The Confessions of Arsène Lupin

by Maurice Leblanc

  “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 exasperated 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 beforehand … 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!”

  While chattering, Lupin had gone through the same performance as Ganimard and was now near the door. Ganimard saw that his foe was about to escape him. Forgetting all prudence, he tried to block his way and received a tremendous butt in the stomach, which sent him rolling to the opposite wall.

  Lupin dexterously touched a spring, turned the handle, opened the door and slipped away, roaring with laughter as he went.

  Twenty minutes later, when Ganimard at last succeeded in joining his men, one of them said to him:

  “A house-painter left the house, as his mates were coming back from breakfast, and put a letter in my hand. ‘Give that to your governor,’ he said. ‘Which governor?’ I asked; but he was gone. I suppose it’s meant for you.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  Ganimard opened the letter. It was hurriedly scribbled in pencil and contained these words:

  “This is to warn you, friend of my youth, against excessive credulity. When a fellow tells you that the cartridges in your revolver are damp, however great your confidence in that fellow may be, even though his name be Arsène Lupin, never allow yourself to be taken in. Fire first; and, if the fellow hops the twig, you will have acquired the proof (1) that the cartridges are not damp; and (2) that old Catherine is the most honest and respectable of housekeepers.”

  “One of these days, I hope to have the pleasure of making her acquaintance.”

  “Meanwhile, friend of my youth, believe me always affectionately and sincerely yours,”

  “Arsène Lupin.”

  VI. SHADOWED BY DEATH

  After he had been round the walls of the property, Arsène Lupin returned to the spot from which he started. It was perfectly clear to him that there was no breach in the walls; and the only way of entering the extensive grounds of the Château de Maupertuis was through a little low door, firmly bolted on the inside, or through the principal gate, which was overlooked by the lodge.

  “Very well,” he said. “We must employ heroic methods.”

  Pushing his way into the copsewood where he had hidden his motor-bicycle, he unwound a length of twine from under the saddle and went to a place which he had noticed in the course of his exploration. At this place, which was situated far from the road, on the edge of a wood, a number of large trees, standing inside the park, overlapped the wall.

  Lupin fastened a stone to the end of the string, threw it up and caught a thick branch, which he drew down to him and bestraddled. The branch, in recovering its position, raised him from the ground. He climbed over the wall, slipped down the tree, and sprang lightly on the grass.

  It was winter; and, through the leafless boughs, across the undulating lawns, he could see the little Château de Maupertuis in the distance. Fearing lest he should be perceived, he concealed himself behind a clump of fir-trees. From there, with the aid of a field-glass, he studied the dark and melancholy front of the manor-house. All the windows were closed and, as it were, barricaded with solid shutters. The house might easily have been uninhabited.

  “By Jove!” muttered Lupin. “It’s not the liveliest of residences. I shall certainly not come here to end my days!”

  But the clock struck three; one of the doors on the ground-floor opened; and the figure of a woman appeared, a very slender figure wrapped in a brown cloak.

  The woman walked up and down for a few minutes and was at once surrounded by birds, to which she scattered crumbs of bread. Then she went down the stone steps that led to the middle lawn and skirted it, taking the path on the right.

  With his field-glass, Lupin could distinctly see her coming in his direction. She was tall, fair-haired-, graceful in appearance, and seemed to be quite a young girl. She walked with a sprightly step, looking at the pale December sun and amusing herself by breaking the little dead twigs on the shrubs along the road.

  She had gone nearly two thirds of the distance that separated her from Lupin when there came a furious sound of barking and a huge dog, a colossal Danish boarhound, sprang from a neighbouring kennel and stood erect at the end of the chain by which it was fastened.

  The girl moved a little to one side, without paying further attention to what was doubtless a daily incident. The dog grew angrier than ever, standing on its legs and dragging at its collar, at the risk of strangling itself.

  Thirty or forty steps farther, yielding probably to an impulse of impatience, the girl turned round and made a gesture with her hand. The great Dane gave a start of rage, retreated to the back of its kennel and rushed out again, this time unfettered. The girl uttered a cry of mad terror. The dog was covering the space between them, trailing its broken chain behind it.

  She began to run, to run with all her might, and screamed out desperately for help. But the dog came up with her in a few bounds.

  She fell, at once exhausted, giving herself up for lost. The animal was already upon her, almost touching her.

  At that exact moment a shot rang out. The dog turned a compl
ete somersault, recovered its feet, tore the ground and then lay down, giving a number of hoarse, breathless howls, which ended in a dull moan and an indistinct gurgling. And that was all.

  “Dead,” said Lupin, who had hastened up at once, prepared, if necessary, to fire his revolver a second time.

  The girl had risen and stood pale, still staggering. She looked in great surprise at this man whom she did not know and who had saved her life; and she whispered:

  “Thank you … I have had a great fright … You were in the nick of time … I thank you, monsieur.”

  Lupin took off his hat:

  “Allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle … My name is Paul Daubreuil … But before entering into any explanations, I must ask for one moment …”

  He stooped over the dog’s dead body and examined the chain at the part where the brute’s effort had snapped it:

  “That’s it,” he said, between his teeth. “It’s just as I suspected. By Jupiter, things are moving rapidly! … I ought to have come earlier.”

  Returning to the girl’s side, he said to her, speaking very quickly:

  “Mademoiselle, we have not a minute to lose. My presence in these grounds is quite irregular. I do not wish to be surprised here; and this for reasons that concern yourself alone. Do you think that the report can have been heard at the house?”

  The girl seemed already to have recovered from her emotion; and she replied, with a calmness that revealed all her pluck:

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Is your father in the house to-day?”

  “My father is ill and has been in bed for months. Besides, his room looks out on the other front.”

  “And the servants?”

  “Their quarters and the kitchen are also on the other side. No one ever comes to this part. I walk here myself, but nobody else does.”

  “It is probable, therefore, that I have not been seen either, especially as the trees hide us?”

  “It is most probable.”

  “Then I can speak to you freely?”

  “Certainly, but I don’t understand …”