkerchief to my mouth, as seems proper to a man who has long been sitting in a constrained position, and who bears on his face the blood-stained marks of the gag, I said to the commissary, in a feeble voice: