The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman Burglar
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Maurice Leblanc >> The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman Burglar
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Then he added, with a touch of pride:
"So much the better if no one can ever say with absolute
certainty: There is Arsene Lupin! The essential point is that the
public may be able to refer to my work and say, without fear of
mistake: Arsene Lupin did that!"
II. Arsene Lupin in Prison
There is no tourist worthy of the name who does not know the banks
of the Seine, and has not noticed, in passing, the little feudal
castle of the Malaquis, built upon a rock in the centre of the
river. An arched bridge connects it with the shore. All around
it, the calm waters of the great river play peacefully amongst the
reeds, and the wagtails flutter over the moist crests of the
stones.
The history of the Malaquis castle is stormy like its name, harsh
like its outlines. It has passed through a long series of
combats, sieges, assaults, rapines and massacres. A recital of
the crimes that have been committed there would cause the stoutest
heart to tremble. There are many mysterious legends connected
with the castle, and they tell us of a famous subterranean tunnel
that formerly led to the abbey of Jumieges and to the manor of
Agnes Sorel, mistress of Charles VII.
In that ancient habitation of heroes and brigands, the Baron
Nathan Cahorn now lived; or Baron Satan as he was formerly called
on the Bourse, where he had acquired a fortune with incredible
rapidity. The lords of Malaquis, absolutely ruined, had been
obliged to sell the ancient castle at a great sacrifice. It
contained an admirable collection of furniture, pictures, wood
carvings, and faience. The Baron lived there alone, attended by
three old servants. No one ever enters the place. No one had
ever beheld the three Rubens that he possessed, his two Watteau,
his Jean Goujon pulpit, and the many other treasures that he had
acquired by a vast expenditure of money at public sales.
Baron Satan lived in constant fear, not for himself, but for the
treasures that he had accumulated with such an earnest devotion
and with so much perspicacity that the shrewdest merchant could
not say that the Baron had ever erred in his taste or judgment.
He loved them--his bibelots. He loved them intensely, like a
miser; jealously, like a lover. Every day, at sunset, the iron
gates at either end of the bridge and at the entrance to the court
of honor are closed and barred. At the least touch on these
gates, electric bells will ring throughout the castle.
One Thursday in September, a letter-carrier presented himself at
the gate at the head of the bridge, and, as usual, it was the
Baron himself who partially opened the heavy portal. He
scrutinized the man as minutely as if he were a stranger, although
the honest face and twinkling eyes of the postman had been
familiar to the Baron for many years. The man laughed, as he
said:
"It is only I, Monsieur le Baron. It is not another man wearing
my cap and blouse."
"One can never tell," muttered the Baron.
The man handed him a number of newspapers, and then said:
"And now, Monsieur le Baron, here is something new."
"Something new?"
"Yes, a letter. A registered letter."
Living as a recluse, without friends or business relations, the
baron never received any letters, and the one now presented to him
immediately aroused within him a feeling of suspicion and
distrust. It was like an evil omen. Who was this mysterious
correspondent that dared to disturb the tranquility of his
retreat?
"You must sign for it, Monsieur le Baron."
He signed; then took the letter, waited until the postman had
disappeared beyond the bend in the road, and, after walking
nervously to and fro for a few minutes, he leaned against the
parapet of the bridge and opened the envelope. It contained a
sheet of paper, bearing this heading: Prison de la Sante, Paris.
He looked at the signature: Arsene Lupin. Then he read:
"Monsieur le Baron:
"There is, in the gallery in your castle, a picture of Philippe
de Champaigne, of exquisite finish, which pleases me beyond
measure. Your Rubens are also to my taste, as well as your
smallest Watteau. In the salon to the right, I have noticed the
Louis XIII cadence-table, the tapestries of Beauvais, the Empire
gueridon signed `Jacob,' and the Renaissance chest. In the salon
to the left, all the cabinet full of jewels and miniatures.
"For the present, I will content myself with those articles that
can be conveniently removed. I will therefore ask you to pack
them carefully and ship them to me, charges prepaid, to the
station at Batignolles, within eight days, otherwise I shall be
obliged to remove them myself during the night of 27 September;
but, under those circumstances, I shall not content myself with
the articles above mentioned.
"Accept my apologies for any inconvenience I may cause you, and
believe me to be your humble servant,
"Arsene Lupin."
"P. S.--Please do not send the largest Watteau. Although you
paid thirty thousand francs for it, it is only a copy, the
original having been burned, under the Directoire by Barras,
during a night of debauchery. Consult the memoirs of Garat.
"I do not care for the Louis XV chatelaine, as I doubt its
authenticity."
That letter completely upset the baron. Had it borne any other
signature, he would have been greatly alarmed--but signed by Arsene
Lupin!
As an habitual reader of the newspapers, he was versed in the
history of recent crimes, and was therefore well acquainted with
the exploits of the mysterious burglar. Of course, he knew that
Lupin had been arrested in America by his enemy Ganimard and was
at present incarcerated in the Prison de la Sante. But he knew
also that any miracle might be expected from Arsene Lupin.
Moreover, that exact knowledge of the castle, the location of the
pictures and furniture, gave the affair an alarming aspect. How
could he have acquired that information concerning things that no
one had ever seen?
The baron raised his eyes and contemplated the stern outlines of
the castle, its steep rocky pedestal, the depth of the surrounding
water, and shrugged his shoulders. Certainly, there was no
danger. No one in the world could force an entrance to the
sanctuary that contained his priceless treasures.
No one, perhaps, but Arsene Lupin! For him, gates, walls and
drawbridges did not exist. What use were the most formidable
obstacles or the most careful precautions, if Arsene Lupin had
decided to effect an entrance?
That evening, he wrote to the Procurer of the Republique at Rouen.
He enclosed the threatening letter and solicited aid and
protection.
The reply came at once to the effect that Arsene Lupin was in
custody in the Prison de la Sante, under close surveillance, with
no opportunity to write such a letter, which was, no doubt, the
work of some imposter. But, as an act of precaution, the Procurer
had submitted the letter to an expert in handwriting, who declared
that, in spite of certain resemblances, the writing was not that
of the prisoner.
But the words "in spite of certain resemblances" caught the
attention of the baron; in them, he read the possibility of a
doubt which appeared to him quite sufficient to warrant the
intervention of the law. His fears increased. He read Lupin's
letter over and over again. "I shall be obliged to remove them
myself." And then there was the fixed date: the night of 27
September.
To confide in his servants was a proceeding repugnant to his
nature; but now, for the first time in many years, he experienced
the necessity of seeking counsel with some one. Abandoned by the
legal official of his own district, and feeling unable to defend
himself with his own resources, he was on the point of going to
Paris to engage the services of a detective.
Two days passed; on the third day, he was filled with hope and joy
as he read the following item in the `Reveil de Caudebec', a
newspaper published in a neighboring town:
"We have the pleasure of entertaining in our city, at the present
time, the veteran detective Mon. Ganimard who acquired a world-
wide reputation by his clever capture of Arsene Lupin. He has
come here for rest and recreation, and, being an enthusiastic
fisherman, he threatens to capture all the fish in our river."
Ganimard! Ah, here is the assistance desired by Baron Cahorn!
Who could baffle the schemes of Arsene Lupin better than Ganimard,
the patient and astute detective? He was the man for the place.
The baron did not hesitate. The town of Caudebec was only six
kilometers from the castle, a short distance to a man whose step
was accelerated by the hope of safety.
After several fruitless attempts to ascertain the detective's
address, the baron visited the office of the `Reveil,' situated on
the quai. There he found the writer of the article who,
approaching the window, exclaimed:
"Ganimard? Why, you are sure to see him somewhere on the quai
with his fishing-pole. I met him there and chanced to read his
name engraved on his rod. Ah, there he is now, under the trees."
"That little man, wearing a straw hat?"
"Exactly. He is a gruff fellow, with little to say."
Five minutes later, the baron approached the celebrated Ganimard,
introduced himself, and sought to commence a conversation, but
that was a failure. Then he broached the real object of his
interview, and briefly stated his case. The other listened,
motionless, with his attention riveted on his fishing-rod. When
the baron had finished his story, the fisherman turned, with an
air of profound pity, and said:
"Monsieur, it is not customary for thieves to warn people they are
about to rob. Arsene Lupin, especially, would not commit such a
folly."
"But---"
"Monsieur, if I had the least doubt, believe me, the pleasure of
again capturing Arsene Lupin would place me at your disposal.
But, unfortunately, that young man is already under lock and key."
"He may have escaped."
"No one ever escaped from the Sante."
"But, he---"
"He, no more than any other."
"Yet---"
"Well, if he escapes, so much the better. I will catch him again.
Meanwhile, you go home and sleep soundly. That will do for the
present. You frighten the fish."
The conversation was ended. The baron returned to the castle,
reassured to some extent by Ganimard's indifference. He examined
the bolts, watched the servants, and, during the next forty-eight
hours, he became almost persuaded that his fears were groundless.
Certainly, as Ganimard had said, thieves do not warn people they
are about to rob.
The fateful day was close at hand. It was now the twenty-sixth of
September and nothing had happened. But at three o'clock the bell
rang. A boy brought this telegram:
"No goods at Batignolles station. Prepare everything for tomorrow
night. Arsene."
This telegram threw the baron into such a state of excitement that
he even considered the advisability of yielding to Lupin's
demands.
However, he hastened to Caudebec. Ganimard was fishing at the
same place, seated on a campstool. Without a word, he handed him
the telegram.
"Well, what of it?" said the detective.
"What of it? But it is tomorrow."
"What is tomorrow?"
"The robbery! The pillage of my collections!"
Ganimard laid down his fishing-rod, turned to the baron, and
exclaimed, in a tone of impatience:
"Ah! Do you think I am going to bother myself about such a silly
story as that!"
"How much do you ask to pass tomorrow night in the castle?"
"Not a sou. Now, leave me alone."
"Name your own price. I am rich and can pay it."
This offer disconcerted Ganimard, who replied, calmly:
"I am here on a vacation. I have no right to undertake such
work."
"No one will know. I promise to keep it secret."
"Oh! nothing will happen."
"Come! three thousand francs. Will that be enough?"
The detective, after a moment's reflection, said:
"Very well. But I must warn you that you are throwing your money
out of the window."
"I do not care."
"In that case...but, after all, what do we know about this devil
Lupin! He may have quite a numerous band of robbers with him.
Are you sure of your servants?"
"My faith---"
"Better not count on them. I will telegraph for two of my men to
help me. And now, go! It is better for us not to be seen
together. Tomorrow evening about nine o'clock."
* * * * *
The following day--the date fixed by Arsene Lupin--Baron Cahorn
arranged all his panoply of war, furbished his weapons, and, like
a sentinel, paced to and fro in front of the castle. He saw
nothing, heard nothing. At half-past eight o'clock in the
evening, he dismissed his servants. They occupied rooms in a wing
of the building, in a retired spot, well removed from the main
portion of the castle. Shortly thereafter, the baron heard the
sound of approaching footsteps. It was Ganimard and his two
assistants--great, powerful fellows with immense hands, and necks
like bulls. After asking a few questions relating to the location
of the various entrances and rooms, Ganimard carefully closed and
barricaded all the doors and windows through which one could gain
access to the threatened rooms. He inspected the walls, raised
the tapestries, and finally installed his assistants in the
central gallery which was located between the two salons.
"No nonsense! We are not here to sleep. At the slightest sound,
open the windows of the court and call me. Pay attention also to
the water-side. Ten metres of perpendicular rock is no obstacle
to those devils."
Ganimard locked his assistants in the gallery, carried away the
keys, and said to the baron:
"And now, to our post."
He had chosen for himself a small room located in the thick outer
wall, between the two principal doors, and which, in former years,
had been the watchman's quarters. A peep-hole opened upon the
bridge; another on the court. In one corner, there was an opening
to a tunnel.
"I believe you told me, Monsieur le Baron, that this tunnel is the
only subterranean entrance to the castle and that it has been
closed up for time immemorial?"
"Yes."
"Then, unless there is some other entrance, known only to Arsene
Lupin, we are quite safe."
He placed three chairs together, stretched himself upon them,
lighted his pipe and sighed:
"Really, Monsieur le Baron, I feel ashamed to accept your money
for such a sinecure as this. I will tell the story to my friend
Lupin. He will enjoy it immensely."
The baron did not laugh. He was anxiously listening, but heard
nothing save the beating of his own heart. From time to time, he
leaned over the tunnel and cast a fearful eye into its depths. He
heard the clock strike eleven, twelve, one.
Suddenly, he seized Ganimard's arm. The latter leaped up,
awakened from his sleep.
"Do you hear?" asked the baron, in a whisper.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I was snoring, I suppose."
"No, no, listen."
"Ah! yes, it is the horn of an automobile."
"Well?"
"Well! it is very improbable that Lupin would use an automobile
like a battering-ram to demolish your castle. Come, Monsieur le
Baron, return to your post. I am going to sleep. Good-night."
That was the only alarm. Ganimard resumed his interrupted
slumbers, and the baron heard nothing except the regular snoring
of his companion. At break of day, they left the room. The
castle was enveloped in a profound calm; it was a peaceful dawn on
the bosom of a tranquil river. They mounted the stairs, Cahorn
radiant with joy, Ganimard calm as usual. They heard no sound;
they saw nothing to arouse suspicion.
"What did I tell you, Monsieur le Baron? Really, I should not
have accepted your offer. I am ashamed."
He unlocked the door and entered the gallery. Upon two chairs,
with drooping heads and pendent arms, the detective's two
assistants were asleep.
"Tonnerre de nom d'un chien!" exclaimed Ganimard. At the same
moment, the baron cried out:
"The pictures! The credence!"
He stammered, choked, with arms outstretched toward the empty
places, toward the denuded walls where naught remained but the
useless nails and cords. The Watteau, disappeared! The Rubens,
carried away! The tapestries taken down! The cabinets, despoiled
of their jewels!
"And my Louis XVI candelabra! And the Regent chandelier!...And
my twelfth-century Virgin!"
He ran from one spot to another in wildest despair. He recalled
the purchase price of each article, added up the figures, counted
his losses, pell-mell, in confused words and unfinished phrases.
He stamped with rage; he groaned with grief. He acted like a
ruined man whose only hope is suicide.
If anything could have consoled him, it would have been the
stupefaction displayed by Ganimard. The famous detective did not
move. He appeared to be petrified; he examined the room in a
listless manner. The windows?....closed. The locks on the
doors?....intact. Not a break in the ceiling; not a hole in the
floor. Everything was in perfect order. The theft had been
carried out methodically, according to a logical and inexorable
plan.
"Arsene Lupin....Arsene Lupin," he muttered.
Suddenly, as if moved by anger, he rushed upon his two assistants
and shook them violently. They did not awaken.
"The devil!" he cried. "Can it be possible?"
He leaned over them and, in turn, examined them closely. They
were asleep; but their response was unnatural.
"They have been drugged," he said to the baron.
"By whom?"
"By him, of course, or his men under his discretion. That work
bears his stamp."
"In that case, I am lost--nothing can be done."
"Nothing," assented Ganimard.
"It is dreadful; it is monstrous."
"Lodge a complaint."
"What good will that do?"
"Oh; it is well to try it. The law has some resources."
"The law! Bah! it is useless. You represent the law, and, at
this moment, when you should be looking for a clue and trying to
discover something, you do not even stir."
"Discover something with Arsene Lupin! Why, my dear monsieur,
Arsene Lupin never leaves any clue behind him. He leaves nothing
to chance. Sometimes I think he put himself in my way and simply
allowed me to arrest him in America."
"Then, I must renounce my pictures! He has taken the gems of my
collection. I would give a fortune to recover them. If there is
no other way, let him name his own price."
Ganimard regarded the baron attentively, as he said:
"Now, that is sensible. Will you stick to it?"
"Yes, yes. But why?"
"An idea that I have."
"What is it?"
"We will discuss it later--if the official examination does not
succeed. But, not one word about me, if you wish my assistance."
He added, between his teeth:
"It is true I have nothing to boast of in this affair."
The assistants were gradually regaining consciousness with the
bewildered air of people who come out of an hypnotic sleep. They
opened their eyes and looked about them in astonishment. Ganimard
questioned them; they remembered nothing.
"But you must have seen some one?"
"No."
"Can't you remember?"
"No, no."
"Did you drink anything?"
They considered a moment, and then one of them replied:
"Yes, I drank a little water."
"Out of that carafe?"
"Yes."
"So did I," declared the other.
Ganimard smelled and tasted it. It had no particular taste and no
odor.
"Come," he said, "we are wasting our time here. One can't decide
an Arsene Lupin problem in five minutes. But, morbleau! I swear
I will catch him again."
The same day, a charge of burglary was duly performed by Baron
Cahorn against Arsene Lupin, a prisoner in the Prison de la Sante.
* * * * *
The baron afterwards regretted making the charge against Lupin
when he saw his castle delivered over to the gendarmes, the
procureur, the judge d'instruction, the newspaper reporters and
photographers, and a throng of idle curiosity-seekers.
The affair soon became a topic of general discussion, and the name
of Arsene Lupin excited the public imagination to such an extent
that the newspapers filled their columns with the most fantastic
stories of his exploits which found ready credence amongst their
readers.
But the letter of Arsene Lupin that was published in the `Echo de
France' (no once ever knew how the newspaper obtained it), that
letter in which Baron Cahorn was impudently warned of the coming
theft, caused considerable excitement. The most fabulous theories
were advanced. Some recalled the existence of the famous
subterranean tunnels, and that was the line of research pursued by
the officers of the law, who searched the house from top to
bottom, questioned every stone, studied the wainscoting and the
chimneys, the window-frames and the girders in the ceilings. By
the light of torches, they examined the immense cellars where the
lords of Malaquis were wont to store their munitions and
provisions. They sounded the rocky foundation to its very centre.
But it was all in vain. They discovered no trace of a subterranean
tunnel. No secret passage existed.
But the eager public declared that the pictures and furniture
could not vanish like so many ghosts. They are substantial,
material things and require doors and windows for their exits and
their entrances, and so do the people that remove them. Who were
those people? How did they gain access to the castle? And how
did they leave it?
The police officers of Rouen, convinced of their own impotence,
solicited the assistance of the Parisian detective force. Mon.
Dudouis, chief of the Surete, sent the best sleuths of the iron
brigade. He himself spent forty-eight hours at the castle, but
met with no success. Then he sent for Ganimard, whose past
services had proved so useful when all else failed.
Ganimard listened, in silence, to the instructions of his
superior; then, shaking his head, he said:
"In my opinion, it is useless to ransack the castle. The solution
of the problem lies elsewhere."
"Where, then?"
"With Arsene Lupin."
"With Arsene Lupin! To support that theory, we must admit his
intervention."
"I do admit it. In fact, I consider it quite certain."
"Come, Ganimard, that is absurd. Arsene Lupin is in prison."
"I grant you that Arsene Lupin is in prison, closely guarded; but
he must have fetters on his feet, manacles on his wrists, and gag
in his mouth before I change my opinion."
"Why so obstinate, Ganimard?"
"Because Arsene Lupin is the only man in France of sufficient
calibre to invent and carry out a scheme of that magnitude."
"Mere words, Ganimard."
"But true ones. Look! What are they doing? Searching for
subterranean passages, stones swinging on pivots, and other nonsense
of that kind. But Lupin doesn't employ such old-fashioned methods.
He is a modern cracksman, right up to date."
"And how would you proceed?"
"I should ask your permission to spend an hour with him."
"In his cell?"
"Yes. During the return trip from America we became very
friendly, and I venture to say that if he can give me any
information without compromising himself he will not hesitate to
save me from incurring useless trouble."
It was shortly after noon when Ganimard entered the cell of Arsene
Lupin. The latter, who was lying on his bed, raised his head and
uttered a cry of apparent joy.
"Ah! This is a real surprise. My dear Ganimard, here!"
"Ganimard himself."
"In my chosen retreat, I have felt a desire for many things, but
my fondest wish was to receive you here."
"Very kind of you, I am sure."
"Not at all. You know I hold you in the highest regard."
"I am proud of it."
"I have always said: Ganimard is our best detective. He is
almost,--you see how candid I am!--he is almost as clever as
Sherlock Holmes. But I am sorry that I cannot offer you anything
better than this hard stool. And no refreshments! Not even a
glass of beer! Of course, you will excuse me, as I am here only
temporarily."
Ganimard smiled, and accepted the proffered seat. Then the
prisoner continued:
"Mon Dieu, how pleased I am to see the face of an honest man. I
am so tired of those devils of spies who come here ten times a day
to ransack my pockets and my cell to satisfy themselves that I am
not preparing to escape. The government is very solicitous on my
account."
"It is quite right."
"Why so? I should be quite contented if they would allow me to
live in my own quiet way."
"On other people's money."
"Quite so. That would be so simple. But here, I am joking, and
you are, no doubt, in a hurry. So let us come to business,
Ganimard. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?
"The Cahorn affair," declared Ganimard, frankly.
"Ah! Wait, one moment. You see I have had so many affairs!
First, let me fix in my mind the circumstances of this particular
case....Ah! yes, now I have it. The Cahorn affair, Malaquis
castle, Seine-Inferieure....Two Rubens, a Watteau, and a few
trifling articles."
"Trifling!"
"Oh! ma foi, all that is of slight importance. But it suffices to
know that the affair interests you. How can I serve you,
Ganimard?"
"Must I explain to you what steps the authorities have taken in
the matter?"
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