ON leaving his house one
morning, at his usual early hour for going to the Law
Courts, Chief-inspector Ganimard noticed the curious
behaviour of an individual who was walking along the
Rue Pergolèse in front of him. Shabbily dressed
and wearing a straw hat, though the day was the first
of December, the man stooped at every thirty or forty
yards to fasten his bootlace, or pick up his stick, or
for some other reason. And, each time, he took a little
piece of orange-peel from his pocket and laid it
stealthily on the curb of the pavement. It was probably
a mere display of eccentricity, a childish amusement to
which no one else would have paid attention; but
Ganimard was one of those shrewd observers who are
indifferent to nothing that strikes their eyes and who
are never satisfied until they know the secret cause of
things. He therefore began to follow the man.
Now, at the moment when the fellow was
turning to the right, into the Avenue de la
Grande-Armée,
the inspector caught him exchanging signals with a boy
of twelve or thirteen, who was walking along the houses
on the left-hand side. Twenty yards farther, the man
stooped and turned up the bottom of his trousers legs.
A bit of orange-peel marked the place. At the same
moment, the boy stopped and, with a piece of chalk,
drew a white cross, surrounded by a circle, on the wall
of the house next to him.
The two continued on their way. A
minute later, a fresh halt. The strange individual
picked up a pin and dropped a piece of orange-peel; and
the boy at once made a second cross on the wall and
again drew a white circle round it.
"By Jove!" thought the chief-inspector,
with a grunt of satisfaction. "This is rather
promising. . . . What on earth can those two merchants
be plotting?"
The two "merchants" went down the
Avenue Friedland and the Rue du
Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, but nothing occurred that
was worthy of special mention. The double performance
was repeated at almost regular intervals and, so to
speak, mechanically. Nevertheless, it was obvious, on
the one hand, that the man with the orange-peel did not
do his part of the business until after he had picked
out with a glance the house that was to be marked and,
on the other hand, that the boy did
not mark that particular house until after he had
observed his companion's signal. It was certain,
therefore, that there was an agreement between the two;
and the proceedings presented no small interest in the
chief-inspector's eyes.
At the Place Beauveau the man
hesitated. Then, apparently making up his mind, he
twice turned up and twice turned down the bottom of his
trousers legs. Hereupon, the boy sat down on the curb,
opposite the sentry who was mounting guard outside the
Ministry of the Interior, and marked the flagstone with
two little crosses contained within two circles. The
same ceremony was gone through a little further on,
when they reached the Elysée. Only, on the
pavement where the President's sentry was marching up
and down, there were three signs instead of two.
"Hang it all!" muttered Ganimard, pale
with excitement and thinking, in spite of himself, of
his inveterate enemy, Lupin, whose name came to his
mind whenever a mysterious circumstance presented
itself. "Hang it all, what does it mean?"
He was nearly collaring and questioning
the two "merchants." But he was too clever to commit so
gross a blunder. The man with the orange-peel had now
lit a cigarette; and the boy, also placing a
cigarette-end between his lips, had
gone up to him, apparently with the object of asking
for a light.
They exchanged a few words. Quick as
thought, the boy handed his companion an object which
looked at least, so the inspector believed
like a revolver. They both bent over this
object; and the man, standing with his face to the
wall, put his hand six times in his pocket and made a
movement as though he were loading a weapon.
As soon as this was done, they walked
briskly to the Rue de Suréne; and the inspector,
who followed them as closely as he was able to do
without attracting their attention, saw them enter the
gateway of an old house of which all the shutters were
closed, with the exception of those on the third or top
floor.
He hurried in after them. At the end of
the carriage-entrance he saw a large courtyard, with a
house-painter's sign at the back and a staircase on the
left.
He went up the stairs and, as soon as
he reached the first floor, ran still faster, because
he heard, right up at the top, a din as of a
free-fight.
When he came to the last landing he
found the door open. He entered, listened for a second,
caught the sound of a struggle, rushed to the room from
which the sound appeared to proceed and remained
standing on the threshold, very much
out of breath and greatly surprised to see the man of
the orange-peel and the boy banging the floor with
chairs.
At that moment a third person walked
out of an adjoining room. It was a young man of
twenty-eight or thirty, wearing a pair of short
whiskers in addition to his moustache, spectacles, and
a smoking-jacket with an astrakhan collar and looking
like a foreigner, a Russian.
"Good morning, Ganimard," he said. And
turning to the two companions, "Thank you, my friends,
and all my congratulations on the successful result.
Here's the reward I promised you."
He gave them a hundred-franc note,
pushed them outside and shut both doors.
"I am sorry, old chap," he said to
Ganimard. "I wanted to talk to you . . . wanted to talk
to you badly."
He offered him his hand and, seeing
that the inspector remained flabbergasted and that his
face was still distorted with anger, he exclaimed:
"Why, you don't seem to understand! . .
. And yet it's clear enough. . . . I wanted to see you
particularly. . . . So what could I do? "And,
pretending to reply to an objection, "No, no, old
chap," he continued. "You're quite wrong. If I had
written or telephoned, you would not have come . . . or
else you would have come with
a regiment. Now I wanted to see you all alone; and I
thought the best thing was to send those two decent
fellows to meet you, with orders to scatter bits of
orange-peel and draw crosses and circles, in short, to
mark out your road to this place. . . . Why, you look
quite bewildered! What is it? Perhaps you don't
recognize me? Lupin. . . . Arsène Lupin. . . .
Ransack your memory. . . . Doesn't the name remind you
of anything?"
"You dirty scoundrel!" Ganimard snarled
between his teeth.
Lupin seemed greatly distressed and, in
an affectionate voice:
"Are you vexed? Yes, I can see it in
your eyes. . . . The Dugrival business, I suppose? I
ought to have waited for you to come and take me in
charge? . . . There now, the thought never occurred to
me! I promise you, next time. . . ."
"You scum of the earth!" growled
Ganimard.
"And I thinking I was giving you a
treat! Upon my word, I did. I said to myself, 'That
dear old Ganimard! We haven't met for an age. He'll
simply rush at me when he sees me!'"
Ganimard, who had not yet stirred a
limb, seemed to be waking from his stupor. He looked
around him, looked at Lupin, visibly asked himself
whether he would not do well to rush at him in
reality and then, controlling himself, took hold of a
chair and settled himself in it, as though he had
suddenly made up his mind to listen to his enemy:
"Speak," he said. "And don't waste my
time with any nonsense. I'm in a hurry."
"That's it," said Lupin, "let's talk.
You can't imagine a quieter place than this. It's an
old manor-house, which once stood in the open country,
and it belongs to the Duc de Rochelaure. The duke, who
has never lived in it, lets this floor to me and the
outhouses to a painter and decorator. I always keep up
a few establishments of this kind: it's a sound,
practical plan. Here, in spite of my looking like a
Russian nobleman, I am M. Daubreuil, an
ex-cabinet-minister. . . . You understand, I had to
select a rather overstocked profession, so as not to
attract attention. . . ."
"Do you think I care a hang about all
this?" said Ganimard, interrupting him.
"Quite right, I'm wasting words and
you're in a hurry. Forgive me. I sha'n't be long now. .
. . Five minutes, that's all. . . I'll start at once. .
. Have a cigar? No? Very well, no more will I."
He sat down also, drummed his fingers
on the table, while thinking, and began in this
fashion:
"On the 17th of October, 1599, on a
warm and
sunny autumn day. . . Do you follow me? . . But, now
that I come to think of it, is it really necessary to
go back to the reign of Henry IV, and tell you all
about the building of the Pont-Neuf? No, I don't
suppose you are very well up in French history, and I
should only end by muddling you. Suffice it, then, for
you to know that, last night, at one o'clock in the
morning, a boatman passing under the last arch of the
Pont-Neuf aforesaid, along the left bank of the river,
heard something drop into the front part of his barge.
The thing had been flung from the bridge and its
evident destination was the bottom of the Seine. The
bargee's dog rushed forward, barking, and, when the man
reached the end of his craft, he saw the animal
worrying a piece of newspaper that had served to wrap
up a number of objects. He took from the dog such of
the contents as had not fallen into the water, went to
his cabin and examined them carefully. The result
struck him as interesting; and, as the man is connected
with one of my friends, he sent to let me know. This
morning I was waked up and placed in possession of the
facts and of the objects which the man had collected.
Here they are."
He pointed to them, spread out on a
table. There were, first of all, the torn pieces of a
newspaper. Next came a large cut-glass inkstand, with a
long
piece of string fastened to the lid. There was a bit of
broken glass and a sort of flexible cardboard, reduced
to shreds. Lastly, there was a piece of bright scarlet
silk, ending in a tassel of the same material and
colour.
"You see our exhibits, friend of my
youth," said Lupin. "No doubt, the problem would be
more easily solved if we had the other objects which
went overboard owing to the stupidity of the dog. But
it seems to me, all the same, that we ought to be able
to manage, with a little reflection and intelligence.
And those are just your great qualities. How does the
business strike you?"
Ganimard did not move a muscle. He was
willing to stand Lupin's chaff, but his dignity
commanded him not to speak a single word in answer nor
even to give a nod or shake of the head that might have
been taken to express approval or criticism.
"I see that we are entirely of one
mind," continued Lupin, without appearing to remark the
chief-inspector's silence. "And I can sum up the matter
briefly, as told us by these exhibits. Yesterday
evening, between nine and twelve o'clock, a showily
dressed young woman was wounded with a knife and then
caught round the throat and choked to death by a
well-dressed gentleman, wearing a single eyeglass and
interested in racing, with whom
the aforesaid showily dressed young lady had been
eating three meringues and a coffee éclair."
Lupin lit a cigarette and, taking
Ganimard by the sleeve:
"Aha, that's up against you,
chief-inspector! You thought that, in the domain of
police deductions, such feats as those were prohibited
to outsiders! Wrong, sir! Lupin juggles with inferences
and deductions for all the world like a detective in a
novel. My proofs are dazzling and absolutely simple."
And, pointing to the objects one by
one, as he demonstrated his statement, he resumed:
"I said, after nine o'clock yesterday
evening. This scrap of newspaper bears yesterday's
date, with the words, 'Evening edition.' Also, you will
see, here, pasted to the paper, a bit of one of those
yellow wrappers in which the subscribers' copies are
sent out. These copies are always delivered by the nine
o'clock post. Therefore, it was after nine o'clock. I
said, a well-dressed man. Please observe that this tiny
piece of glass has the round hole of a single eyeglass
at one of the edges and that the single eyeglass is an
essentially aristocratic article of wear. This
well-dressed man walked into a pastry-cook's shop. Here
is the very thin cardboard, shaped like a box, and
still showing a little of the cream of the meringues
and éclairs
which were packed in it in the usual way. Having got
his parcel, the gentleman with the eyeglass joined a
young person whose eccentricity in the matter of dress
is pretty clearly indicated by this bright-red silk
scarf. Having joined her, for some reason as yet
unknown he first stabbed her with a knife and then
strangled her with the help of this same scarf. Take
your magnifying glass, chief-inspector, and you will
see, on the silk, stains of a darker red which are,
here, the marks of a knife wiped on the scarf and,
there, the marks of a hand, covered with blood,
clutching the material. Having committed the murder,
his next business is to leave no trace behind him. So
he takes from his pocket, first, the newspaper to which
he subscribes a racing-paper, as you will see by
glancing at the contents of this scrap; and you will
have no difficulty in discovering the title and,
secondly, a cord, which, on inspection, turns out to be
a length of whip-cord. These two details prove
do they not? that our man is interested in
racing and that he himself rides. Next, he picks up the
fragments of his eyeglass, the cord of which has been
broken in the struggle. He takes a pair of scissors
observe the hacking of the scissors and
cuts off the stained part of the scarf, leaving the
other end, no doubt, in his victim's clenched hands. He
makes a ball of the confectioner's cardboard
box. He also puts in certain things that would have
betrayed him, such as the knife, which must have
slipped into the Seine. He wraps everything in the
newspaper, ties it with the cord and fastens this
cut-glass inkstand to it, as a make-weight. Then he
makes himself scarce. A little later, the parcel falls
into the waterman's barge. And there you are. Oof, it's
hot work! . . . What do you say to the story?"
He looked at Ganimard to see what
impression his speech had produced on the inspector.
Ganimard did not depart from his attitude of silence.
Lupin began to laugh:
"As a matter of fact, you're annoyed
and surprised. But you're suspicious as well: 'Why
should that confounded Lupin hand the business over to
me,' say you, 'instead of keeping it for himself,
hunting down the murderer and riffing his pockets, if
there was a robbery?' The question is quite logical, of
course. But there is a 'but' I have no
time, you see. I am full up with work at the present
moment: a burglary in London, another at Lausanne, an
exchange of children at Marseilles, to say nothing of
having to save a young girl who is at this moment
shadowed by death. That's always the way: it never
rains but it pours. So I said to myself, 'Suppose I
handed the business over to my dear old Ganimard? Now
that it is
half-solved for him, he is quite capable of succeeding.
And what a service I shall be doing him! How
magnificently he will be able to distinguish himself!'
No sooner said than done. At eight o'clock in the
morning, I sent the joker with the orange-peel to meet
you. You swallowed the bait; and you were here by nine,
all on edge and eager for the fray."
Lupin rose from his chair. He went over
to the inspector and, with his eyes in Ganimard's,
said:
"That's all. You now know the whole
story. Presently, you will know the victim: some
ballet-dancer, probably, some singer at a music-hall.
On the other hand, the chances are that the criminal
lives near the Pont-Neuf, most likely on the left bank.
Lastly, here are all the exhibits. I make you a present
of them. Set to work. I shall only keep this end of the
scarf. If ever you want to piece the scarf together,
bring me the other end, the one which the police will
find round the victim's neck. Bring it me in four weeks
from now to the day, that is to say, on the 29th of
December, at ten o'clock in the morning. You can be
sure of finding me here. And don't be afraid: this is
all perfectly serious, friend of my youth; I swear it
is. No humbug, honour bright. You can go straight
ahead. Oh, by the way, when you
arrest the fellow with the eyeglass, be a bit careful:
he is left-handed! Good-bye, old dear, and good luck to
you!"
Lupin spun round on his heel, went to
the door, opened it and disappeared before Ganimard had
even thought of taking a decision. The inspector rushed
after him, but at once found that the handle of the
door, by some trick of mechanism which he did not know,
refused to turn. It took him ten minutes to unscrew the
lock and ten minutes more to unscrew the lock of the
hall-door. By the time that he had scrambled down the
three flights of stairs, Ganimard had given up all hope
of catching Arsène Lupin.
Besides, he was not thinking of it.
Lupin inspired him with a queer, complex feeling, made
up of fear, hatred, involuntary admiration and also the
vague instinct that he, Ganimard, in spite of all his
efforts, in spite of the persistency of his endeavours,
would never get the better of this particular
adversary. He pursued him from a sense of duty and
pride, but with the continual dread of being taken in
by that formidable hoaxer and scouted and fooled in the
face of a public that was always only too willing to
laugh at the chief-inspector's mishaps.
This business of the red scarf, in
particular, struck him as most suspicious. It was
interesting,
certainly, in more ways than one, but so very
improbable! And Lupin's explanation, apparently so
logical, would never stand the test of a severe
examination!
"No," said Ganimard, "this is all
swank: a parcel of suppositions and guesswork based
upon nothing at all. I'm not to be caught with chaff."
. . . . . . . .
When he reached the headquarters of
police, at 36 Quai des Orfèvres, he had quite
made up his mind to treat the incident as though it had
never happened.
He went up to the Criminal
Investigation Department. Here, one of his
fellow-inspectors said:
"Seen the chief?"
"No."
"He was asking for you just now."
"Oh, was he?"
"Yes, you had better go after him."
"Where?"
"To the Rue de Berne . . . there was a
murder there last night."
"Oh! Who's the victim?"
"I don't know exactly . . . a
music-hall singer, I believe."
Ganimard simply muttered
"By Jove!"
Twenty minutes later he stepped out of
the
underground railway-station and made for the Rue de
Berne.
The victim, who was known in the
theatrical world by her stage-name of Jenny Saphir,
occupied a small flat on the second floor of one of the
houses. A policeman took the chief-inspector upstairs
and showed him the way, through two sitting-rooms, to a
bedroom, where he found the magistrates in charge of
the inquiry, together with the divisional surgeon and
M. Dudouis, the head of the detective-service.
Ganimard started at the first glance
which he gave into the room. He saw, lying on a sofa,
the corpse of a young woman whose hands clutched a
strip of red silk! One of the shoulders, which appeared
above the low-cut bodice, bore the marks of two wounds
surrounded with clotted blood. The distorted and almost
blackened features still bore an expression of frenzied
terror.
The divisional surgeon, who had just
finished his examination, said:
"My first conclusions are very clear.
The victim was twice stabbed with a dagger and
afterward strangled. The immediate cause of death was
asphyxia."
"By Jove!" thought Ganimard again,
remembering Lupin's words and the picture which he had
drawn of the crime.
The examining-magistrate objected:
"But the neck shows no discoloration."
"She may have been strangled with a
napkin or a handkerchief," said the doctor.
"Most probably," said the chief
detective, "with this silk scarf, which the victim was
wearing and a piece of which remains, as though she had
clung to it with her two hands to protect herself."
"But why does only that piece remain?"
asked the magistrate. "What has become of the other?"
"The other may have been stained with
blood and carried off by the murderer. You can plainly
distinguish the hurried slashing of the scissors."
"By Jove!" said Ganimard, between his
teeth, for the third time. "That brute of a Lupin saw
everything without seeing a thing!"
"And what about the motive of the
murder?" asked the magistrate. "The locks have been
forced, the cupboards turned upside down. Have you
anything to tell me, M. Dudouis?"
The chief of the detective-service
replied:
"I can at least suggest a supposition,
derived from the statements made by the servant. The
victim, who enjoyed a greater reputation on account of
her looks than through her talent as a singer, went to
Russia, two years ago, and brought back with her a
magnificent sapphire, which she appears to have
received from some person of importance at the court.
Since then, she went by the name of Jenny Saphir and
seems generally to have been very proud of that
present, although, for prudence sake, she never wore
it. I daresay that we shall not be far out if we
presume the theft of the sapphire to have been the
cause of the crime."
"But did the maid know where the stone
was?"
"No, nobody did. And the disorder of
the room would tend to prove that the murderer did not
know either."
"We will question the maid," said the
examining-magistrate.
M. Dudouis took the chief-inspector
aside and said:
"You're looking very old-fashioned,
Ganimard. What's the matter? Do you suspect anything?"
"Nothing at all, chief."
"That's a pity. We could do with a bit
of showy work in the department. This is one of a
number of crimes, all of the same class, of which we
have failed to discover the perpetrator. This time we
want the criminal . . . and quickly!"
"A difficult job, chief."
"It's got to be done. Listen to me,
Ganimard. According to what the maid says, Jenny Saphir
led a very regular life. For a month past she was in
the habit of frequently receiving visits, on her return
from the music-hall, that is to say, at about half-past
ten, from a man who would stay until midnight or so.
'He's a society man,' Jenny Saphir used to say, 'and he
wants to marry me.' This society man took every
precaution to avoid being seen, such as turning up his
coat-collar and lowering the brim of his hat when he
passed the porter's box. And Jenny Saphir always made a
point of sending away her maid, even before he came.
This is the man whom we have to find."
"Has he left no traces?"
"None at all. It is obvious that we
have to deal with a very clever scoundrel, who prepared
his crime beforehand and committed it with every
possible chance of escaping unpunished. His arrest
would be a great feather in our cap. I rely on you,
Ganimard."
"Ah, you rely on me, chief?" replied
the inspector. "Well, we shall see . . . we shall see.
. . . I don't say no. . . . Only . . ."
He seemed in a very nervous condition,
and his agitation struck M. Dudouis.
"Only," continued Ganimard, "only I
swear do you hear, chief? I swear. . . ."
"What do you swear?"
"Nothing. . . . We shall see, chief . .
. we shall see. . . ."
Ganimard did not finish his sentence
until he was
outside, alone. And he finished it aloud, stamping his
foot, in a tone of the most violent anger:
"Only, I swear to Heaven that the
arrest shall be effected by my own means, without my
employing a single one of the clues with which that
villain has supplied me. Ah, no! Ah, no! . . ."
Railing against Lupin, furious at being
mixed up in this business and resolved, nevertheless,
to get to the bottom of it, he wandered aimlessly about
the streets. His brain was seething with irritation;
and he tried to adjust his ideas a little and to
discover, among the chaotic facts, some trifling
detail, unperceived by all, unsuspected by Lupin
himself, that might lead him to success.
He lunched hurriedly at a bar, resumed
his stroll and suddenly stopped, petrified, astounded
and confused. He was walking under the gateway of the
very house in the Rue de Surène to which Lupin
had enticed him a few hours earlier! A force stronger
than his own will was drawing him there once more. The
solution of the problem lay there. There and there
alone were all the elements of the truth. Do and say
what he would, Lupin's assertions were so precise, his
calculations so accurate, that, worried to the
innermost recesses of his being by so prodigious a
display of perspicacity, he could not do other than
take up the work at the point where his enemy had left
it.
Abandoning all further resistance, he
climbed the three flights of stairs. The door of the
flat was open. No one had touched the exhibits. He put
them in his pocket and walked away.
From that moment, he reasoned and
acted, so to speak, mechanically, under the influence
of the master whom he could not choose but obey.
Admitting that the unknown person whom
he was seeking lived in the neighbourhood of the
Pont-Neuf, it became necessary to discover, somewhere
between that bridge and the Rue de Berne, the
first-class confectioner's shop, open in the evenings,
at which the cakes were bought. This did not take long
to find. A pastry-cook near the Gare Saint-Lazare
showed him some little cardboard boxes, identical in
material and shape with the one in Ganimard's
possession. Moreover, one of the shop-girls remembered
having served, on the previous evening, a gentleman
whose face was almost concealed in the collar of his
fur coat, but whose eyeglass she had happened to
notice.
"That's one clue checked," thought the
inspector. "Our man wears an eyeglass."
He next collected the pieces of the
racing-paper and showed them to a newsvendor, who
easily recognized the Turf
Illustré. Ganimard at once went to the
offices of the Turf and asked to see the
list of subscribers. Going through the list, he jotted
down the names and addresses of all those who lived
anywhere near the Pont-Neuf and principally
because Lupin had said so those on the left bank
of the river.
He then went back to the Criminal
Investigation Department, took half a dozen men and
packed them off with the necessary instructions.
At seven o'clock in the evening, the
last of these men returned and brought good news with
him. A certain M. Prévailles, a subscriber to
the Turf, occupied an entresol flat on the
Quai des Augustins. On the previous evening, he left
his place, wearing a fur coat, took his letters and his
paper, the Turf Illustré, from the
porter's wife, walked away and returned home at
midnight. This M. Prévailles wore a single
eyeglass. He was a regular race-goer and himself owned
several hacks which he either rode himself or jobbed
out.
The inquiry had taken so short a time
and the results obtained were so exactly in accordance
with Lupin's predictions that Ganimard felt quite
overcome on hearing the detective's report. Once more
he was measuring the prodigious extent of the resources
at Lupin's disposal. Never in the course of his life
and Ganimard was already well-advanced in years
had he come across such perspicacity, such a
quick and far-seeing mind.
He went in search of M. Dudouis.
"Everything's ready, chief. Have you a
warrant?"
"Eh?"
"I said, everything is ready for the
arrest, chief."
"You know the name of Jenny Saphir's
murderer?"
"Yes."
"But how? Explain yourself."
Ganimard had a sort of scruple of
conscience, blushed a little and nevertheless replied:
"An accident, chief. The murderer threw
everything that was likely to compromise him into the
Seine. Part of the parcel was picked up and handed to.
me."
"By whom?"
"A boatman who refused to give his
name, for fear of getting into trouble. But I had all
the clues I wanted. It was not so difficult as I
expected."
And the inspector described how he had
gone to work.
"And you call that an accident!" cried
M. Dudouis. "And you say that it was not difficult!
Why, it's one of your finest performances! Finish it
yourself, Ganimard, and be prudent."
Ganimard was eager to get the business
done. He went to the Quai des Augustins with his men
and distributed them around the house. He questioned
the portress, who said that her tenant took his meals
out of doors, but made a point of looking in after
dinner.
A little before nine o'clock, in fact,
leaning out of her window, she warned Ganimard, who at
once gave a low whistle. A gentleman in a tall hat and
a fur coat was coming along the pavement beside the
Seine. He crossed the road and walked up to the house.
Ganimard stepped forward:
"M. Prévailles, I believe?"
"Yes, but who are you?"
"I have a commission to . . ."
He had not time to finish his sentence.
At the sight of the men appearing out of the shadow,
Prévailles quickly retreated to the wall and
faced his adversaries, with his back to the door of a
shop on the ground-floor, the shutters of which were
closed.
"Stand back!" he cried. "I don't know
you!"
His right hand brandished a heavy
stick, while his left was slipped behind him and seemed
to be trying to open the door.
Ganimard had an impression that the man
might escape through this way and through some secret
outlet:
"None of this nonsense," he said,
moving closer to him. "You're caught. . . . You had
better come quietly."
But, just as he was laying hold of
Prévailles' stick, Ganimard remembered the
warning which Lupin gave him: Prévailles was
left-handed; and it was his revolver for which he was
feeling behind his back.
The inspector ducked his head. He had
noticed the man's sudden movement. Two reports rang
out. No one was hit.
A second later, Prévailles
received a blow under the chin from the butt-end of a
revolver, which brought him down where he stood. He was
entered at the Dépôt soon after nine
o'clock.
. . . . . . . .
Ganimard enjoyed a great reputation
even at that time. But this capture, so quickly
effected, by such very simple means, and at once made
public by the police, won him a sudden celebrity.
Prévailles was forthwith saddled with all the
murders that had remained unpunished; and the
newspapers vied with one another in extolling
Ganimard's prowess.
The case was conducted briskly at the
start. It was first of all ascertained that
Prévailles, whose real name was Thomas Derocq,
had already been in trouble. Moreover, the search
instituted in his rooms, while not supplying any fresh
proofs, at least led -to the discovery of a ball of
whip-cord similar to the cord used for doing up the
parcel and
also to the discovery of daggers which would have
produced a wound similar to the wounds on the victim.
But, on the eighth day, everything was
changed. Until then Prévailles had refused to
reply to the questions put to him; but now, assisted by
his counsel, he pleaded a circumstantial alibi and
maintained that he was at the Folies-Bergère on
the night of the murder.
As a matter of fact, the pockets of his
dinner-jacket contained the counterfoil of a
stall-ticket and a programme of the performance, both
bearing the date of that evening.
"An alibi prepared in advance,"
objected the examining-magistrate.
"Prove it," said Prévailles.
The prisoner was confronted with the
witnesses for the prosecution. The young lady from the
confectioner's "thought she knew" the gentleman with
the eyeglass. The hall-porter in the Rue de Berne
"thought he knew" the gentleman who used to come to see
Jenny Saphir. But nobody dared to make a more definite
statement.
The examination, therefore, led to
nothing of a precise character, provided no solid basis
whereon to found a serious accusation.
The judge sent for Ganimard and told
him of his difficulty.
"I can't possibly persist, at this
rate. There is no evidence to support the charge."
"But surely you are convinced in your
own mind, monsieur le juge d'instruction!
Prévailles would never have resisted his arrest
unless he was guilty."
"He says that he thought he was being
assaulted. He also says that he never set eyes on Jenny
Saphir; and, as a matter of fact, we can find no one to
contradict his assertion. Then again, admitting that
the sapphire has been stolen, we have not been able to
find it at his flat."
"Nor anywhere else," suggested
Ganimard.
"Quite true, but that is no evidence
against him. I'll tell you what we shall want, M.
Ganimard, and that very soon: the other end of this red
scarf."
"The other end?"
"Yes, for it is obvious that, if the
murderer took it away with him, the reason was that the
stuff is stained with the marks of the blood on his
fingers."
Ganimard made no reply. For several
days he had felt that the whole business was tending to
this conclusion. There was no other proof possible.
Given the silk scarf and in no other circumstances
Prévailles' guilt was certain. Now Ganimard's
position required that Prévailles' guilt should
be
established. He was responsible for the arrest, it had
cast a glamour around him, he had been praised to the
skies as the most formidable adversary of criminals;
and he would look absolutely ridiculous if
Prévailles were released.
Unfortunately, the one and only
indispensable proof was in Lupin's pocket. How was he
to get hold of it?
Ganimard cast about, exhausted himself
with fresh investigations, went over the inquiry from
start to finish, spent sleepless nights in turning over
the mystery of the Rue de Berne, studied the records of
Prévailles' life, sent ten men hunting after the
invisible sapphire. Everything was useless.
On the 28th of December, the
examining-magistrate stopped him in one of the passages
of the Law Courts :
"Well, M. Ganimard, any news?"
"No, monsieur le juge d'instruction."
"Then I shall dismiss the case."
"Wait one day longer."
"What's the use? We want the other end
of the scarf; have you got it?"
"I shall have it to-morrow."
"To-morrow!"
"Yes, but please lend me the piece in
your possession."
"What if I do?"
"If you do, I promise to let you have
the whole scarf complete."'
"Very well, that's understood."
Ganimard followed the
examining-magistrate to his room and came out with the
piece of silk:
"Hang it all!" he growled. "Yes, I will
go and fetch the proof and I shall have it too . . .
always presuming that Master Lupin has the courage to
keep the appointment."
In point of fact, he did not doubt for
a moment that Master Lupin would have this courage, and
that was just what exasperated him. Why had Lupin
insisted on this meeting? What was his object, in the
circumstances?
Anxious, furious and full of hatred, he
resolved to take every precaution necessary not only to
prevent his falling into a trap himself, but to make
his enemy fall into one, now that the opportunity
offered. And, on the next day, which was the 29th of
December, the date fixed by Lupin, after spending the
night in studying the old manor-house in the Rue de
Surène and convincing himself that there was no
other outlet than the front door, he warned his men
that he was going on a dangerous expedition and arrived
with them on the field of battle.
He posted them in a café and
gave them formal instructions: if he showed himself at
one of the
third-floor windows, or if he failed to return within
an hour, the detectives were to enter the house and
arrest any one who tried to leave it.
The chief-inspector made sure that his
revolver was in working order and that he could take it
from his pocket easily. Then he went upstairs.
He was surprised to find things as he
had left them, the doors open and the locks broken.
After ascertaining that the windows of the principal
room looked out on the street, he visited the three
other rooms that made up the flat. There was no one
there.
"Master Lupin was afraid," he muttered,
not without a certain satisfaction.
"Don't be silly," said a voice behind
him.
Turning round, he saw an old workman,
wearing a house-painter's long smock, standing in the
doorway.
"You needn't bother your head," said
the man. "It's I, Lupin. I have been working in the
painter's shop since early morning. This is when we
knock off for breakfast. So I came upstairs."
He looked at Ganimard with a quizzing
smile and cried:
"'Pon my word, this is a gorgeous
moment I owe you, old chap! I wouldn't sell it for ten
years of your life; and yet you know how I love you!
What do you think of it, artist? Wasn't
it well thought out and well foreseen? Foreseen from
alpha to omega? Did I understand the business? Did I
penetrate the mystery of the scarf? I'm not saying that
there were no holes in my argument, no links missing in
the chain. . . But what a masterpiece of intelligence!
Ganimard, what a reconstruction of events! What an
intuition of everything that had taken place and of
everything that was going to take place, from the
discovery of the crime to your arrival here in search
of a proof! What really marvellous divination! Have you
the scarf?"
"Yes, half of it. Have you the other?"
"Here it is. Let's compare."
They spread the two pieces of silk on
the table. The cuts made by the scissors corresponded
exactly. Moreover, the colours were identical.
"But I presume," said Lupin, "that this
was not the only thing you came for. What you are
interested in seeing is the marks of the blood. Come
with me, Ganimard: it's rather dark in here."
They moved into the next room, which,
though it overlooked the courtyard, was lighter; and
Lupin held his piece of silk against the windowpane:
"Look," he said, making room for
Ganimard.
The inspector gave a start of delight.
The marks of the five fingers and the print of the palm
were
distinctly visible. The evidence was undeniable. The
murderer had seized the stuff in his bloodstained hand,
in the same hand that had stabbed Jenny Saphir, and
tied the scarf round her neck.
"And it is the print of a left hand,"
observed Lupin. "Hence my warning, which had nothing
miraculous about it, you see. For, though I admit,
friend of my youth, that you may look upon me as a
superior intelligence, I won't have you treat me as a
wizard."
Ganimard had quickly pocketed the piece
of silk. Lupin nodded his head in approval:
"Quite right, old boy, it's for you.
I'm so glad you're glad! And, you see, there was no
trap about all this . . . only the wish to oblige . . .
a service between friends, between pals. . . . And
also, I confess, a little curiosity. . . . Yes, I
wanted to examine this other piece of silk, the one the
police had. . . . Don't be afraid: I'll give it back to
you . . . . just a second. . . ."
Lupin, with a careless movement, played
with the tassel at the end of this half of the scarf,
while Ganimard listened to him in spite of himself:
"How ingenious these little bits of
women's work are! Did you notice one detail in the
maid's evidence? Jenny Saphir was very handy with her
needle and used to make all her own hats and frocks. It
is obvious that she made this
scarf herself . . . . Besides, I noticed that from the
first. I am naturally curious, as I have already told
you, and I made a thorough examination of the piece of
silk which you have just put in your pocket. Inside the
tassel, I found a little sacred medal, which the poor
girl had stitched into it to bring her luck. Touching,
isn't it, Ganimard? A little medal of Our Lady of Good
Succour."
The inspector felt greatly puzzled and
did not take his eyes off the other. And Lupin
continued:
"Then I said to myself, 'How
interesting it would be to explore the other half of
the scarf, the one which the police will find round the
victim's neck!' For this other half, which I hold in my
hands at last, is finished off in the same way . . . so
I shall be able to see if it has a hiding-place too and
what's inside it. . . . But look, my friend, isn't it
cleverly made? And so simple! All you have to do is to
take a skein of red cord and braid it round a wooden
cup, leaving a little recess, a little empty space in
the middle, very small, of course, but large enough to
hold a medal of a saint. . . or anything. . . . A
precious stone, for instance. . . . Such as a sapphire.
. ."
At that moment he finished pushing back
the silk cord and, from the hollow of a cup he took
between his thumb and forefinger a wonderful blue
stone, perfect in respect of size and purity.
"Ha! What did I tell you, friend of my
youth?"
He raised his head. The inspector had
turned livid and was staring wild-eyed, as though
fascinated by the stone that sparkled before him. He at
last realized the whole plot:
"You dirty scoundrel!" he muttered,
repeating the insults which he had used at the first
interview. "You scum of the earth!"
The two men were standing one against
the other.
"Give me back that," said the
inspector.
Lupin held out the piece of silk.
"And the sapphire," said Ganimard, in a
peremptory tone.
"Don't be silly."
"Give it back, or . . ."
"Or what, you idiot!" cried Lupin.
"Look here, do you think I put you on to this soft
thing for nothing?"
"Give it back!"
"You haven't noticed what I've been
about, that's plain! What! For four weeks I've kept you
on the move like a deer; and you want to . . .! Come,
Ganimard, old chap, pull yourself together! . . . Don't
you see that you've been playing the good dog for four
weeks on end? . . . Fetch it, Rover! . . . There's a
nice blue pebble over there, which master can't get at.
Hunt it, Ganimard,
fetch it . . . bring it to master. . . . Ah, he's his
master's own good little dog! . . . Sit up! Beg! . . .
Does'ms want a bit of sugar, then? . . ."
Ganimard, containing the anger that
seethed within him, thought only of one thing,
summoning his detectives. And, as the room in which he
now was looked out on the courtyard, he tried gradually
to work his way round to the communicating door. He
would then run to the window and break one of the
panes.
"All the same," continued Lupin, "what
a pack of dunderheads you and the rest must be! You've
had the silk all this time and not one of you ever
thought of feeling it, not one of you ever asked
himself the reason why the poor girl hung on to her
scarf. Not one of you! You just acted at haphazard,
without reflecting, without foreseeing anything . . .
."
The inspector had attained his object.
Taking advantage of a second when Lupin had turned away
from him, he suddenly wheeled round and grasped the
door-handle. But an oath escaped him: the handle did
not budge.
Lupin burst into a fit of laughing:
"Not even that! You did not even
foresee that! You lay a trap for me and you won't admit
that I may perhaps smell the thing out beforehand. . .
. And you allow yourself to be brought
into this room without asking whether I am not bringing
you here for a particular reason and without
remembering that the locks are fitted with a special
mechanism. Come now, speaking frankly, what do you
think of it yourself?"
"What do I think of it?" roared
Ganimard, beside himself with rage.
He had drawn his revolver and was
pointing it straight at Lupin's face.
"Hands up!" he cried. "That's what I
think of it!"
Lupin placed himself in front of him
and shrugged his shoulders:
"Sold again!" he said.
"Hands up, I say, once more!"
"And sold again, say I. Your deadly
weapon won't go off."
"What?"
"Old Catherine, your housekeeper, is in
my service. She damped the charges this morning while
you were having your breakfast coffee."
Ganimard made a furious gesture,
pocketed the revolver and rushed at Lupin.
"Well?" said Lupin, stopping him short
with a well-aimed kick on the shin.
Their clothes were almost touching.
They exchanged defiant glances, the glances of two
adversaries who mean to come to blows. Nevertheless,
there was no fight. The recollection of the earlier
struggles made any present struggle useless. And
Ganimard, who remembered all his past
failures, his vain attacks, Lupin's crushing reprisals,
did not lift a limb. There was nothing to be done. He
felt it. Lupin had forces at his command against which
any individual force simply broke to pieces. So what
was the good?
"I agree," said Lupin, in a friendly
voice, as though answering Ganimard's unspoken thought,
"you would do better to let things be as they are.
Besides, friend of my youth, think of all that this
incident has brought you: fame, the certainty of quick
promotion and, thanks to that, the prospect of a happy
and comfortable old age! Surely, you don't want the
discovery of the sapphire and the head of poor
Arsène Lupin in addition! It wouldn't be fair.
To say nothing of the fact that poor Arsène
Lupin saved your life. . . . Yes, sir! Who warned you,
at this very spot, that Prévailles was left-
handed? . . . And is this the way you thank me? It's
not pretty of you, Ganimard. Upon my word, you make me
blush for you!"
While chattering, Lupin had gone
through the same performance as Ganimard and was now
near the door. Ganimard saw that his foe was about to
escape him. Forgetting all prudence, he tried to block
his way and received a tremendous butt
in the stomach, which sent him rolling to the opposite
wall.
Lupin dexterously touched a spring,
turned the handle, opened the door and slipped away,
roaring with laughter as he went.
. . . . . . . .
Twenty minutes later, when Ganimard at
last succeeded in joining his men, one of them said to
him:
"A house-painter left the house, as his
mates were coming back from breakfast, and put a letter
in my hand. 'Give that to your governor,' he said.
'Which governor?' I asked; but he was gone. I suppose
it's meant for you."
"Let's have it."
Ganimard opened the letter. It was
hurriedly scribbled in pencil and contained these
words:
"This is to warn you, friend of my
youth, against excessive credulity. When a fellow tells
you that the cartridges in your revolver are damp,
however great your confidence in that fellow may be,
even though his name be Arsène Lupin, never
allow yourself to be taken in. Fire first; and, if the
fellow hops the twig, you will have acquired the proof
(1) that the cartridges are not damp; and (2)that old
Catherine is the most honest and respectable of
housekeepers.
"One of these days, I hope to have the
pleasure of making her acquaintance.
"Meanwhile, friend of my youth, believe
me always affectionately and sincerely yours,
"ARSÈNE
LUPIN"
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