CHAPTER XIV
A STRANGE CHARACTER
It was not yet exactly death. In his present condition of agony, whatlingered of Patrice's consciousness mingled, as in a nightmare, the lifewhich he knew with the imaginary world in which he now found himself,the world which was that of death.
In this world Coralie no longer existed; and her loss distracted himwith grief. But he seemed to hear and see somebody whose presence wasrevealed by a shadow passing before his closed eyelids. This somebody hepictured to himself, though without reason, under the aspect of Simeon,who came to verify the death of his victims, began by carrying Coralieaway, then came back to Patrice and carried him away also and laid himdown somewhere. And all this was so well-defined that Patrice wonderedwhether he had not woke up.
Next hours passed . . . or seconds. In the end Patrice had a feelingthat he was falling asleep, but as a man sleeps in hell, suffering themoral and physical tortures of the damned. He was back at the bottom ofthe black pit, which he was making desperate efforts to leave, like aman who has fallen into the sea and is trying to reach the surface. Inthis way, with the greatest difficulty, he passed through one waste ofwater after another, the weight of which stifled him. He had to scalethem, gripping with his hands and feet to things that slipped, torope-ladders which, possessing no points of support, gave way beneathhim.
Meanwhile the darkness became less intense. A little muffled daylightmingled with it. Patrice felt less greatly oppressed. He half-opened hiseyes, drew a breath or two and, looking round, beheld a sight thatsurprised him, the embrasure of an open door, near which he was lying inthe air, on a sofa. Beside him he saw Coralie, on another sofa. Shemoved restlessly and seemed to be in great discomfort.
"She is climbing out of the black pit," he thought to himself. "Like me,she is struggling. My poor Coralie!"
There was a small table between them, with two glasses of water on it.Parched with thirst, he took one of them in his hand. But he dared notdrink.
At that moment some one came through the open door, which Patriceperceived to be the door of the lodge; and he observed that it was notold Simeon, as he had thought, but a stranger whom he had never seenbefore.
"I am not asleep," he said to himself. "I am sure that I am not asleepand that this stranger is a friend."
And he tried to say it aloud, to make certainty doubly sure. But he hadnot the strength.
The stranger, however, came up to him and, in a gentle voice, said:
"Don't tire yourself, captain. You're all right now. Allow me. Have somewater."
The stranger handed him one of the two glasses; Patrice emptied it at adraught, without any feeling of distrust, and was glad to see Coraliealso drinking.
"Yes, I'm all right now," he said. "Heavens, how good it is to be alive!Coralie is really alive, isn't she?"
He did not hear the answer and dropped into a welcome sleep.
When he woke up, the crisis was over, though he still felt a buzzing inhis head and a difficulty in drawing a deep breath. He stood up,however, and realized that all these sensations were not fanciful, thathe was really outside the door of the lodge and that Coralie had drunkthe glass of water and was peacefully sleeping.
"How good it is to be alive!" he repeated.
He now felt a need for action, but dared not go into the lodge,notwithstanding the open door. He moved away from it, skirting thecloisters containing the graves, and then, with no exact object, for hedid not yet grasp the reason of his own actions, did not understand whathad happened to him and was simply walking at random, he came backtowards the lodge, on the other front, the one overlooking the garden.
Suddenly he stopped. A few yards from the house, at the foot of a treestanding beside the slanting path, a man lay back in a wickerlong-chair, with his face in the shade and his legs in the sun. He wassleeping, with his head fallen forward and an open book upon his knees.
Then and not till then did Patrice clearly understand that he andCoralie had escaped being killed, that they were both really alive andthat they owed their safety to this man whose sleep suggested a state ofabsolute security and satisfied conscience.
Patrice studied the stranger's appearance. He was slim of figure, butbroad-shouldered, with a sallow complexion, a slight mustache on hislips and hair beginning to turn gray at the temples. His age wasprobably fifty at most. The cut of his clothes pointed to dandyism.Patrice leant forward and read the title of the book: _The Memoirs ofBenjamin Franklin_. He also read the initials inside a hat lying on thegrass: "L. P."
"It was he who saved me," said Patrice to himself, "I recognize him. Hecarried us both out of the studio and looked after us. But how was themiracle brought about? Who sent him?"
He tapped him on the shoulder. The man was on his feet at once, his facelit up with a smile:
"Pardon me, captain, but my life is so much taken up that, when I have afew minutes to myself, I use them for sleeping, wherever I may be . . .like Napoleon, eh? Well, I don't object to the comparison. . . . Butenough about myself. How are you feeling now? And madame--'Little MotherCoralie'--is she better? I saw no use in waking you, after I had openedthe doors and taken you outside. I had done what was necessary and feltquite easy. You were both breathing. So I left the rest to the good pureair."
He broke off, at the sight of Patrice's disconcerted attitude; and hissmile made way for a merry laugh:
"Oh, I was forgetting: you don't know me! Of course, it's true, theletter I sent you was intercepted. Let me introduce myself. Don LuisPerenna,[3] a member of an old Spanish family, genuine patent ofnobility, papers all in order. . . . But I can see that all this tellsyou nothing," he went on, laughing still more gaily. "No doubt Ya-Bondescribed me differently when he wrote my name on that street-wall, oneevening a fortnight ago. Aha, you're beginning to understand! . . . Yes,I'm the man you sent for to help you. Shall I mention the name, justbluntly? Well, here goes, captain! . . . Arsene Lupin, at your service."
[Footnote 3: _The Teeth of the Tiger._ By Maurice Leblanc. Translated byAlexander Teixeira de Mattos. "Luis Perenna" is one of several anagramsof "Arsene Lupin."]
Patrice was stupefied. He had utterly forgotten Ya-Bon's proposal andthe unthinking permission which he had given him to call in the famousadventurer. And here was Arsene Lupin standing in front of him, ArseneLupin, who, by a sheer effort of will that resembled an incrediblemiracle, had dragged him and Coralie out of their hermetically-sealedcoffin.
He held out his hand and said:
"Thank you!"
"Tut!" said Don Luis, playfully. "No thanks! Just a good hand-shake,that's all. And I'm a man you can shake hands with, captain, believe me.I may have a few peccadilloes on my conscience, but on the other hand Ihave committed a certain number of good actions which should win me theesteem of decent folk . . . beginning with my own. And so . . ."
He interrupted himself again, seemed to reflect and, taking Patrice by abutton of his jacket, said:
"Don't move. We are being watched."
"By whom?"
"Some one on the quay, right at the end of the garden. The wall is nothigh. There's a grating on the top of it. They're looking through thebars and trying to see us."
"How do you know? You have your back turned to the quay; and then thereare the trees."
"Listen."
"I don't hear anything out of the way."
"Yes, the sound of an engine . . . the engine of a stopping car. Nowwhat would a car want to stop here for, on the quay, opposite a wallwith no house near it?"
"Then who do you think it is?"
"Why, old Simeon, of course!"
"Old Simeon!"
"Certainly. He's looking to see whether I've really saved the two ofyou."
"Then he's not mad?"
"Mad? No more mad than you or I!"
"And yet . . ."
"What you mean is that Simeon used to protect you; that his object wasto bring you two together; that he sent you the key of the garden-door;and so on and so on."
"Do you know all that?"
"Well, of course! If not, how could I have rescued you?"
"But," said Patrice, anxiously, "suppose the scoundrel returns to theattack. Ought we not to take some precautions? Let's go back to thelodge: Coralie is all alone."
"There's no danger."
"Why?"
"Because I'm here."
Patrice was more astounded than ever:
"Then Simeon knows you?" he asked. "He knows that you are here?"
"Yes, thanks to a letter which I wrote you under cover to Ya-Bon andwhich he intercepted. I told you that I was coming; and he hurried toget to work. Only, as my habit is on these occasions, I hastened on myarrival by a few hours, so that I caught him in the act."
"At that moment you did not know he was the enemy; you knew nothing?"
"Nothing at all."
"Was it this morning?"
"No, this afternoon, at a quarter to two."
Patrice took out his watch:
"And it's now four. So in two hours . . ."
"Not that. I've been here an hour."
"Did you find out from Ya-Bon?"
"Do you think I've no better use for my time? Ya-Bon simply told me thatyou were not there, which was enough to astonish me."
"After that?"
"I looked to see where you were."
"How?"
"I first searched your room and, doing so in my own thorough fashion,ended by discovering that there was a crack at the back of your roll-topdesk and that this crack faced a hole in the wall of the next room. Iwas able therefore to pull out the book in which you kept your diary andacquaint myself with what was going on. This, moreover, was how Simeonbecame aware of your least intentions. This was how he knew of your planto come here, on a pilgrimage, on the fourteenth of April. This was how,last night, seeing you write, he preferred, before attacking you, toknow what you were writing. Knowing it and learning, from your ownwords, that you were on your guard, he refrained. You see how simple itall is. If M. Masseron had grown uneasy at your absence, he would havebeen just as successful. Only he would have been successful to-morrow."
"That is to say, too late."
"Yes, too late. This really isn't his business, however, nor that of thepolice. So I would rather that they didn't meddle with it. I asked yourwounded soldiers to keep silent about anything that may strike them asqueer. Therefore, if M. Masseron comes to-day, he will think thateverything is in order. Well, having satisfied my mind in this respectand possessing the necessary information from your diary, I took Ya-Bonwith me and walked across the lane and into the garden."
"Was the door open?"
"No, but Simeon happened to be coming out at that moment. Bad luck forhim, wasn't it? I took advantage of it boldly. I put my hand on thelatch and we went in, without his daring to protest. He certainly knewwho I was."
"But you didn't know at that time that he was the enemy?"
"I didn't know? And what about your diary?"
"I had no notion . . ."
"But, captain, every page is an indictment of the man. There's not anincident in which he did not take part, not a crime which he did notprepare."
"In that case you should have collared him."
"And if I had? What good would it have done me? Should I have compelledhim to speak? No, I shall hold him tightest by leaving him his liberty.That will give him rope, you know. You see already he's prowling roundthe house instead of clearing out. Besides, I had something better todo: I had first to rescue you two . . . if there was still time. Ya-Bonand I therefore rushed to the door of the lodge. It was open; but theother, the door of the studio, was locked and bolted. I drew the bolts;and to force the lock was, for me, child's play. Then the smell of gaswas enough to tell me what had happened, Simeon must have fitted an oldmeter to some outside pipe, probably the one which supplied the lamps onthe lane, and he was suffocating you. All that remained for us to do wasto fetch the two of you out and give you the usual treatment: rubbing,artificial respiration and so on. You were saved."
"I suppose he removed all his murderous appliances?" asked Patrice.
"No, he evidently contemplated coming back and putting everything torights, so that his share in the business could not be proved, so toothat people might believe in your suicide, a mysterious suicide, deathwithout apparent cause; in short, the same tragedy that happened withyour father and Little Mother Coralie's mother."
"Then you know? . . ."
"Why, haven't I eyes to read with? What about the inscription on thewall, your father's revelations? I know as much as you do, captain . . .and perhaps a bit more."
"More?"
"Well, of course! Habit, you know, experience! Plenty of problems,unintelligible to others, seem to me the simplest and clearest that canbe. Therefore . . ."
Don Luis hesitated whether to go on:
"No," he said, "it's better that I shouldn't speak. The mystery will bedispelled gradually. Let us wait. For the moment . . ."
He again stopped, this time to listen:
"There, he must have seen you. And now that he knows what he wants to,he's going away."
Patrice grew excited:
"He's going away! You really ought to have collared him. Shall we everfind him again, the scoundrel? Shall we ever be able to take ourrevenge?"
Don Luis smiled:
"There you go, calling him a scoundrel, the man who watched over you fortwenty years, who brought you and Little Mother Coralie together, whowas your benefactor!"
"Oh, I don't know! All this is so bewildering! I can't help hating him.. . . The idea of his getting away maddens me. . . . I should like totorture him and yet . . ."
He yielded to a feeling of despair and took his head between his twohands. Don Luis comforted him:
"Have no fear," he said. "He was never nearer his downfall than at thepresent moment. I hold him in my hand as I hold this leaf."
"But how?"
"The man who's driving him belongs to me."
"What's that? What do you mean?"
"I mean that I put one of my men on the driver's seat of a taxi, withinstructions to hang about at the bottom of the lane, and that Simeondid not fail to take the taxi in question."
"That is to say, you suppose so," Patrice corrected him, feeling moreand more astounded.
"I recognized the sound of the engine at the bottom of the garden when Itold you."
"And are you sure of your man?"
"Certain."
"What's the use? Simeon can drive far out of Paris, stab the man in theback . . . and then when shall we get to know?"
"Do you imagine that people can get out of Paris and go running aboutthe high-roads without a special permit? No, if Simeon leaves Paris hewill have to drive to some railway station or other and we shall know ofit twenty minutes after. And then we'll be off."
"How?"
"By motor."
"Then you have a pass?"
"Yes, valid for the whole of France."
"You don't mean it!"
"I do; and a genuine pass at that! Made out in the name of Don LuisPerenna, signed by the minister of the interior and countersigned . . ."
"By whom?"
"By the President of the Republic."
Patrice felt his bewilderment change all at once into violentexcitement. Hitherto, in the terrible adventure in which he was engaged,he had undergone the enemy's implacable will and had known littlebesides defeat and the horrors of ever-threatening death. But now a morepowerful will suddenly arose in his favor. And everything was abruptlyaltered. Fate seemed to be changing its course, like a ship which anunexpected fair wind brings back into harbor.
"Upon my word, captain," said Don Luis, "I thought you were going to crylike Little Mother Coralie. Your nerves are overstrung. And I daresayyou're hungry. We must find you something to eat. Come along."
He led him slowly towards the lodge and, speaking in a rather seriousvoice:
"I must ask you," he said, "to be absolutely discr
eet in this wholematter. With the exception of a few old friends and of Ya-Bon, whom Imet in Africa, where he saved my life, no one in France knows me by myreal name. I call myself Don Luis Perenna. In Morocco, where I wassoldiering, I had occasion to do a service to the very gracioussovereign of a neighboring neutral nation, who, though obliged toconceal his true feelings, is ardently on our side. He sent for me; and,in return, I asked him to give me my credentials and to obtain a passfor me. Officially, therefore, I am on a secret mission, which expiresin two days. In two days I shall go back . . . to whence I came, to aplace where, during the war, I am serving France in my fashion: not abad one, believe me, as people will see one day."
They came to the settee on which Coralie lay sleeping. Don Luis laid hishand on Patrice's arm:
"One word more, captain. I swore to myself and I gave my word of honorto him who trusted me that, while I was on this mission, my time shouldbe devoted exclusively to defending the interests of my country to thebest of my power. I must warn you, therefore, that, notwithstanding allmy sympathy for you, I shall not be able to prolong my stay for a singleminute after I have discovered the eighteen hundred bags of gold. Theywere the one and only reason why I came in answer to Ya-Bon's appeal.When the bags of gold are in our possession, that is to say, to-morrowevening at latest, I shall go away. However, the two quests are joined.The clearing up of the one will mean the end of the other. And nowenough of words. Introduce me to Little Mother Coralie and let's get towork! Make no mystery with her, captain," he added, laughing. "Tell hermy real name. I have nothing to fear: Arsene Lupin has every woman onhis side."
* * * * *
Forty minutes later Coralie was back in her room, well cared for andwell watched. Patrice had taken a substantial meal, while Don Luiswalked up and down the terrace smoking cigarettes.
"Finished, captain? Then we'll make a start."
He looked at his watch:
"Half-past five. We have more than an hour of daylight left. That'll beenough."
"Enough? You surely don't pretend that you will achieve your aim in anhour?"
"My definite aim, no, but the aim which I am setting myself at themoment, yes . . . and even earlier. An hour? What for? To do what? Why,you'll be a good deal wiser in a few minutes!"
Don Luis asked to be taken to the cellar under the library; whereEssares Bey used to keep the bags of gold until the time had come tosend them off.
"Was it through this ventilator that the bags were let down?"
"Yes."
"Is there no other outlet?"
"None except the staircase leading to the library and the otherventilator."
"Opening on the terrace?"
"Yes."
"Then that's clear. The bags used to come in by the first and go out bythe second."
"But . . ."
"There's no but about it, captain: how else would you have it happen?You see, the mistake people always make is to go looking fordifficulties where there are none."
They returned to the terrace. Don Luis took up his position near theventilator and inspected the ground immediately around. It did not takelong. Four yards away, outside the windows of the library, was the basinwith the statue of a child spouting a jet of water through a shell.
Don Luis went up, examined the basin and, leaning forwards, reached thelittle statue, which he turned upon its axis from right to left. At thesame time the pedestal described a quarter of a circle.
"That's it," he said, drawing himself up again.
"What?"
"The basin will empty itself."
He was right. The water sank very quickly and the bottom of the fountainappeared.
Don Luis stepped into it and squatted on his haunches. The inner wallwas lined with a marble mosaic composing a wide red-and-white fretworkpattern. In the middle of one of the frets was a ring, which Don Luislifted and pulled. All that portion of the wall which formed the patternyielded to his effort and came down, leaving an opening of about twelveinches by ten.
"That's where the bags of gold went," said Don Luis. "It was the secondstage. They were despatched in the same manner, on a hook sliding alonga wire. Look, here is the wire, in this groove at the top."
"By Jove!" cried Captain Belval. "But you've unraveled this in amasterly fashion! What about the wire? Can't we follow it?"
"No, but it will serve our purpose if we know where it finishes. I say,captain, go to the end of the garden, by the wall, taking a line atright angles to the house. When you get there, cut off a branch of atree, rather high up. Oh, I was forgetting! I shall have to go out bythe lane. Have you the key of the door? Give it me, please."
Patrice handed him the key and then went down to the wall beside thequay.
"A little farther to the right," Don Luis instructed him. "A little morestill. That's better. Now wait."
He left the garden by the lane, reached the quay and called out from theother side of the wall:
"Are you there, captain?"
"Yes."
"Fix your branch so that I can see it from here. Capital."
Patrice now joined Don Luis, who was crossing the road. All the way downthe Seine are wharves, built on the bank of the river and used forloading and unloading vessels. Barges put in alongside, discharge theircargoes, take in fresh ones and often lie moored one next to the other.At the spot where Don Luis and Patrice descended by a flight of stepsthere was a series of yards, one of which, the one which they reachedfirst, appeared to be abandoned, no doubt since the war. It contained,amid a quantity of useless materials, several heaps of bricks andbuilding-stones, a hut with broken windows and the lower part of asteam-crane. A placard swinging from a post bore the inscription:
BERTHOU WHARFINGER & BUILDER.
Don Luis walked along the foot of the embankment, ten or twelve feethigh, above which the quay was suspended like a terrace. Half of it wasoccupied by a heap of sand; and they saw in the wall the bars of an irongrating, the lower half of which was hidden by the sand-heap shored upwith planks.
Don Luis cleared the grating and said, jestingly:
"Have you noticed that the doors are never locked in this adventure?Let's hope that it's the same with this one."
His theory was confirmed, somewhat to his own surprise, and they enteredone of those recesses where workmen put away their tools.
"So far, nothing out of the common," said Don Luis, switching on anelectric torch. "Buckets, pick-axes, wheelbarrows, a ladder. . . . Ah!Ah! Just as I expected: rails, a complete set of light rails! . . . Lendme a hand, captain. Let's clear out the back. Good, that's done it."
Level with the ground and opposite the grating was a rectangularopening exactly similar to the one in the basin. The wire was visibleabove, with a number of hooks hanging from it.
"So this is where the bags arrived," Don Luis explained. "They dropped,so to speak, into one of the two little trollies which you see overthere, in the corner. The rails were laid across the bank, of course atnight; and the trollies were pushed to a barge into which they tippedtheir contents."
"So that . . . ?"
"So that the French gold went this way . . . anywhere you like . . .somewhere abroad."
"And you think that the last eighteen hundred bags have also beendespatched?"
"I fear so."
"Then we are too late?"
Don Luis reflected for a while without answering. Patrice, thoughdisappointed by a development which he had not foreseen, remained amazedat the extraordinary skill with which his companion, in so short a time,had succeeded in unraveling a portion of the tangled skein.
"It's an absolute miracle," he said, at last. "How on earth did you doit?"
Without a word, Don Luis took from his pocket the book which Patrice hadseen lying on his knees, _The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin_, andmotioned to him to read some lines which he indicated with his finger.They were written towards the end of the reign of Louis XVI and ran:
"We go daily to th
e village of Passy adjoining my home, where you take the waters in a beautiful garden. Streams and waterfalls pour down on all sides, this way and that, in artfully leveled beds. I am known to like skilful mechanism, so I have been shown the basin where the waters of all the rivulets meet and mingle. There stands a little marble figure in the midst; and the weight of water is strong enough to turn it a quarter circle to the left and then pour down straight to the Seine by a conduit, which opens in the ground of the basin."
Patrice closed the book; and Don Luis went on to explain:
"Things have changed since, no doubt, thanks to the energies of EssaresBey. The water escapes some other way now; and the aqueduct was used todrain off the gold. Besides, the bed of the river has narrowed. Quayshave been built, with a system of canals underneath them. You see,captain, all this was easy enough to discover, once I had the book totell me. _Doctus cum libro._"
"Yes, but, even so, you had to read the book."
"A pure accident. I unearthed it in Simeon's room and put it in mypocket, because I was curious to know why he was reading it."
"Why, that's just how he must have discovered Essares Bey's secret!"cried Patrice. "He didn't know the secret. He found the book among hisemployer's papers and got up his facts that way. What do you think?Don't you agree? You seem not to share my opinion. Have you some otherview?"
Don Luis did not reply. He stood looking at the river. Beside thewharves, at a slight distance from the yard, a barge lay moored, withapparently no one on her. But a slender thread of smoke now began torise from a pipe that stood out above the deck.
"Let's go and have a look at her," he said.
The barge was lettered:
LA NONCHALANTE. BEAUNE
They had to cross the space between the barge and the wharf and to stepover a number of ropes and empty barrels covering the flat portions ofthe deck. A companion-way brought them to a sort of cabin, which didduty as a stateroom and a kitchen in one. Here they found apowerful-looking man, with broad shoulders, curly black hair and aclean-shaven face. His only clothes were a blouse and a pair of dirty,patched canvas trousers.
Don Luis offered him a twenty-franc note. The man took it eagerly.
"Just tell me something, mate. Have you seen a barge lately, lying atBerthou's Wharf?"
"Yes, a motor-barge. She left two days ago."
"What was her name?"
"The _Belle Helene_. The people on board, two men and a woman, wereforeigners talking I don't know what lingo. . . . We didn't speak to oneanother."
"But Berthou's Wharf has stopped work, hasn't it?"
"Yes, the owner's joined the army . . . and the foremen as well. We'veall got to, haven't we? I'm expecting to be called up myself . . .though I've got a weak heart."
"But, if the yard's stopped work, what was the boat doing here?"
"I don't know. They worked the whole of one night, however. They hadlaid rails along the quay. I heard the trollies; and they were loadingup. What with I don't know. And then, early in the morning, theyunmoored."
"Where did they go?"
"Down stream, Mantes way."
"Thanks, mate. That's what I wanted to know."
Ten minutes later, when they reached the house, Patrice and Don Luisfound the driver of the cab which Simeon Diodokis had taken aftermeeting Don Luis. As Don Luis expected, Simeon had told the man to go toa railway-station, the Gare Saint-Lazare, and there bought his ticket.
"Where to?"
"To Mantes!"
The Golden Triangle: The Return of Arsène Lupin Page 14