The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman Burglar

M >> Maurice Leblanc >> The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman Burglar

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"Do you know any reason why he should commit suicide?"

"None."

"He held a card in his hand. It was your card with your address."

"I do not understand that. It must have been there by some chance
that will be disclosed by the investigation."

A very strange chance, I thought; and I felt that the others
entertained the same impression.

I discovered the same impression in the papers next day, and
amongst all my friends with whom I discussed the affair. Amid the
mysteries that enveloped it, after the double discovery of the
seven of hearts pierced with seven holes, after the two inscrutable
events that had happened in my house, that visiting card promised
to throw some light on the affair. Through it, the truth may be
revealed. But, contrary to our expectations, Mon. Andermatt
furnished no explanation. He said:

"I have told you all I know. What more can I do? I am greatly
surprised that my card should be found in such a place, and I
sincerely hope the point will be cleared up."

It was not. The official investigation established that the Varin
brothers were of Swiss origin, had led a shifting life under
various names, frequenting gambling resorts, associating with a
band of foreigners who had been dispersed by the police after a
series of robberies in which their participation was established
only by their flight. At number 24 rue de Provence, where the
Varin brothers had lived six years before, no one knew what had
become of them.

I confess that, for my part, the case seemed to me so complicated
and so mysterious that I did not think the problem would ever be
solved, so I concluded to waste no more time upon it. But Jean
Daspry, whom I frequently met at that period, became more and more
interested in it each day. It was he who pointed out to me that
item from a foreign newspaper which was reproduced and commented
upon by the entire press. It was as follows:

"The first trial of a new model of submarine boat, which is
expected to revolutionize naval warfare, will be given in presence
of the former Emperor at a place that will be kept secret until the
last minute. An indiscretion has revealed its name; it is called
`The Seven-of-Hearts.'"

The Seven-of-Hearts! That presented a new problem. Could a
connection be established between the name of the sub-marine and
the incidents which we have related? But a connection of what
nature? What had happened here could have no possible relation
with the sub-marine.

"What do you know about it?" said Daspry to me. "The most diverse
effects often proceed from the same cause."

Two days later, the following foreign news item was received and
published:

"It is said that the plans of the new sub-marine `Seven-of-Hearts'
were prepared by French engineers, who, having sought, in vain, the
support of their compatriots, subsequently entered into
negotiations with the British Admiralty, without success."

I do not wish to give undue publicity to certain delicate matters
which once provoked considerable excitement. Yet, since all danger
of injury therefrom has now come to an end, I must speak of the
article that appeared in the `Echo de France,' which aroused so
much comment at that time, and which threw considerable light upon
the mystery of the Seven-of-Hearts. This is the article as it was
published over the signature of Salvator:

"THE AFFAIR OF THE SEVEN-OF-HEARTS.

"A CORNER OF THE VEIL RAISED.

"We will be brief. Ten years ago, a young mining engineer, Louis
Lacombe, wishing to devote his time and fortune to certain studies,
resigned his position he then held, and rented number 102 boulevard
Maillot, a small house that had been recently built and decorated
for an Italian count. Through the agency of the Varin brothers of
Lausanne, one of whom assisted in the preliminary experiments and
the other acted as financial agent, the young engineer was
introduced to Georges Andermatt, the founder of the Metal Exchange.

"After several interviews, he succeeded in interesting the banker
in a sub-marine boat on which he was working, and it was agreed
that as soon as the invention was perfected, Mon. Andermatt would
use his influence with the Minister of Marine to obtain a series of
trials under the direction of the government. For two years, Louis
Lacombe was a frequent visitor at Andermatt's house, and he
submitted to the banker the various improvements he made upon his
original plans, until one day, being satisfied with the perfection
of his work, he asked Mon. Andermatt to communicate with the
Minister of Marine. That day, Louis Lacombe dined at Mon.
Andermatt's house. He left there about half-past eleven at night.
He has not been seen since.

"A perusal of the newspapers of that date will show that the
young man's family caused every possible inquiry to be made, but
without success; and it was the general opinion that Louis Lacombe--
who was known as an original and visionary youth--had quietly left
for parts unknown.

"Let us accept that theory--improbable, though it be,--and let us
consider another question, which is a most important one for our
country: What has become of the plans of the sub-marine? Did Louis
Lacombe carry them away? Are they destroyed?

"After making a thorough investigation, we are able to assert,
positively, that the plans are in existence, and are now in the
possession of the two brothers Varin. How did they acquire such a
possession? That is a question not yet determined; nor do we know
why they have not tried to sell them at an earlier date. Did they
fear that their title to them would be called in question? If so,
they have lost that fear, and we can announce definitely, that the
plans of Louis Lacombe are now the property of foreign power, and
we are in a position to publish the correspondence that passed
between the Varin brothers and the representative of that power.
The `Seven-of-Hearts' invented by Louis Lacombe has been actually
constructed by our neighbor.

"Will the invention fulfill the optimistic expectations of those
who were concerned in that treacherous act?"

And a post-script adds:

"Later.--Our special correspondent informs us that the preliminary
trial of the `Seven-of-Hearts' has not been satisfactory. It is
quite likely that the plans sold and delivered by the Varin
brothers did not include the final document carried by Louis
Lacombe to Mon. Andermatt on the day of his disappearance, a
document that was indispensable to a thorough understanding of the
invention. It contained a summary of the final conclusions of the
inventor, and estimates and figures not contained in the other
papers. Without this document, the plans are incomplete; on the
other hand, without the plans, the document is worthless.

"Now is the time to act and recover what belongs to us. It may
be a difficult matter, but we rely upon the assistance of Mon.
Andermatt. It will be to his interest to explain his conduct which
has hitherto been so strange and inscrutable. He will explain not
only why he concealed these facts at the time of the suicide of
Etienne Varin, but also why he has never revealed the disappearance
of the paper--a fact well known to him. He will tell why, during
the last six years, he paid spies to watch the movements of the
Varin brothers. We expect from him, not only words, but acts. And
at once. Otherwise---"

The threat was plainly expressed. But of what did it consist?
What whip was Salvator, the anonymous writer of the article,
holding over the head of Mon. Andermatt?

An army of reporters attacked the banker, and ten interviewers
announced the scornful manner in which they were treated.
Thereupon, the `Echo de France' announced its position in these
words:

"Whether Mon. Andermatt is willing or not, he will be, henceforth,
our collaborator in the work we have undertaken."

* * * * *

Daspry and I were dining together on the day on which that
announcement appeared. That evening, with the newspapers spread
over my table, we discussed the affair and examined it from every
point of view with that exasperation that a person feels when
walking in the dark and finding himself constantly falling over the
same obstacles. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the door
opened and a lady entered. Her face was hidden behind a thick
veil. I rose at once and approached her.

"Is it you, monsieur, who lives here?" she asked.

"Yes, madame, but I do not understand---"

"The gate was not locked," she explained.

"But the vestibule door?"

She did not reply, and it occurred to me that she had used the
servants' entrance. How did she know the way? Then there was a
silence that was quite embarrassing. She looked at Daspry, and I
was obliged to introduce him. I asked her to be seated and explain
the object of her visit. She raised her veil, and I saw that she
was a brunette with regular features and, though not handsome, she
was attractive--principally, on account of her sad, dark eyes.

"I am Madame Andermatt," she said.

"Madame Andermatt!" I repeated, with astonishment.

After a brief pause, she continued with a voice and manner that
were quite easy and natural:

"I have come to see you about that affair--you know. I thought I
might be able to obtain some information---"

"Mon Dieu, madame, I know nothing but what has already appeared in
the papers. But if you will point out in what way I can help you. ..."

"I do not know....I do not know."

Not until then did I suspect that her calm demeanor was assumed,
and that some poignant grief was concealed beneath that air of
tranquility. For a moment, we were silent and embarrassed. Then
Daspry stepped forward, and said:

"Will you permit me to ask you a few questions?"

"Yes, yes," she cried. "I will answer."

"You will answer....whatever those questions may be?"

"Yes."

"Did you know Louis Lacombe?" he asked.

"Yes, through my husband."

"When did you see him for the last time?"

"The evening he dined with us."

"At that time, was there anything to lead you to believe that you
would never see him again?"

"No. But he had spoken of a trip to Russia--in a vague way."

"Then you expected to see him again?"

"Yes. He was to dine with us, two days later."

"How do you explain his disappearance?"

"I cannot explain it."

"And Mon. Andermatt?"

"I do not know."

"Yet the article published in the `Echo de France' indicates---"

"Yes, that the Varin brothers had something to do with his
disappearance."

"Is that your opinion?"

"Yes."

"On what do you base your opinion?"

"When he left our house, Louis Lacombe carried a satchel containing
all the papers relating to his invention. Two days later, my
husband, in a conversation with one of the Varin brothers, learned
that the papers were in their possession."

"And he did not denounce them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because there was something else in the satchel--something besides
the papers of Louis Lacombe."

"What was it?"

She hesitated; was on the point of speaking, but, finally, remained
silent. Daspry continued:

"I presume that is why your husband has kept a close watch over
their movements instead of informing the police. He hoped to
recover the papers and, at the same time, that compromising article
which has enabled the two brothers to hold over him threats of
exposure and blackmail."

"Over him, and over me."

"Ah! over you, also?"

"Over me, in particular."

She uttered the last words in a hollow voice. Daspry observed it;
he paced to and fro for a moment, then, turning to her, asked:

"Had you written to Louis Lacombe?"

"Of course. My husband had business with him--"

"Apart from those business letters, had you written to Louis
Lacombe....other letters? Excuse my insistence, but it is
absolutely necessary that I should know the truth. Did you write
other letters?"

"Yes," she replied, blushing.

"And those letters came into the possession of the Varin brothers?"

"Yes."

"Does Mon. Andermatt know it?"

"He has not seen them, but Alfred Varin has told him of their
existence and threatened to publish them if my husband should take
any steps against him. My husband was afraid....of a scandal."

"But he has tried to recover the letters?"

"I think so; but I do not know. You see, after that last interview
with Alfred Varin, and after some harsh words between me and my
husband in which he called me to account--we live as strangers."

"In that case, as you have nothing to lose, what do you fear?"

"I may be indifferent to him now, but I am the woman that he has
loved, the one he would still love--oh! I am quite sure of that,"
she murmured, in a fervent voice, "he would still love me if he had
not got hold of those cursed letters----"

"What! Did he succeed?....But the two brothers still defied
him?"

"Yes, and they boasted of having a secure hiding-place."

"Well?"

"I believe my husband discovered that hiding-place."

"Well?"

"I believe my husband has discovered that hiding-place."

"Ah! where was it?"

"Here."

"Here!" I cried in alarm.

"Yes. I always had that suspicion. Louis Lacombe was very
ingenious and amused himself in his leisure hours, by making safes
and locks. No doubt, the Varin brothers were aware of that fact
and utilized one of Lacombe's safes in which to conceal the
letters....and other things, perhaps."

"But they did not live here," I said.

"Before you came, four months ago, the house had been vacant for
some time. And they may have thought that your presence here would
not interfere with them when they wanted to get the papers. But
they did not count on my husband, who came here on the night of 22
June, forced the safe, took what he was seeking, and left his card
to inform the two brothers that he feared them no more, and that
their positions were now reversed. Two days later, after reading
the article in the `Gil Blas,' Etienne Varin came here, remained
alone in this room, found the safe empty, and....killed
himself."

After a moment, Daspry said:

"A very simple theory....Has Mon. Andermatt spoken to you since
then?"

"No."

"Has his attitude toward you changed in any way? Does he appear
more gloomy, more anxious?"

"No, I haven't noticed any change."

"And yet you think he has secured the letters. Now, in my opinion,
he has not got those letters, and it was not he who came here on
the night of 22 June."

"Who was it, then?"

"The mysterious individual who is managing this affair, who holds
all the threads in his hands, and whose invisible but far-reaching
power we have felt from the beginning. It was he and his friends
who entered this house on 22 June; it was he who discovered the
hiding-place of the papers; it was he who left Mon. Andermatt's
card; it is he who now holds the correspondence and the evidence of
the treachery of the Varin brothers."

"Who is he?" I asked, impatiently.

"The man who writes letters to the `Echo de France'....
Salvator! Have we not convincing evidence of that fact? Does he not
mention in his letters certain details that no one could know,
except the man who had thus discovered the secrets of the two
brothers?"

"Well, then," stammered Madame Andermatt, in great alarm, "he has
my letters also, and it is he who now threatens my husband. Mon
Dieu! What am I to do?"

"Write to him," declared Daspry. "Confide in him without reserve.
Tell him all you know and all you may hereafter learn. Your
interest and his interest are the same. He is not working against
Mon. Andermatt, but against Alfred Varin. Help him."

"How?"

"Has your husband the document that completes the plans of Louis
Lacombe?"

"Yes."

"Tell that to Salvator, and, if possible, procure the document for
him. Write to him at once. You risk nothing."

The advice was bold, dangerous even at first sight, but Madame
Andermatt had no choice. Besides, as Daspry had said, she ran no
risk. If the unknown writer were an enemy, that step would not
aggravate the situation. If he were a stranger seeking to
accomplish a particular purpose, he would attach to those letters
only a secondary importance. Whatever might happen, it was the
only solution offered to her, and she, in her anxiety, was only too
glad to act on it. She thanked us effusively, and promised to keep
us informed.

In fact, two days later, she sent us the following letter that she
had received from Salvator:

"Have not found the letters, but I will get them. Rest easy. I am
watching everything. S."

I looked at the letter. It was in the same handwriting as the note
I found in my book on the night of 22 June.

Daspry was right. Salvator was, indeed, the originator of that
affair.

* * * * *

We were beginning to see a little light coming out of the darkness
that surrounded us, and an unexpected light was thrown on certain
points; but other points yet remained obscure--for instance, the
finding of the two seven-of-hearts. Perhaps I was unnecessarily
concerned about those two cards whose seven punctured spots had
appeared to me under such startling circumstances! Yet I could not
refrain from asking myself: What role will they play in the drama?
What importance do they bear? What conclusion must be drawn from
the fact that the submarine constructed from the plans of Louis
Lacombe bore the name of `Seven-of-Hearts'?

Daspry gave little thought to the other two cards; he devoted all
his attention to another problem which he considered more urgent;
he was seeking the famous hiding-place.

"And who knows," said he, "I may find the letters that Salvator did
not find--by inadvertence, perhaps. It is improbable that the Varin
brothers would have removed from a spot, which they deemed
inaccessible, the weapon which was so valuable to them."

And he continued to search. In a short time, the large room held
no more secrets for him, so he extended his investigations to the
other rooms. He examined the interior and the exterior, the stones
of the foundation, the bricks in the walls; he raised the slates of
the roof.

One day, he came with a pickaxe and a spade, gave me the spade,
kept the pickaxe, pointed to the adjacent vacant lots, and said:
"Come."

I followed him, but I lacked his enthusiasm. He divided the vacant
land into several sections which he examined in turn. At last, in
a corner, at the angle formed by the walls of two neighboring
proprietors, a small pile of earth and gravel, covered with briers
and grass, attracted his attention. He attacked it. I was obliged
to help him. For an hour, under a hot sun, we labored without
success. I was discouraged, but Daspry urged me on. His ardor was
as strong as ever.

At last, Daspry's pickaxe unearthed some bones--the remains of a
skeleton to which some scraps of clothing still hung. Suddenly, I
turned pale. I had discovered, sticking in the earth, a small
piece of iron cut in the form of a rectangle, on which I thought I
could see red spots. I stooped and picked it up. That little iron
plate was the exact size of a playing-card, and the red spots, made
with red lead, were arranged upon it in a manner similar to the
seven-of-hearts, and each spot was pierced with a round hole
similar to the perforations in the two playing cards.

"Listen, Daspry, I have had enough of this. You can stay if it
interests you. But I am going."

Was that simply the expression of my excited nerves? Or was it the
result of a laborious task executed under a burning sun? I know
that I trembled as I walked away, and that I went to bed, where I
remained forty-eight hours, restless and feverish, haunted by
skeletons that danced around me and threw their bleeding hearts at
my head.

Daspry was faithful to me. He came to my house every day, and
remained three or four hours, which he spent in the large room,
ferreting, thumping, tapping.

"The letters are here, in this room," he said, from time to time,
"they are here. I will stake my life on it."

On the morning of the third day I arose--feeble yet, but cured. A
substantial breakfast cheered me up. But a letter that I received
that afternoon contributed, more than anything else, to my complete
recovery, and aroused in me a lively curiosity. This was the
letter:

"Monsieur,

"The drama, the first act of which transpired on the night of 22
June, is now drawing to a close. Force of circumstances compel me
to bring the two principal actors in that drama face to face, and I
wish that meeting to take place in your house, if you will be so
kind as to give me the use of it for this evening from nine o'clock
to eleven. It will be advisable to give your servant leave of
absence for the evening, and, perhaps, you will be so kind as to
leave the field open to the two adversaries. You will remember
that when I visited your house on the night of 22 June, I took
excellent care of your property. I feel that I would do you an
injustice if I should doubt, for one moment, your absolute
discretion in this affair. Your devoted,

"SALVATOR."

I was amused at the facetious tone of his letter and also at the
whimsical nature of his request. There was a charming display of
confidence and candor in his language, and nothing in the world
could have induced me to deceive him or repay his confidence with
ingratitude.

I gave my servant a theatre ticket, and he left the house at eight
o'clock. A few minutes later, Daspry arrived. I showed him the
letter.

"Well?" said he.

"Well, I have left the garden gate unlocked, so anyone can enter."

"And you--are you going away?"

"Not at all. I intend to stay right here."

"But he asks you to go---"

"But I am not going. I will be discreet, but I am resolved to see
what takes place."

"Ma foi!" exclaimed Daspry, laughing, "you are right, and I shall
stay with you. I shouldn't like to miss it."

We were interrupted by the sound of the door-bell.

"Here already?" said Daspry, "twenty minutes ahead of time!
Incredible!"

I went to the door and ushered in the visitor. It was Madame
Andermatt. She was faint and nervous, and in a stammering voice,
she ejaculated:

"My husband....is coming....he has an appointment....
they intend to give him the letters...."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"By chance. A message came for my husband while we were at dinner.
The servant gave it to me by mistake. My husband grabbed it
quickly, but he was too late. I had read it."

"You read it?"

"Yes. It was something like this: `At nine o'clock this evening,
be at Boulevard Maillot with the papers connected with the affair.
In exchange, the letters.' So, after dinner, I hastened here."

"Unknown to your husband?"

"Yes."

"What do you think about it?" asked Daspry, turning to me.

"I think as you do, that Mon. Andermatt is one of the invited
guests."

"Yes, but for what purpose?"

"That is what we are going to find out."

I led the men to a large room. The three of us could hide
comfortably behind the velvet chimney-mantle, and observe all that
should happen in the room. We seated ourselves there, with Madame
Andermatt in the centre.

The clock struck nine. A few minutes later, the garden gate
creaked upon its hinges. I confess that I was greatly agitated. I
was about to learn the key to the mystery. The startling events of
the last few weeks were about to be explained, and, under my eyes,
the last battle was going to be fought. Daspry seized the hand of
Madame Andermatt, and said to her:

"Not a word, not a movement! Whatever you may see or hear, keep
quiet!"

Some one entered. It was Alfred Varin. I recognized him at once,
owing to the close resemblance he bore to his brother Etienne.
There was the same slouching gait; the same cadaverous face covered
with a black beard.

He entered with the nervous air of a man who is accustomed to fear
the presence of traps and ambushes; who scents and avoids them. He
glanced about the room, and I had the impression that the chimney,
masked with a velvet portiere, did not please him. He took three
steps in our direction, when something caused him to turn and walk
toward the old mosaic king, with the flowing beard and flamboyant
sword, which he examined minutely, mounting on a chair and
following with his fingers the outlines of the shoulders and head
and feeling certain parts of the face. Suddenly, he leaped from
the chair and walked away from it. He had heard the sound of
approaching footsteps. Mon. Andermatt appeared at the door.

"You! You!" exclaimed the banker. "Was it you who brought me
here?"

"I? By no means," protested Varin, in a rough, jerky voice that
reminded me of his brother, "on the contrary, it was your letter
that brought me here."

"My letter?"

"A letter signed by you, in which you offered---"

"I never wrote to you," declared Mon. Andermatt.

"You did not write to me!"

Instinctively, Varin was put on his guard, not against the banker,
but against the unknown enemy who had drawn him into this trap. A
second time, he looked in our direction, then walked toward the
door. But Mon. Andermatt barred his passage.

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