"My investigation is finished. I now know everything."By dint of reflection, I have guessed the secret of the hiding-place."My friends are going to Veldenz and, in spite ofevery obstacle, will enter the castle by a way which I am pointing out to them."The newspapers will then publish photographs of the letters, of which I already know the tenor; but I prefer to reproduce the whole text."This certain, inevitable publication will take place in a fortnight from to-day precisely, on the 22nd of August next."Between this and then I will keep silence . . . and wait."
"My investigation is finished. I now know everything.
"By dint of reflection, I have guessed the secret of the hiding-place.
"My friends are going to Veldenz and, in spite ofevery obstacle, will enter the castle by a way which I am pointing out to them.
"The newspapers will then publish photographs of the letters, of which I already know the tenor; but I prefer to reproduce the whole text.
"This certain, inevitable publication will take place in a fortnight from to-day precisely, on the 22nd of August next.
"Between this and then I will keep silence . . . and wait."
The communications to theGrand Journaldid, in fact, stop for a time, but Lupin never ceased corresponding with his friends, "viathe hat," as they said among themselves. It was so simple! There was no danger. Who could ever suspect that Maître Quimbel's hat served Lupin as a letter-box?
Every two or three mornings, whenever he called, in fact, the celebrated advocate faithfully brought his client's letters: letters from Paris, letters from the country, letters from Germany; all reduced and condensed by Doudeville into a brief form and cipher language. And, an hour later, Maître Quimbel solemnly walked away, carrying Lupin's orders.
Now, one day, the governor of the Santé received a telephone message, signed, "L. M.," informing him that Maître Quimbel was, in all probability, serving Lupin as his unwitting postman and that it would be advisable to keep an eye upon the worthy man's visits. The governor told Maître Quimbel, who thereupon resolved to bring his junior with him.
So, once again, in spite of all Lupin's efforts, in spite of his fertile powers of invention, in spite of the marvelsof ingenuity which he renewed after each defeat, once again Lupin found himself cut off from communication with the outside world by the infernal genius of his formidable adversary. And he found himself thus cut off at the most critical moment, at the solemn minute when, from his cell, he was playing his last trump-card against the coalesced forces that were overwhelming him so terribly.
On the 13th of August, as he sat facing the two counsels, his attention was attracted by a newspaper in which some of Maître Quimbel's papers were wrapped up.
He saw a heading in very large type
"813"
The sub-headings were:
"A FRESH MURDER
"THE EXCITEMENT IN GERMANY
"HAS THE SECRET OF THE 'APOON' BEEN DISCOVERED?"
Lupin turned pale with anguish. Below he read the words:
"Two sensational telegrams reach us at the moment of going to press."The body of an old man has been found near Augsburg, with his throat cut with a knife. The police have succeeded in identifying the victim: it is Steinweg, the man mentioned in the Kesselbach case."On the other hand, a correspondent telegraphs that the famous English detective, Holmlock Shears, has been hurriedly summoned to Cologne. He will there meet the Emperor; and they will both proceed to Veldenz Castle."Holmlock Shears is said to have undertaken to discover the secret of the 'APOON.'"If he succeeds, it will mean the pitiful failure of the incomprehensible campaign which Arsène Lupin has been conducting for the past month in so strange a fashion."
"Two sensational telegrams reach us at the moment of going to press.
"The body of an old man has been found near Augsburg, with his throat cut with a knife. The police have succeeded in identifying the victim: it is Steinweg, the man mentioned in the Kesselbach case.
"On the other hand, a correspondent telegraphs that the famous English detective, Holmlock Shears, has been hurriedly summoned to Cologne. He will there meet the Emperor; and they will both proceed to Veldenz Castle.
"Holmlock Shears is said to have undertaken to discover the secret of the 'APOON.'
"If he succeeds, it will mean the pitiful failure of the incomprehensible campaign which Arsène Lupin has been conducting for the past month in so strange a fashion."
Perhaps public curiosity was never so much stirred as by the duel announced to take place between Shears and Lupin, an invisible duel in the circumstances, an anonymous duel, one might say, in which everything would happen in the dark, in which people would be able to judge only by the final results, and yet an impressive duel, because of all the scandal that circled around the adventure and because of the stakes in dispute between the two irreconcilable enemies, now once more opposed to each other.
And it was a question not of small private interests, of insignificant burglaries, of trumpery individual passions, but of a matter of really world-wide importance, involving the politics of the three great western nations and capable of disturbing the peace of the world.
People waited anxiously; and no one knew exactly what he was waiting for. For, after all, if the detective came out victorious in the duel, if he found the letters, who would ever know? What proof would any one have of his triumph?
In the main, all hopes were centred on Lupin, on hiswell-known habit of calling the public to witness his acts. What was he going to do? How could he avert the frightful danger that threatened him? Was he even aware of it?
Those were the questions which men asked themselves.
Between the four walls of his cell, prisoner 14 asked himself pretty nearly the same questions; and he for his part, was not stimulated by idle curiosity, but by real uneasiness, by constant anxiety. He felt himself irrevocably alone, with impotent hands, an impotent will, an impotent brain. It availed him nothing that he was able, ingenious, fearless, heroic. The struggle was being carried on without him. His part was now finished. He had joined all the pieces and set all the springs of the great machine that was to produce, that was, in a manner of speaking, automatically to manufacture his liberty; and it was impossible for him to make a single movement to improve and supervise his handiwork.
At the date fixed, the machine would start working. Between now and then, a thousand adverse incidents might spring up, a thousand obstacles arise, without his having the means to combat those incidents or remove those obstacles.
Lupin spent the unhappiest hours of his life at that time. He doubted himself. He wondered whether his existence would be buried for good in the horror of a jail. Had he not made a mistake in his calculations? Was it not childish to believe that the event that was to set him free would happen on the appointed date?
"Madness!" he cried. "My argument is false. . . . How can I expect such a concurrence of circumstances?There will be some little fact that will destroy all . . . the inevitable grain of sand. . . ."
Steinweg's death and the disappearance of the documents which the old man was to make over to him did not trouble him greatly. The documents he could have done without in case of need; and, with the few words which Steinweg had told him, he was able, by dint of guess-work and his native genius, to reconstruct what the Emperor's letters contained and to draw up the plan of battle that would lead to victory. But he thought of Holmlock Shears, who was over there now, in the very centre of the battlefield, and who was seeking and who would find the letters, thus demolishing the edifice so patiently built up.
And he thought of "the other one," the implacable enemy, lurking round the prison, hidden in the prison, perhaps, who guessed his most secret plans even before they were hatched in the mystery of his thought.
The 17th of August! . . . The 18th of August! . . . The 19th! . . . Two more days. . . . Two centuries rather! Oh, the interminable minutes! . . .
Lupin, usually so calm, so entirely master of himself, so ingenious at providing matter for his own amusement, was feverish, exultant and depressed by turns, powerless against the enemy, mistrusting everything and everybody, morose.
The 20th of August! . . . .
He would have wished to act and he could not. Whatever he did, it was impossible for him to hasten the hour of the catastrophe. This catastrophe wouldtake place or would not take place; but Lupin would not know for certain until the last hour of the last day was spent to the last minute. Then—and then alone—he would know of the definite failure of his scheme.
"The inevitable failure," he kept on repeating to himself. "Success depends upon circumstances far too subtle and can be obtained only by methods far too psychological. . . . There is no doubt that I am deceiving myself as to the value and the range of my weapons. . . . And yet . . ."
Hope returned to him. He weighed his chances. They suddenly seemed to him real and formidable. The fact was going to happen as he had foreseen it happening and for the very reasons which he had expected. It was inevitable. . . .
Yes, inevitable. Unless, indeed, Shears discovered the hiding-place. . . .
And again he thought of Shears; and again an immense sense of discouragement overwhelmed him.
The last day. . . .
He woke late, after a night of bad dreams.
He saw nobody that day, neither the examining magistrate nor his counsel.
The afternoon dragged along slowly and dismally, and the evening came, the murky evening of the cells. . . . He was in a fever. His heart beat in his chest like the clapper of a bell.
And the minutes passed, irretrievably. . . .
At nine o'clock, nothing. At ten o'clock, nothing.
With all his nerves tense as the string of a bow, he listened to the vague prison sounds, tried to catch through those inexorable walls all that might trickle in from the life outside.
Oh, how he would have liked to stay the march of time and to give destiny a little more leisure!
But what was the good? Was everything not finished? . . .
"Oh," he cried, "I am going mad! If all this were only over . . . that would be better. I can begin again, differently. . . . I shall try something else . . . but I can't go on like this, I can't go on. . . ."
He held his head in his hands, pressing it with all his might, locking himself within himself and concentrating his whole mind upon one subject, as though he wished to provoke, as though he wished to create the formidable, stupefying, inadmissible event to which he had attached his independence and his fortune:
"It must happen," he muttered, "it must; and it must, not because I wish it, but because it is logical. And it shall happen . . . it shall happen. . . ."
He beat his skull with his fists; and delirious words rose to his lips. . . .
The key grated in the lock. In his frenzy, he had not heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor; and now, suddenly, a ray of light penetrated into his cell and the door opened.
Three men entered.
Lupin had not a moment of surprise.
The unheard-of miracle was being worked; and this at once seemed to him natural and normal, in perfect agreement with truth and justice.
But a rush of pride flooded his whole being. At this minute he really received a clear sensation of his own strength and intelligence. . . .
"Shall I switch on the light?" asked one of the threemen, in whom Lupin recognized the governor of the prison.
"No," replied the taller of his companions, speaking in a foreign accent. "This lantern will do."
"Shall I go?"
"Act according to your duty, sir," said the same individual.
"My instructions from the prefect of police are to comply entirely with your wishes."
"In that case, sir, it would be preferable that you should withdraw."
M. Borély went away, leaving the door half open, and remained outside, within call.
The visitor exchanged a few words with the one who had not yet spoken; and Lupin vainly tried to distinguish his features in the shade. He saw only two dark forms, clad in wide motoring-cloaks and wearing caps with the flaps lowered.
"Are you Arsène Lupin?" asked the man, turning the light of the lantern full on his face.
He smiled:
"Yes, I am the person known as Arsène Lupin, at present a prisoner in the Santé, cell 14, second division."
"Was it you," continued the visitor, "who published in theGrand Journala series of more or less fanciful notes, in which there is a question of a so-called collection of letters . . . ?"
Lupin interrupted him.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but, before pursuing this conversation, the object of which, between ourselves, is none too clear to me, I should be much obliged if you would tell me to whom I have the honour of speaking."
"Absolutely unnecessary," replied the stranger.
"Absolutely essential," declared Lupin.
"Why?"
"For reasons of politeness, sir. You know my name and I do not know yours; this implies a disregard of good form which I cannot suffer."
The stranger lost patience:
"The mere fact that the governor of the prison brought us here shows . . ."
"That M. Borély does not know his manners," said Lupin. "M. Borély should have introduced us to each other. We are equals here, sir: it is no case of a superior and an inferior, of a prisoner and a visitor who condescends to come and see him. There are two men here; and one of those two men has a hat on his head, which he ought not to have."
"Now look here . . ."
"Take the lesson as you please, sir," said Lupin.
The stranger came closer to him and tried to speak.
"The hat first," said Lupin, "the hat. . . ."
"You shall listen to me!"
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
Matters were becoming virulent, stupidly. The second stranger, the one who had kept silent, placed his hand on his companion's shoulder and said, in German:
"Leave him to me."
"Why, it was understood . . ."
"Hush . . . and go away!"
"Leaving you alone?"
"Yes."
"But the door?"
"Shut it and walk away."
"But this man . . . you know who he is. . . . Arsène Lupin. . . ."
"Go away!"
The other went out, cursing under his breath.
"Pull the door!" cried the second visitor. "Harder than that. . . . Altogether! . . . That's right. . . ."
Then he turned, took the lantern and raised it slowly:
"Shall I tell you who I am?" he asked.
"No," replied Lupin.
"And why?"
"Because I know."
"Ah!"
"You are the visitor I was expecting."
"I?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Silence!" said the stranger, sharply. "Don't use that word."
"Then what shall I call Your . . ."
"Call me nothing."
They were both silent; and this moment of respite was not one of those which go before the struggle of two adversaries ready for the fray. The stranger strode to and fro with the air of a master accustomed to command and to be obeyed. Lupin stood motionless. He had abandoned his usual provocative attitude and his sarcastic smile. He waited, gravely and deferentially. But, down in the depths of his being, he revelled, eagerly, madly, in the marvellous situation in which he found himself placed: here, in his cell, he, a prisoner; he, the adventurer; he, the swindler, the burglar; he, Arsène Lupin . . . face to face with that demi-god of the modern world, that formidable entity, the heir of Cæsar and of Charlemagne.
He was intoxicated for a moment with the sense of his own power. The tears came to his eyes when he thought of his triumph. . . .
The stranger stood still.
And at once, with the very first sentence, they came to the immediate point:
"To-morrow is the 22nd of August. The letters are to be published to-morrow, are they not?"
"To-night, in two hours from now, my friends are to hand in to theGrand Journal, not the letters themselves, but an exact list of the letters, with the Grand-duke Hermann's annotations."
"That list shall not be handed in."
"It shall not be."
"You will give it to me."
"It shall be placed in the hands of Your . . . in your hands."
"Likewise, all the letters?"
"Likewise, all the letters."
"Without any of them being photographed?"
"Without any of them being photographed."
The stranger spoke in a very calm voice, containing not the least accent of entreaty nor the least inflection of authority. He neither ordered nor requested; he stated the inevitable actions of Arsène Lupin. Things would happen as he said. And they would happen, whatever Arsène Lupin's demands should be, at whatever price he might value the performance of those actions. The conditions were accepted beforehand.
"By Jove," said Lupin to himself, "that's jolly clever of him! If he leaves it to my generosity, I am a ruined man!"
The very way in which the conversation opened, the frankness of the words employed, the charm of voice and manner all pleased him infinitely.
He pulled himself together, lest he should relent and abandon all the advantages which he had conquered so fiercely.
And the stranger continued:
"Have you read the letters?"
"No."
"But some one you know has read them?"
"No."
"In that case . . ."
"I have the grand-duke's list and his notes. Moreover, I know the hiding-place where he put all his papers."
"Why did you not take them before this?"
"I did not know the secret of the hiding-place until I came here. My friends are on the way there now."
"The castle is guarded. It is occupied by two hundred of my most trusty men."
"Ten thousand would not be sufficient."
After a minute's reflection, the visitor asked:
"How do you know the secret?"
"I guessed it."
"But you had other elements of information which the papers did not publish?"
"No, none at all."
"And yet I had the castle searched for four days."
"Holmlock Shears looked in the wrong place."
"Ah!" said the stranger to himself. "It's an odd thing, an odd thing! . . ." And, to Lupin, "You are sure that your supposition is correct?"
"It is not a supposition: it is a certainty."
"So much the better," muttered the visitor. "There will be no rest until those papers cease to exist."
And, placing himself in front of Arsène Lupin:
"How much?"
"What?" said Lupin, taken aback.
"How much for the papers? How much do you ask to reveal the secret?"
He waited for Lupin to name a figure. He suggested one himself:
"Fifty thousand? . . . A hundred thousand?"
And, when Lupin did not reply, he said, with a little hesitation:
"More? Two hundred thousand? Very well! I agree."
Lupin smiled and, in a low voice, said:
"It is a handsome figure. But is it not likely that some sovereign, let us say, the King of England, would give as much as a million? In all sincerity?"
"I believe so."
"And that those letters are priceless to the Emperor, that they are worth two million quite as easily as two hundred thousand francs . . . three million as easily as two?"
"I think so."
"And, if necessary, the Emperor would give that three million francs?"
"Yes."
"Then it will not be difficult to come to an arrangement."
"On that basis?" cried the stranger, not without some alarm.
Lupin smiled again:
"On that basis, no. . . . I am not looking for money. I want something else, something that is worth more to me than any number of millions."
"What is that?"
"My liberty."
"What! Your liberty. . . . But I can do nothing. . . . That concerns your country . . . the law. . . . I have no power."
Lupin went up to him and, lowering his voice still more:
"You have every power, Sire. . . . My liberty is not such an exceptional event that they are likely to refuse you."
"Then I should have to ask for it?"
"Yes."
"Of whom?"
"Of Valenglay, the prime minister."
"But M. Valenglay himself can do no more than I."
"He can open the doors of this prison for me."
"It would cause a public outcry."
"When I say, open . . . half-open would be enough . . . We should counterfeit an escape. . . . The public so thoroughly expects it that it would not so much as ask for an explanation."
"Very well . . . but M. Valenglay will never consent. . . ."
"He will consent."
"Why?"
"Because you will express the wish."
"My wishes are not commands . . . to him!"
"No . . . but an opportunity of making himself agreeable to the Emperor by fulfilling them. And Valenglay is too shrewd a politician. . . ."
"Nonsense! Do you imagine that the French government will commit so illegal an act for the sole pleasure of making itself agreeable to me?"
"That pleasure will not be the sole one."
"What will be the other?"
"The pleasure of serving France by accepting the proposal which will accompany the request for my release."
"I am to make a proposal? I?"
"Yes, Sire."
"What proposal?"
"I do not know, but it seems to me that there is always a favorable ground on which to come to anunderstanding . . . there are possibilities of agreement. . . ."
The stranger looked at him, without grasping his meaning. Lupin leant forward and, as though seeking his words, as though putting an imaginary case, said:
"Let me suppose that two great countries are divided by some insignificant question . . . that they have different points of view on a matter of secondary importance . . . a colonial matter, for instance, in which their self-esteem is at stake rather than their interest. . . . Is it inconceivable that the ruler of one of those countries might come of his own accord to treat this matter in a new spirit of conciliation . . . and give the necessary instructions . . . so that . . ."
"So that I might leave Morocco to France?" said the stranger, with a burst of laughter.
The idea which Lupin was suggesting struck him as the most comical thing that he had ever heard; and he laughed heartily. The disparity was so great between the object aimed at and the means proposed!
"Of course, of course!" he resumed, with a vain attempt to recover his seriousness. "Of course, it's a very original idea: the whole of modern politics upset so that Arsène Lupin may be free! . . . The plans of the Empire destroyed so that Arsène Lupin may continue his exploits! . . . Why not ask me for Alsace and Lorraine at once?"
"I did think of it, Sire," replied Lupin, calmly. The stranger's merriment increased:
"Splendid! And you let me off?"
"This time, yes."
Lupin had crossed his arms. He, too, was amusinghimself by exaggerating the part which he was playing; and he continued, with affected seriousness:
"A series of circumstances might one day arise which would put in my hands the power ofdemandingandobtainingthat restitution. When that day comes, I shall certainly not fail to do so. For the moment, the weapons at my disposal oblige me to be more modest. Peace in Morocco will satisfy me."
"Just that?"
"Just that."
"Morocco against your liberty!"
"Nothing more . . . or, rather—for we must not lose sight entirely of the main object of this conversation—or, rather, a little good will on the part of one of the countries in question . . . and, in exchange, the surrender of the letters which are in my power."
"Those letters, those letters!" muttered the stranger irritably. "After all, perhaps they are not so valuable. . . ."
"There are some in your own hand, Sire; and you considered them valuable enough to come to this cell. . . ."
"Well, what does it matter?"
"But there are others of which you do not know the authorship and about which I can give you a few particulars."
"Oh, indeed!" said the stranger, rather anxiously.
Lupin hesitated.
"Speak, speak plainly," said the stranger. "Say what you have in your mind."
In the profound silence of the cell, Lupin declared, with a certain solemnity:
"Twenty years ago a draft treaty was prepared between Germany, Great Britain, and France."
"That's not true! It's impossible! Who could have done such a thing?"
"The Emperor's father and the Queen of England, his grandmother, both acting under the influence of the Empress Frederick."
"Impossible! I repeat, it is impossible!"
"The correspondence is in the hiding-place at Veldenz Castle; and I alone know the secret of the hiding-place."
The stranger walked up and down with an agitated step. Then he stopped short:
"Is the text of the treaty included in that correspondence?"
"Yes, Sire. It is in your father's own hand."
"And what does it say?"
"By that treaty, France and Great Britain granted and promised Germany an immense colonial empire, the empire which she does not at present possess and which has become a necessity to her, in these times, to ensure her greatness."
"And what did England demand as a set-off against that empire?"
"The limitation of the German fleet."
"And France?"
"Alsace and Lorraine."
The Emperor leant against the table in silent thought. Lupin continued:
"Everything was ready. The cabinets of Paris and London had been sounded and had consented. The thing was practically done. The great treaty of alliance was on the point of being concluded. It would have laid the foundations of a definite and universal peace. The death of your father destroyed that sublime dream. But I ask Your Imperial Majesty, whatwill your people think, what will the world think, when it knows that Frederick III., one of the heroes of 1870, a German, a pure and loyal German, respected by all, generally admired for his nobility of character, agreed to the restitution of Alsace-Lorraine and therefore considered that restitution just?"
He was silent for an instant leaving the problem to fix itself in its precise terms before the Emperor's conscience, before his conscience as a man, a son and a sovereign. Then he concluded:
"Your Imperial Majesty yourself must know whether you wish or do not wish history to record the existence of that treaty. As for me, Sire, you can see that my humble personality counts for very little in the discussion."
A long pause followed upon Lupin's words. He waited, with his soul torn with anguish. His whole destiny was at stake, in this minute which he had conceived and, in a manner, produced with such effort and such stubbornness, an historic minute, born of his brain, in which "his humble personality," for all that he might say, weighed heavily upon the fate of empires and the peace of the world.
Opposite him, in the shadow, Cæsar stood meditating.
What answer would he make? What solution would he give to the problem?
He walked across the cell for a few moments, which to Lupin seemed interminable. Then he stopped and asked:
"Are there any other conditions?"
"Yes, Sire, but they are insignificant."
"Name them."
"I have found the son of the Grand-duke of Zweibrucken-Veldenz. The grand-duchy must be restored to him."
"Anything else?"
"He loves a young girl, who loves him in her turn. She is the fairest and the most virtuous of her sex. He must marry her."
"Anything else?"
"That is all."
"There is nothing more?"
"Nothing. Your majesty need only have this letter delivered to the editor of theGrand Journal, who will then destroy, unread, the article which he may now receive at any moment."
Lupin held out the letter, with a heavy heart and a trembling hand. If the Emperor took it, that would be a sign of his acceptance.
The Emperor hesitated and then, with an abrupt movement, took the letter, put on his hat, wrapped his cloak round him and walked out without a word.
Lupin remained for a few seconds, staggering, as though dazed. . . .
Then, suddenly, he fell into his chair, shouting with joy and pride. . . .
"Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction, I am sorry to say good-bye to you to-day."
"Why, M. Lupin, are you thinking of leaving us?"
"With the greatest reluctance, I assure you, Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction. Our relations have been so very pleasant and cordial! But all good things must come to an end. My cure at the Santé Palace is finished. Other duties call me. I have resolved to make my escape to-night."
"Then I wish you good luck, M. Lupin."
"A thousand thanks, M. le Juge d'Instruction."
Arsène Lupin waited patiently for the hour of his escape, not without asking himself how it would be contrived and by what means France and Germany, uniting for the joint performance of this deserving work, would succeed in effecting it without creating too great a scandal.
Late in the afternoon, the warder told him to go to the entrance-yard. He hurried out and was met by the governor, who handed him over to M. Weber. M. Weber made him step into a motor-car in which somebody was already seated.
Lupin had a violent fit of laughter:
"What, you, my poor old Weber! Have they let you in for this tiresome job? Are you to be responsible for my escape? Upon my word, you are an unlucky beggar! Oh, my poor old chap, what hard lines! First made famous through my arrest, you are now to become immortal through my escape!"
He looked at the other man:
"Well, well, Monsieur le Préfet de Police, so you are in the business too! That's a nasty thing for you, what? If you take my advice, you'll stay in the background and leave the honor and glory to Weber! It's his by right! . . . And he can stand a lot, the rascal!"
The car travelled at a fast pace, along the Seine and through Boulogne. At Saint-Cloud, they crossed the river.
"Splendid!" cried Lupin. "We're going to Garches! You want me there, in order to reënact the death of Altenheim. We shall go down into the underground passage, I shall disappear and people will say that I gotthrough another outlet, known to myself alone! Lord, how idiotic!"
He seemed quite unhappy about it:
"Idiotic! Idiotic in the highest degree! I blush for shame! . . . And those are the people who govern us! . . . What an age to live in! . . . But, you poor devils, why didn't you come to me? I'd have invented a beautiful little escape for you, something of a miraculous nature. I had it all ready pigeon-holed in my mind! The public would have yelled with wonder and danced with delight. Instead of which . . . However, it's quite true that you were given rather short notice . . . but all the same . . ."
The programme was exactly as Lupin had foreseen. They walked through the grounds of the House of Retreat to the Pavillon Hortense. Lupin and his two companions went down the stairs and along the underground passage. At the end of the tunnel, the deputy-chief said:
"You are free."
"And there you are!" said Lupin. "Is that all? Well, my dear Weber, thank you very much and sorry to have given you so much trouble. Good-bye, Monsieur le Préfet; kind regards to the missus!"
He climbed the stairs that led to the Villa des Glycines, raised the trap-door and sprang into the room.
A hand fell on his shoulder.
Opposite him stood his first visitor of the day before, the one who had accompanied the Emperor. There were four men with him, two on either side.
"Look here," said Lupin, "what's the meaning of this joke? I thought I was free!"
"Yes, yes," growled the German, in his rough voice,"you are free . . . free to travel with the five of us . . . if that suits you."
Lupin looked at him, for a second, with a mad longing to hit him on the nose, just to teach him. But the five men looked devilish determined. Their leader did not betray any exaggerated fondness for him; and it seemed to him that the fellow would be only too pleased to resort to extreme measures. Besides, after all, what did he care?
He chuckled:
"If it suits me? Why, it's the dream of my life!"
A powerful covered car was waiting in the paved yard outside the villa. Two men got into the driver's seat, two others inside, with their backs to the motor. Lupin and the stranger sat down on the front seat.
"Vorwarts!" cried Lupin, in German. "Vorwarts nach Veldenz!"
The stranger said:
"Silence! Those men must know nothing. Speak French. They don't know French. But why speak at all?"
"Quite right," said Lupin to himself. "Why speak at all?"
The car travelled all the evening and all night, without any incident. Twice they stopped to take in petrol at some sleepy little town.
The Germans took it in turns to watch their prisoner, who did not open his eyes until the early morning.
They stopped for breakfast at an inn on a hillside, near which stood a sign-post. Lupin saw that they were at an equal distance from Metz and Luxemburg.From there, they took a road that slanted north-east, in the direction of Treves.
Lupin said to his travelling-companion:
"Am I right in believing that I have the honor of speaking to Count von Waldemar, the Emperor's confidential friend, the one who searched Hermann III.'s house in Dresden?"
The stranger remained silent.
"You're the sort of chap I can't stand at any price," muttered Lupin. "I'll have some fun with you, one of these days. You're ugly, you're fat, you're heavy; in short, I don't like you." And he added, aloud, "You are wrong not to answer me, Monsieur le Comte. I was speaking in your own interest: just as we were stepping in, I saw a motor come into sight, behind us, on the horizon. Did you see it?"
"No, why?"
"Nothing."
"Still. . . ."
"No, nothing at all . . . a mere remark. . . . Besides, we are ten minutes ahead . . . and our car is at least a forty-horse-power."
"It's a sixty," said the German, looking at him uneasily from the corner of his eye.
"Oh, then we're all right!"
They were climbing a little slope. When they reached the top, the count leant out of the window:
"Damn it all!" he swore.
"What's the matter?" asked Lupin.
The count turned to him and, in a threatening voice:
"Take care! If anything happens, it will be so much the worse for you."
"Oho! It seems the other's gaining on us! . . . But what are you afraid of, my dear count? It's nodoubt a traveller . . . perhaps even some one they are sending to help us."
"I don't want any help," growled the German.
He leant out again. The car was only two or three hundred yards behind.
He said to his men, pointing to Lupin.
"Bind him. If he resists. . . ."
He drew his revolver.
"Why should I resist, O gentle Teuton?" chuckled Lupin. And he added, while they were fastening his hands, "It is really curious to see how people take precautions when they need not and don't when they ought to. What the devil do you care about that motor? Accomplices of mine? What an idea!"
Without replying, the German gave orders to the driver:
"To the right! . . . Slow down! . . . Let them pass. . . . If they slow down also, stop!"
But, to his great surprise, the motor seemed, on the contrary, to increase its speed. It passed in front of the car like a whirlwind, in a cloud of dust. Standing up at the back, leaning over the hood, which was lowered, was a man dressed in black.
He raised his arm.
Two shots rang out.
The count, who was blocking the whole of the left window, fell back into the car.
Before even attending to him, the two men leapt upon Lupin and finished securing him.
"Jackasses! Blockheads!" shouted Lupin, shaking with rage. "Let me go, on the contrary! There now, we're stopping! But go after him, you silly fools, catch him up! . . . It's the man in black, I tell you, the murderer! . . . Oh, the idiots! . . ."
They gagged him. Then they attended to the count. The wound did not appear to be serious and was soon dressed. But the patient, who was in a very excited state, had an attack of fever and became delirious.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. They were in the open country, far from any village. The men had no information as to the exact object of the journey. Where were they to go? Whom were they to send to?
They drew up the motor beside a wood and waited. The whole day went by in this way. It was evening before a squad of cavalry arrived, dispatched from Treves in search of the motor-car.
Two hours later, Lupin stepped out of the car, and still escorted by his two Germans, by the light of a lantern climbed the steps of a staircase that led to a small room with iron-barred windows.
Here he spent the night.
The next morning, an officer led him, through a courtyard filled with soldiers, to the centre of a long row of buildings that ran round the foot of a mound covered with monumental ruins.
He was shown into a large, hastily-furnished room. His visitor of two days back was sitting at a writing-table, reading newspapers and reports, which he marked with great strokes of red pencil:
"Leave us," he said to the officer.
And, going up to Lupin:
"The papers."
The tone was no longer the same. It was now the harsh and imperious tone of the master who is at home and addressing an inferior . . . and such aninferior! A rogue, an adventurer of the worst type, before whom he had been obliged to humiliate himself!
"The papers," he repeated.
Lupin was not put out of countenance. He said, quite calmly:
"They are in Veldenz Castle."
"We are in the out-buildings of the castle. Those are the ruins of Veldenz, over there."
"The papers are in the ruins."
"Let us go to them. Show me the way."
Lupin did not budge.
"Well?"
"Well, Sire, it is not as simple as you think. It takes some time to bring into play the elements which are needed to open that hiding-place."
"How long do you want?"
"Twenty-four hours."
An angry movement, quickly suppressed:
"Oh, there was no question of that between us!"
"Nothing was specified, neither that nor the little trip which Your Imperial Majesty made me take in the charge of half a dozen of your body-guard. I am to hand over the papers, that is all."
"And I am not to give you your liberty until you do hand over those papers."
"It is a question of confidence, Sire. I should have considered myself quite as much bound to produce the papers if I had been free on leaving prison; and Your Imperial Majesty may be sure that I should not have walked off with them. The only difference is that they would now be in your possession. For we have lost a day, Sire. And a day, in this business. . . is a day too much. . . . Only, there it is, you should have had confidence."
The Emperor gazed with a certain amazement at that outcast, that vagabond, who seemed vexed that any one should doubt his word.
He did not reply, but rang the bell:
"The officer on duty," he commanded.
Count von Waldemar appeared, looking very white.
"Ah, it's you, Waldemar? So you're all right again?"
"At your service, Sire."
"Take five men with you . . . the same men, as you're sure of them. Don't leave this . . . gentleman until to-morrow morning." He looked at his watch. "Until to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. No, I will give him till twelve. You will go wherever he thinks fit to go, you will do whatever he tells you to do. In short, you are at his disposal. At twelve o'clock, I will join you. If, at the last stroke of twelve, he has not handed me the bundle of letters, you will put him back in your car and, without losing a second, take him straight to the Santé Prison."
"If he tries to escape. . . ."
"Take your own course."
He went out.
Lupin helped himself to a cigar from the table and threw himself into an easy chair:
"Good! I just love that way of going to work. It is frank and explicit."
The count had brought in his men. He said to Lupin:
"March!"
Lupin lit his cigar and did not move.
"Bind his hands," said the count.
And, when the order was executed, he repeated:
"Now then, march!"
"No."
"What do you mean by no?"
"I'm wondering."
"What about?"
"Where on earth that hiding-place can be!"
The count gave a start and Lupin chuckled:
"For the best part of the story is that I have not the remotest idea where that famous hiding-place is nor how to set about discovering it. What do you say to that, my dear Waldemar, eh? Funny, isn't it? . . . Not the very remotest idea! . . ."
The ruins of Veldenz are well known to all who visit the banks of the Rhine and the Moselle. They comprise the remains of the old feudal castle, built in 1377 by the Archbishop of Fistingen, an enormous dungeon-keep, gutted by Turenne's troops, and the walls, left standing in their entirety, of a large Renascence palace, in which the grand-dukes of Zweibrucken lived for three centuries.
It was this palace that was sacked by Hermann II.'s rebellious subjects. The empty windows display two hundred yawning cavities on the four frontages. All the wainscoting, the hangings and most of the furniture were burnt. You walk on the scorched girders of the floors; and the sky can be seen at intervals through the ruined ceilings.
Lupin, accompanied by his escort, went over the whole building in two hours' time:
"I am very pleased with you, my dear count. I don't think I ever came across a guide so well posted in his subject, nor—which is rare—so silent. And now, if you don't mind, we will go to lunch."
As a matter of fact, Lupin knew no more than at the first moment and his perplexity did nothing but increase. To obtain his release from prison and to strike the imagination of his visitor, he had bluffed, pretending to know everything; and hewas still seeking for the best place at which to begin to seek.
"Things look bad," he said to himself, from time to time. "Things are looking about as bad as they can look."
His brain, moreover, was not as clear as usual. He was obsessed by an idea, the idea of "the other one," the murderer, the assassin, whom he knew to be still clinging to his footsteps.
How did that mysterious personality come to be on his tracks? How had he heard of Lupin's leaving prison and of his rush to Luxemburg and Germany? Was it a miraculous intuition? Or was it the outcome of definite information? But, if so, at what price, by means of what promises or threats was he able to obtain it?
All these questions haunted Lupin's mind.
At about four o'clock, however, after a fresh walk through the ruins, in the course of which he had examined the stones, measured the thickness of the walls, investigated the shape and appearance of things, all to no purpose, he asked the count:
"Is there no one left who was in the service of the last grand-duke who lived in the castle?"
"All the servants of that time went different ways. Only one of them continued to live in the district."
"Well?"
"He died two years ago."
"Any children?"
"He had a son, who married and who was dismissed, with his wife, for disgraceful conduct. They left their youngest child behind, a little girl, Isilda."
"Where does she live?"
"She lives here, at the end of these buildings. Theold grandfather used to act as a guide to visitors, in the days when the castle was still open to the public. Little Isilda has lived in the ruins ever since. She was allowed to remain out of pity. She is a poor innocent, who is hardly able to talk and does not know what she says."
"Was she always like that?"
"It seems not. Her reason went gradually, when she was about ten years old."
"In consequence of a sorrow, of a fright?"
"No, for no direct cause, I am told. The father was a drunkard and the mother committed suicide in a fit of madness."
Lupin reflected and said:
"I should like to see her."
The count gave a rather curious smile:
"You can see her, by all means."
She happened to be in one of the rooms which had been set apart for her. Lupin was surprised to find an attractive little creature, too thin, too pale, but almost pretty, with her fair hair and her delicate face. Her sea-green eyes had the vague, dreamy look of the eyes of blind people.
He put a few questions to which Isilda gave no answer and others to which she replied with incoherent sentences, as though she understood neither the meaning of the words addressed to her nor those which she herself uttered.
He persisted, taking her very gently by the hand and asking her in an affectionate tone about the time when she still had her reason, about her grandfather, about the memories which might be called up by her life as a child playing freely among the majestic ruins of the castle.
She stood silent, with staring eyes; impassive, any emotion which she might have felt was not enough to rouse her slumbering intelligence.
Lupin asked for a pencil and paper and wrote down the number 813.
The count smiled again.
"Look here, what are you laughing at?" cried Lupin, irritably.
"Nothing . . . nothing. . . . I'm very much interested, that's all. . . ."
Isilda looked at the sheet of paper, when he showed it to her, and turned away her head, with a vacant air.
"No bite!" said the count, satirically.
Lupin wrote the letters "APOON."
Isilda paid no more attention than before.
He did not give up the experiment, but kept on writing the same letters, each time watching the girl's face.
She did not stir, but kept her eyes fixed on the paper with an indifference which nothing seemed to disturb. Then, all at once, she seized the pencil, snatched the last sheet out of Lupin's hands and, as though acting under a sudden inspiration, wrote two "L's" in the middle of a space left open by Lupin.
He felt a thrill.
A word had been formed: "APOLLON."
Meanwhile, Isilda clung to both pencil and paper and, with clutching fingers and a strained face, was struggling to make her hand submit to the hesitating orders of her poor little brain.
Lupin waited, feverishly.
She rapidly wrote another word, the word "DIANE."
"Another word! . . . Another word!" shouted Lupin.
She twisted her fingers round the pencil, broke the lead, made a big "J" with the stump and, now utterly exhausted, dropped the pencil.
"Another word! I must have another word!" said Lupin, in a tone of command, catching her by the arm.
But he saw by her eyes, which had once more become indifferent, that that fleeting gleam of intelligence could not shine out again.
"Let us go," he said.
He was walking away, when she ran after him and stood in his path. He stopped:
"What is it?"
She held out the palm of her hand.
"What? Money? . . . Is she in the habit of begging?" he asked the count.
"No," said Waldemar, "and I can't understand."
Isilda took two gold coins from her pocket and chinked them together, gleefully.
Lupin looked at them. They were French coins, quite new, bearing the date of that year.
"Where did you get these?" asked Lupin, excitedly.
"French money! . . . Who gave it you? . . . And when? . . . Was it to-day? Speak! . . . Answer! . . ." He shrugged his shoulders. "Fool that I am! As though she could answer! . . . My dear count, would you mind lending me forty marks? . . . Thanks . . . Here, Isilda, that's for you."
She took the two coins, jingled them with the others in the palm of her hand and then, putting out her arm, pointed to the ruins of the Renascence palace, with a gesture that seemed to call attention more particularly to the left wing and to the top of that wing.
Was it a mechanical movement? Or must it belooked upon as a grateful acknowledgment for the two gold coins?
He glanced at the count. Waldemar was smiling again.
"What makes the brute keep on grinning like that?" said Lupin to himself. "Any one would think that he was having a game with me."
He went to the palace on the off-chance, attended by his escort.
The ground-floor consisted of a number of large reception-rooms, running one into the other and containing the few pieces of furniture that had escaped the fire.
On the first floor, on the north side, was a long gallery, out of which twelve handsome rooms opened all exactly alike.
There was a similar gallery on the second floor, but with twenty-four smaller rooms, also resembling one another. All these apartments were empty, dilapidated, wretched to look at.
Above, there was nothing. The attics had been burnt down.
For an hour, Lupin walked, ran, rushed about indefatigably, with his eyes on the look-out.
When it began to grow dusk, he hurried to one of his twelve rooms on the first floor, as if he were selecting it for special reasons known to himself alone. He was rather surprised to find the Emperor there, smoking and seated in an arm-chair which he had sent for.
Taking no notice of his presence, Lupin began an inspection of the room, according to the methods which he was accustomed to employ in such cases, dividing the room into sections, each of which he examined in turn.
After twenty minutes of this work, he said:
"I must beg you, Sire, to be good enough to move. There is a fireplace here. . . ."
The Emperor tossed his head:
"Is it really necessary for me to move?"
"Yes, Sire, this fireplace . . ."
"The fireplace is just the same as the others and the room is no different from its fellows."
Lupin looked at the Emperor without understanding. The Emperor rose and said, with a laugh:
"I think, M. Lupin, that you have been making just a little fun of me."
"How do you mean, Sire?"
"Oh, it's hardly worth mentioning! You obtained your release on the condition of handing me certain papers in which I am interested and you have not the smallest notion as to where they are. I have been thoroughly—what do you call it, in French?—roulé'done'!"
"Do you think so, Sire?"
"Why, what a man knows he doesn't have to hunt for! And you have been hunting for ten good hours! Doesn't it strike you as a case for an immediate return to prison?"
Lupin seemed thunderstruck:
"Did not Your Imperial Majesty fix twelve o'clock to-morrow as the last limit?"
"Why wait?"
"Why? Well, to allow me to complete my work!"
"Your work? But it's not even begun, M. Lupin."
"There Your Imperial Majesty is mistaken."
"Prove it . . . and I will wait until to-morrow."
Lupin reflected and, speaking in a serious tone:
"Since Your Imperial Majesty requires proofs inorder to have confidence in me, I will furnish them. The twelve rooms leading out of this gallery each bear a different name, which is inscribed in French—obviously by a French decorative artist—over the various doors. One of the inscriptions, less damaged by the fire than the others, caught my eye as I was passing along the gallery. I examined the other doors: all of them bore hardly legible traces of names caned over the pediments. Thus I found a 'D' and an 'E' the first and last letters of 'Diane.' I found an 'A' and 'LON' which pointed to 'Apollon.' These are the French equivalents of Diana and Apollo, both of them mythological deities. The other inscriptions presented similar characteristics. I discovered traces of such names as Jupiter, Venus, Mercury, Saturn and so on. This part of the problem was solved: each of the twelve rooms bears the name of an Olympian god or goddess; and the letters APOON, completed by Isilda, point to the Apollo Room or Salle d'Apollon. So it is here, in the room in which we now are, that the letters are hidden. A few minutes, perhaps, will suffice in which to discover them."
"A few minutes or a few years . . . or even longer!" said the Emperor, laughing.
He seemed greatly amused; and the count also displayed a coarse merriment.
Lupin asked:
"Would Your Imperial Majesty be good enough to explain?"
"M. Lupin, the exciting investigation which you have conducted to-day and of which you are telling us the brilliant results has already been made by me . . . yes, a fortnight ago, in the company of your friend Holmlock Shears. Together we questioned little Isilda;together, we employed the same method in dealing with her that you did; and together we observed the names in the gallery and got as far as this room, the Apollo Room."
Lupin turned livid. He spluttered:
"Oh, did Shears get . . . as far as . . . this?"
"Yes, after four days' searching. True, it did not help us, for we found nothing. All the same, I know that the letters are not here."
Trembling with rage, wounded in his innermost pride, Lupin fired up under the gibe, as though he had been lashed with a whip. He had never felt humiliated to such a degree as this. In this fury, he could have strangled the fat Waldemar, whose laughter incensed him. Containing himself with an effort, he said:
"It took Shears four days, Sire, and me only four hours. And I should have required even less, if I had not been thwarted in my search."
"And by whom, bless my soul? By my faithful count? I hope he did not dare . . . !"
"No, Sire, but by the most terrible and powerful of my enemies, by that infernal being who killed his own accomplice Altenheim."
"Is he here? Do you think so?" exclaimed the Emperor, with an agitation which showed that he was familiar with every detail of the dramatic story.
"He is wherever I am. He threatens me with his constant hatred. It was he who guessed that I was M. Lenormand, the chief of the detective-service; it was he who had me put in prison; it was he, again, who pursued me, on the day when I came out. Yesterday, aiming at me in the motor, he wounded Count von Waldemar."
"But how do you know, how can you be sure that he is at Veldenz?"
"Isilda has received two gold coins, two French coins!"
"And what is he here for? With what object?"
"I don't know, Sire, but he is the very spirit of evil. Your Imperial Majesty must be on your guard: he is capable of anything and everything."
"It is impossible! I have two hundred men in the ruins. He cannot have entered. He would have been seen."
"Some one has seen him, beyond a doubt."
"Who?"
"Isilda."
"Let her be questioned! Waldemar, take your prisoner to where the girl is."
Lupin showed his bound hands:
"It will be a tough battle. Can I fight like this?"
The Emperor said to the count:
"Unfasten him. . . . And keep me informed."
In this way, by a sudden effort, bringing the hateful vision of the murder into the discussion, boldly, without evidence, Arsène Lupin gained time and resumed the direction of the search:
"Sixteen hours still," he said to himself, "it's more than I want."
He reached the premises occupied by Isilda, at the end of the old out-buildings. These buildings served as barracks for the two hundred soldiers guarding the ruins; and the whole of this, the left wing, was reserved for the officers.
Isilda was not there. The count sent two of his men to look for her. They came back. No one had seen the girl.
Nevertheless, she could not have left the precincts of the ruins. As for the Renascence palace, it was, so to speak, invested by one-half of the troops; and no one was able to obtain admittance.
At last, the wife of a subaltern who lived in the next house declared that she had been sitting at her window all day and that the girl had not been out.
"If she hadn't gone out," said Waldemar, "she would be here now: and she is not here."
Lupin observed:
"Is there a floor above?"
"Yes, but from this room to the upper floor there is no staircase."
"Yes, there is."
He pointed to a little door opening on a dark recess. In the shadow, he saw the first treads of a staircase as steep as a ladder.
"Please, my dear count," he said to Waldemar, who wanted to go up, "let me have the honor."
"Why?"
"There's danger."
He ran up and at once sprang into a low and narrow loft. A cry escaped him:
"Oh!"
"What is it?" asked the count, emerging in his turn.
"Here . . . on the floor. . . . Isilda. . . ."
He knelt down beside the girl, but, at the first glance, saw that she was simply stunned and that she bore no trace of a wound, except a few scratches on the wrists and hands. A handkerchief was stuffed into her mouth by way of a gag.