by Otto Penzler
“That’s my business, Mr. Narkom, and I’ll take no man into my confidence regarding that.”
“Yes, my friend, but ‘Margot’—how about her?”
“I’m done with her! We broke last night, when I returned and she learned——never mind what she learned! I’m done with her—done with the lot of them. My life is changed forever.”
“In the name of Heaven, man, who and what are you?”
“Cleek—just Cleek; let it go at that,” he made reply. “Whether it’s my name or not is no man’s business; who I am, what I am, whence I came, is no man’s business either. Cleek will do—Cleek of the Forty Faces. Never mind the past; my fight is with the future, and so——examine me, Sir Horace, and let me know if I or Fate’s to blame for what I am.”
Sir Horace did.
“Absolutely Fate,” he said, when, after a long examination, the man put the question to him again. “It is the criminal brain fully developed, horribly pronounced. God help you, my poor fellow; but a man simply could not be other than a thief and a criminal with an organ like that. There’s no hope for you to escape your natural bent except by death. You can’t be honest. You can’t rise—you never will rise; it’s useless to fight against it!”
“I will fight against it! I will rise! I will! I will! I will!” he cried out vehemently. “There is a way to put such craft and cunning to account; a way to fight the devil with his own weapons and crush him under the weight of his own gifts, and that way I’ll take!
“Mr. Narkom”—he whirled and walked toward the superintendent, his hand outstretched, his eager face aglow—“Mr. Narkom, help me! Take me under your wing. Give me a start—give me a chance—give me a lift on the way up!”
“Good heaven, man, you—you don’t mean——?”
“I do—I do. So help me heaven, I do. All my life I’ve fought against the law—now let me switch over and fight with it. I’m tired of being Cleek, the thief; Cleek, the burglar. Make me Cleek, the detective, and let us work together, hand in hand, for a common cause and for the public good. Will you, Mr. Narkom? Will you?”
“Will I? Won’t I!” said Narkom, springing forward and gripping his hand. “Jove! what a detective you will make. Bully boy! Bully boy!”
“It’s a compact, then?”
“It’s a compact—Cleek.”
“Thank you,” he said in a choked voice. “You’ve given me my chance; now watch me live up to it. The Vanishing Cracksman has vanished forever, Mr. Narkom, and it’s Cleek, the detective—Cleek of the Forty Faces from this time on. Now, give me your riddles—I’ll solve them one by one.”
Rogue: Arsène Lupin
The Mysterious Railway Passenger
MAURICE LEBLANC
NO CHARACTER IN THE WORLD of French mystery fiction is as beloved as the fun-loving criminal Arsène Lupin, created by Maurice Marie Émile Leblanc (1864–1941) for a new magazine in 1905; the stories were collected in book form two years later. They immediately became wildly popular, as successful in France as Sherlock Holmes stories were in England, and Leblanc achieved wealth and worldwide fame and was made a member of the French Legion of Honor. Although the tales are fast-paced, the amount and degree of action borders on the burlesque, with situations and coincidences often too far-fetched to be taken seriously.
Lupin, known as the Prince of Thieves, is a street urchin type who thumbs his nose—literally—at the police. He steals for the thrill of it more than for personal gain or noble motives. He is such a master of disguise that he was able to take the identity of the chief of the Sûreté and direct official investigations into his own activities. After several years as a successful criminal, Lupin decides to turn to the side of the law for personal reasons and assists the police, usually without their knowledge. He is not, however, a first-rate crime-fighter because he cannot resist jokes, women, and the derring-do of his freelance life as a crook.
“The Mysterious Railway Passenger” was first published in Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Cambrioleur in Paris in 1907. The first English-language edition was The Exploits of Arsène Lupin (New York, Harper, 1907); it was reissued as The Seven of Hearts (New York, Cassell, 1908) and as The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Burglar (Chicago, Donohue, 1910). The book served as the basis for two silent films, Lupin the Gentleman Burglar (1914) and The Gentleman Burglar (1915).
THE MYSTERIOUS RAILWAY PASSENGER
Maurice Leblanc
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.
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 Sante.”
“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 eye-lids 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 Arsène 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 coin-promising 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-Lazare 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, 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 r
ailway 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-cas 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.
