The Golden Triangle: The Return of Arsène Lupin

by Maurice Leblanc

  CHAPTER XVIII

  SIMEON'S LAST VICTIM

  Dr. Geradec's hospital had several annexes, each of which served aspecific purpose, grouped around it in a fine garden. The villa itselfwas used for the big operations. The doctor had his consulting-room herealso; and it was to this room that Simeon Diodokis was first shown. But,after answering a few questions put to him by a male nurse, Simeon wastaken to another room in a separate wing.

  Here he was received by the doctor, a man of about sixty, still young inhis movements, clean-shaven and wearing a glass screwed into his righteye, which contracted his features into a constant grimace. He waswrapped from the shoulders to the feet in a large white operating-apron.

  Simeon explained his case with great difficulty, for he could hardlyspeak. A footpad had attacked him the night before, taken him by thethroat and robbed him, leaving him half-dead in the road.

  "You have had time to send for a doctor since," said Dr. Geradec, fixinghim with a glance.

  Simeon did not reply; and the doctor added:

  "However, it's nothing much. The fact that you are alive shows thatthere's no fracture. It reduces itself therefore to a contraction of thelarynx, which we shall easily get rid of by tubing."

  He gave his assistant some instructions. A long aluminum tube wasinserted in the patient's wind-pipe. The doctor, who had absentedhimself meanwhile, returned and, after removing the tube, examined thepatient, who was already beginning to breathe with greater ease.

  "That's over," said Dr. Geradec, "and much quicker than I expected.There was evidently in your case an inhibition which caused the throatto shrink. Go home now; and, when you've had a rest, you'll forget allabout it."

  Simeon asked what the fee was and paid it. But, as the doctor was seeinghim to the door, he stopped and, without further preface, said:

  "I am a friend of Mme. Albonin's."

  The doctor did not seem to understand what he meant.

  "Perhaps you don't recognize the name," Simeon insisted. "When I tellyou, however, that it conceals the identity of Mme. Mosgranem, I have nodoubt that we shall be able to arrange something."

  "What about?" asked the doctor, while his face displayed still greaterastonishment.

  "Come, doctor, there's no need to be on your guard. We are alone. Youhave sound-proof, double doors. Sit down and let's talk."

  He took a chair. The doctor sat down opposite him, looking more and moresurprised. And Simeon proceeded with his statement:

  "I am a Greek subject. Greece is a neutral; indeed, I may say, afriendly country; and I can easily obtain a passport and leave France.But, for personal reasons, I want the passport made out not in my ownname but in some other, which you and I will decide upon together andwhich will enable me, with your assistance, to go away without anydanger."

  The doctor rose to his feet indignantly.

  Simeon persisted:

  "Oh, please don't be theatrical! It's a question of price, is it not? Mymind is made up. How much do you want?"

  The doctor pointed to the door.

  Simeon raised no protest. He put on his hat. But, on reaching the door,he said:

  "Twenty thousand francs? Is that enough?"

  "Do you want me to ring?" asked the doctor, "and have you turned out?"

  Simeon laughed and quietly, with a pause after each figure:

  "Thirty thousand?" he asked. "Forty? . . . Fifty? . . . Oh, I see, we'replaying a great game, we want a round sum. . . . All right. Only, youknow, everything must be included in the price we settle. You must notonly fix me up a passport so genuine that it can't be disputed, but youmust guarantee me the means of leaving France, as you did for Mme.Mosgranem, on terms not half so handsome, by Jove! However, I'm nothaggling. I need your assistance. Is it a bargain? A hundred thousandfrancs?"

  Dr. Geradec bolted the door, came back, sat down at his desk and said,simply:

  "We'll talk about it."

  "I repeat the question," said Simeon, coming closer. "Are we agreed at ahundred thousand?"

  "We are agreed," said the doctor, "unless any complications appearlater."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that the figure of a hundred thousand francs forms a suitablebasis for discussion, that's all."

  Simeon hesitated a second. The man struck him as rather greedy. However,he sat down once more; and the doctor at once resumed the conversation:

  "Your real name, please."

  "You mustn't ask me that. I tell you, there are reasons . . ."

  "Then it will be two hundred thousand francs."

  "Eh?" said Simeon, with a start. "I say, that's a bit steep! I neverheard of such a price."

  "You're not obliged to accept," replied Geradec, calmly. "We arediscussing a bargain. You are free to do as you please."

  "But, look here, once you agree to fix me up a false passport, what canit matter to you whether you know my name or not?"

  "It matters a great deal. I run an infinitely greater risk in assistingthe escape--for that's the only word--of a spy than I do in assistingthe escape of a respectable man."

  "I'm not a spy."

  "How do I know? Look here, you come to me to propose a shadytransaction. You conceal your name and your identity; and you're in sucha hurry to disappear from sight that you're prepared to pay me a hundredthousand francs to help you. And, in the face of that, you lay claim tobeing a respectable man! Come, come! It's absurd! A respectable man doesnot behave like a burglar or a murderer."

  Old Simeon did not wince. He slowly wiped his forehead with hishandkerchief. He was evidently thinking that Geradec was a hardyantagonist and that he would perhaps have done better not to go to him.But, after all, the contract was a conditional one. There would alwaysbe time enough to break it off.

  "I say, I say!" he said, with an attempt at a laugh. "You are using bigwords!"

  "They're only words," said the doctor. "I am stating no hypothesis. I amcontent to sum up the position and to justify my demands."

  "You're quite right."

  "Then we're agreed?"

  "Yes. Perhaps, however--and this is the last observation I propose tomake--you might let me off more cheaply, considering that I'm a friendof Mme. Mosgranem's."

  "What do you suggest by that?" asked the doctor.

  "Mme. Mosgranem herself told me that you charged her nothing."

  "That's true, I charged her nothing," replied the doctor, with a fatuoussmile, "but perhaps she presented me with a good deal. Mme. Mosgranemwas one of those attractive women whose favors command their own price."

  There was a silence. Old Simeon seemed to feel more and moreuncomfortable in his interlocutor's presence. At last the doctor sighed:

  "Poor Mme. Mosgranem!"

  "What makes you speak like that?" asked Simeon.

  "What! Haven't you heard?"

  "I have had no letters from her since she left."

  "I see. I had one last night; and I was greatly surprised to learn thatshe was back in France."

  "In France! Mme. Mosgranem!"

  "Yes. And she even gave me an appointment for this morning, a verystrange appointment."

  "Where?" asked Simeon, with visible concern.

  "You'll never guess. On a barge, yes, called the _Nonchalante_, mooredat the Quai de Passy, alongside Berthou's Wharf."

  "Is it possible?" said Simeon.

  "It's as I tell you. And do you know how the letter was signed? It wassigned Gregoire."

  "Gregoire? A man's name?" muttered the old man, almost with a groan.

  "Yes, a man's name. Look, I have the letter on me. She tells me that sheis leading a very dangerous life, that she distrusts the man with whomher fortunes are bound up and that she would like to ask my advice."

  "Then . . . then you went?"

  "Yes, I was there this morning, while you were ringing up here.Unfortunately . . ."

  "Well?"

  "I arrived too late. Gregoire, or rather Mme. Mosgranem, was dead. Shehad been strangled."

 
; "So you know nothing more than that?" asked Simeon, who seemed unable toget his words out.

  "Nothing more about what?"

  "About the man whom she mentioned."

  "Yes, I do, for she told me his name in the letter. He's a Greek, whocalls himself Simeon Diodokis. She even gave me a description of him. Ihaven't read it very carefully."

  He unfolded the letter and ran his eyes down the second page, mumbling:

  "A broken-down old man. . . . Passes himself off as mad. . . . Alwaysgoes about in a comforter and a pair of large yellow spectacles. . . ."

  Dr. Geradec ceased reading and looked at Simeon with an air ofamazement. Both of them sat for a moment without speaking. Then thedoctor said:

  "You are Simeon Diodokis."

  The other did not protest. All these incidents were so strangely and, atthe same time, so naturally interlinked as to persuade him that lyingwas useless.

  "This alters the situation," declared the doctor. "The time for triflingis past. It's a most serious and terribly dangerous matter for me, I cantell you! You'll have to make it a million."

  "Oh, no!" cried Simeon, excitedly. "Certainly not! Besides, I nevertouched Mme. Mosgranem. I was myself attacked by the man who strangledher, the same man--a negro called Ya-Bon--who caught me up and took meby the throat."

  "Ya-Bon? Did you say Ya-Bon?"

  "Yes, a one-armed Senegalese."

  "And did you two fight?"

  "Yes."

  "And did you kill him?"

  "Well . . ."

  The doctor shrugged his shoulders with a smile:

  "Listen, sir, to a curious coincidence. When I left the barge, I methalf-a-dozen wounded soldiers. They spoke to me and said that they werelooking for a comrade, this very Ya-Bon, and also for their captain,Captain Belval, and a friend of this officer's and a lady, the lady theywere staying with. All these people had disappeared; and they accused acertain person . . . wait, they told me his name. . . . Oh, but this ismore and more curious! The man's name was Simeon Diodokis. It was youthey accused! . . . Isn't it odd? But, on the other hand, you mustconfess that all this constitutes fresh facts and therefore . . ."

  There was a pause. Then the doctor formulated his demand in plain tones:

  "I shall want two millions."

  This time Simeon remained impassive. He felt that he was in the man'sclutches, like a mouse clawed by a cat. The doctor was playing with him,letting him go and catching him again, without giving him the least hopeof escaping from this grim sport.

  "This is blackmail," he said, quietly.

  The doctor nodded:

  "There's no other word for it," he admitted. "It's blackmail. Moreover,it's a case of blackmail in which I have not the excuse of creating theopportunity that gives me my advantage. A wonderful chance comes withinreach of my hand. I grab at it, as you would do in my place. What elseis possible? I have had a few differences, which you know of, with thepolice. We've signed a peace, the police and I. But my professionalposition has been so much injured that I cannot afford to reject withscorn what you so kindly bring me."

  "Suppose I refuse to submit?"

  "Then I shall telephone to the headquarters of police, with whom I standin great favor at present, as I am able to do them a good turn now andagain."

  Simeon glanced at the window and at the door. The doctor had his hand onthe receiver of the telephone. There was no way out of it.

  "Very well," he declared. "After all, it's better so. You know me; andI know you. We can come to terms."

  "On the basis suggested?"

  "Yes. Tell me your plan."

  "No, it's not worth while. I have my methods; and there's no object inrevealing them beforehand. The point is to secure your escape and to putan end to your present danger. I'll answer for all that."

  "What guarantee have I. . . ?"

  "You will pay me half the money now and the other half when the businessis done. There remains the matter of the passport, a secondary matterfor me. Still, we shall have to make one out. In what name is it to be?"

  "Any name you like."

  The doctor took a sheet of paper and wrote down the description, lookingat Simeon between the phrases and muttering:

  "Gray hair. . . . Clean-shaven. . . . Yellow spectacles. . . ."

  Then he stopped and asked:

  "But how do I know that I shall be paid the money? That's essential, youknow. I want bank-notes, real ones."

  "You shall have them."

  "Where are they?"

  "In a hiding-place that can't be got at."

  "Tell me where."

  "I have no objection. Even if I give you a clue to the general position,you'll never find it."

  "Well, go on."

  "Gregoire had the money in her keeping, four million francs. It's onboard the barge. We'll go there together and I'll count you out thefirst million."

  "You say those millions are on board the barge?"

  "Yes."

  "And there are four of those millions?"

  "Yes."

  "I won't accept any of them in payment."

  "Why not? You must be mad!"

  "Why not? Because you can't pay a man with what already belongs to him."

  "What's that you're saying?" cried Simeon, in dismay.

  "Those four millions belong to me, so you can't offer them to me."

  Simeon shrugged his shoulders:

  "You're talking nonsense. For the money to belong to you, it must firstbe in your possession."

  "Certainly."

  "And is it?"

  "It is."

  "Explain yourself, explain yourself at once!" snarled Simeon, besidehimself with anger and alarm.

  "I will explain myself. The hiding-place that couldn't be got atconsisted of four old books, back numbers of Bottin's directory forParis and the provinces, each in two volumes. The four volumes werehollow inside, as though they had been scooped out; and there was amillion francs in each of them."

  "You lie! You lie!"

  "They were on a shelf, in a little lumber-room next the cabin."

  "Well, what then?"

  "What then? They're here."

  "Here?"

  "Yes, here, on that bookshelf, in front of your nose. So, in thecircumstances, you see, as I am already the lawful owner, I can't accept. . ."

  "You thief! You thief!" shouted Simeon, shaking with rage and clenchinghis fist. "You're nothing but a thief; and I'll make you disgorge. Oh,you dirty thief!"

  Dr. Geradec smiled very calmly and raised his hand in protest:

  "This is strong language and quite unjustified! quite unjustified! Letme remind you that Mme. Mosgranem honored me with her affection. Oneday, or rather one morning, after a moment of expansiveness, 'My dearfriend,' she said--she used to call me her dear friend--'my dear friend,when I die'--she was given to those gloomy forebodings--'when I die, Ibequeath to you the contents of my home!' Her home, at that moment, wasthe barge. Do you suggest that I should insult her memory by refusing toobey so sacred a wish?"

  Old Simeon was not listening. An infernal thought was awakening in him;and he turned to the doctor with a movement of affrighted attention.

  "We are wasting precious time, my dear sir," said the doctor. "What haveyou decided to do?"

  He was playing with the sheet of paper on which he had written theparticulars required for the passport. Simeon came up to him without aword. At last the old man whispered:

  "Give me that sheet of paper. . . . I want to see . . ."

  He took the paper out of the doctor's hand, ran his eyes down it andsuddenly leapt backwards:

  "What name have you put? What name have you put? What right have you togive me that name? Why did you do it?"

  "You told me to put any name I pleased, you know."

  "But why this one? Why this one?"

  "Can it be your own?"

  The old man started with terror and, bending lower and lower over thedoctor, said, in a trembling voice:

  "One man alone, one
man alone was capable of guessing . . ."

  There was a long pause. Then the doctor gave a little chuckle:

  "I know that only one man was capable of it. So let's take it that I'mthe man."

  "One man alone," continued the other, while his breath once again seemedto fail him, "one man alone could find the hiding-place of the fourmillions in a few seconds."

  The doctor did not answer. He smiled; and his features graduallyrelaxed.

  In a sort of terror-stricken tone Simeon hissed out:

  "Arsene Lupin! . . . Arsene Lupin! . . ."

  "You've hit it in one," exclaimed the doctor, rising.

  He dropped his eye-glass, took from his pocket a little pot of grease,smeared his face with it, washed it off in a basin in a recess andreappeared with a clear skin, a smiling, bantering face and an easycarriage.

  "Arsene Lupin!" repeated Simeon, petrified. "Arsene Lupin! I'm in forit!"

  "Up to the neck, you old fool! And what a silly fool you must be! Why,you know me by reputation, you feel for me the intense and wholesome awewith which a decent man of my stamp is bound to inspire an old rascallike you . . . and you go and imagine that I should be ass enough to letmyself be bottled up in that lethal chamber of yours! Mind you, at thatvery moment I could have taken you by the hair of the head and gonestraight on to the great scene in the fifth act, which we are nowplaying. Only my fifth act would have been a bit short, you see; and I'ma born actor-manager. As it is, observe how well the interest issustained! And what fun it was seeing the thought of it take birth inyour old Turkish noddle! And what a lark to go into the studio, fastenmy electric lamp to a bit of string, make poor, dear Patrice believethat I was there and go out and hear Patrice denying me three times andcarefully bolting the door on . . . what? My electric lamp! That was allfirst-class work, don't you think? What do you say to it? I can feelthat you're speechless with admiration. . . . And, ten minutes after,when you came back, the same scene in the wings and with the samesuccess. Of course, you old Simeon, I was banging at the walled-up door,between the studio and the bedroom on the left. Only I wasn't in thestudio: I was in the bedroom; and you went away quietly, like a goodkind landlord. As for me, I had no need to hurry. I was as certain asthat twice two is four that you would go to your friend M. AmedeeVacherot, the porter. And here, I may say, old Simeon, you committed anice piece of imprudence, which got me out of my difficulty. No one inthe porter's lodge: that couldn't be helped; but what I did find was atelephone-number on a scrap of newspaper. I did not hesitate for amoment. I rang up the number, coolly: 'Monsieur, it was I who telephonedto you just now. Only I've got your number, but not your address.' Backcame the answer: 'Dr. Geradec, Boulevard de Montmorency.' Then Iunderstood. Dr. Geradec? You would want your throat tubed for a bit,then the all-essential passport; and I came off here, without troublingabout your poor friend M. Vacherot, whom you murdered in some corner orother to escape a possible give-away on his side. And I saw Dr. Geradec,a charming man, whose worries have made him very wise and submissive andwho . . . lent me his place for the morning. I had still two hoursbefore me. I went to the barge, took the millions, cleared up a few oddsand ends and here I am!"

  He came and stood in front of the old man:

  "Well, are you ready?" he asked.

  Simeon, who seemed absorbed in thought, gave a start.

  "Ready for what?" said Don Luis, replying to his unspoken question."Why, for the great journey, of course! Your passport is in order. Yourticket's taken: Paris to Hell, single. Non-stop hearse. Sleeping-coffin.Step in, sir!"

  The old man, tottering on his legs, made an effort and stammered:

  "And Patrice?"

  "What about him?"

  "I offer you his life in exchange for my own."

  Don Luis folded his arms across his chest:

  "Well, of all the cheek! Patrice is a friend; and you think me capableof abandoning him like that? Do you see me, Lupin, making more or lesswitty jokes upon your imminent death while my friend Patrice is indanger? Old Simeon, you're getting played out. It's time you went andrested in a better world."

  He lifted a hanging, opened a door and called out:

  "Well, captain, how are you getting on? Ah, I see you've recoveredconsciousness! Are you surprised to see me? No, no thanks, but pleasecome in here. Our old Simeon's asking for you."

  Then, turning to the old man, he said:

  "Here's your son, you unnatural father!"

  Patrice entered the room with his head bandaged, for the blow whichSimeon had struck him and the weight of the tombstone had opened his oldwounds. He was very pale and seemed to be in great pain.

  At the sight of Simeon Diodokis he gave signs of terrible anger. Hecontrolled himself, however. The two men stood facing each other,without stirring, and Don Luis, rubbing his hands, said, in anundertone:

  "What a scene! What a splendid scene? Isn't it well-arranged? The fatherand the son! The murderer and his victim! Listen to the orchestra! . . .A slight tremolo. . . . What are they going to do? Will the son kill hisfather or the father kill his son? A thrilling moment. . . . And themighty silence! Only the call of the blood is heard . . . and in whatterms! Now we're off! The call of the blood has sounded; and they aregoing to throw themselves into each other's arms, the better to stranglethe life out of each other!"

  Patrice had taken two steps forward; and the movement suggested by DonLuis was about to be performed. Already the officer's arms were flungwide for the fight. But suddenly Simeon, weakened by pain and dominatedby a stronger will than his own, let himself go and implored hisadversary:

  "Patrice!" he entreated. "Patrice! What are you thinking of doing?"

  Stretching out his hands, he threw himself upon the other's pity; andPatrice, arrested in his onrush, stood perplexed, staring at the man towhom he was bound by so mysterious and strange a tie:

  "Coralie," he said, without lowering his hands, "Coralie . . . tell mewhere she is and I'll spare your life."

  The old man started. His evil nature was stimulated by the remembranceof Coralie; and he recovered a part of his energy at the possibility ofwrong-doing. He gave a cruel laugh:

  "No, no," he answered. "Coralie in one scale and I in the other? I'drather die. Besides, Coralie's hiding-place is where the gold is. No,never! I may just as well die."

  "Kill him then, captain," said Don Luis, intervening. "Kill him, sincehe prefers it."

  Once more the thought of immediate murder and revenge sent the red bloodrushing to the officer's face. But the same hesitation unnerved him.

  "No, no," he said, in a low voice, "I can't do it."

  "Why not?" Don Luis insisted. "It's so easy. Come along! Wring his neck,like a chicken's, and have done with it!"

  "I can't."

  "But why? Do you dislike the thought of strangling him? Does it repelyou? And yet, if it were a Boche, on the battlefield . . ."

  "Yes . . . but this man . . ."

  "Is it your hands that refuse? The idea of taking hold of the flesh andsqueezing? . . . Here, captain, take my revolver and blow out hisbrains."

  Patrice accepted the weapon eagerly and aimed it at old Simeon. Thesilence was appalling. Old Simeon's eyes had closed and drops of sweatwere streaming down his livid cheeks.

  At last the officer lowered his arm:

  "I can't do it," he said.

  "Nonsense," said Don Luis. "Get on with the work."

  "No. . . . No. . . ."

  "But, in Heaven's name, why not?"

  "I can't."

  "You can't? Shall I tell you the reason? You are thinking of that man asif he were your father."

  "Perhaps it's that," said the officer, speaking very low. "There's achance of it, you know."

  "What does it matter, if he's a beast and a blackguard?"

  "No, no, I haven't the right. Let him die by all means, but not by myhand. I haven't the right."

  "You have the right."

  "No, it would be abominable! It would be monstrous!"

  Don Lui
s went up to him and, tapping him on the shoulder, said, gravely:

  "You surely don't believe that I should stand here, urging you to killthat man, if he were your father?"

  Patrice looked at him wildly:

  "Do you know something? Do you know something for certain? Oh, forHeaven's sake . . . !"

  Don Luis continued:

  "Do you believe that I would even encourage you to hate him, if he wereyour father?"

  "Oh!" exclaimed Patrice. "Do you mean that he's not my father?"

  "Of course he's not!" cried Don Luis, with irresistible conviction andincreasing eagerness. "Your father indeed! Why, look at him! Look atthat scoundrelly head. Every sort of vice and violence is written on thebrute's face. Throughout this adventure, from the first day to the last,there was not a crime committed but was his handiwork: not one, do youfollow me? There were not two criminals, as we thought, not Essares, tobegin the hellish business, and old Simeon, to finish it. There was onlyone criminal, one, do you understand, Patrice? Before killing Coralieand Ya-Bon and Vacherot the porter and the woman who was his ownaccomplice, he killed others! He killed one other in particular, onewhose flesh and blood you are, the man whose dying cries you heard overthe telephone, the man who called you Patrice and who only lived foryou! He killed that man; and that man was your father, Patrice; he wasArmand Belval! Now do you understand?"

  Patrice did not understand. Don Luis' words fell uncomprehended; not oneof them lit up the darkness of Patrice's brain. However, one thoughtinsistently possessed him; and he stammered:

  "_That_ was my father? I heard his voice, you say? Then it was _he_ whocalled to me?"

  "Yes, Patrice, your father."

  "And the man who killed him . . . ?"

  "Was this one," said Don Luis, pointing to Simeon.

  The old man remained motionless, wild-eyed, like a felon awaitingsentence of death. Patrice, quivering with rage, stared at him fixedly:

  "Who are you? Who are you?" he asked. And, turning to Don Luis, "Tell mehis name, I beseech you. I want to know his name, before I destroy him."

  "His name? Haven't you guessed it yet? Why, from the very first day, Itook it for granted! After all, it was the only possible theory."

  "But what theory? What was it you took for granted?" cried Patrice,impatiently.

  "Do you really want to know?"

  "Oh, please! I'm longing to kill him, but I must first know his name."

  "Well, then . . ."

  There was a long silence between the two men, as they stood closetogether, looking into each other's eyes. Then Lupin let fall these foursyllables:

  "Essares Bey."

  Patrice felt a shock that ran through him from head to foot. Not for asecond did he try to understand by what prodigy this revelation came tobe merely an expression of the truth. He instantly accepted this truth,as though it were undeniable and proved by the most evident facts. Theman was Essares Bey and had killed his father. He had killed him, so tospeak, twice over: first years ago, in the lodge in the garden, takingfrom him all the light of life and any reason for living; and again theother day, in the library, when Armand Belval had telephoned to his son.

  This time Patrice was determined to do the deed. His eyes expressed anindomitable resolution. His father's murderer, Coralie's murderer, mustdie then and there. His duty was clear and precise. The terrible Essareswas doomed to die by the hand of the son and the bridegroom.

  "Say your prayers," said Patrice, coldly. "In ten seconds you will be adead man."

  He counted out the seconds and, at the tenth, was about to fire, whenhis enemy, in an access of mad energy proving that, under the outwardappearance of old Simeon, there was hidden a man still young andvigorous, shouted with a violence so extraordinary that it made Patricehesitate:

  "Very well, kill me! . . . Yes, let it be finished! . . . I am beaten: Iaccept defeat. But it is a victory all the same, because Coralie is deadand my gold is saved! . . . I shall die, but nobody shall have eitherone or the other, the woman whom I love or the gold that was my life.Ah, Patrice, Patrice, the woman whom we both loved to distraction is nolonger alive . . . or else she is dying without a possibility of savingher now. If I cannot have her, you shall not have her either, Patrice.My revenge has done its work. Coralie is lost!"

  He had recovered a fierce energy and was shouting and stammering at thesame time. Patrice stood opposite him, holding him covered with therevolver, ready to act, but still waiting to hear the terrible wordsthat tortured him.

  "She is lost, Patrice!" Simeon continued, raising his voice stilllouder. "Lost! There's nothing to be done! And you will not find evenher body in the bowels of the earth, where I buried her with the bags ofgold. Under the tombstone? No, not such a fool! No, Patrice, you willnever find her. The gold is stifling her. She's dead! Coralie is dead!Oh, the delight of throwing that in your face! The anguish you must befeeling! Coralie is dead! Coralie is dead!"

  "Don't shout so, you'll wake her," said Don Luis, calmly.

  The brief sentence was followed by a sort of stupor which paralyzed thetwo adversaries. Patrice's arms dropped to his sides. Simeon turnedgiddy and sank into a chair. Both of them, knowing the things of whichDon Luis was capable, knew what he meant.

  But Patrice wanted something more than a vague sentence that might justas easily be taken as a jest. He wanted a certainty.

  "Wake her?" he asked, in a broken voice.

  "Well, of course!" said Don Luis. "When you shout too loud, you wakepeople up."

  "Then she's alive?"

  "You can't wake the dead, whatever people may say. You can only wake theliving."

  "Coralie is alive! Coralie is alive!" Patrice repeated, in a sort ofrapture that transfigured his features. "Can it be possible? But thenshe must be here! Oh, I beg of you, say you're in earnest, give me yourword! . . . Or no, it's not true, is it? I can't believe it . . . youmust be joking. . . ."

  "Let me answer you, captain, as I answered that wretch just now. You areadmitting that it is possible for me to abandon my work beforecompleting it. How little you know me! What I undertake to do I do.It's one of my habits and a good one at that. That's why I cling to it.Now watch me."

  He turned to one side of the room. Opposite the hanging that covered thedoor by which Patrice had entered was a second curtain, concealinganother door. He lifted the curtain.

  "No, no, she's not there," said Patrice, in an almost inaudible voice."I dare not believe it. The disappointment would be too great. Swear tome . . ."

  "I swear nothing, captain. You have only to open your eyes. By Jove, fora French officer, you're cutting a pretty figure! Why, you're as whiteas a sheet! Of course it's she! It's Little Mother Coralie! Look, she'sin bed asleep, with two nurses to watch her. But there's no danger;she's not wounded. A bit of a temperature, that's all, and extremeweakness. Poor Little Mother Coralie! I never could have imagined her insuch a state of exhaustion and coma."

  Patrice had stepped forward, brimming over with joy. Don Luis stoppedhim:

  "That will do, captain. Don't go any nearer. I brought her here, insteadof taking her home, because I thought a change of scene and atmosphereessential. But she must have no excitement. She's had her share of that;and you might spoil everything by showing yourself."

  "You're right," said Patrice. "But are you quite sure . . . ?"

  "That she's alive?" asked Don Luis, laughing. "She's as much alive asyou or I and quite ready to give you the happiness you deserve and tochange her name to Mme. Patrice Belval. You must have just a littlepatience, that's all. And there is yet one obstacle to overcome,captain, for remember she's a married woman!"

  He closed the door and led Patrice back to Essares Bey:

  "There's the obstacle, captain. Is your mind made up now? This wretchstill stands between you and your Coralie."

  Essares had not even glanced into the next room, as though he knew thatthere could be no doubt about Don Luis' word. He sat shivering in hischair, cowering, weak and helpless.

&nbs
p; "You don't seem comfortable," said Don Luis. "What's worrying you?You're frightened, perhaps? What for? I promise you that we will donothing except by mutual consent and until we are all of the sameopinion. That ought to cheer you up. We'll be your judges, the three ofus, here and now. Captain Patrice Belval, Arsene Lupin and old Simeonwill form the court. Let the trial begin. Does any one wish to speak indefense of the prisoner at the bar, Essares Bey? No one. The prisoner atthe bar is sentenced to death. Extenuating circumstances? No notice ofappeal? No. Commutation of sentence? No. Reprieve? No. Immediateexecution? Yes. You see, there's no delay. What about the means ofdeath? A revolver-shot? That will do. It's clean, quick work. CaptainBelval, your bird. The gun's loaded. Here you are."

  Patrice did not move. He stood gazing at the foul brute who had done himso many injuries. His whole being seethed with hatred. Nevertheless, hereplied:

  "I will not kill that man."

  "I agree, captain. Your scruples do you honor. You have not the right tokill a man whom you know to be the husband of the woman you love. It isnot for you to remove the obstacle. Besides, you hate taking life. So doI. This animal is too filthy for words. And so, my good man, there's noone left but yourself to help us out of this delicate position."

  Don Luis ceased speaking for a moment and leant over Essares. Had thewretched man heard? Was he even alive? He looked as if he were in afaint, deprived of consciousness.

  Don Luis shook him by the shoulder.

  "The gold," moaned Essares, "the bags of gold . . ."

  "Oh, you're thinking of that, you old scoundrel, are you? You're stillinterested? The bags of gold are in my pocket . . . if a pocket cancontain eighteen hundred bags of gold."

  "The hiding-place?"

  "Your hiding-place? It doesn't exist, so far as I'm concerned. I needn'tprove it to you, need I, since Coralie's here? As Coralie was buriedamong the bags of gold, you can draw your own conclusion. So you'renicely done. The woman you wanted is free and, what is worse still, freeby the side of the man whom she adores and whom she will never leave.And, on the other hand, your treasure is discovered. So it's allfinished, eh? We are agreed? Come, here's the toy that will releaseyou."

  He handed him the revolver. Essares took it mechanically and pointed itat Don Luis; but his arm lacked the strength to take aim and fell by hisside.

  "Capital!" said Don Luis. "We understand each other; and the actionwhich you are about to perform will atone for your evil life, you oldblackguard. When a man's last hope is dispelled, there's nothing for itbut death. That's the final refuge."

  He took hold of the other's hand and, bending Essares' nerveless fingersround the revolver, forced him to point it towards his own face.

  "Come," said he, "just a little pluck. What you've resolved to do is avery good thing. As Captain Belval and I refuse to disgrace ourselves bykilling you, you've decided to do the job yourself. We are touched; andwe congratulate you. But you must behave with courage. No resistance,come! That's right, that's much more like it. Once more, my compliments.It's very smart, your manner of getting out of it. You perceive thatthere's no room for you on earth, that you're standing in the way ofPatrice and Coralie and that the best thing you can do is to retire. Andyou're jolly well right! No love and no gold! No gold, Simeon! Thebeautiful shiny coins which you coveted, with which you would havemanaged to secure a nice, comfortable existence, all fled, vanished! Youmay just as well vanish yourself, what?"

  Whether because he felt himself to be helpless or because he reallyunderstood that Don Luis was right and that his life was no longer worthliving, Simeon offered hardly any resistance. The revolver rose to hisforehead. The barrel touched his temple.

  At the touch of the cold steel he gave a moan:

  "Mercy!"

  "No, no, no!" said Don Luis. "You mustn't show yourself any mercy. And Iwon't help you either. Perhaps, if you hadn't killed my poor Ya-Bon, wemight have put our heads together and sought for another ending. But,honestly, you inspire me with no more pity than you feel for yourself.You want to die and you are right. I won't prevent you. Besides, yourpassport is made out; you've got your ticket in your pocket. They areexpecting you down below. And, you know, you need have no fear of beingbored. Have you ever seen a picture of Hell? Every one has a huge stoneover his tomb; and every one is lifting the stone and supporting it withhis back, in order to escape the flames bursting forth beneath him. Yousee, there's plenty of fun. Well, your grave is reserved. Bath's ready,sir!"

  Slowly and patiently he had succeeded in slipping the wretched man'sfore-finger under the handle, so as to bring it against the trigger.Essares was letting himself go. He was little more than a limp rag.Death had already cast its shadow upon him.

  "Mind you," said Don Luis, "you're perfectly free. You can pull thetrigger if you feel like it. It's not my business. I'm not here tocompel you to commit suicide, but only to advise you and to lend you ahand."

  He had in fact let go the fore-finger and was holding only the arm. Buthe was bearing upon Essares with all his extraordinary power of will,the will to seek destruction, the will to seek annihilation, anindomitable will which Essares was unable to resist. Every second deathsank a little deeper into that invertebrate body, breaking up instinct,obscuring thought and bringing an immense craving for rest and inaction.

  "You see how easy it is. The intoxication is flying to your brain. It'san almost voluptuous feeling, isn't it? What a riddance! To ceaseliving! To cease suffering! To cease thinking of that gold which you nolonger possess and can never possess again, of that woman who belongs toanother and offers him her lips and all her entrancing self! . . . Youcouldn't live, could you, with that thought on you? Then come on! . . ."

  Seized with cowardice, the wretch was yielding by slow degrees. He foundhimself face to face with one of those crushing forces, one of nature'sforces, powerful as fate, which a man must needs accept. His head turnedgiddy and swam. He was descending into the abyss.

  "Come along now, show yourself a man. Don't forget either that you aredead already. Remember, you can't appear in this world again withoutfalling into the hands of the police. And, of course, I'm there toinform them in case of need. That means prison and the scaffold. Thescaffold, my poor fellow, the icy dawn, the knife . . ."

  It was over. Essares was sinking into the depths of darkness. Everythingwhirled around him. Don Luis' will penetrated him and annihilated hisown.

  For one moment he turned to Patrice and tried to implore his aid. ButPatrice persisted in his impassive attitude. Standing with his armsfolded, he gazed with eyes devoid of pity upon his father's murderer.The punishment was well-deserved. Fate must be allowed to take itscourse. Patrice did not interfere.

  And Don Luis continued, unrelentingly and without intermission:

  "Come along, come along! . . . It's a mere nothing and it means eternalrest! . . . How good it feels, already! To forget! To cease fighting!. . . Think of the gold which you have lost. . . . Three hundredmillions gone for ever! . . . And Coralie lost as well. Mother anddaughter: you can't have either. In that case, life is nothing but asnare and a delusion. You may as well leave it. Come, one little effort,one little movement. . . ."

  That little movement the miscreant made. Hardly knowing what he did, hepulled the trigger. The shot rang through the room; and Essares fellforward, with his knees on the floor. Don Luis had to spring to one sideto escape being splashed by the blood that trickled from the man'sshattered head.

  "By Jove!" he cried. "The blood of vermin like that would have broughtme ill-luck. And, Lord, what crawling vermin it is! . . . Upon my word,I believe that this makes one more good action I've done in my life andthat this suicide entitles me to a little seat in Paradise. What sayyou, captain?"