The inquiry had taken so short a time and the results obtained were so exactly in accordance with Lupin’s predictions that Ganimard felt quite overcome on hearing the detective’s report. Once more he was measuring the prodigious extent of the resources at Lupin’s disposal. Never in the course of his life — and Ganimard was already well-advanced in years — had he come across such perspicacity, such a quick and far-seeing mind.
He went in search of M. Dudouis.
“Everything’s ready, chief. Have you a warrant?”
“Eh?”
“I said, everything is ready for the arrest, chief.”
“You know the name of Jenny Saphir’s murderer?”
“Yes.”
“But how? Explain yourself.”
Ganimard had a sort of scruple of conscience, blushed a little and nevertheless replied:
“An accident, chief. The murderer threw everything that was likely to compromise him into the Seine. Part of the parcel was picked up and handed to me.”
“By whom?”
“A boatman who refused to give his name, for fear of getting into trouble. But I had all the clues I wanted. It was not so difficult as I expected.”
And the inspector described how he had gone to work.
“And you call that an accident!” cried M. Dudouis. “And you say that it was not difficult! Why, it’s one of your finest performances! Finish it yourself, Ganimard, and be prudent.”
Ganimard was eager to get the business done. He went to the Quai des Augustins with his men and distributed them around the house. He questioned the portress, who said that her tenant took his meals out of doors, but made a point of looking in after dinner.
A little before nine o’clock, in fact, leaning out of her window, she warned Ganimard, who at once gave a low whistle. A gentleman in a tall hat and a fur coat was coming along the pavement beside the Seine. He crossed the road and walked up to the house.
Ganimard stepped forward:
“M. Prévailles, I believe?”
“Yes, but who are you?”
“I have a commission to....”
He had not time to finish his sentence. At the sight of the men appearing out of the shadow, Prévailles quickly retreated to the wall and faced his adversaries, with his back to the door of a shop on the ground-floor, the shutters of which were closed.
“Stand back!” he cried. “I don’t know you!”
His right hand brandished a heavy stick, while his left was slipped behind him and seemed to be trying to open the door.
Ganimard had an impression that the man might escape through this way and through some secret outlet:
“None of this nonsense,” he said, moving closer to him. “You’re caught.... You had better come quietly.”
But, just as he was laying hold of Prévailles’ stick, Ganimard remembered the warning which Lupin gave him: Prévailles was left-handed; and it was his revolver for which he was feeling behind his back.
The inspector ducked his head. He had noticed the man’s sudden movement. Two reports rang out. No one was hit.
A second later, Prévailles received a blow under the chin from the butt-end of a revolver, which brought him down where he stood. He was entered at the Dépôt soon after nine o’clock.
Ganimard enjoyed a great reputation even at that time. But this capture, so quickly effected, by such very simple means, and at once made public by the police, won him a sudden celebrity. Prévailles was forthwith saddled with all the murders that had remained unpunished; and the newspapers vied with one another in extolling Ganimard’s prowess.
The case was conducted briskly at the start. It was first of all ascertained that Prévailles, whose real name was Thomas Derocq, had already been in trouble. Moreover, the search instituted in his rooms, while not supplying any fresh proofs, at least led to the discovery of a ball of whip-cord similar to the cord used for doing up the parcel and also to the discovery of daggers which would have produced a wound similar to the wounds on the victim.
But, on the eighth day, everything was changed. Until then Prévailles had refused to reply to the questions put to him; but now, assisted by his counsel, he pleaded a circumstantial alibi and maintained that he was at the Folies-Bergère on the night of the murder.
As a matter of fact, the pockets of his dinner-jacket contained the counterfoil of a stall-ticket and a programme of the performance, both bearing the date of that evening.
“An alibi prepared in advance,” objected the examining-magistrate.
“Prove it,” said Prévailles.
The prisoner was confronted with the witnesses for the prosecution. The young lady from the confectioner’s “thought she knew” the gentleman with the eyeglass. The hall-porter in the Rue de Berne “thought he knew” the gentleman who used to come to see Jenny Saphir. But nobody dared to make a more definite statement.
The examination, therefore, led to nothing of a precise character, provided no solid basis whereon to found a serious accusation.
The judge sent for Ganimard and told him of his difficulty.
“I can’t possibly persist, at this rate. There is no evidence to support the charge.”
“But surely you are convinced in your own mind, monsieur le juge d’instruction! Prévailles would never have resisted his arrest unless he was guilty.”
“He says that he thought he was being assaulted. He also says that he never set eyes on Jenny Saphir; and, as a matter of fact, we can find no one to contradict his assertion. Then again, admitting that the sapphire has been stolen, we have not been able to find it at his flat.”
“Nor anywhere else,” suggested Ganimard.
“Quite true, but that is no evidence against him. I’ll tell you what we shall want, M. Ganimard, and that very soon: the other end of this red scarf.”
“The other end?”
“Yes, for it is obvious that, if the murderer took it away with him, the reason was that the stuff is stained with the marks of the blood on his fingers.”
Ganimard made no reply. For several days he had felt that the whole business was tending to this conclusion. There was no other proof possible. Given the silk scarf — and in no other circumstances — Prévailles’ guilt was certain. Now Ganimard’s position required that Prévailles’ guilt should be established. He was responsible for the arrest, it had cast a glamour around him, he had been praised to the skies as the most formidable adversary of criminals; and he would look absolutely ridiculous if Prévailles were released.
Unfortunately, the one and only indispensable proof was in Lupin’s pocket. How was he to get hold of it?
Ganimard cast about, exhausted himself with fresh investigations, went over the inquiry from start to finish, spent sleepless nights in turning over the mystery of the Rue de Berne, studied the records of Prévailles’ life, sent ten men hunting after the invisible sapphire. Everything was useless.
On the 28th of December, the examining-magistrate stopped him in one of the passages of the Law Courts:
“Well, M. Ganimard, any news?”
“No, monsieur le juge d’instruction.”
“Then I shall dismiss the case.”
“Wait one day longer.”
“What’s the use? We want the other end of the scarf; have you got it?”
“I shall have it to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!”
“Yes, but please lend me the piece in your possession.”
“What if I do?”
“If you do, I promise to let you have the whole scarf complete.”
“Very well, that’s understood.”
Ganimard followed the examining-magistrate to his room and came out with the piece of silk:
“Hang it all!” he growled. “Yes, I will go and fetch the proof and I shall have it too ... always presuming that Master Lupin has the courage to keep the appointment.”
In point of fact, he did not doubt for a moment that Master Lupin would have this courage, and that was just what exasperate
d him. Why had Lupin insisted on this meeting? What was his object, in the circumstances?
Anxious, furious and full of hatred, he resolved to take every precaution necessary not only to prevent his falling into a trap himself, but to make his enemy fall into one, now that the opportunity offered. And, on the next day, which was the 29th of December, the date fixed by Lupin, after spending the night in studying the old manor-house in the Rue de Surène and convincing himself that there was no other outlet than the front door, he warned his men that he was going on a dangerous expedition and arrived with them on the field of battle.
He posted them in a café and gave them formal instructions: if he showed himself at one of the third-floor windows, or if he failed to return within an hour, the detectives were to enter the house and arrest any one who tried to leave it.
The chief-inspector made sure that his revolver was in working order and that he could take it from his pocket easily. Then he went upstairs.
He was surprised to find things as he had left them, the doors open and the locks broken. After ascertaining that the windows of the principal room looked out on the street, he visited the three other rooms that made up the flat. There was no one there.
“Master Lupin was afraid,” he muttered, not without a certain satisfaction.
“Don’t be silly,” said a voice behind him.
Turning round, he saw an old workman, wearing a house-painter’s long smock, standing in the doorway.
“You needn’t bother your head,” said the man. “It’s I, Lupin. I have been working in the painter’s shop since early morning. This is when we knock off for breakfast. So I came upstairs.”
He looked at Ganimard with a quizzing smile and cried:
“‘Pon my word, this is a gorgeous moment I owe you, old chap! I wouldn’t sell it for ten years of your life; and yet you know how I love you! What do you think of it, artist? Wasn’t it well thought out and well foreseen? Foreseen from alpha to omega? Did I understand the business? Did I penetrate the mystery of the scarf? I’m not saying that there were no holes in my argument, no links missing in the chain.... But what a masterpiece of intelligence! Ganimard, what a reconstruction of events! What an intuition of everything that had taken place and of everything that was going to take place, from the discovery of the crime to your arrival here in search of a proof! What really marvellous divination! Have you the scarf?”
“Yes, half of it. Have you the other?”
“Here it is. Let’s compare.”
They spread the two pieces of silk on the table. The cuts made by the scissors corresponded exactly. Moreover, the colours were identical.
“But I presume,” said Lupin, “that this was not the only thing you came for. What you are interested in seeing is the marks of the blood. Come with me, Ganimard: it’s rather dark in here.”
They moved into the next room, which, though it overlooked the courtyard, was lighter; and Lupin held his piece of silk against the window-pane:
“Look,” he said, making room for Ganimard.
The inspector gave a start of delight. The marks of the five fingers and the print of the palm were distinctly visible. The evidence was undeniable. The murderer had seized the stuff in his bloodstained hand, in the same hand that had stabbed Jenny Saphir, and tied the scarf round her neck.
“And it is the print of a left hand,” observed Lupin. “Hence my warning, which had nothing miraculous about it, you see. For, though I admit, friend of my youth, that you may look upon me as a superior intelligence, I won’t have you treat me as a wizard.”
Ganimard had quickly pocketed the piece of silk. Lupin nodded his head in approval:
“Quite right, old boy, it’s for you. I’m so glad you’re glad! And, you see, there was no trap about all this ... only the wish to oblige ... a service between friends, between pals.... And also, I confess, a little curiosity.... Yes, I wanted to examine this other piece of silk, the one the police had.... Don’t be afraid: I’ll give it back to you.... Just a second....”
Lupin, with a careless movement, played with the tassel at the end of this half of the scarf, while Ganimard listened to him in spite of himself:
“How ingenious these little bits of women’s work are! Did you notice one detail in the maid’s evidence? Jenny Saphir was very handy with her needle and used to make all her own hats and frocks. It is obvious that she made this scarf herself.... Besides, I noticed that from the first. I am naturally curious, as I have already told you, and I made a thorough examination of the piece of silk which you have just put in your pocket. Inside the tassel, I found a little sacred medal, which the poor girl had stitched into it to bring her luck. Touching, isn’t it, Ganimard? A little medal of Our Lady of Good Succour.”
The inspector felt greatly puzzled and did not take his eyes off the other. And Lupin continued:
“Then I said to myself, ‘How interesting it would be to explore the other half of the scarf, the one which the police will find round the victim’s neck!’ For this other half, which I hold in my hands at last, is finished off in the same way ... so I shall be able to see if it has a hiding-place too and what’s inside it.... But look, my friend, isn’t it cleverly made? And so simple! All you have to do is to take a skein of red cord and braid it round a wooden cup, leaving a little recess, a little empty space in the middle, very small, of course, but large enough to hold a medal of a saint ... or anything.... A precious stone, for instance.... Such as a sapphire....”
At that moment he finished pushing back the silk cord and, from the hollow of a cup he took between his thumb and forefinger a wonderful blue stone, perfect in respect of size and purity.
“Ha! What did I tell you, friend of my youth?”
He raised his head. The inspector had turned livid and was staring wild-eyed, as though fascinated by the stone that sparkled before him. He at last realized the whole plot:
“You dirty scoundrel!” he muttered, repeating the insults which he had used at the first interview. “You scum of the earth!”
The two men were standing one against the other.
“Give me back that,” said the inspector.
Lupin held out the piece of silk.
“And the sapphire,” said Ganimard, in a peremptory tone.
“Don’t be silly.”
“Give it back, or....”
“Or what, you idiot!” cried Lupin. “Look here, do you think I put you on to this soft thing for nothing?”
“Give it back!”
“You haven’t noticed what I’ve been about, that’s plain! What! For four weeks I’ve kept you on the move like a deer; and you want to ...! Come, Ganimard, old chap, pull yourself together!... Don’t you see that you’ve been playing the good dog for four weeks on end?... Fetch it, Rover!... There’s a nice blue pebble over there, which master can’t get at. Hunt it, Ganimard, fetch it ... bring it to master.... Ah, he’s his master’s own good little dog!... Sit up! Beg!... Does’ms want a bit of sugar, then?...”
Ganimard, containing the anger that seethed within him, thought only of one thing, summoning his detectives. And, as the room in which he now was looked out on the courtyard, he tried gradually to work his way round to the communicating door. He would then run to the window and break one of the panes.
“All the same,” continued Lupin, “what a pack of dunderheads you and the rest must be! You’ve had the silk all this time and not one of you ever thought of feeling it, not one of you ever asked himself the reason why the poor girl hung on to her scarf. Not one of you! You just acted at haphazard, without reflecting, without foreseeing anything....”
The inspector had attained his object. Taking advantage of a second when Lupin had turned away from him, he suddenly wheeled round and grasped the door-handle. But an oath escaped him: the handle did not budge.
Lupin burst into a fit of laughing:
“Not even that! You did not even foresee that! You lay a trap for me and you won’t admit that I may perhaps smell the thing out bef
orehand.... And you allow yourself to be brought into this room without asking whether I am not bringing you here for a particular reason and without remembering that the locks are fitted with a special mechanism. Come now, speaking frankly, what do you think of it yourself?”
“What do I think of it?” roared Ganimard, beside himself with rage.
He had drawn his revolver and was pointing it straight at Lupin’s face.
“Hands up!” he cried. “That’s what I think of it!”
Lupin placed himself in front of him and shrugged his shoulders:
“Sold again!” he said.
“Hands up, I say, once more!”
“And sold again, say I. Your deadly weapon won’t go off.”
“What?”
“Old Catherine, your housekeeper, is in my service. She damped the charges this morning while you were having your breakfast coffee.”
Ganimard made a furious gesture, pocketed the revolver and rushed at Lupin.
“Well?” said Lupin, stopping him short with a well-aimed kick on the shin.
Their clothes were almost touching. They exchanged defiant glances, the glances of two adversaries who mean to come to blows. Nevertheless, there was no fight. The recollection of the earlier struggles made any present struggle useless. And Ganimard, who remembered all his past failures, his vain attacks, Lupin’s crushing reprisals, did not lift a limb. There was nothing to be done. He felt it. Lupin had forces at his command against which any individual force simply broke to pieces. So what was the good?
“I agree,” said Lupin, in a friendly voice, as though answering Ganimard’s unspoken thought, “you would do better to let things be as they are. Besides, friend of my youth, think of all that this incident has brought you: fame, the certainty of quick promotion and, thanks to that, the prospect of a happy and comfortable old age! Surely, you don’t want the discovery of the sapphire and the head of poor Arsène Lupin in addition! It wouldn’t be fair. To say nothing of the fact that poor Arsène Lupin saved your life.... Yes, sir! Who warned you, at this very spot, that Prévailles was left-handed?... And is this the way you thank me? It’s not pretty of you, Ganimard. Upon my word, you make me blush for you!”
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 153