Lupin, who had the inconceivable audacity to be present on the last day of the trial, the Thursday, had no doubt as to the result. A verdict of guilty was certain in both cases.
It was certain because all the efforts of the prosecution, thus supporting Vaucheray’s tactics, had tended to link the two prisoners closely together. It was certain, also and above all, because it concerned two of Lupin’s accomplices. From the opening of the inquiry before the magistrate until the delivery of the verdict, all the proceedings had been directed against Lupin; and this in spite of the fact that the prosecution, for want of sufficient evidence and also in order not to scatter its efforts over too wide an area, had decided not to include Lupin in the indictment. He was the adversary aimed at, the leader who must be punished in the person of his friends, the famous and popular scoundrel whose fascination in the eyes of the crowd must be destroyed for good and all. With Gilbert and Vaucheray executed, Lupin’s halo would fade away and the legend would be exploded.
Lupin... Lupin... Arsène Lupin: it was the one name heard throughout the four days. The advocate-general, the presiding judge, the jury, the counsel, the witnesses had no other words on their lips. Every moment, Lupin was mentioned and cursed at, scoffed at, insulted and held responsible for all the crimes committed. It was as though Gilbert and Vaucheray figured only as supernumeraries, while the real criminal undergoing trial was he, Lupin, Master Lupin, Lupin the burglar, the leader of a gang of thieves, the forger, the incendiary, the hardened offender, the ex-convict, Lupin the murderer, Lupin stained with the blood of his victim, Lupin lurking in the shade, like a coward, after sending his friends to the foot of the scaffold.
“Oh, the rascals know what they’re about!” he muttered. “It’s my debt which they are making my poor old Gilbert pay.”
And the terrible tragedy went on.
At seven o’clock in the evening, after a long deliberation, the jury returned to court and the foreman read out the answers to the questions put from the bench. The answer was “Yes” to every count of the indictment, a verdict of guilty without extenuating circumstances.
The prisoners were brought in. Standing up, but staggering and white-faced, they received their sentence of death.
And, amid the great, solemn silence, in which the anxiety of the onlookers was mingled with pity, the assize-president asked:
“Have you anything more to say, Vaucheray?”
“Nothing, monsieur le president. Now that my mate is sentenced as well as myself, I am easy... We are both on the same footing... The governor must find a way to save the two of us.”
“The governor?”
“Yes, Arsène Lupin.”
There was a laugh among the crowd.
The president asked:
“And you, Gilbert?”
Tears streamed down the poor lad’s cheeks and he stammered a few inarticulate sentences. But, when the judge repeated his question, he succeeded in mastering himself and replied, in a trembling voice:
“I wish to say, monsieur le president, that I am guilty of many things, that’s true... I have done a lot of harm... But, all the same, not this. No, I have not committed murder... I have never committed murder... And I don’t want to die... it would be too horrible...”
He swayed from side to side, supported by the warders, and he was heard to cry, like a child calling for help:
“Governor... save me!... Save me!... I don’t want to die!”
Then, in the crowd, amid the general excitement, a voice rose above the surrounding clamour:
“Don’t be afraid, little ‘un!... The governor’s here!”
A tumult and hustling followed. The municipal guards and the policemen rushed into court and laid hold of a big, red-faced man, who was stated by his neighbours to be the author of that outburst and who struggled hand and foot.
Questioned without delay, he gave his name, Philippe Bonel, an undertaker’s man, and declared that some one sitting beside him had offered him a hundred-franc note if he would consent, at the proper moment, to shout a few words which his neighbour scribbled on a bit of paper. How could he refuse?
In proof of his statements, he produced the hundred-franc note and the scrap of paper.
Philippe Bonel was let go.
Meanwhile, Lupin, who of course had assisted energetically in the individual’s arrest and handed him over to the guards, left the law-courts, his heart heavy with anguish. His car was waiting for him on the quay. He flung himself into it, in despair, seized with so great a sorrow that he had to make an effort to restrain his tears. Gilbert’s cry, his voice wrung with affliction, his distorted features, his tottering frame: all this haunted his brain; and he felt as if he would never, for a single second, forget those impressions.
He drove home to the new place which he had selected among his different residences and which occupied a corner of the Place de Clichy. He expected to find the Growler and the Masher, with whom he was to kidnap Daubrecq that evening. But he had hardly opened the door of his flat, when a cry escaped him: Clarisse stood before him; Clarisse, who had returned from Brittany at the moment of the verdict.
He at once gathered from her attitude and her pallor that she knew. And, at once, recovering his courage in her presence, without giving her time to speak, he exclaimed:
“Yes, yes, yes... but it doesn’t matter. We foresaw that. We couldn’t prevent it. What we have to do is to stop the mischief. And to-night, you understand, to-night, the thing will be done.”
Motionless and tragic in her sorrow, she stammered:
“To-night?”
“Yes. I have prepared everything. In two hours, Daubrecq will be in my hands. To-night, whatever means I have to employ, he shall speak.”
“Do you mean that?” she asked, faintly, while a ray of hope began to light up her face.
“He shall speak. I shall have his secret. I shall tear the list of the Twenty-seven from him. And that list will set your son free.”
“Too late,” Clarisse murmured.
“Too late? Why? Do you think that, in exchange for such a document, I shall not obtain Gilbert’s pretended escape?... Why, Gilbert will be at liberty in three days! In three days...”
He was interrupted by a ring at the bell:
“Listen, here are our friends. Trust me. Remember that I keep my promises. I gave you back your little Jacques. I shall give you back Gilbert.”
He went to let the Growler and the Masher in and said:
“Is everything ready? Is old Brindebois at the restaurant? Quick, let us be off!”
“It’s no use, governor,” replied the Masher.
“No use? What do you mean?”
“There’s news.”
“What news? Speak, man!”
“Daubrecq has disappeared.”
“Eh? What’s that? Daubrecq disappeared?”
“Yes, carried off from his house, in broad daylight.”
“The devil! By whom?”
“Nobody knows... four men... there were pistols fired... The police are on the spot. Prasville is directing the investigations.”
Lupin did not move a limb. He looked at Clarisse Mergy, who lay huddled in a chair.
He himself had to bow his head. Daubrecq carried off meant one more chance of success lost...
CHAPTER VII. THE PROFILE OF NAPOLEON
SOON AS THE prefect of police, the chief of the criminal-investigation department and the examining-magistrates had left Daubrecq’s house, after a preliminary and entirely fruitless inquiry, Prasville resumed his personal search.
He was examining the study and the traces of the struggle which had taken place there, when the portress brought him a visiting-card, with a few words in pencil scribbled upon it.
“Show the lady in,” he said.
“The lady has some one with her,” said the portress.
“Oh? Well, show the other person in as well.”
Clarisse Mergy entered at once and introduced the gentleman with her, a gentleman
in a black frock-coat, which was too tight for him and which looked as though it had not been brushed for ages. He was shy in his manner and seemed greatly embarrassed how to dispose of his old, rusty top-hat, his gingham umbrella, his one and only glove and his body generally.
“M. Nicole,” said Clarisse, “a private teacher, who is acting as tutor to my little Jacques. M. Nicole has been of the greatest help to me with his advice during the past year. He worked out the whole story of the crystal stopper. I should like him, as well as myself — if you see no objection to telling me — to know the details of this kidnapping business, which alarms me and upsets my plans; yours too, I expect?”
Prasville had every confidence in Clarisse Mergy. He knew her relentless hatred of Daubrecq and appreciated the assistance which she had rendered in the case. He therefore made no difficulties about telling her what he knew, thanks to certain clues and especially to the evidence of the portress.
For that matter, the thing was exceedingly simple. Daubrecq, who had attended the trial of Gilbert and Vaucheray as a witness and who was seen in court during the speeches, returned home at six o’clock. The portress affirmed that he came in alone and that there was nobody in the house at the time. Nevertheless, a few minutes later, she heard shouts, followed by the sound of a struggle and two pistol-shots; and from her lodge she saw four masked men scuttle down the front steps, carrying Daubrecq the deputy, and hurry toward the gate. They opened the gate. At the same moment, a motor-car arrived outside the house. The four men bundled themselves into it; and the motor-car, which had hardly had time to stop, set off at full speed.
“Were there not always two policemen on duty?” asked Clarisse.
“They were there,” said Prasville, “but at a hundred and fifty yards’ distance; and Daubrecq was carried off so quickly that they were unable to interfere, although they hastened up as fast as they could.”
“And did they discover nothing, find nothing?”
“Nothing, or hardly anything... Merely this.”
“What is that?”
“A little piece of ivory, which they picked up on the ground. There was a fifth party in the car; and the portress saw him get down while the others were hoisting Daubrecq in. As he was stepping back into the car, he dropped something and picked it up again at once. But the thing, whatever it was, must have been broken on the pavement; for this is the bit of ivory which my men found.”
“But how did the four men manage to enter the house?” asked Clarisse.
“By means of false keys, evidently, while the portress was doing her shopping, in the course of the afternoon; and they had no difficulty in secreting themselves, as Daubrecq keeps no other servants. I have every reason to believe that they hid in the room next door, which is the dining-room, and afterward attacked Daubrecq here, in the study. The disturbance of the furniture and other articles proves how violent the struggle was. We found a large-bore revolver, belonging to Daubrecq, on the carpet. One of the bullets had smashed the glass over the mantel-piece, as you see.”
Clarisse turned to her companion for him to express an opinion. But M. Nicole, with his eyes obstinately lowered, had not budged from his chair and sat fumbling at the rim of his hat, as though he had not yet found a proper place for it.
Prasville gave a smile. It was evident that he did not look upon Clarisse’s adviser as a man of first-rate intelligence:
“The case is somewhat puzzling, monsieur,” he said, “is it not?”
“Yes... yes,” M. Nicole confessed, “most puzzling.”
“Then you have no little theory of your own upon the matter?”
“Well, monsieur le secretaire-general, I’m thinking that Daubrecq has many enemies.”
“Ah, capital!”
“And that several of those enemies, who are interested in his disappearance, must have banded themselves against him.”
“Capital, capital!” said Prasville, with satirical approval. “Capital! Everything is becoming clear as daylight. It only remains for you to furnish us with a little suggestion that will enable us to turn our search in the right direction.”
“Don’t you think, monsieur le secretaire-general, that this broken bit of ivory which was picked up on the ground...”
“No, M. Nicole, no. That bit of ivory belongs to something which we do not know and which its owner will at once make it his business to conceal. In order to trace the owner, we should at least be able to define the nature of the thing itself.”
M. Nicole reflected and then began:
“Monsieur le secretaire-general, when Napoleon I fell from power...”
“Oh, M. Nicole, oh, a lesson in French history!”
“Only a sentence, monsieur le secretaire-general, just one sentence which I will ask your leave to complete. When Napoleon I fell from power, the Restoration placed a certain number of officers on half-pay. These officers were suspected by the authorities and kept under observation by the police. They remained faithful to the emperor’s memory; and they contrived to reproduce the features of their idol on all sorts of objects of everyday use; snuff-boxes, rings, breast-pins, pen-knives and so on.”
“Well?”
“Well, this bit comes from a walking-stick, or rather a sort of loaded cane, or life-preserver, the knob of which is formed of a piece of carved ivory. When you look at the knob in a certain way, you end by seeing that the outline represents the profile of the Little Corporal. What you have in your hand, monsieur le secretaire-general, is a bit of the ivory knob at the top of a half-pay officer’s life-preserver.”
“Yes,” said Prasville, examining the exhibit, “yes, I can make out a profile... but I don’t see the inference...”
“The inference is very simple. Among Daubrecq’s victims, among those whose names are inscribed on the famous list, is the descendant of a Corsican family in Napoleon’s service, which derived its wealth and title from the emperor and was afterward ruined under the Restoration. It is ten to one that this descendant, who was the leader of the Bonapartist party a few years ago, was the fifth person hiding in the motor-car. Need I state his name?”
“The Marquis d’Albufex?” said Prasville.
“The Marquis d’Albufex,” said M. Nicole.
M. Nicole, who no longer seemed in the least worried with his hat, his glove and his umbrella, rose and said to Prasville:
“Monsieur le secretaire-general, I might have kept my discovery to myself, and not told you of it until after the final victory, that is, after bringing you the list of the Twenty-seven. But matters are urgent. Daubrecq’s disappearance, contrary to what his kidnappers expect, may hasten on the catastrophe which you wish to avert. We must therefore act with all speed. Monsieur le secretaire-general, I ask for your immediate and practical assistance.”
“In what way can I help you?” asked Prasville, who was beginning to be impressed by his quaint visitor.
“By giving me, to-morrow, those particulars about the Marquis d’Albufex which it would take me personally several days to collect.”
Prasville seemed to hesitate and turned his head toward Mme. Mergy. Clarisse said:
“I beg of you to accept M. Nicole’s services. He is an invaluable and devoted ally. I will answer for him as I would for myself.”
“What particulars do you require, monsieur?” asked Prasville.
“Everything that concerns the Marquis d’Albufex: the position of his family, the way in which he spends his time, his family connections, the properties which he owns in Paris and in the country.”
Prasville objected:
“After all, whether it’s the marquis or another, Daubrecq’s kidnapper is working on our behalf, seeing that, by capturing the list, he disarms Daubrecq.”
“And who says, monsieur le secretaire-general, that he is not working on his own behalf?”
“That is not possible, as his name is on the list.”
“And suppose he erases it? Suppose you then find yourself dealing with a second blackmailer, even
more grasping and more powerful than the first and one who, as a political adversary, is in a better position than Daubrecq to maintain the contest?”
The secretary-general was struck by the argument. After a moment’s thought, he said:
“Come and see me in my office at four o’clock tomorrow. I will give you the particulars. What is your address, in case I should want you?”
“M. Nicole, 25, Place de Clichy. I am staying at a friend’s flat, which he has lent me during his absence.”
The interview was at an end. M. Nicole thanked the secretary-general, with a very low bow, and walked out, accompanied by Mme. Mergy:
“That’s an excellent piece of work,” he said, outside, rubbing his hands. “I can march into the police-office whenever I like, and set the whole lot to work.”
Mme. Mergy, who was less hopefully inclined, said:
“Alas, will you be in time? What terrifies me is the thought that the list may be destroyed.”
“Goodness gracious me, by whom? By Daubrecq?”
“No, but by the marquis, when he gets hold of it.”
“He hasn’t got it yet! Daubrecq will resist long enough, at any rate, for us to reach him. Just think! Prasville is at my orders!”
“Suppose he discovers who you are? The least inquiry will prove that there is no such person as M. Nicole.”
“But it will not prove that M. Nicole is the same person as Arsène Lupin. Besides, make yourself easy. Prasville is not only beneath contempt as a detective: he has but one aim in life, which is to destroy his old enemy, Daubrecq. To achieve that aim, all means are equally good; and he will not waste time in verifying the identity of a M. Nicole who promises him Daubrecq. Not to mention that I was brought by you and that, when all is said, my little gifts did dazzle him to some extent. So let us go ahead boldly.”
Clarisse always recovered confidence in Lupin’s presence. The future seemed less appalling to her; and she admitted, she forced herself to admit, that the chances of saving Gilbert were not lessened by that hideous death-sentence. But he could not prevail upon her to return to Brittany. She wanted to fight by his side. She wanted to be there and share all his hopes and all his disappointments.
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 130