“That’s just what I was going to ask you. I have lived under so many distinct names that I have ended by forgetting my own. I don’t know where I am.”
“So I must enter a refusal to answer?”
“An inability.”
“Is this a thought-out plan? Am I to expect the same silence in reply to all my questions?”
“Very nearly.”
“And why?”
Lupin struck a solemn attitude and said:
“M. le Juge d’Instruction, my life belongs to history. You have only to turn over the annals of the past fifteen years and your curiosity will be satisfied. So much for my part. As to the rest, it does not concern me: it is an affair between you and the murderers at the Palace Hotel.”
“Arsène Lupin, the honest man that you are will have to-day to explain the murder of Master Altenheim.”
“Hullo, this is new! Is the idea yours, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction?”
“Exactly.”
“Very clever! Upon my word, M. Formerie, you’re getting on!”
“The position in which you were captured leaves no doubt.”
“None at all; only, I will venture to ask you this: what sort of wound did Altenheim die of?”
“Of a wound in the throat caused by a knife.”
“And where is the knife?”
“It has not been found.”
“How could it not have been found, if I had been the assassin, considering that I was captured beside the very man whom I am supposed to have killed?”
“Who killed him, according to you?”
“The same man that killed Mr. Kesselbach, Chapman, and Beudot. The nature of the wound is a sufficient proof.”
“How did he get away?”
“Through a trap-door, which you will discover in the room where the tragedy took place.”
M. Formerie assumed an air of slyness:
“And how was it that you did not follow that useful example?”
“I tried to follow it. But the outlet was blocked by a door which I could not open. It was during this attempt that ‘the other one’ came back to the room and killed his accomplice for fear of the revelations which he would have been sure to make. At the same time, he hid in a cupboard, where it was subsequently found, the parcel of clothes which I had prepared.”
“What were those clothes for?”
“To disguise myself. When I went to the Glycines my plan was this: to hand Altenheim over to the police, to suppress my own identity as Prince Sernine and to reappear under the features. . . .”
“Of M. Lenormand, I suppose?”
“Exactly.”
“No.”
“What!”
M. Formerie gave a knowing smile and wagged his forefinger from left to right and right to left:
“No,” he repeated.
“What do you mean by ‘no’?”
“That story about M. Lenormand. . . .”
“Well?”
“Will do for the public, my friend. But you won’t make M. Formerie swallow that Lupin and Lenormand were one and the same man.” He burst out laughing. “Lupin, chief of the detective-service! No, anything you like, but not that! . . . There are limits. . . . I am an easy-going fellow. . . . I’ll believe anything . . . but still. . . . Come, between ourselves, what was the reason of this fresh hoax? . . . I confess I can’t see . . .”
Lupin looked at him in astonishment. In spite of all that he knew of M. Formerie, he could not conceive such a degree of infatuation and blindness. There was at that moment only one person in the world who refused to believe in Prince Sernine’s double personality; and that was M. Formerie! . . .
Lupin turned to the deputy-chief, who stood listening open-mouthed:
“My dear Weber, I fear your promotion is not so certain as I thought. For, you see, if M. Lenormand is not myself, then he exists . . . and, if he exists, I have no doubt that M. Formerie, with all his acumen, will end by discovering him . . . in which case . . .”
“We shall discover him all right, M. Lupin,” cried the examining-magistrate. “I’ll undertake that, and I tell you that, when you and he are confronted, we shall see some fun.” He chuckled and drummed with his fingers on the table. “How amusing! Oh, one’s never bored when you’re there, that I’ll say for you! So you’re M. Lenormand, and it’s you who arrested your accomplice Marco!”
“Just so! Wasn’t it my duty to please the prime minister and save the cabinet? The fact is historical.”
M. Formerie held his sides:
“Oh, I shall die of laughing, I know I shall! Lord, what a joke! That answer will travel round the world. So, according to your theory, it was with you that I made the first enquiries at the Palace Hotel after the murder of Mr. Kesselbach? . . .”
“Surely it was with me that you investigated the case of the stolen coronet when I was Duc de Chamerace,” retorted Lupin, in a sarcastic voice.
See Arsène Lupin by Edgar Jepson and Maurice Leblanc.
M. Formerie gave a start. All his merriment was dispelled by that odious recollection. Turning suddenly grave, he asked:
“So you persist in that absurd theory?”
“I must, because it is the truth. It would be easy for you to take a steamer to Cochin-China and to find at Saigon the proofs of the death of the real M. Lenormand, the worthy man whom I replaced and whose death-certificate I can show you.”
“Humbug!”
“Upon my word, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I don’t care one way or the other. If it annoys you that I should be M. Lenormand, don’t let’s talk about it. We won’t talk about myself; we won’t talk about anything at all, if you prefer. Besides, of what use can it be to you? The Kesselbach case is such a tangled affair that I myself don’t know where I stand. There’s only one man who might help you. I have not succeeded in discovering him. And I don’t think that you . . .”
“What’s the man’s name?”
“He’s an old man, a German called Steinweg. . . . But, of course, you’ve heard about him, Weber, and the way in which he was carried off in the middle of the Palais de Justice?”
M. Formerie threw an inquiring glance at the deputy-chief. M. Weber said:
“I undertake to bring that person to you, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction.”
“So that’s done,” said M. Formerie, rising from his chair. “As you see, Lupin, this was merely a formal examination to bring the two duelists together. Now that we have crossed swords, all that we need is the necessary witness of our fencing-match, your counsel.”
“Tut! Is it indispensable?”
“Indispensable.”
“Employ counsel in view of such an unlikely trial?”
“You must.”
“In that case, I’ll choose Maître Quimbel.”
“The president of the corporation of the bar. You are wise, you will be well defended.”
The first sitting was over. M. Weber led the prisoner away.
As he went down the stairs of the “mouse-trap,” between the two Doudevilles, Lupin said, in short, imperative sentences:
“Watch Steinweg. . . . Don’t let him speak to anybody. . . . Be there to-morrow. . . . I’ll give you some letters . . . one for you . . . important.”
Downstairs, he walked up to the municipal guards surrounding the taxi-cab:
“Home, boys,” he exclaimed, “and quick about it! I have an appointment with myself for two o’clock precisely.”
There were no incidents during the drive. On returning to his cell, Lupin wrote a long letter, full of detailed instructions, to the brothers Doudeville and, two other letters.
One was for Geneviève:
“Geneviève, you now know who I am and you will understand why I concealed from you the name of him who twice carried you away in his arms when you were a little girl.
“Geneviève, I was your mother’s friend, a distant friend, of whose double life she knew nothing, but upon whom she thought that she could rely. And that is why, bef
ore dying, she wrote me a few lines asking me to watch over you.
“Unworthy as I am of your esteem, Geneviève, I shall continue faithful to that trust. Do not drive me from your heart entirely.
“Arsène Lupin.”
The other letter was addressed to Dolores Kesselbach:
“Prince Sernine was led to seek Mrs. Kesselbach’s acquaintance by motives of self-interest alone. But a great longing to devote himself to her was the cause of his continuing it.
“Now that Prince Sernine has become merely Arsène Lupin, he begs Mrs. Kesselbach not to deprive him of the right of protecting her, at a distance and as a man protects one whom he will never see again.”
There were some envelopes on the table. He took up one and took up a second; then, when he took up the third, he noticed a sheet of white paper, the presence of which surprised him and which had words stuck upon it, evidently cut out of a newspaper. He read:
“You have failed in your fight with the baron. Give up interesting yourself in the case, and I will not oppose your escape.
“L. M.”
Once more, Lupin had that sense of repulsion and terror with which this nameless and fabulous being always inspired him, a sense of disgust which one feels at touching a venomous animal, a reptile:
“He again,” he said. “Even here!”
That also scared him, the sudden vision which he at times received of this hostile power, a power as great as his own and disposing of formidable means, the extent of which he himself was unable to realize.
He at once suspected his warder. But how had it been possible to corrupt that hard-featured, stern-eyed man?
“Well, so much the better, after all!” he cried. “I have never had to do except with dullards. . . . In order to fight myself, I had to chuck myself into the command of the detective-service. . . . This time, I have some one to deal with! . . . Here’s a man who puts me in his pocket . . . by sleight of hand, one might say. . . . If I succeed, from my prison cell, in avoiding his blows and smashing him, in seeing old Steinweg and dragging his confession from him, in setting the Kesselbach case on its legs and turning the whole of it into cash, in defending Mrs. Kesselbach and winning fortune and happiness for Geneviève . . . well, then Lupin will be Lupin still! . . .”
Eleven days passed. On the twelfth day, Lupin woke very early and exclaimed:
“Let me see, if my calculations are correct and if the gods are on my side, there will be some news to-day. I have had four interviews with Formerie. The fellow must be worked up to the right point now. And the Doudevilles, on their side, must have been busy. . . . We shall have some fun!”
He flung out his fists to right and left, brought them back to his chest, then flung them out again and brought them back again.
This movement, which executed thirty times in succession, was followed by a bending of his body backwards and forwards. Next came an alternate lifting of the legs and then an alternate swinging of the arms.
The whole performance occupied a quarter of an hour, the quarter of an hour which he devoted every morning to Swedish exercises to keep his muscles in condition.
Then he sat down to his table, took up some sheets of white paper, which were arranged in numbered packets, and, folding one of them, made it into an envelope, a work which he continued to do with a series of successive sheets. It was the task which he had accepted and which he forced himself to do daily, the prisoners having the right to choose the labor which they preferred: sticking envelopes, making paper fans, metal purses, and so on. . . .
And, in this way, while occupying his hands with an automatic exercise and keeping his muscles supple with mechanical bendings, Lupin was able to have his thoughts constantly fixed on his affairs. . . .
And his affairs were complicated enough, in all conscience!
There was one, for instance, which surpassed all the others in importance, and for which he had to employ all the resources of his genius. How was he to have a long, quiet conversation with old Steinweg? The necessity was immediate. In a few days, Steinweg would have recovered from his imprisonment, would receive interviews, might blab . . . to say nothing of the inevitable interference of the enemy, ‘the other one.’ And it was essential that Steinweg’s secret, Pierre Leduc’s secret, should be revealed to no one but Lupin. Once published, the secret lost all its value. . . .
The bolts grated, the key turned noisily in the lock.
“Ah, it’s you, most excellent of jailers! Has the moment come for the last toilet? The hair-cut that precedes the great final cut of all?”
“Magistrate’s examination,” said the man, laconically.
Lupin walked through the corridors of the prison and was received by the municipal guards, who locked him into the prison-van.
He reached the Palais de Justice twenty minutes later. One of the Doudevilles was waiting near the stairs. As they went up, he said to Lupin:
“You’ll be confronted to-day.”
“Everything settled?”
“Yes.”
“Weber?”
“Busy elsewhere.”
Lupin walked into M. Formerie’s room and at once recognized old Steinweg, sitting on a chair, looking ill and wretched. A municipal guard was standing behind him.
M. Formerie scrutinized the prisoner attentively, as though he hoped to draw important conclusions from his contemplation of him, and said:
“You know who this gentleman is?”
“Why, Steinweg, of course! . . .”
“Yes, thanks to the active inquiries of M. Weber and of his two officers, the brothers Doudeville, we have found Mr. Steinweg, who, according to you, knows the ins and outs of the Kesselbach case, the name of the murderer and all the rest of it.”
“I congratulate you, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. Your examination will go swimmingly.”
“I think so. There is only one ‘but’: Mr. Steinweg refuses to reveal anything, except in your presence.”
“Well, I never! How odd of him! Does Arsène Lupin inspire him with so much affection and esteem?”
“Not Arsène Lupin, but Prince Sernine, who, he says, saved his life, and M. Lenormand, with whom, he says, he began a conversation. . . .”
“At the time when I was chief of the detective-service,” Lupin broke in. “So you consent to admit.”
“Mr. Steinweg,” said the magistrate, “do you recognize M. Lenormand?”
“No, but I know that Arsène Lupin and he are one.”
“So you consent to speak?”
“Yes . . . but . . . we are not alone.”
“How do you mean? There is only my clerk here . . . and the guard . . .”
“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, the secret which I am about to reveal is so important that you yourself would be sorry . . .”
“Guard, go outside, please,” said M. Formerie. “Come back at once, if I call. Do you object to my clerk, Steinweg?”
“No, no . . . it might be better . . . but, however . . .”
“Then speak. For that matter, nothing that you reveal will be put down in black on white. One word more, though: I ask you for the last time, is it indispensable that the prisoner should be present at this interview?”
“Quite indispensable. You will see the reason for yourself.”
He drew the chair up to the magistrate’s desk, Lupin remained standing, near the clerk. And the old man, speaking in a loud voice, said:
“It is now ten years since a series of circumstances, which I need not enter into, made me acquainted with an extraordinary story in which two persons are concerned.”
“Their names, please.”
“I will give the names presently. For the moment, let me say that one of these persons occupies an exceptional position in France, and that the other, an Italian, or rather a Spaniard . . . yes, a Spaniard . . .”
A bound across the room, followed by two formidable blows of the fist. . . . Lupin’s two arms had darted out to right and left, as though impelled by springs
and his two fists, hard as cannon balls, caught the magistrate and his clerk on the jaw, just below the ear.
The magistrate and the clerk collapsed over their tables, in two lumps, without a moan.
“Well hit!” said Lupin. “That was a neat bit of work.”
He went to the door and locked it softly. Then returning:
“Steinweg, have you the chloroform?”
“Are you quite sure that they have fainted?” asks the old man, trembling with fear.
“What do you think! But it will only last for three or four minutes. . . . And that is not long enough.”
The German produced from his pocket a bottle and two pads of cotton-wool, ready prepared.
Lupin uncorked the bottle, poured a few drops of the chloroform on the two pads and held them to the noses of the magistrate and his clerk.
“Capital! We have ten minutes of peace and quiet before us. That will do, but let’s make haste, all the same; and not a word too much, old man, do you hear?” He took him by the arm. “You see what I am able to do. Here we are, alone in the very heart of the Palais de Justice, because I wished it.”
“Yes,” said the old man.
“So you are going to tell me your secret?”
“Yes, I told it to Kesselbach, because he was rich and could turn it to better account than anybody I knew; but, prisoner and absolutely powerless though you are, I consider you a hundred times as strong as Kesselbach with his hundred millions.”
“In that case, speak; and let us take things in their proper order. The name of the murderer?”
“That’s impossible.”
“How do you mean, impossible? I thought you knew it and were going to tell me everything!”
“Everything, but not that.”
“But . . .”
“Later on.”
“You’re mad! Why?”
“I have no proofs. Later, when you are free, we will hunt together. Besides, what’s the good? And then, really, I can’t tell you.”
“You’re afraid of him?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” said Lupin. “After all, that’s not the most urgent matter. As to the rest, you’ve made up your mind to speak?”
“Without reserve.”
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 102