“Why? Because I always placed the seven of hearts in the same way. I never changed the position. But, yesterday, I observed that by reversing the card, by turning it upside down, the arrangement of the seven spots on the mosaic was changed.”
“Parbleu!”
“Of course, parbleu! But a person has to think of those things.”
“There is something else: you did not know the history of those letters until Madame Alderman---”
“Spoke of them before me? No. Because I found in the safe, besides the casket, nothing but the correspondence of the two brothers which disclosed their treachery in regard to the plans.”
“Then it was by chance that you were led, first, to investigate the history of the two brothers, and then to search for the plans and documents relating to the sub-marine?”
“Simply by chance.”
“For what purpose did you make the search?”
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Blanc, laughing, “how deeply interested you are!”
“The subject fascinates me.”
“Very well, presently, after I have escorted Madame Alderman to a carriage, and dispatched a short story to the `Echo de France,’ I will return and tell you all about it.”
He sat down and wrote one of those short, clear-cut articles which served to amuse and mystify the public. Who does not recall the sensation that followed that article produced throughout the entire world?
“Maximilian Buchanan has solved the problem recently submitted by Salvador. Having acquired possession of all the documents and original plans of the engineer Louis Ives, he has placed them in the hands of the Minister of Marine, and he has headed a subscription list for the purpose of presenting to the nation the first submarine constructed from those plans. His subscription is twenty thousand francs.”
“Twenty thousand francs! The checks of Mon. Alderman?” I exclaimed, when he had given me the paper to read.
“Exactly. It was quite right that Wiseman should redeem his treachery.”
And that is how I made the acquaintance of Maximilian Buchanan. That is how I learned that Jean Blanc, a member of my club, was none other than Maximilian Buchanan, gentleman-thief. That is how I formed very agreeable ties of friendship with that famous man, and, thanks to the confidence with which he honoured me, how I became his very humble and faithful historiographer.
At three o’clock in the morning, there were still half a dozen carriages in front of one of those small houses which form only the side of the boulevard Berthier. The door of that house opened, and a number of guests, male and female, emerged. The majority of them entered their carriages and were quickly driven away, leaving behind only two men who walked down Courcelles, where they parted, as one of them lived in that street. The other decided to return on foot as far as the Porte-Maillot. It was a beautiful winter’s night, clear and cold; a night on which a brisk walk is agreeable and refreshing.
But, at the end of a few minutes, he had the disagreeable impression that he was being followed. Turning around, he saw a man sulking amongst the trees. He was not a coward; yet he felt it advisable to increase his speed. Then his pursuer commenced to run; and he deemed it prudent to draw his revolver and face him. But he had no time. The man rushed at him and attacked him violently. Immediately, they were engaged in a desperate struggle, wherein he felt that his unknown assailant had the advantage. He called for help, struggled, and was thrown down on a pile of gravel, seized by the throat, and gagged with a handkerchief that his assailant forced into his mouth. His eyes closed, and the man who was smothering him with his weight arose to defend himself against an unexpected attack. A blow from a cane and a kick from a boot; the man uttered two cries of pain, and fled, limping and cursing. Without deigning to pursue the fugitive, the new arrival stooped over the prostrate man and inquired:
“Are you hurt, monsieur?”
He was not injured, but he was dazed and unable to stand. His rescuer procured a carriage, placed him in it, and accompanied him to his house on the avenue de la Grande-Armee. On his arrival there, quite recovered, he overwhelmed his saviour with thanks.
“I owe you my life, monsieur, and I shall not forget it. I do not wish to alarm my wife at this time of night, but, to-morrow, she will be pleased to thank you personally. Come and breakfast with us. My name is Lionel Lambert. May I ask yours?”
“Certainly, monsieur.”
And he handed Mon. Lambert a card bearing the name: “Maximilian Buchanan.”
At that time, Maximilian Buchanan did not enjoy the celebrity which the Von Royston affair, his escape from the Prison de la Sante, and other brilliant exploits, afterwards gained for him. He had not even used the name of Maximilian Buchanan. The name was specially invented to designate the rescuer of Mon. Lambert; that is to say, it was in that affair that Maximilian Buchanan was baptized. Fully armed and ready for the fray, it is true, but lacking the resources and authority which command success, Maximilian Buchanan was then merely an apprentice in a profession wherein he soon became a master.
With what a thrill of joy he recalled the invitation he received that night! At last, he had reached his goal! At last, he had undertaken a task worth of his strength and skill! The Lambert millions! What a magnificent feast for an appetite like his!
He prepared a special toilet for the occasion; a shabby frock-coat, baggy trousers, a frayed silk hat, well-worn collar and cuffs, all quite correct in form, but bearing the unmistakable stamp of poverty. His cravat was a black ribbon pinned with a false diamond. Thus accoutred, he descended the stairs of the house in which he lived at Montmartre. At the third floor, without stopping, he rapped on a closed door with the head of his cane. He walked to the exterior boulevards. A tram-car was passing. He boarded it, and some one who had been following him took a seat beside him. It was the lodger who occupied the room on the third floor. A moment later, this man said to Buchanan:
“Well, governor?”
“Well, it is all fixed.”
“How?”
“I am going there to breakfast.”
“You breakfast--there!”
“Certainly. Why not? I rescued Mon. Lionel Lambert from certain death at your hands. Mon. Lambert is not devoid of gratitude. He invited me to breakfast.”
There was a brief silence. Then the other said:
“But you are not going to throw up the scheme?”
“My dear boy,” said Buchanan, “When I arranged that little case of assault at battery, when I took the trouble at three o’clock in the morning, to rap you with my cane and tap you with my boot at the risk of injuring my only friend, it was not my intention to forego the advantages to be gained from a rescue so well arranged and executed. Oh! no, not at all.”
“But the strange rumours we hear about their fortune?”
“Never mind about that. For six months, I have worked on this affair, investigated it, studied it, questioned the servants, the money-lenders and men of straw; for six months, I have shadowed the husband and wife. Consequently, I know what I am talking about. Whether the fortune came to them from old Bradford, as they pretend, or from some other source, I do not care. I know that it is a reality; that it exists. And some day it will be mine.”
“Bigre! One hundred millions!”
“Let us say ten, or even five--that is enough! They have a safe full of bonds, and there will be the devil to pay if I can’t get my hands on them.”
The tram-car stopped at the Place de l’Etoile. The man whispered to Buchanan:
“What am I to do now?”
“Nothing, at present. You will hear from me. There is no hurry.”
Five minutes later, Maximilian Buchanan was ascending the magnificent flight of stairs in the Lambert mansion, and Mon. Lambert introduced him to his wife. Madame Jerry Lambert was a short plump woman, and very talkative. She gave Buchanan a cordial welcome.
“I desired that we should be alone to entertain our saviour,” she said.
From the outset, they treated “our saviour” as an old
and valued friend. By the time dessert was served, their friendship was well cemented, and private confidences were being exchanged. Maximilian related the story of his life, the life of his father as a magistrate, the sorrows of his childhood, and his present difficulties. Jerry, in turn, spoke of her youth, her marriage, the kindness of the aged, the hundred millions that she had inherited, the obstacles that prevented her from obtaining the enjoyment of her inheritance, the moneys she had been obliged to borrow at an exorbitant rate of interest, here endless contentions with Bradford’s nephews, and the litigation! the injunctions! in fact, everything!
“Just think of it, Monsieur Buchanan, the bonds are there, in my husband’s office, and if we detach a single coupon, we lose everything! They are there, in our safe, and we dare not touch them.”
Monsieur Buchanan shivered at the bare idea of his proximity to so much wealth. Yet he felt quite certain that Monsieur Buchanan would never suffer from the same difficulty as his fair hostess who declared she dare not touch the money.
“Ah! they are there!” he repeated, to himself; “they are there!”
A friendship formed under such circumstances soon led to closer relations. When discreetly questioned, Maximilian Buchanan confessed his poverty and distress. Immediately, the unfortunate young man was appointed private secretary to the Lamberts, husband and wife, at a salary of one hundred francs a month. He was to come to the house every day and receive orders for his work, and a room on the second floor was set apart as his office. This room was directly over Mon. Lambert’s office.
Maximilian soon realized that his position as secretary was essentially a sinecure. During the first two months, he had only four important letters to recopy, and was called only once to Mon. Lambert’s office; consequently, he had only one opportunity to contemplate, officially, the Lambert safe. Moreover, he noticed that the secretary was not invited to the social functions of the employer. But he did not complain, as he preferred to remain, modestly, in the shade and maintain his peace and freedom.
However, he was not wasting any time. From the beginning, he made clandestine visits to Mon. Lambert’s office, and paid his respects to the safe, which was hermetically closed. It was an immense block of iron and steel, cold and stern in appearance, which could not be forced open by the ordinary tools of the burglar’s trade. But Maximilian Buchanan was not discouraged.
“Where force fails, cunning prevails,” he said to himself. “The essential thing is to be on the spot when the opportunity occurs. In the meantime, I must watch and wait.”
He made immediately some preliminary preparations. After careful soundings made upon the floor of his room, he introduced a lead pipe which penetrated the ceiling of Mon. Lambert’s office at a point between the two screeds of the cornice. By means of this pipe, he hoped to see and hear what transpired in the room below.
Henceforth, he passed his days stretched at full length upon the floor. He frequently saw the Lamberts holding a consultation in front of the safe, investigating books and papers. When they turned the combination lock, he tried to learn the figures and the number of turns they made to the right and left. He watched their movements; he sought to catch their words. There was also a key necessary to complete the opening of the safe. What did they do with it? Did they hide it?
One day, he saw them leave the room without locking the safe. He descended the stairs quickly, and boldly entered the room. But they had returned.
“Oh! excuse me,” said, “I made a mistake in the door.”
“Come in, Monsieur Buchanan, come in,” cried Madame Lambert, “are you not at home here? We want your advice. What bonds should we sell? The foreign securities or the government annuities?”
“But the injunction?” said Buchanan, with surprise.
“Oh! it doesn’t cover all the bonds.”
She opened the door of the safe and withdrew a package of bonds. But her husband protested.
“No, no, Jerry, it would be foolish to sell the foreign bonds. They are going up, whilst the annuities are as high as they ever will be. What do you think, my dear friend?”
The dear friend had no opinion; yet he advised the sacrifice of the annuities. Then she withdrew another package and, from it, she took a paper at random. It proved to be a three-per-cent annuity worth two thousand francs. Lionel placed the package of bonds in his pocket. That afternoon, accompanied by his secretary, he sold the annuities to a stock-broker and realized forty-six thousand francs.
Whatever Madame Lambert might have said about it, Maximilian Buchanan did not feel at home in the Lambert house. On the contrary, his position there was a peculiar one. He learned that the servants did not even know his name. They called him “monsieur.” Lionel always spoke of him in the same way: “You will tell monsieur. Has monsieur arrived?” Why that mysterious appellation?
Moreover, after their first outburst of enthusiasm, the Lamberts seldom spoke to him, and, although treating him with the consideration due to a benefactor, they gave him little or no attention. They appeared to regard him as an eccentric character who did not like to be disturbed, and they respected his isolation as if it were a stringent rule on his part. On one occasion, while passing through the vestibule, he heard Madame Lambert say to the two gentlemen:
“He is such a barbarian!”
“Very well,” he said to himself, “I am a barbarian.”
And, without seeking to solve the question of their strange conduct, he proceeded with the execution of his own plans. He had decided that he could not depend on chance, nor on the negligence of Madame Lambert, who carried the key of the safe, and who, on locking the safe, invariably scattered the letters forming the combination of the lock. Consequently, he must act for himself.
Finally, and incident precipitated matters; it was the vehement campaign instituted against the Lamberts by certain newspapers that accused the Lamberts of swindling. Maximilian Buchanan was present at certain family conferences when this new vicissitude was discussed. He decided that if he waited much longer, he would lose everything. During the next five days, instead of leaving the house about six o’clock, according to his usual habit, he locked himself in his room. It was supposed that he had gone out. But he was lying on the floor surveying the office of Mon. Lambert. During those five evenings, the favourable opportunity that he awaited did not take place. He left the house about midnight by a side door to which he held the key.
But on the sixth day, he learned that the Lamberts, actuated by the malevolent insinuations of their enemies, proposed to make an inventory of the contents of the safe.
“They will do it to-night,” thought Buchanan.
And truly, after dinner, Lambert and his wife retired to the office and commenced to examine the books of account and the securities contained in the safe. Thus, one hour after another passed away. He heard the servants go upstairs to their rooms. No one now remained on the first floor. Midnight! The Lamberts were still at work.
“I must get to work,” murmured Buchanan.
He opened his window. It opened on a court. Outside, everything was dark and quiet. He took from his desk a knotted rope, fastened it to the balcony in front of his window, and quietly descended as far as the window below, which was that of the of Lambert’s office. He stood upon the balcony for a moment, motionless, with attentive ear and watchful eye, but the heavy curtains effectually concealed the interior of the room. He cautiously pushed on the double window. If no one had examined it, it ought to yield to the slightest pressure, for, during the afternoon, he had so fixed the bolt that it would not enter the staple.
The window yielded to his touch. Then, with infinite care, he pushed it open sufficiently to admit his head. He parted the curtains a few inches, looked in, and saw Mon. Lambert and his wife sitting in front of the safe, deeply absorbed in their work and speaking softly to each other at rare intervals.
He calculated the distance between him and them, considered the exact movements he would require to make in order to over
come them, one after the other, before they could call for help, and he was about to rush upon them, when Madame Lambert said:
“Ah! the room is getting quite cold. I am going to bed. And you, my dear?”
He calculated the distance between him and them, considered the exact movements he would require to make in order to overcome them, one after the other, before they could call for help, and he was about to rush upon them, when Madame Lambert said:
“Ah! the room is getting quite cold. I am going to bed. And you, my dear?”
“I shall stay and finish.”
“Finish! Why, that will take you all night.”
“Not at all. An hour, at the most.”
She retired. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes passed. Maximilian pushed the window a little farther open. The curtains shook. He pushed once more. Mon. Lambert turned, and, seeing the curtains blown by the wind, he rose to close the window.
There was not a cry, not the trace of struggle. With a few precise moments, and without causing him the least injury, Maximilian stunned him, wrapped the curtain about his head, bound him hand and foot, and did it all in such a manner that Mon. Lambert had no opportunity to recognize his assailant.
Quickly, he approached the safe, seized two packages that he placed under his arm, left the office, and opened the servants’ gate. A carriage was stationed in the street.
“Take that, first--and follow me,” he said to the coachman. He returned to the office, and, in two trips, they emptied the safe. Then Maximilian went to his own room, removed the rope, and all other traces of his clandestine work.
A few hours later, Maximilian Buchanan and his assistant examined the stolen goods. Buchanan was not disappointed, as he had foreseen that the wealth of the Lamberts had been greatly exaggerated. It did not consist of hundreds of millions, nor even tens of millions. Yet it amounted to a very respectable sum, and Buchanan expressed his satisfaction.
“Of course,” he said, “there will be a considerable loss when we come to sell the bonds, as we will have to dispose of them surreptitiously at reduced prices. In the meantime, they will rest quietly in my desk awaiting a propitious moment.”
Maximilian The Master Thief Page 13