When Guerchard joined the Duke in the drawing-room, he had lost his calm air and was looking more than a little nervous. He moved about the room uneasily, fingering the bric-a-brac, glancing at the Duke and looking quickly away from him again. Then he came to a standstill on the hearth-rug with his back to the fireplace.
Do you think it's quite safe to stand there, at least with your back to the hearth? If Lupin dropped through that opening suddenly, he'd catch you from behind before you could wink twice, said the Duke, in a tone of remonstrance.
There would always be your Grace to come to my rescue, said Guerchard; and there was an ambiguous note in his voice, while his piercing eyes now rested fixed on the Duke's face. They seemed never to leave it; they explored, and explored it.
It's only a suggestion, said the Duke.
This is rather nervous work, don't you know.
Yes; and of course you're hardly fit for it, said Guerchard. "If I'd known about your break-down in your car last night, I should have hesitated about asking you—"
A break-down? interrupted the Duke.
Yes, you left Charmerace at eight o'clock last night. And you only reached Paris at six this morning. You couldn't have had a very high-power car? said Guerchard.
I had a 100 h.-p. car, said the Duke.
Then you must have had a devil of a break-down, said Guerchard.
Yes, it was pretty bad, but I've known worse, said the Duke carelessly. "It lost me about three hours: oh, at least three hours. I'm not a first-class repairer, though I know as much about an engine as most motorists."
And there was nobody there to help you repair it? said Guerchard.
No; M. Gournay-Martin could not let me have his chauffeur to drive me to Paris, because he was keeping him to help guard the chateau. And of course there was nobody on the road, because it was two o'clock in the morning.
Yes, there was no one, said Guerchard slowly.
Not a soul, said the Duke.
It was unfortunate, said Guerchard; and there was a note of incredulity in his voice.
My having to repair the car myself? said the Duke.
Yes, of course, said Guerchard, hesitating a little over the assent.
The Duke dropped the end of his cigarette into a tray, and took out his case. He held it out towards Guerchard, and said, "A cigarette? or perhaps you prefer your caporal?"
Yes, I do, but all the same I'll have one, said Guerchard, coming quickly across the room. And he took a cigarette from the case, and looked at it.
All the same, all this is very curious, he said in a new tone, a challenging, menacing, accusing tone.
What? said the Duke, looking at him curiously.
Everything: your cigarettes ... the salvias ... the photograph that Bonavent found in Victoire's prayer-book ... that man in motoring dress ... and finally, your break-down, said Guerchard; and the accusation and the threat rang clearer.
The Duke rose from his chair quickly and said haughtily, in icy tones: "M. Guerchard, you've been drinking!"
He went to the chair on which he had set his overcoat and his hat, and picked them up. Guerchard sprang in front of him, barring his way, and cried in a shaky voice: "No; don't go! You mustn't go!"
What do you mean? said the Duke, and paused. "What DO you mean?"
Guerchard stepped back, and ran his hand over his forehead. He was very pale, and his forehead was clammy to his touch:
No ... I beg your pardon ... I beg your pardon, your Grace ... I must be going mad, he stammered.
It looks very like it, said the Duke coldly.
What I mean to say is, said Guerchard in a halting, uncertain voice, "what I mean to say is: help me ... I want you to stay here, to help me against Lupin, you understand. Will you, your Grace?"
Yes, certainly; of course I will, if you want me to, said the Duke, in a more gentle voice. "But you seem awfully upset, and you're upsetting me too. We shan't have a nerve between us soon, if you don't pull yourself together."
Yes, yes, please excuse me, muttered Guerchard.
Very good, said the Duke. "But what is it we're going to do?"
Guerchard hesitated. He pulled out his handkerchief, and mopped his forehead: "Well ... the coronet ... is it in this case?" he said in a shaky voice, and set the case on the table.
Of course it is, said the Duke impatiently.
Guerchard opened the case, and the coronet sparkled and gleamed brightly in the electric light: "Yes, it is there; you see it?" said Guerchard.
Yes, I see it; well? said the Duke, looking at him in some bewilderment, so unlike himself did he seem.
We're going to wait, said Guerchard.
What for? said the Duke.
Lupin, said Guerchard.
Lupin? And you actually do believe that, just as in a fairy tale, when that clock strikes twelve, Lupin will enter and take the coronet?
Yes, I do; I do, said Guerchard with stubborn conviction. And he snapped the case to.
This is most exciting, said the Duke.
You're sure it doesn't bore you? said Guerchard huskily.
Not a bit of it, said the Duke, with cheerful derision. "To make the acquaintance of this scoundrel who has fooled you for ten years is as charming a way of spending the evening as I can think of."
You say that to me? said Guerchard with a touch of temper.
Yes, said the Duke, with a challenging smile. "To you."
He sat down in an easy chair by the table. Guerchard sat down in a chair on the other side of it, and set his elbows on it. They were silent.
Suddenly the Duke said, "Somebody's coming."
Guerchard started, and said: "No, I don't hear any one."
Then there came distinctly the sound of a footstep and a knock at the door.
You've got keener ears than I, said Guerchard grudgingly. "In all this business you've shown the qualities of a very promising detective." He rose, went to the door, and unlocked it.
Bonavent came in: "I've brought you the handcuffs, sir," he said, holding them out. "Shall I stay with you?"
No, said Guerchard. "You've two men at the back door, and two at the front, and a man in every room on the ground-floor?"
Yes, and I've got three men on every other floor, said Bonavent, in a tone of satisfaction.
And the house next door? said Guerchard.
There are a dozen men in it, said Bonavent. "No communication between the two houses is possible any longer."
Guerchard watched the Duke's face with intent eyes. Not a shadow flickered its careless serenity.
If any one tries to enter the house, collar him. If need be, fire on him, said Guerchard firmly. "That is my order; go and tell the others."
Very good, sir, said Bonavent; and he went out of the room.
By Jove, we are in a regular fortress, said the Duke.
It's even more of a fortress than you think, your Grace. I've four men on that landing, said Guerchard, nodding towards the door.
Oh, have you? said the Duke, with a sudden air of annoyance.
You don't like that? said Guerchard quickly.
I should jolly well think not, said the Duke. "With these precautions, Lupin will never be able to get into this room at all."
He'll find it a pretty hard job, said Guerchard, smiling. "Unless he falls from the ceiling, or unless—"
Unless you're Arsene Lupin, interrupted the Duke.
In that case, you'd be another, your Grace, said Guerchard.
They both laughed. The Duke rose, yawned, picked up his coat and hat, and said, "Ah, well, I'm off to bed."
What? said Guerchard.
Well, said the Duke, yawning again, "I was staying to see Lupin. As there's no longer any chance of seeing him—"
But there is ... there is ... so stay, cried Guerchard.
Do you still cling to that notion? said the Duke wearily.
We SHALL see him, said Guerchard.
Nonsense! said the Duke.
Guerchard lowered his voice and said with an air of the deepest secrecy: "He's already here, your Grace."
Lupin? Here? cried the Duke.
Yes; Lupin, said Guerchard.
Where? cried the astonished Duke.
He is, said Guerchard.
As one of your men? said the Duke eagerly.
I don't think so, said Guerchard, watching him closely.
Well, but, well, but—if he's here we've got him.... He is going to turn up, said the Duke triumphantly; and he set down his hat on the table beside the coronet.
I hope so, said Guerchard. "But will he dare to?"
How do you mean? said the Duke, with a puzzled air.
Well, you have said yourself that this is a fortress. An hour ago, perhaps, Lupin was resolved to enter this room, but is he now?
I see what you mean, said the Duke, in a tone of disappointment.
Yes; you see that now it needs the devil's own courage. He must risk everything to gain everything, and throw off the mask. Is Lupin going to throw himself into the wolf's jaws? I dare not think it. What do you think about it?
Guerchard's husky voice had hardened to a rough harshness; there was a ring of acute anxiety in it, and under the anxiety a faint note of challenge, of a challenge that dare not make itself too distinct. His anxious, challenging eyes burned on the face of the Duke, as if they strove with all intensity to pierce a mask.
The Duke looked at him curiously, as if he were trying to divine what he would be at, but with a careless curiosity, as if it were a matter of indifference to him what the detective's object was; then he said carelessly: "Well, you ought to know better than I. You have known him for ten years ...." He paused, and added with just the faintest stress in his tone, "At least, by reputation."
The anxiety in the detective's face grew plainer, it almost gave him the air of being unnerved; and he said quickly, in a jerky voice: "Yes, and I know his way of acting too. During the last ten years I have learnt to unravel his intrigues—to understand and anticipate his manoeuvres.... Oh, his is a clever system! ... Instead of lying low, as you'd expect, he attacks his opponent ... openly.... He confuses him—at least, he tries to." He smiled a half-confident, a half-doubtful smile, "It is a mass of entangled, mysterious combinations. I've been caught in them myself again and again. You smile?"
It interests me so, said the Duke, in a tone of apology.
Oh, it interests me, said Guerchard, with a snarl. "But this time I see my way clearly. No more tricks—no more secret paths ... We're fighting in the light of day." He paused, and said in a clear, sneering voice, "Lupin has pluck, perhaps, but it's only thief's pluck."
Oh, is it? said the Duke sharply, and there was a sudden faint glitter in his eyes.
Yes; rogues have very poor qualities, sneered Guerchard.
One can't have everything, said the Duke quietly; but his languid air had fallen from him.
Their ambushes, their attacks, their fine tactics aren't up to much, said Guerchard, smiling contemptuously.
You go a trifle too far, I think, said the Duke, smiling with equal contempt.
They looked one another in the eyes with a long, lingering look. They had suddenly the air of fencers who have lost their tempers, and are twisting the buttons off their foils.
Not a bit of it, your Grace, said Guerchard; and his voice lingered on the words "your Grace" with a contemptuous stress. "This famous Lupin is immensely overrated."
However, he has done some things which aren't half bad, said the Duke, with his old charming smile.
He had the air of a duelist drawing his blade lovingly through his fingers before he falls to.
Oh, has he? said Guerchard scornfully.
Yes; one must be fair. Last night's burglary, for instance: it is not unheard of, but it wasn't half bad. And that theft of the motorcars: it was a neat piece of work, said the Duke in a gentle, insolent voice, infinitely aggravating.
Guerchard snorted scornfully.
And a robbery at the British Embassy, another at the Treasury, and a third at M. Lepine's—all in the same week—it wasn't half bad, don't you know? said the Duke, in the same gentle, irritating voice.
Oh, no, it wasn't. But—
And the time when he contrived to pass as Guerchard—the Great Guerchard—do you remember that? the Duke interrupted. "Come, come—to give the devil his due—between ourselves—it wasn't half bad."
No, snarled Guerchard. "But he has done better than that lately.... Why don't you speak of that?"
Of what? said the Duke.
Of the time when he passed as the Duke of Charmerace, snapped Guerchard.
What! Did he do that? cried the Duke; and then he added slowly, "But, you know, I'm like you—I'm so easy to imitate."
What would have been amusing, your Grace, would have been to get as far as actual marriage, said Guerchard more calmly.
Oh, if he had wanted to, said the Duke; and he threw out his hands. "But you know—married life—for Lupin."
A large fortune ... a pretty girl, said Guerchard, in a mocking tone.
He must be in love with some one else, said the Duke.
A thief, perhaps, sneered Guerchard.
Like himself.... And then, if you wish to know what I think, he must have found his fiancee rather trying, said the Duke, with his charming smile.
After all, it's pitiful—heartrending, you must admit it, that, on the very eve of his marriage, he was such a fool as to throw off the mask. And yet at bottom it's quite logical; it's Lupin coming out through Charmerace. He had to grab at the dowry at the risk of losing the girl, said Guerchard, in a reflective tone; but his eyes were intent on the face of the Duke.
Perhaps that's what one should call a marriage of reason, said the Duke, with a faint smile.
What a fall! said Guerchard, in a taunting voice. "To be expected, eagerly, at the Princess's to-morrow evening, and to pass the evening in a police-station ... to have intended in a month's time, as the Duke of Charmerace, to mount the steps of the Madeleine with all pomp and to fall down the father-in-law's staircase this evening—this very evening"—his voice rose suddenly on a note of savage triumph—"with the handcuffs on! What? Is that a good enough revenge for Guerchard—for that poor old idiot, Guerchard? The rogues' Brummel in a convict's cap! The gentleman-burglar in a gaol! For Lupin it's only a trifling annoyance, but for a duke it's a disaster! Come, in your turn, be frank: don't you find that amusing?"
The Duke rose quietly, and said coldly, "Have you finished?"
DO you? cried Guerchard; and he rose and faced him.
Oh, yes; I find it quite amusing, said the Duke lightly.
And so do I, cried Guerchard.
No; you're frightened, said the Duke calmly.
Frightened! cried Guerchard, with a savage laugh.
Yes, you're frightened, said the Duke. "And don't think, policeman, that because I'm familiar with you, I throw off a mask. I don't wear one. I've none to throw off. I AM the Duke of Charmerace."
You lie! You escaped from the Sante four years ago. You are Lupin! I recognize you now.
Prove it, said the Duke scornfully.
I will! cried Guerchard.
You won't. I AM the Duke of Charmerace.
Guerchard laughed wildly.
Don't laugh. You know nothing—nothing, dear boy, said the Duke tauntingly.
Dear boy? cried Guerchard triumphantly, as if the word had been a confession.
What do I risk? said the Duke, with scathing contempt. "Can you arrest me? ... You can arrest Lupin ... but arrest the Duke of Charmerace, an honourable gentleman, member of the Jockey Club, and of the union, residing at his house, 34 B, University Street ... arrest the Duke of Charmerace, the fiance of Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin?"
Scoundrel! cried Guerchard, pale with sudden, helpless fury.
Well, do it, taunted the Duke. "Be an ass.... Make yourself the laughing-stock of Paris ... call your coppers in. Have you a proof—one single proof? Not one."
Oh, I shall get them, howled Guerchard, beside himself.
I think you may, said the Duke coolly. "And you might be able to arrest me next week ... the day after to-morrow perhaps ... perhaps never ... but not to-night, that's certain."
Oh, if only somebody could hear you! gasped Guerchard.
Now, don't excite yourself, said the Duke. "That won't produce any proofs for you.... The fact is, M. Formery told you the truth when he said that, when it is a case of Lupin, you lose your head. Ah, that Formery—there is an intelligent man if you like."
At all events, the coronet is safe ... to-night—
Wait, my good chap ... wait, said the Duke slowly; and then he snapped out: "Do you know what's behind that door?" and he flung out his hand towards the door of the inner drawing-room, with a mysterious, sinister air.
What? cried Guerchard; and he whipped round and faced the door, with his eyes starting out of his head.
Get out, you funk! said the Duke, with a great laugh.
Hang you! said Guerchard shrilly.
I said that you were going to be absolutely pitiable, said the Duke, and he laughed again cruelly.
Oh, go on talking, do! cried Guerchard, mopping his forehead.
Absolutely pitiable, said the Duke, with a cold, disquieting certainty. "As the hand of that clock moves nearer and nearer midnight, you will grow more and more terrified." He paused, and then shouted violently, "Attention!"
Guerchard jumped; and then he swore.
Your nerves are on edge, said the Duke, laughing.
Joker! snarled Guerchard.
Oh, you're as brave as the next man. But who can stand the anguish of the unknown thing which is bound to happen? ... I'm right. You feel it, you're sure of it. At the end of these few fixed minutes an inevitable, fated event must happen. Don't shrug your shoulders, man; you're green with fear.
The Duke was no longer a smiling, cynical dandy. There emanated from him an impression of vivid, terrible force. His voice had deepened. It thrilled with a consciousness of irresistible power; it was overwhelming, paralyzing. His eyes were terrible.
My men are outside ... I'm armed, stammered Guerchard.
Child! Bear in mind ... bear in mind that it is always when you have foreseen everything, arranged everything, made every combination ... bear in mind that it is always then that some accident dashes your whole structure to the ground, said the Duke, in the same deep, thrilling voice. "Remember that it is always at the very moment at which you are going to triumph that he beats you, that he only lets you reach the top of the ladder to throw you more easily to the ground."
Confess, then, that you are Lupin, muttered Guerchard.
I thought you were sure of it, said the Duke in a jeering tone.
Guerchard dragged the handcuffs out of his pocket, and said between his teeth, "I don't know what prevents me, my boy."
The Duke drew himself up, and said haughtily, "That's enough."
What? cried Guerchard.
I say that that's enough, said the Duke sternly. "It's all very well for me to play at being familiar with you, but don't you call me 'my boy.'"
Oh, you won't impose on me much longer, muttered Guerchard; and his bloodshot, haggard eyes scanned the Duke's face in an agony, an anguish of doubting impotence.
If I'm Lupin, arrest me, said the Duke.
I'll arrest you in three minutes from now, or the coronet will be untouched, cried Guerchard in a firmer tone.
In three minutes from now the coronet will have been stolen; and you will not arrest me, said the Duke, in a tone of chilling certainty.
But I will! I swear I will! cried Guerchard.
Don't swear any foolish oaths! ... THERE ARE ONLY TWO MINUTES LEFT, said the Duke; and he drew a revolver from his pocket.
No, you don't! cried Guerchard, drawing a revolver in his turn.
What's the matter? said the Duke, with an air of surprise. "You haven't forbidden me to shoot Lupin. I have my revolver ready, since he's going to come.... THERE'S ONLY A MINUTE LEFT."
There are plenty of us, said Guerchard; and he went towards the door.
Funk! said the Duke scornfully.
Guerchard turned sharply. "Very well," he said, "I'll stick it out alone."
How rash! sneered the Duke.
Guerchard ground his teeth. He was panting; his bloodshot eyes rolled in their sockets; the beads of cold sweat stood out on his forehead. He came back towards the table on unsteady feet, trembling from head to foot in the last excitation of the nerves. He kept jerking his head to shake away the mist which kept dimming his eyes.
At your slightest gesture, at your slightest movement, I'll fire, he said jerkily, and covered the Duke with his revolver.
I call myself the Duke of Charmerace. You will be arrested to-morrow! said the Duke, in a compelling, thrilling voice.
I don't care a curse! cried Guerchard.
Only FIFTY SECONDS! said the Duke.
Yes, yes, muttered Guerchard huskily. And his eyes shot from the coronet to the Duke, from the Duke to the coronet.
In fifty seconds the coronet will be stolen, said the Duke.
No! cried Guerchard furiously.
Yes, said the Duke coldly.
No! no! no! cried Guerchard.
Their eyes turned to the clock.
To Guerchard the hands seemed to be standing still. He could have sworn at them for their slowness.
Then the first stroke rang out; and the eyes of the two men met like crossing blades. Twice the Duke made the slightest movement. Twice Guerchard started forward to meet it.
At the last stroke both their hands shot out. Guerchard's fell heavily on the case which held the coronet. The Duke's fell on the brim of his hat; and he picked it up.
Guerchard gasped and choked. Then he cried triumphantly:
I HAVE it; now then, have I won? Have I been fooled this time? Has Lupin got the coronet?
It doesn't look like it. But are you quite sure? said the Duke gaily.
Sure? cried Guerchard.
It's only the weight of it, said the Duke, repressing a laugh. "Doesn't it strike you that it's just a trifle light?"
What? cried Guerchard.
This is merely an imitation. said the Duke, with a gentle laugh.
Hell and damnation! howled Guerchard. "Bonavent! Dieusy!"
The door flew open, and half a dozen detectives rushed in.
Guerchard sank into a chair, stupefied, paralyzed; this blow, on the top of the strain of the struggle with the Duke, had broken him.
Gentlemen, said the Duke sadly, "the coronet has been stolen."
They broke into cries of surprise and bewilderment, surrounding the gasping Guerchard with excited questions.
The Duke walked quietly out of the room.
Guerchard sobbed twice; his eyes opened, and in a dazed fashion wandered from face to face; he said faintly: "Where is he?"
Where's who? said Bonavent.
The Duke—the Duke! gasped Guerchard.
Why, he's gone! said Bonavent.
Guerchard staggered to his feet and cried hoarsely, frantically: "Stop him from leaving the house! Follow him! Arrest him! Catch him before he gets home!"
The cold light of the early September morning illumined but dimly the charming smoking-room of the Duke of Charmerace in his house at 34 B, University Street, though it stole in through two large windows. The smoking-room was on the first floor; and the Duke's bedroom opened into it. It was furnished in the most luxurious fashion, but with a taste which nowadays infrequently accompanies luxury. The chairs were of the most comfortable, but their lines were excellent; the couch against the wall, between the two windows, was the last word in the matter of comfort. The colour scheme, of a light greyish-blue, was almost too bright for a man's room; it would have better suited a boudoir. It suggested that the owner of the room enjoyed an uncommon lightness and cheerfulness of temperament. On the walls, with wide gaps between them so that they did not clash, hung three or four excellent pictures. Two ballet-girls by Degas, a group of shepherdesses and shepherds, in pink and blue and white beribboned silk, by Fragonard, a portrait of a woman by Bastien-Lepage, a charming Corot, and two Conder fans showed that the taste of their fortunate owner was at any rate eclectic. At the end of the room was, of all curious things, the opening into the well of a lift. The doors of it were open, though the lift itself was on some other floor. To the left of the opening stood a book-case, its shelves loaded with books of a kind rather suited to a cultivated, thoughtful man than to an idle dandy.
Beside the window, half-hidden, and peering through the side of the curtain into the street, stood M. Charolais. But it was hardly the M. Charolais who had paid M. Gournay-Martin that visit at the Chateau de Charmerace, and departed so firmly in the millionaire's favourite motor-car. This was a paler M. Charolais; he lacked altogether the rich, ruddy complexion of the millionaire's visitor. His nose, too, was thinner, and showed none of the ripe acquaintance with the vintages of the world which had been so plainly displayed on it during its owner's visit to the country. Again, hair and eyebrows were no longer black, but fair; and his hair was no longer curly and luxuriant, but thin and lank. His moustache had vanished, and along with it the dress of a well-to-do provincial man of business. He wore a livery of the Charmeraces, and at that early morning hour had not yet assumed the blue waistcoat which is an integral part of it. Indeed it would have required an acute and experienced observer to recognize in him the bogus purchaser of the Mercrac. Only his eyes, his close-set eyes, were unchanged.
Walking restlessly up and down the middle of the room, keeping out of sight of the windows, was Victoire. She wore a very anxious air, as did Charolais too. By the door stood Bernard Charolais; and his natural, boyish timidity, to judge from his frightened eyes, had assumed an acute phase.
By the Lord, we're done! cried Charolais, starting back from the window. "That was the front-door bell."
No, it was only the hall clock, said Bernard.
That's seven o'clock! Oh, where can he be? said Victoire, wringing her hands. "The coup was fixed for midnight.... Where can he be?"
They must be after him, said Charolais. "And he daren't come home." Gingerly he drew back the curtain and resumed his watch.
I've sent down the lift to the bottom, in case he should come back by the secret entrance, said Victoire; and she went to the opening into the well of the lift and stood looking down it, listening with all her ears.
Then why, in the devil's name, have you left the doors open? cried Charolais irritably. "How do you expect the lift to come up if the doors are open?"
I must be off my head! cried Victoire.
She stepped to the side of the lift and pressed a button. The doors closed, and there was a grunting click of heavy machinery settling into a new position.
Suppose we telephone to Justin at the Passy house? said Victoire.
What on earth's the good of that? said Charolais impatiently. "Justin knows no more than we do. How can he know any more?"
The best thing we can do is to get out, said Bernard, in a shaky voice.
No, no; he will come. I haven't given up hope, Victoire protested. "He's sure to come; and he may need us."
But, hang it all! Suppose the police come! Suppose they ransack his papers.... He hasn't told us what to do ... we are not ready for them.... What are we to do? cried Charolais, in a tone of despair.
Well, I'm worse off than you are; and I'm not making a fuss. If the police come they'll arrest me, said Victoire.
Perhaps they've arrested him, said Bernard, in his shaky voice.
Don't talk like that, said Victoire fretfully. "Isn't it bad enough to wait and wait, without your croaking like a scared crow?"
She started again her pacing up and down the room, twisting her hands, and now and again moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
Presently she said: "Are those two plain-clothes men still there watching?" And in her anxiety she came a step nearer the window.
Keep away from the window! snapped Charolais. "Do you want to be recognized, you great idiot?" Then he added, more quietly, "They're still there all right, curse them, in front of the cafe.... Hullo!"
What is it, now? cried Victoire, starting.
A copper and a detective running, said Charolais. "They are running for all they're worth."
Are they coming this way? said Victoire; and she ran to the door and caught hold of the handle.
No, said Charolais.
Thank goodness! said Victoire.
They're running to the two men watching the house ... they're telling them something. Oh, hang it, they're all running down the street.
This way? ... Are they coming this way? cried Victoire faintly; and she pressed her hand to her side.
They are! cried Charolais. "They are!" And he dropped the curtain with an oath.
And he isn't here! Suppose they come.... Suppose he comes to the front door! They'll catch him! cried Victoire.
There came a startling peal at the front-door bell. They stood frozen to stone, their eyes fixed on one another, staring.
The bell had hardly stopped ringing, when there was a slow, whirring noise. The doors of the lift flew open, and the Duke stepped out of it. But what a changed figure from the admirably dressed dandy who had walked through the startled detectives and out of the house of M. Gournay-Martin at midnight! He was pale, exhausted, almost fainting. His eyes were dim in a livid face; his lips were grey. He was panting heavily. He was splashed with mud from head to foot: one sleeve of his coat was torn along half its length. The sole of his left-hand pump was half off; and his cut foot showed white and red through the torn sock.
The master! The master! cried Charolais in a tone of extravagant relief; and he danced round the room snapping his fingers.
You're wounded? cried Victoire.
No, said Arsene Lupin.
The front-door bell rang out again, startling, threatening, terrifying.
The note of danger seemed to brace Lupin, to spur him to a last effort.
He pulled himself together, and said in a hoarse but steady voice: "Your waistcoat, Charolais.... Go and open the door ... not too quickly ... fumble the bolts.... Bernard, shut the book-case. Victoire, get out of sight, do you want to ruin us all? Be smart now, all of you. Be smart!"
He staggered past them into his bedroom, and slammed the door. Victoire and Charolais hurried out of the room, through the anteroom, on to the landing. Victoire ran upstairs, Charolais went slowly down. Bernard pressed the button. The doors of the lift shut and there was a slow whirring as it went down. He pressed another button, and the book-case slid slowly across and hid the opening into the lift-well. Bernard ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Charolais went to the front door and fumbled with the bolts. He bawled through the door to the visitors not to be in such a hurry at that hour in the morning; and they bawled furiously at him to be quick, and knocked and rang again and again. He was fully three minutes fumbling with the bolts, which were already drawn. At last he opened the door an inch or two, and looked out.
On the instant the door was dashed open, flinging him back against the wall; and Bonavent and Dieusy rushed past him, up the stairs, as hard as they could pelt. A brown-faced, nervous, active policeman followed them in and stopped to guard the door.
On the landing the detectives paused, and looked at one another, hesitating.
Which way did he go? said Bonavent. "We were on his very heels."
I don't know; but we've jolly well stopped his getting into his own house; and that's the main thing, said Dieusy triumphantly.
But are you sure it was him? said Bonavent, stepping into the anteroom.
I can swear to it, said Dieusy confidently; and he followed him.
Charolais came rushing up the stairs and caught them up as they were entering the smoking-room:
Here! What's all this? he cried. "You mustn't come in here! His Grace isn't awake yet."
Awake? Awake? Your precious Duke has been galloping all night, cried Dieusy. "And he runs devilish well, too."
The door of the bedroom opened; and Lupin stood on the threshold in slippers and pyjamas.
What's all this? he snapped, with the irritation of a man whose sleep has been disturbed; and his tousled hair and eyes dim with exhaustion gave him every appearance of being still heavy with sleep.
The eyes and mouths of Bonavent and Dieusy opened wide; and they stared at him blankly, in utter bewilderment and wonder.
Is it you who are making all this noise? said Lupin, frowning at them. "Why, I know you two; you're in the service of M. Guerchard."
Yes, your Grace, stammered Bonavent.
Well, what are you doing here? What is it you want? said Lupin.
Oh, nothing, your Grace ... nothing ... there's been a mistake, stammered Bonavent.
A mistake? said Lupin haughtily. "I should think there had been a mistake. But I take it that this is Guerchard's doing. I'd better deal with him directly. You two can go." He turned to Charolais and added curtly, "Show them out."
Charolais opened the door, and the two detectives went out of the room with the slinking air of whipped dogs. They went down the stairs in silence, slowly, reflectively; and Charolais let them out of the front door.
As they went down the steps Dieusy said: "What a howler! Guerchard risks getting the sack for this!"
I told you so, said Bonavent. "A duke's a duke."
When the door closed behind the two detectives Lupin tottered across the room, dropped on to the couch with a groan of exhaustion, and closed his eyes. Presently the door opened, Victoire came in, saw his attitude of exhaustion, and with a startled cry ran to his side.
Oh, dearie! dearie! she cried. "Pull yourself together! Oh, do try to pull yourself together." She caught his cold hands and began to rub them, murmuring words of endearment like a mother over a young child. Lupin did not open his eyes; Charolais came in.
Some breakfast! she cried. "Bring his breakfast ... he's faint ... he's had nothing to eat this morning. Can you eat some breakfast, dearie?"
Yes, said Lupin faintly.
Hurry up with it, said Victoire in urgent, imperative tones; and Charolais left the room at a run.
Oh, what a life you lead! said Victoire, or, to be exact, she wailed it. "Are you never going to change? You're as white as a sheet.... Can't you speak, dearie?"
She stooped and lifted his legs on to the couch.
He stretched himself, and, without opening his eyes, said in a faint voice: "Oh, Victoire, what a fright I've had!"
You? You've been frightened? cried Victoire, amazed.
Yes. You needn't tell the others, though. But I've had a night of it ... I did play the fool so ... I must have been absolutely mad. Once I had changed the coronet under that fat old fool Gournay-Martin's very eyes ... once you and Sonia were out of their clutches, all I had to do was to slip away. Did I? Not a bit of it! I stayed there out of sheer bravado, just to score off Guerchard.... And then I ... I, who pride myself on being as cool as a cucumber ... I did the one thing I ought not to have done.... Instead of going quietly away as the Duke of Charmerace ... what do you think I did? ... I bolted ... I started running ... running like a thief.... In about two seconds I saw the slip I had made. It did not take me longer; but that was too long—Guerchard's men were on my track ... I was done for.
Then Guerchard understood—he recognized you? said Victoire anxiously.
As soon as the first paralysis had passed, Guerchard dared to see clearly ... to see the truth, said Lupin. "And then it was a chase. There were ten—fifteen of them on my heels. Out of breath—grunting, furious—a mob—a regular mob. I had passed the night before in a motor-car. I was dead beat. In fact, I was done for before I started ... and they were gaining ground all the time."
Why didn't you hide? said Victoire.
For a long while they were too close. They must have been within five feet of me. I was done. Then I was crossing one of the bridges. ... There was the Seine ... handy ... I made up my mind that, rather than be taken, I'd make an end of it ... I'd throw myself over.
Good Lord!—and then? cried Victoire.
Then I had a revulsion of feeling. At any rate, I'd stick it out to the end. I gave myself another minute... one more minute—the last, and I had my revolver on me... but during that minute I put forth every ounce of strength I had left ... I began to gain ground ... I had them pretty well strung out already ... they were blown too. The knowledge gave me back my courage, and I plugged on ... my feet did not feel so much as though they were made of lead. I began to run away from them ... they were dropping behind ... all of them but one ... he stuck to me. We went at a jog-trot, a slow jog-trot, for I don't know how long. Then we dropped to a walk—we could run no more; and on we went. My strength and wind began to come back. I suppose my pursuer's did too; for exactly what I expected happened. He gave a yell and dashed for me. I was ready for him. I pretended to start running, and when he was within three yards of me I dropped on one knee, caught his ankles, and chucked him over my head. I don't know whether he broke his neck or not. I hope he did.
Splendid! said Victoire. "Splendid!"
Well, there I was, outside Paris, and I'm hanged if I know where. I went on half a mile, and then I rested. Oh, how sleepy I was! I would have given a hundred thousand francs for an hour's sleep—cheerfully. But I dared not let myself sleep. I had to get back here unseen. There were you and Sonia.
Sonia? Another woman? cried Victoire. "Oh, it's then that I'm frightened ... when you get a woman mixed up in your game. Always, when you come to grief ... when you really get into danger, there's a woman in it."
Oh, but she's charming! protested Lupin.
They always are, said Victoire drily. "But go on. Tell me how you got here."
Well, I knew it was going to be a tough job, so I took a good rest—an hour, I should think. And then I started to walk back. I found that I had come a devil of a way—I must have gone at Marathon pace. I walked and walked, and at last I got into Paris, and found myself with still a couple of miles to go. It was all right now; I should soon find a cab. But the luck was dead against me. I heard a man come round the corner of a side-street into a long street I was walking down. He gave a yell, and came bucketing after me. It was that hound Dieusy. He had recognized my figure. Off I went; and the chase began again. I led him a dance, but I couldn't shake him off. All the while I was working my way towards home. Then, just at last, I spurted for all I was worth, got out of his sight, bolted round the corner of the street into the secret entrance, and here I am. He smiled weakly, and added, "Oh, my dear Victoire, what a profession it is!"
The door opened, and in came Charolais, bearing a tray.
Here's your breakfast, master, he said.
Don't call me master—that's how his men address Guerchard. It's a disgusting practice, said Lupin severely.
Victoire and Charolais were quick laying the table. Charolais kept up a running fire of questions as he did it; but Lupin did not trouble to answer them. He lay back, relaxed, drawing deep breaths. Already his lips had lost their greyness, and were pink; there was a suggestion of blood under the skin of his pale face. They soon had the table laid; and he walked to it on fairly steady feet. He sat down; Charolais whipped off a cover, and said:
Anyhow, you've got out of the mess neatly. It was a jolly smart escape.
Oh, yes. So far it's all right, said Lupin. "But there's going to be trouble presently—lots of it. I shall want all my wits. We all shall."
He fell upon his breakfast with the appetite but not the manners of a wolf. Charolais went out of the room. Victoire hovered about him, pouring out his coffee and putting sugar into it.
By Jove, how good these eggs are! he said. "I think that, of all the thousand ways of cooking eggs, en cocotte is the best."
Heavens! how empty I was! he said presently. "What a meal I'm making! It's really a very healthy life, this of mine, Victoire. I feel much better already."
Oh, yes; it's all very well to talk, said Victoire, in a scolding tone; for since he was better, she felt, as a good woman should, that the time had come to put in a word out of season. "But, all the same, you're trying to kill yourself—that's what you're doing. Just because you're young you abuse your youth. It won't last for ever; and you'll be sorry you used it up before it's time. And this life of lies and thefts and of all kinds of improper things—I suppose it's going to begin all over again. It's no good your getting a lesson. It's just thrown away upon you."
What I want next is a bath, said Lupin.
It's all very well your pretending not to listen to me, when you know very well that I'm speaking for your good, she went on, raising her voice a little. "But I tell you that all this is going to end badly. To be a thief gives you no position in the world—no position at all—and when I think of what you made me do the night before last, I'm just horrified at myself."
We'd better not talk about that—the mess you made of it! It was positively excruciating! said Lupin.
And what did you expect? I'm an honest woman, I am! said Victoire sharply. "I wasn't brought up to do things like that, thank goodness! And to begin at my time of life!"
It's true, and I often ask myself how you bring yourself to stick to me, said Lupin, in a reflective, quite impersonal tone. "Please pour me out another cup of coffee."
That's what I'm always asking myself, said Victoire, pouring out the coffee. "I don't know—I give it up. I suppose it is because I'm fond of you."
Yes, and I'm very fond of you, my dear Victoire, said Lupin, in a coaxing tone.
And then, look you, there are things that there's no understanding. I often talked to your poor mother about them. Oh, your poor mother! Whatever would she have said to these goings-on?
Lupin helped himself to another cutlet; his eyes twinkled and he said, "I'm not sure that she would have been very much surprised. I always told her that I was going to punish society for the way it had treated her. Do you think she would have been surprised?"
Oh, nothing you did would have surprised her, said Victoire. "When you were quite a little boy you were always making us wonder. You gave yourself such airs, and you had such nice manners of your own—altogether different from the other boys. And you were already a bad boy, when you were only seven years old, full of all kinds of tricks; and already you had begun to steal."
Oh, only sugar, protested Lupin.
Yes, you began by stealing sugar, said Victoire, in the severe tones of a moralist. "And then it was jam, and then it was pennies. Oh, it was all very well at that age—a little thief is pretty enough. But now—when you're twenty-eight years old."
Really, Victoire, you're absolutely depressing, said Lupin, yawning; and he helped himself to jam.
I know very well that you're all right at heart, said Victoire. "Of course you only rob the rich, and you've always been kind to the poor.... Yes; there's no doubt about it: you have a good heart."
I can't help it—what about it? said Lupin, smiling.
Well, you ought to have different ideas in your head. Why are you a burglar?
You ought to try it yourself, my dear Victoire, said Lupin gently; and he watched her with a humorous eye.
Goodness, what a thing to say! cried Victoire.
I assure you, you ought, said Lupin, in a tone of thoughtful conviction. "I've tried everything. I've taken my degree in medicine and in law. I have been an actor, and a professor of Jiu-jitsu. I have even been a member of the detective force, like that wretched Guerchard. Oh, what a dirty world that is! Then I launched out into society. I have been a duke. Well, I give you my word that not one of these professions equals that of burglar—not even the profession of Duke. There is so much of the unexpected in it, Victoire—the splendid unexpected.... And then, it's full of variety, so terrible, so fascinating." His voice sank a little, and he added, "And what fun it is!"
Fun! cried Victoire.
Yes ... these rich men, these swells in their luxury—when one relieves them of a bank-note, how they do howl! ... You should have seen that fat old Gournay-Martin when I relieved him of his treasures—what an agony! You almost heard the death-rattle in his throat. And then the coronet! In the derangement of their minds—and it was sheer derangement, mind you—already prepared at Charmerace, in the derangement of Guerchard, I had only to put out my hand and pluck the coronet. And the joy, the ineffable joy of enraging the police! To see Guerchard's furious eyes when I downed him.... And look round you! He waved his hand round the luxurious room. "Duke of Charmerace! This trade leads to everything ... to everything on condition that one sticks to it ....I tell you, Victoire, that when one cannot be a great artist or a great soldier, the only thing to be is a great thief!"
Oh, be quiet! cried Victoire. "Don't talk like that. You're working yourself up; you're intoxicating yourself! And all that, it is not Catholic. Come, at your age, you ought to have one idea in your head which should drive out all these others, which should make you forget all these thefts.... Love ... that would change you, I'm sure of it. That would make another man of you. You ought to marry."
Yes ... perhaps ... that would make another man of me. That's what I've been thinking. I believe you're right, said Lupin thoughtfully.
Is that true? Have you really been thinking of it? cried Victoire joyfully.
Yes, said Lupin, smiling at her eagerness. "I have been thinking about it—seriously."
No more messing about—no more intrigues. But a real woman ... a woman for life? cried Victoire.
Yes, said Lupin softly; and his eyes were shining in a very grave face.
Is it serious—is it real love, dearie? said Victoire. "What's she like?"
She's beautiful, said Lupin.
Oh, trust you for that. Is she a blonde or a brunette?
She's very fair and delicate—like a princess in a fairy tale, said Lupin softly.
What is she? What does she do? said Victoire.
Well, since you ask me, she's a thief, said Lupin with a mischievous smile.
Good Heavens! cried Victoire.
But she's a very charming thief, said Lupin; and he rose smiling.
He lighted a cigar, stretched himself and yawned: "She had ever so much more reason for stealing than ever I had," he said. "And she has always hated it like poison."
Well, that's something, said Victoire; and her blank and fallen face brightened a little.
Lupin walked up and down the room, breathing out long luxurious puffs of smoke from his excellent cigar, and watching Victoire with a humorous eye. He walked across to his book-shelf, and scanned the titles of his books with an appreciative, almost affectionate smile.
This is a very pleasant interlude, he said languidly. "But I don't suppose it's going to last very long. As soon as Guerchard recovers from the shock of learning that I spent a quiet night in my ducal bed as an honest duke should, he'll be getting to work with positively furious energy, confound him! I could do with a whole day's sleep—twenty-four solid hours of it."
I'm sure you could, dearie, said Victoire sympathetically.
The girl I'm going to marry is Sonia Kritchnoff, he said.
Sonia? That dear child! But I love her already! cried Victoire. "Sonia, but why did you say she was a thief? That was a silly thing to say."
It's my extraordinary sense of humour, said Lupin.
The door opened and Charolais bustled in: "Shall I clear away the breakfast?" he said.
Lupin nodded; and then the telephone bell rang. He put his finger on his lips and went to it.
Are you there? he said. "Oh, it's you, Germaine.... Good morning.... Oh, yes, I had a good night—excellent, thank you.... You want to speak to me presently? ... You're waiting for me at the Ritz?"
Don't go—don't go—it isn't safe, said Victoire, in a whisper.
All right, I'll be with you in about half an hour, or perhaps three-quarters. I'm not dressed yet ... but I'm ever so much more impatient than you ... good-bye for the present. He put the receiver on the stand.
It's a trap, said Charolais.
Never mind, what if it is? Is it so very serious? said Lupin. "There'll be nothing but traps now; and if I can find the time I shall certainly go and take a look at that one."
And if she knows everything? If she's taking her revenge ... if she's getting you there to have you arrested? said Victoire.
Yes, M. Formery is probably at the Ritz with Gournay-Martin. They're probably all of them there, weighing the coronet, said Lupin, with a chuckle.
He hesitated a moment, reflecting; then he said, "How silly you are! If they wanted to arrest me, if they had the material proof which they haven't got, Guerchard would be here already!"
Then why did they chase you last night? said Charolais.
The coronet, said Lupin. "Wasn't that reason enough? But, as it turned out, they didn't catch me: and when the detectives did come here, they disturbed me in my sleep. And that me was ever so much more me than the man they followed. And then the proofs ... they must have proofs. There aren't any—or rather, what there are, I've got!" He pointed to a small safe let into the wall. "In that safe are the coronet, and, above all, the death certificate of the Duke of Charmerace ... everything that Guerchard must have to induce M. Formery to proceed. But still, there is a risk—I think I'd better have those things handy in case I have to bolt."
He went into his bedroom and came back with the key of the safe and a kit-bag. He opened the safe and took out the coronet, the real coronet of the Princesse de Lamballe, and along with it a pocket-book with a few papers in it. He set the pocket-book on the table, ready to put in his coat-pocket when he should have dressed, and dropped the coronet into the kit-bag.
I'm glad I have that death certificate; it makes it much safer, he said. "If ever they do nab me, I don't wish that rascal Guerchard to accuse me of having murdered the Duke. It might prejudice me badly. I've not murdered anybody yet."
That comes of having a good heart, said Victoire proudly.
Not even the Duke of Charmerace, said Charolais sadly. "And it would have been so easy when he was ill—just one little draught. And he was in such a perfect place—so out of the way—no doctors."
You do have such disgusting ideas, Charolais, said Lupin, in a tone of severe reproof.
Instead of which you went and saved his life, said Charolais, in a tone of deep discontent; and he went on clearing the table.
I did, I did: I had grown quite fond of him, said Lupin, with a meditative air. "For one thing, he was so very like one. I'm not sure that he wasn't even better-looking."
No; he was just like you, said Victoire, with decision. "Any one would have said you were twin brothers."
It gave me quite a shock the first time I saw his portrait, said Lupin. "You remember, Charolais? It was three years ago, the day, or rather the night, of the first Gournay-Martin burglary at Charmerace. Do you remember?"
Do I remember? said Charolais. "It was I who pointed out the likeness to you. I said, 'He's the very spit of you, master.' And you said, 'There's something to be done with that, Charolais.' And then off you started for the ice and snow and found the Duke, and became his friend; and then he went and died, not that you'd have helped him to, if he hadn't."
Poor Charmerace. He was indeed grand seigneur. With him a great name was about to be extinguished.... Did I hesitate? ... No.... I continued it, said Lupin.
He paused and looked at the clock. "A quarter to eight," he said, hesitating. "Shall I telephone to Sonia, or shall I not? Oh, there's no hurry; let the poor child sleep on. She must be worn out after that night-journey and that cursed Guerchard's persecution yesterday. I'll dress first, and telephone to her afterwards. I'd better be getting dressed, by the way. The work I've got to do can't be done in pyjamas. I wish it could; for bed's the place for me. My wits aren't quite as clear as I could wish them to deal with an awkward business like this. Well, I must do the best I can with them."
He yawned and went to the bedroom, leaving the pocket-book on the table.
Bring my shaving-water, Charolais, and shave me, he said, pausing; and he went into the bedroom and shut the door.
Ah, said Victoire sadly, "what a pity it is! A few years ago he would have gone to the Crusades; and to-day he steals coronets. What a pity it is!"
I think myself that the best thing we can do is to pack up our belongings, said Charolais. "And I don't think we've much time to do it either. This particular game is at an end, you may take it from me."
I hope to goodness it is: I want to get back to the country, said Victoire.
He took up the tray; and they went out of the room. On the landing they separated; she went upstairs and he went down. Presently he came up with the shaving water and shaved his master; for in the house in University Street he discharged the double functions of valet and butler. He had just finished his task when there came a ring at the front-door bell.
You'd better go and see who it is, said Lupin.
Bernard is answering the door, said Charolais. "But perhaps I'd better keep an eye on it myself; one never knows."
He put away the razor leisurely, and went. On the stairs he found Bonavent, mounting—Bonavent, disguised in the livery and fierce moustache of a porter from the Ritz.
Why didn't you come to the servants' entrance? said Charolais, with the truculent air of the servant of a duke and a stickler for his master's dignity.
I didn't know that there was one, said Bonavent humbly. "Well, you ought to have known that there was; and it's plain enough to see. What is it you want?" said Charolais.
I've brought a letter—a letter for the Duke of Charmerace, said Bonavent.
Give it to me, said Charolais. "I'll take it to him."
No, no; I'm to give it into the hands of the Duke himself and to nobody else, said Bonavent.
Well, in that case, you'll have to wait till he's finished dressing, said Charolais.
They went on up to the stairs into the ante-room. Bonavent was walking straight into the smoking-room.
Here! where are you going to? Wait here, said Charolais quickly. "Take a chair; sit down."
Bonavent sat down with a very stolid air, and Charolais looked at him doubtfully, in two minds whether to leave him there alone or not. Before he had decided there came a thundering knock on the front door, not only loud but protracted. Charolais looked round with a scared air; and then ran out of the room and down the stairs.
On the instant Bonavent was on his feet, and very far from stolid. He opened the door of the smoking-room very gently and peered in. It was empty. He slipped noiselessly across the room, a pair of clippers ready in his hand, and cut the wires of the telephone. His quick eye glanced round the room and fell on the pocket-book on the table. He snatched it up, and slipped it into the breast of his tunic. He had scarcely done it—one button of his tunic was still to fasten—when the bedroom door opened, and Lupin came out:
What do you want? he said sharply; and his keen eyes scanned the porter with a disquieting penetration.
I've brought a letter to the Duke of Charmerace, to be given into his own hands, said Bonavent, in a disguised voice.
Give it to me, said Lupin, holding out his hand.
But the Duke? said Bonavent, hesitating.
I am the Duke, said Lupin.
Bonavent gave him the letter, and turned to go.
Don't go, said Lupin quietly. "Wait, there may be an answer."
There was a faint glitter in his eyes; but Bonavent missed it.
Charolais came into the room, and said, in a grumbling tone, "A run-away knock. I wish I could catch the brats; I'd warm them. They wouldn't go fetching me away from my work again, in a hurry, I can tell you."
Lupin opened the letter, and read it. As he read it, at first he frowned; then he smiled; and then he laughed joyously. It ran:
SIR,
M. Guerchard has told me everything. With regard to Sonia I have judged you: a man who loves a thief can be nothing but a rogue. I have two pieces of news to announce to you: the death of the Duke of Charmerace, who died three years ago, and my intention of becoming engaged to his cousin and heir, M. de Relzieres, who will assume the title and the arms.
For Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin,
"Her maid, IRMA."
She does write in shocking bad taste, said Lupin, shaking his head sadly. "Charolais, sit down and write a letter for me."
Me? said Charolais.
Yes; you. It seems to be the fashion in financial circles; and I am bound to follow it when a lady sets it. Write me a letter, said Lupin.
Charolais went to the writing-table reluctantly, sat down, set a sheet of paper on the blotter, took a pen in his hand, and sighed painfully.
Ready? said Lupin; and he dictated:
MADEMOISELLE,
I have a very robust constitution, and my indisposition will very soon be over. I shall have the honour of sending, this afternoon, my humble wedding present to the future Madame de Relzieres.
For Jacques de Bartut, Marquis de Relzieres, Prince of Virieux, Duke of Charmerace.
His butler, ARSENE.
Shall I write Arsene? said Charolais, in a horrified tone.
Why not? said Lupin. "It's your charming name, isn't it?"
Bonavent pricked up his ears, and looked at Charolais with a new interest.
Charolais shrugged his shoulders, finished the letter, blotted it, put it in an envelope, addressed it, and handed it to Lupin.
Take this to Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin, said Lupin, handing it to Bonavent.
Bonavent took the letter, turned, and had taken one step towards the door when Lupin sprang. His arm went round the detective's neck; he jerked him backwards off his feet, scragging him.
Stir, and I'll break your neck! he cried in a terrible voice; and then he said quietly to Charolais, "Just take my pocket-book out of this fellow's tunic."
Charolais, with deft fingers, ripped open the detective's tunic, and took out the pocket-book.
This is what they call Jiu-jitsu, old chap! You'll be able to teach it to your colleagues, said Lupin. He loosed his grip on Bonavent, and knocked him straight with a thump in the back, and sent him flying across the room. Then he took the pocket-book from Charolais and made sure that its contents were untouched.
Tell your master from me that if he wants to bring me down he'd better fire the gun himself, said Lupin contemptuously. "Show the gentleman out, Charolais."
Bonavent staggered to the door, paused, and turned on Lupin a face livid with fury.
He will be here himself in ten minutes, he said.
Many thanks for the information, said Lupin quietly.
Charolais conducted the detective down the stairs and let him out of the front door, cursing and threatening vengeance as he went. Charolais took no notice of his words—he was the well-trained servant. He came back upstairs, and on the landing called to Victoire and Bernard. They came hurrying down; and the three of them went into the smoking-room.
Now we know where we are, said Lupin, with cheerful briskness. "Guerchard will be here in ten minutes with a warrant for my arrest. All of you clear out."
It won't be so precious easy. The house is watched, said Charolais. "And I'll bet it's watched back and front."
Well, slip out by the secret entrance. They haven't found that yet, said Lupin. "And meet me at the house at Passy."
Charolais and Bernard wanted no more telling; they ran to the book-case and pressed the buttons; the book-case slid aside; the doors opened and disclosed the lift. They stepped into it. Victoire had followed them. She paused and said: "And you? Are you coming?"
In an instant I shall slip out the same way, he said.
I'll wait for him. You go on, said Victoire; and the lift went down.
Lupin went to the telephone, rang the bell, and put the receiver to his ear.
You've no time to waste telephoning. They may be here at any moment! cried Victoire anxiously.
I must. If I don't telephone Sonia will come here. She will run right into Guerchard's arms. Why the devil don't they answer? They must be deaf! And he rang the bell again.
Let's go to her! Let's get out of here! cried Victoire, more anxiously. "There really isn't any time to waste."
Go to her? But I don't know where she is. I lost my head last night, cried Lupin, suddenly anxious himself. "Are you there?" he shouted into the telephone. "She's at a little hotel near the Star. ... Are you there? ... But there are twenty hotels near the Star.... Are you there? ... Oh, I did lose my head last night. ... Are you there? Oh, hang this telephone! Here I'm fighting with a piece of furniture. And every second is important!"
He picked up the machine, shook it, saw that the wires were cut, and cried furiously: "Ha! They've played the telephone trick on me! That's Guerchard.... The swine!"
And now you can come along! cried Victoire.
But that's just what I can't do! he cried.
But there's nothing more for you to do here, since you can no longer telephone, said Victoire, bewildered.
Lupin caught her arm and shook her, staring into her face with panic-stricken eyes. "But don't you understand that, since I haven't telephoned, she'll come here?" he cried hoarsely. "Five-and-twenty minutes past eight! At half-past eight she will start—start to come here."
His face had suddenly grown haggard; this new fear had brought back all the exhaustion of the night; his eyes were panic-stricken.
But what about you? said Victoire, wringing her hands.
What about her? said Lupin; and his voice thrilled with anguished dread.
But you'll gain nothing by destroying both of you—nothing at all.
I prefer it, said Lupin slowly, with a suddenly stubborn air.
But they're coming to take you, cried Victoire, gripping his arm.
Take me? cried Lupin, freeing himself quietly from her grip. And he stood frowning, plunged in deep thought, weighing the chances, the risks, seeking a plan, saving devices.
He crossed the room to the writing-table, opened a drawer, and took out a cardboard box about eight inches square and set it on the table.
They shall never take me alive, he said gloomily.
Oh, hush, hush! said Victoire. "I know very well that you're capable of anything ... and they too—they'll destroy you. No, look you, you must go. They won't do anything to her—a child like that—so frail. She'll get off quite easily. You're coming, aren't you?"
No, I'm not, said Lupin stubbornly.
Oh, well, if you won't, said Victoire; and with an air of resolution she went to the side of the lift-well, and pressed the buttons. The doors closed; the book-case slid across. She sat down and folded her arms.
What, you're not going to stop here? cried Lupin.
Make me stir if you can. I'm as fond of you as she is—you know I am, said Victoire, and her face set stonily obstinate.
Lupin begged her to go; ordered her to go; he seized her by the shoulder, shook her, and abused her like a pickpocket. She would not stir. He abandoned the effort, sat down, and knitted his brow again in profound and painful thought, working out his plan. Now and again his eyes flashed, once or twice they twinkled. Victoire watched his face with just the faintest hope on her own.
It was past five-and-twenty minutes to nine when the front-door bell rang. They gazed at one another with an unspoken question on their lips. The eyes of Victoire were scared, but in the eyes of Lupin the light of battle was gathering.
It's her, said Victoire under her breath.
No, said Lupin. "It's Guerchard."
He sprang to his feet with shining eyes. His lips were curved in a fighting smile. "The game isn't lost yet," he said in a tense, quiet voice. "I'm going to play it to the end. I've a card or two left still—good cards. I'm still the Duke of Charmerace." He turned to her.
Now listen to me, he said. "Go down and open the door for him."
What, you want me to? said Victoire, in a shaky voice.
Yes, I do. Listen to me carefully. When you have opened the door, slip out of it and watch the house. Don't go too far from it. Look out for Sonia. You'll see her coming. Stop her from entering, Victoire—stop her from entering. He spoke coolly, but his voice shook on the last words.
But if Guerchard arrests me? said Victoire.
He won't. When he comes in, stand behind the door. He will be too eager to get to me to stop for you. Besides, for him you don't count in the game. Once you're out of the house, I'll hold him here for—for half an hour. That will leave a margin. Sonia will hurry here. She should be here in twelve minutes. Get her away to the house at Passy. If I don't come keep her there; she's to live with you. But I shall come.
As he spoke he was pushing her towards the door.
The bell rang again. They were at the top of the stairs.
And suppose he does arrest me? said Victoire breathlessly.
Never mind, you must go all the same, said Lupin. "Don't give up hope—trust to me. Go—go—for my sake."
I'm going, dearie, said Victoire; and she went down the stairs steadily, with a brave air.
He watched her half-way down the flight; then he muttered:
If only she gets to Sonia in time.
He turned, went into the smoking-room, and shut the door. He sat quietly down in an easy chair, lighted a cigarette, and took up a paper. He heard the noise of the traffic in the street grow louder as the front door was opened. There was a pause; then he heard the door bang. There was the sound of a hasty footstep on the stairs; the door flew open, and Guerchard bounced into the room.
He stopped short in front of the door at the sight of Lupin, quietly reading, smoking at his ease. He had expected to find the bird flown. He stood still, hesitating, shuffling his feet—all his doubts had returned; and Lupin smiled at him over the lowered paper.
Guerchard pulled himself together by a violent effort, and said jerkily, "Good-morning, Lupin."
Good-morning, M. Guerchard, said Lupin, with an ambiguous smile and all the air of the Duke of Charmerace.
You were expecting me? ... I hope I haven't kept you waiting, said Guerchard, with an air of bravado.
No, thank you: the time has passed quite quickly. I have so much to do in the morning always, said Lupin. "I hope you had a good night after that unfortunate business of the coronet. That was a disaster; and so unexpected too."
Guerchard came a few steps into the room, still hesitating:
You've a very charming house here, he said, with a sneer.
It's central, said Lupin carelessly. "You must please excuse me, if I cannot receive you as I should like; but all my servants have bolted. Those confounded detectives of yours have frightened them away."
You needn't bother about that. I shall catch them, said Guerchard.
If you do, I'm sure I wish you joy of them. Do, please, keep your hat on, said Lupin with ironic politeness.
Guerchard came slowly to the middle of the room, raising his hand to his hat, letting it fall again without taking it off. He sat down slowly facing him, and they gazed at one another with the wary eyes of duellists crossing swords at the beginning of a duel.
Did you get M. Formery to sign a little warrant? said Lupin, in a caressing tone full of quiet mockery.
I did, said Guerchard through his teeth.
And have you got it on you? said Lupin.
I have, said Guerchard.
Against Lupin, or against the Duke of Charmerace? said Lupin.
Against Lupin, called Charmerace, said Guerchard.
Well, that ought to cover me pretty well. Why don't you arrest me? What are you waiting for? said Lupin. His face was entirely serene, his eyes were careless, his tone indifferent.
I'm not waiting for anything, said Guerchard thickly; "but it gives me such pleasure that I wish to enjoy this minute to the utmost, Lupin," said Guerchard; and his eyes gloated on him.
Lupin, himself, said Lupin, smiling.
I hardly dare believe it, said Guerchard.
You're quite right not to, said Lupin.
Yes, I hardly dare believe it. You alive, here at my mercy?
Oh, dear no, not yet, said Lupin.
Yes, said Guerchard, in a decisive tone. "And ever so much more than you think." He bent forwards towards him, with his hands on his knees, and said, "Do you know where Sonia Kritchnoff is at this moment?"
What? said Lupin sharply.
I ask if you know where Sonia Kritchnoff is? said Guerchard slowly, lingering over the words.
Do you? said Lupin.
I do, said Guerchard triumphantly.
Where is she? said Lupin, in a tone of utter incredulity.
In a small hotel near the Star. The hotel has a telephone; and you can make sure, said Guerchard.
Indeed? That's very interesting. What's the number of it? said Lupin, in a mocking tone.
555 Central: would you like to telephone to her? said Guerchard; and he smiled triumphantly at the disabled instrument.
Lupin shock his head with a careless smile, and said, "Why should I telephone to her? What are you driving at?"
Nothing ... that's all, said Guerchard. And he leant back in his chair with an ugly smile on his face.
Evidently nothing. For, after all, what has that child got to do with you? You're not interested in her, plainly. She's not big enough game for you. It's me you are hunting ... it's me you hate ... it's me you want. I've played you tricks enough for that, you old scoundrel. So you're going to leave that child in peace? ... You're not going to revenge yourself on her? ... It's all very well for you to be a policeman; it's all very well for you to hate me; but there are things one does not do. There was a ring of menace and appeal in the deep, ringing tones of his voice. "You're not going to do that, Guerchard.... You will not do it.... Me—yes—anything you like. But her—her you must not touch." He gazed at the detective with fierce, appealing eyes.
That depends on you, said Guerchard curtly.
On me? cried Lupin, in genuine surprise.
Yes, I've a little bargain to propose to you, said Guerchard.
Have you? said Lupin; and his watchful face was serene again, his smile almost pleasant.
Yes, said Guerchard. And he paused, hesitating.
Well, what is it you want? said Lupin. "Out with it! Don't be shy about it."
I offer you—
You offer me? cried Lupin. "Then it isn't true. You're fooling me."
Reassure yourself, said Guerchard coldly. "To you personally I offer nothing."
Then you are sincere, said Lupin. "And putting me out of the question?"
I offer you liberty.
Who for? For my concierge? said Lupin.
Don't play the fool. You care only for a single person in the world. I hold you through her: Sonia Kritchnoff.
Lupin burst into a ringing, irrepressible laugh:
Why, you're trying to blackmail me, you old sweep! he cried.
If you like to call it so, said Guerchard coldly.
Lupin rose and walked backwards and forwards across the room, frowning, calculating, glancing keenly at Guerchard, weighing him. Twice he looked at the clock.
He stopped and said coldly: "So be it. For the moment you're the stronger.... That won't last.... But you offer me this child's liberty."
That's my offer, said Guerchard; and his eyes brightened at the prospect of success.
Her complete liberty? ... on your word of honour? said Lupin; and he had something of the air of a cat playing with a mouse.
On my word of honour, said Guerchard.
Can you do it? said Lupin, with a sudden air of doubt; and he looked sharply from Guerchard to the clock.
I undertake to do it, said Guerchard confidently.
But how? said Lupin, looking at him with an expression of the gravest doubt.
Oh, I'll put the thefts on your shoulders. That will let her out all right, said Guerchard.
I've certainly good broad shoulders, said Lupin, with a bitter smile. He walked slowly up and down with an air that grew more and more depressed: it was almost the air of a beaten man. Then he stopped and faced Guerchard, and said: "And what is it you want in exchange?"
Everything, said Guerchard, with the air of a man who is winning. "You must give me back the pictures, tapestry, Renaissance cabinets, the coronet, and all the information about the death of the Duke of Charmerace. Did you kill him?"
If ever I commit suicide, you'll know all about it, my good Guerchard. You'll be there. You may even join me, said Lupin grimly; he resumed his pacing up and down the room.
Done for, yes; I shall be done for, he said presently. "The fact is, you want my skin."
Yes, I want your skin, said Guerchard, in a low, savage, vindictive tone.
My skin, said Lupin thoughtfully.
Are you going to do it? Think of that girl, said Guerchard, in a fresh access of uneasy anxiety.
Lupin laughed: "I can give you a glass of port," he said, "but I'm afraid that's all I can do for you."
I'll throw Victoire in, said Guerchard.
What? cried Lupin. "You've arrested Victoire?" There was a ring of utter dismay, almost despair, in his tone.
Yes; and I'll throw her in. She shall go scot-free. I won't bother with her, said Guerchard eagerly.
The front-door bell rang.
Wait, wait. Let me think, said Lupin hoarsely; and he strove to adjust his jostling ideas, to meet with a fresh plan this fresh disaster.
He stood listening with all his ears. There were footsteps on the stairs, and the door opened. Dieusy stood on the threshold.
Who is it? said Guerchard.
I accept—I accept everything, cried Lupin in a frantic tone.
It's a tradesman; am I to detain him? said Dieusy. "You told me to let you know who came and take instructions."
A tradesman? Then I refuse! cried Lupin, in an ecstasy of relief.
No, you needn't keep him, said Guerchard, to Dieusy.
Dieusy went out and shut the door.
You refuse? said Guerchard.
I refuse, said Lupin.
I'm going to gaol that girl, said Guerchard savagely; and he took a step towards the door.
Not for long, said Lupin quietly. "You have no proof."
She'll furnish the proof all right herself—plenty of proofs, said Guerchard brutally. "What chance has a silly child like that got, when we really start questioning her? A delicate creature like that will crumple up before the end of the third day's cross-examination."
You swine! said Lupin. "You know well enough that I can do it—on my head—with a feeble child like that; and you know your Code; five years is the minimum," said Guerchard, in a tone of relentless brutality, watching him carefully, sticking to his hope.
By Jove, I could wring your neck! said Lupin, trembling with fury. By a violent effort he controlled himself, and said thoughtfully, "After all, if I give up everything to you, I shall be free to take it back one of these days."
Oh, no doubt, when you come out of prison, said Guerchard ironically; and he laughed a grim, jeering laugh.
I've got to go to prison first, said Lupin quietly.
Pardon me—if you accept, I mean to arrest you, said Guerchard.
Manifestly you'll arrest me if you can, said Lupin.
Do you accept? said Guerchard. And again his voice quivered with anxiety.
Well, said Lupin. And he paused as if finally weighing the matter.
Well? said Guerchard, and his voice shook.
Well—no! said Lupin; and he laughed a mocking laugh.
You won't? said Guerchard between his teeth.
No; you wish to catch me. This is just a ruse, said Lupin, in quiet, measured tones. "At bottom you don't care a hang about Sonia, Mademoiselle Kritchnoff. You will not arrest her. And then, if you did you have no proofs. There ARE no proofs. As for the pendant, you'd have to prove it. You can't prove it. You can't prove that it was in her possession one moment. Where is the pendant?" He paused, and then went on in the same quiet tone: "No, Guerchard; after having kept out of your clutches for the last ten years, I'm not going to be caught to save this child, who is not even in danger. She has a very useful friend in the Duke of Charmerace. I refuse."
Guerchard stared at him, scowling, biting his lips, seeking a fresh point of attack. For the moment he knew himself baffled, but he still clung tenaciously to the struggle in which victory would be so precious.
The front-door bell rang again.
There's a lot of ringing at your bell this morning, said Guerchard, under his breath; and hope sprang afresh in him.
Again they stood silent, waiting.
Dieusy opened the door, put in his head, and said, "It's Mademoiselle Kritchnoff."
Collar her! ... Here's the warrant! ... collar her! shouted Guerchard, with savage, triumphant joy.
Never! You shan't touch her! By Heaven, you shan't touch her! cried Lupin frantically; and he sprang like a tiger at Guerchard.
Guerchard jumped to the other side of the table. "Will you accept, then?" he cried.
Lupin gripped the edge of the table with both hands, and stood panting, grinding his teeth, pale with fury. He stood silent and motionless for perhaps half a minute, gazing at Guerchard with burning, murderous eyes. Then he nodded his head.
Let Mademoiselle Kritchnoff wait, said Guerchard, with a sigh of deep relief. Dieusy went out of the room.
Now let us settle exactly how we stand, said Lupin, in a clear, incisive voice. "The bargain is this: If I give you the pictures, the tapestry, the cabinets, the coronet, and the death-certificate of the Duke of Charmerace, you give me your word of honour that Mademoiselle Kritchnoff shall not be touched."
That's it! said Guerchard eagerly.
Once I deliver these things to you, Mademoiselle Kritchnoff passes out of the game.
Yes, said Guerchard.
Whatever happens afterwards. If I get back anything—if I escape—she goes scot-free, said Lupin.
Yes, said Guerchard; and his eyes were shining.
On your word of honour? said Lupin.
On my word of honour, said Guerchard.
Very well, said Lupin, in a quiet, businesslike voice. "To begin with, here in this pocket-book you'll find all the documents relating to the death of the Duke of Charmerace. In it you will also find the receipt of the Plantin furniture repository at Batignolles for the objects of art which I collected at Gournay-Martin's. I sent them to Batignolles because, in my letters asking the owners of valuables to forward them to me, I always make Batignolles the place to which they are to be sent; therefore I knew that you would never look there. They are all in cases; for, while you were making those valuable inquiries yesterday, my men were putting them into cases. You'll not find the receipt in the name of either the Duke of Charmerace or my own. It is in the name of a respected proprietor of Batignolles, a M. Pierre Servien. But he has lately left that charming suburb, and I do not think he will return to it."
Guerchard almost snatched the pocket-book out of his hand. He verified the documents in it with greedy eyes; and then he put them back in it, and stuffed it into the breast-pocket of his coat.
And where's the coronet? he said, in an excited voice.
You're nearly standing on it, said Lupin.
It's in that kit-bag at your feet, on the top of the change of clothes in it.
Guerchard snatched up the kit-bag, opened it, and took out the coronet.
I'm afraid I haven't the case, said Lupin, in a tone of regret. "If you remember, I left it at Gournay-Martin's—in your charge."
Guerchard examined the coronet carefully. He looked at the stones in it; he weighed it in his right hand, and he weighed it in his left.
Are you sure it's the real one? said Lupin, in a tone of acute but affected anxiety. "Do not—oh, do not let us have any more of these painful mistakes about it. They are so wearing."
Yes—yes—this is the real one, said Guerchard, with another deep sigh of relief.
Well, have you done bleeding me? said Lupin contemptuously.
Your arms, said Guerchard quickly.
They weren't in the bond, said Lupin. "But here you are." And he threw his revolver on the table.
Guerchard picked it up and put it into his pocket. He looked at Lupin as if he could not believe his eyes, gloating over him. Then he said in a deep, triumphant tone:
And now for the handcuffs!
"The handcuffs?" said Lupin; and his face fell. Then it cleared; and he added lightly, "After all, there's nothing like being careful; and, by Jove, with me you need to be. I might get away yet. What luck it is for you that I'm so soft, so little of a Charmerace, so human! Truly, I can't be much of a man of the world, to be in love like this!"
Come, come, hold out your hands! said Guerchard, jingling the handcuffs impatiently.
I should like to see that child for the last time, said Lupin gently.
All right, said Guerchard.
Arsene Lupin—and nabbed by you! If you aren't in luck! Here you are! said Lupin bitterly; and he held out his wrists.
Guerchard snapped the handcuffs on them with a grunt of satisfaction.
Lupin gazed down at them with a bitter face, and said: "Oh, you are in luck! You're not married by any chance?"
Yes, yes; I am, said Guerchard hastily; and he went quickly to the door and opened it: "Dieusy!" he called. "Dieusy! Mademoiselle Kritchnoff is at liberty. Tell her so, and bring her in here."
Lupin started back, flushed and scowling; he cried: "With these things on my hands! ... No! ... I can't see her!"
Guerchard stood still, looking at him. Lupin's scowl slowly softened, and he said, half to himself, "But I should have liked to see her ... very much ... for if she goes like that ... I shall not know when or where—" He stopped short, raised his eyes, and said in a decided tone: "Ah, well, yes; I should like to see her."
If you've quite made up your mind, said Guerchard impatiently, and he went into the anteroom.
Lupin stood very still, frowning thoughtfully. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then the voice of Guerchard in the anteroom, saying, in a jeering tone, "You're free, mademoiselle; and you can thank the Duke for it. You owe your liberty to him."
Free! And I owe it to him? cried the voice of Sonia, ringing and golden with extravagant joy.
Yes, mademoiselle, said Guerchard. "You owe it to him."
She came through the open door, flushed deliciously and smiling, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. Lupin had never seen her look half so adorable.
Is it to you I owe it? Then I shall owe everything to you. Oh, thank you—thank you! she cried, holding out her hands to him.
Lupin half turned away from her to hide his handcuffs.
She misunderstood the movement. Her face fell suddenly like that of a child rebuked: "Oh, I was wrong. I was wrong to come here!" she cried quickly, in changed, dolorous tones. "I thought yesterday ... I made a mistake ... pardon me. I'm going. I'm going."
Lupin was looking at her over his shoulder, standing sideways to hide the handcuffs. He said sadly. "Sonia—"
No, no, I understand! It was impossible! she cried quickly, cutting him short. "And yet if you only knew—if you knew how I have changed—with what a changed spirit I came here.... Ah, I swear that now I hate all my past. I loathe it. I swear that now the mere presence of a thief would overwhelm me with disgust."
Hush! said Lupin, flushing deeply, and wincing. "Hush!"
But, after all, you're right, she said, in a gentler voice. "One can't wipe out what one has done. If I were to give back everything I've taken—if I were to spend years in remorse and repentance, it would be no use. In your eyes I should always be Sonia Kritchnoff, the thief!" The great tears welled slowly out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks; she let them stream unheeded.
Sonia! cried Lupin, protesting.
But she would not hear him. She broke out with fresh vehemence, a feverish passion: "And yet, if I'd been a thief, like so many others... but you know why I stole. I'm not trying to defend myself, but, after all, I did it to keep honest; and when I loved you it was not the heart of a thief that thrilled, it was the heart of a poor girl who loved...that's all...who loved."
You don't know what you're doing! You're torturing me! Be quiet! cried Lupin hoarsely, beside himself.
Never mind...I'm going...we shall never see one another any more, she sobbed. "But will you...will you shake hands just for the last time?"
No! cried Lupin.
You won't? wailed Sonia in a heartrending tone.
I can't! cried Lupin.
You ought not to be like this.... Last night ... if you were going to let me go like this ... last night ... it was wrong, she wailed, and turned to go.
Wait, Sonia! Wait! cried Lupin hoarsely. "A moment ago you said something.... You said that the mere presence of a thief would overwhelm you with disgust. Is that true?"
Yes, I swear it is, cried Sonia.
Guerchard appeared in the doorway.
And if I were not the man you believe? said Lupin sombrely.
What? said Sonia; and a faint bewilderment mingled with her grief. "If I were not the Duke of Charmerace?"
Not the Duke?
If I were not an honest man? said Lupin.
You? cried Sonia.
If I were a thief? If I were—
Arsene Lupin, jeered Guerchard from the door.
Lupin turned and held out his manacled wrists for her to see.
Arsene Lupin! ... it's ... it's true! stammered Sonia. "But then, but then ... it must be for my sake that you've given yourself up. And it's for me you're going to prison. Oh, Heavens! How happy I am!"
She sprang to him, threw her arms round his neck, and pressed her lips to his.
And that's what women call repenting, said Guerchard.
He shrugged his shoulders, went out on to the landing, and called to the policeman in the hall to bid the driver of the prison-van, which was waiting, bring it up to the door.
Oh, this is incredible! cried Lupin, in a trembling voice; and he kissed Sonia's lips and eyes and hair. "To think that you love me enough to go on loving me in spite of this—in spite of the fact that I'm Arsene Lupin. Oh, after this, I'll become an honest man! It's the least I can do. I'll retire."
You will? cried Sonia.
Upon my soul, I will! cried Lupin; and he kissed her again and again.
Guerchard came back into the room. He looked at them with a cynical grin, and said, "Time's up."
Oh, Guerchard, after so many others, I owe you the best minute of my life! cried Lupin.
Bonavent, still in his porter's livery, came hurrying through the anteroom: "Master," he cried, "I've found it."
Found what? said Guerchard.
The secret entrance. It opens into that little side street. We haven't got the door open yet; but we soon shall.
The last link in the chain, said Guerchard, with warm satisfaction. "Come along, Lupin."
But he's going to take you away! We're going to be separated! cried Sonia, in a sudden anguish of realization.
It's all the same to me now! cried Lupin, in the voice of a conqueror.
Yes, but not to me! cried Sonia, wringing her hands.
Now you must keep calm and go. I'm not going to prison, said Lupin, in a low voice. "Wait in the hall, if you can. Stop and talk to Victoire; condole with her. If they turn you out of the house, wait close to the front door."
Come, mademoiselle, said Guerchard. "You must go."
Go, Sonia, go—good-bye—good-bye, said Lupin; and he kissed her.
She went quietly out of the room, her handkerchief to her eyes. Guerchard held open the door for her, and kept it open, with his hand still on the handle; he said to Lupin: "Come along."
Lupin yawned, stretched himself, and said coolly, "My dear Guerchard, what I want after the last two nights is rest—rest." He walked quickly across the room and stretched himself comfortably at full length on the couch.
Come, get up, said Guerchard roughly. "The prison-van is waiting for you. That ought to fetch you out of your dream."
Really, you do say the most unlucky things, said Lupin gaily.
He had resumed his flippant, light-hearted air; his voice rang as lightly and pleasantly as if he had not a care in the world.
Do you mean that you refuse to come? cried Guerchard in a rough, threatening tone.
Oh, no, said Lupin quickly: and he rose.
Then come along! said Guerchard.
No, said Lupin, "after all, it's too early." Once more he stretched himself out on the couch, and added languidly, "I'm lunching at the English Embassy."
Now, you be careful! cried Guerchard angrily. "Our parts are changed. If you're snatching at a last straw, it's waste of time. All your tricks—I know them. Understand, you rogue, I know them."
You know them? said Lupin with a smile, rising. "It's fatality!"
He stood before Guerchard, twisting his hands and wrists curiously. Half a dozen swift movements; and he held out his handcuffs in one hand and threw them on the floor.
Did you know that trick, Guerchard? One of these days I shall teach you to invite me to lunch, he said slowly, in a mocking tone; and he gazed at the detective with menacing, dangerous eyes.
Come, come, we've had enough of this! cried Guerchard, in mingled astonishment, anger, and alarm. "Bonavent! Boursin! Dieusy! Here! Help! Help!" he shouted.
Now listen, Guerchard, and understand that I'm not humbugging, said Lupin quickly, in clear, compelling tones. "If Sonia, just now, had had one word, one gesture of contempt for me, I'd have given way—yielded ... half-yielded, at any rate; for, rather than fall into your triumphant clutches, I'd have blown my brains out. I've now to choose between happiness, life with Sonia, or prison. Well, I've chosen. I will live happy with her, or else, my dear Guerchard, I'll die with you. Now let your men come—I'm ready for them."
Guerchard ran to the door and shouted again.
I think the fat's in the fire now, said Lupin, laughing.
He sprang to the table, opened the cardboard box, whipped off the top layer of cotton-wool, and took out a shining bomb.
He sprang to the wall, pressed the button, the bookshelf glided slowly to one side, the lift rose to the level of the floor and its doors flew open just as the detectives rushed in.
Collar him! yelled Guerchard.
Stand back—hands up! cried Lupin, in a terrible voice, raising his right hand high above his head. "You know what this is ... a bomb.... Come and collar me now, you swine! ... Hands up, you ... Guerchard!"
You silly funks! roared Guerchard. "Do you think he'd dare?"
Come and see! cried Lupin.
I will! cried Guerchard. And he took a step forward.
As one man his detectives threw themselves upon him. Three of them gripped his arms, a fourth gripped him round the waist; and they all shouted at him together, not to be a madman! ... To look at Lupin's eyes! ... That Lupin was off his head!
What miserable swine you are! cried Lupin scornfully. He sprang forward, caught up the kit-bag in his left hand, and tossed it behind him into the lift. "You dirty crew!" he cried again. "Oh, why isn't there a photographer here? And now, Guerchard, you thief, give me back my pocket-book."
Never! screamed Guerchard, struggling with his men, purple with fury.
Oh, Lord, master! Do be careful! Don't rile him! cried Bonavent in an agony.
What? Do you want me to smash up the whole lot? roared Lupin, in a furious, terrible voice. "Do I look as if I were bluffing, you fools?"
Let him have his way, master! cried Dieusy.
Yes, yes! cried Bonavent.
Let him have his way! cried another.
Give him his pocket-book! cried a third.
Never! howled Guerchard.
It's in his pocket—his breast-pocket! Be smart! roared Lupin.
Come, come, it's got to be given to him, cried Bonavent. "Hold the master tight!" And he thrust his hand into the breast of Guerchard's coat, and tore out the pocket-book.
Throw it on the table! cried Lupin.
Bonavent threw it on to the table; and it slid along it right to Lupin. He caught it in his left hand, and slipped it into his pocket. "Good!" he said. And then he yelled ferociously, "Look out for the bomb!" and made a feint of throwing it.
The whole group fell back with an odd, unanimous, sighing groan.
Lupin sprang into the lift, and the doors closed over the opening. There was a great sigh of relief from the frightened detectives, and then the chunking of machinery as the lift sank.
Their grip on Guerchard loosened. He shook himself free, and shouted, "After him! You've got to make up for this! Down into the cellars, some of you! Others go to the secret entrance! Others to the servants' entrance! Get into the street! Be smart! Dieusy, take the lift with me!"
The others ran out of the room and down the stairs, but with no great heartiness, since their minds were still quite full of the bomb, and Lupin still had it with him. Guerchard and Dieusy dashed at the doors of the opening of the lift-well, pulling and wrenching at them. Suddenly there was a click; and they heard the grunting of the machinery. There was a little bump and a jerk, the doors flew open of themselves; and there was the lift, empty, ready for them. They jumped into it; Guerchard's quick eye caught the button, and he pressed it. The doors banged to, and, to his horror, the lift shot upwards about eight feet, and stuck between the floors.
As the lift stuck, a second compartment, exactly like the one Guerchard and Dieusy were in, came up to the level of the floor of the smoking-room; the doors opened, and there was Lupin. But again how changed! The clothes of the Duke of Charmerace littered the floor; the kit-bag was open; and he was wearing the very clothes of Chief-Inspector Guerchard, his seedy top-hat, his cloak. He wore also Guerchard's sparse, lank, black hair, his little, bristling, black moustache. His figure, hidden by the cloak, seemed to have shrunk to the size of Guerchard's.
He sat before a mirror in the wall of the lift, a make-up box on the seat beside him. He darkened his eyebrows, and put a line or two about his eyes. That done he looked at himself earnestly for two or three minutes; and, as he looked, a truly marvellous transformation took place: the features of Arsene Lupin, of the Duke of Charmerace, decomposed, actually decomposed, into the features of Jean Guerchard. He looked at himself and laughed, the gentle, husky laugh of Guerchard.
He rose, transferred the pocket-book to the coat he was wearing, picked up the bomb, came out into the smoking-room, and listened. A muffled roaring thumping came from the well of the lift. It almost sounded as if, in their exasperation, Guerchard and Dieusy were engaged in a struggle to the death. Smiling pleasantly, he stole to the window and looked out. His eyes brightened at the sight of the motor-car, Guerchard's car, waiting just before the front door and in charge of a policeman. He stole to the head of the stairs, and looked down into the hall. Victoire was sitting huddled together on a chair; Sonia stood beside her, talking to her in a low voice; and, keeping guard on Victoire, stood a brown-faced, active, nervous policeman, all alertness, briskness, keenness.
Hi! officer! come up here! Be smart, cried Lupin over the bannisters, in the husky, gentle voice of Chief-Inspector Guerchard.
The policeman looked up, recognized the great detective, and came bounding zealously up the stairs.
Lupin led the way through the anteroom into the sitting-room. Then he said sharply: "You have your revolver?"
Yes, said the young policeman. And he drew it with a flourish.
Put it away! Put it away at once! said Lupin very smartly. "You're not to use it. You're not to use it on any account! You understand?"
Yes, said the policeman firmly; and with a slightly bewildered air he put the revolver away.
Here! Stand here! cried Lupin, raising his voice. And he caught the policeman's arm, and hustled him roughly to the front of the doors of the lift-well. "Do you see these doors? Do you see them?" he snapped.
Yes, yes, said the policeman, glaring at them.
They're the doors of a lift, said Lupin. "In that lift are Dieusy and Lupin. You know Dieusy?"
Yes, yes, said the policeman.
There are only Dieusy and Lupin in the lift. They are struggling together. You can hear them, shouted Lupin in the policeman's ear. "Lupin is disguised. You understand—Dieusy and a disguised man are in the lift. The disguised man is Lupin. Directly the lift descends and the doors open, throw yourself on him! Hold him! Shout for assistance!" He almost bellowed the last words into the policeman's ear.
Yes, yes, said the policeman. And he braced himself before the doors of the lift-well, gazing at them with harried eyes, as if he expected them to bite him.
Be brave! Be ready to die in the discharge of your duty! bellowed Lupin; and he walked out of the room, shut the door, and turned the key.
The policeman stood listening to the noise of the struggle in the lift, himself strung up to fighting point; he was panting. Lupin's instructions were whirling and dancing in his head.
Lupin went quietly down the stairs. Victoire and Sonia saw him coming. Victoire rose; and as he came to the bottom of the stairs Sonia stepped forward and said in an anxious, pleading voice:
Oh, M. Guerchard, where is he?
He's here, said Lupin, in his natural voice.
Sonia sprang to him with outstretched arms.
It's you! It IS you! she cried.
Just look how like him I am! said Lupin, laughing triumphantly. "But do I look quite ruffian enough?"
Oh, NO! You couldn't! cried Sonia.
Isn't he a wonder? said Victoire.
This time the Duke of Charmerace is dead, for good and all, said Lupin.
No; it's Lupin that's dead, said Sonia softly.
Lupin? he said, surprised.
Yes, said Sonia firmly.
It would be a terrible loss, you know—a loss for France, said Lupin gravely.
Never mind, said Sonia.
Oh, I must be in love with you! said Lupin, in a wondering tone; and he put his arm round her and kissed her violently.
And you won't steal any more? said Sonia, holding him back with both hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes.
I shouldn't dream of such a thing, said Lupin. "You are here. Guerchard is in the lift. What more could I possibly desire?" His voice softened and grew infinitely caressing as he went on: "Yet when you are at my side I shall always have the soul of a lover and the soul of a thief. I long to steal your kisses, your thoughts, the whole of your heart. Ah, Sonia, if you want me to steal nothing else, you have only to stay by my side."
Their lips met in a long kiss.
Sonia drew herself out of his arms and cried, "But we're wasting time! We must make haste! We must fly!"
Fly? said Lupin sharply. "No, thank you; never again. I did flying enough last night to last me a lifetime. For the rest of my life I'm going to crawl—crawl like a snail. But come along, you two, I must take you to the police-station."
He opened the front door, and they came out on the steps. The policeman in charge of the car saluted.
Lupin paused and said softly: "Hark! I hear the sound of wedding bells."
They went down the steps.
Even as they were getting into the car some chance blow of Guerchard or Dieusy struck a hidden spring and released the lift. It sank to the level of Lupin's smoking-room and stopped. The doors flew open, Dieusy and Guerchard sprang out of it; and on the instant the brown-faced, nervous policeman sprang actively on Guerchard and pinned him. Taken by surprise, Guerchard yelled loudly, "You stupid idiot!" somehow entangled his legs in those of his captor, and they rolled on the floor. Dieusy surveyed them for a moment with blank astonishment. Then, with swift intelligence, grasped the fact that the policeman was Lupin in disguise. He sprang upon them, tore them asunder, fell heavily on the policeman, and pinned him to the floor with a strangling hand on his throat.
Guerchard dashed to the door, tried it, and found it locked, dashed for the window, threw it open, and thrust out his head. Forty yards down the street a motor-car was rolling smoothly away—rolling to a honeymoon.
Oh, hang it! he screamed. "He's doing a bunk in my motor-car!"
The End