The Victorian Rogues MEGAPACK ™: 28 Classic Tales

by Maurice Leblanc

  He looked not once either at its contents or at her, fearing lest his countenance betray the truth, that he had not yet succeeded completely in exorcising that mutinous and rebellious spirit, the Lone Wolf, from the tenement over which it had so long held sway; and content with the sound of her quick, startled sigh of amaze that what she now beheld could so marvellously outshine what had been disclosed by the other boxes, he withdrew it, shut it, found it a place in the safe, and without pause closed the door, shot the bolts, and twirled the dial until the tumblers fairly sang.

  One final twist of the lever-handle convincing him that the combination was effectively dislocated, he rose, picked up the lamp, replaced it on the desk with scrupulous care to leave no sign that it had been moved, and looked round to the girl.

  She was where he had left her, a small, tense, vibrant figure among the shadows, her eyes dark pools of wonder in a face of blazing pallor.

  With a high head and his shoulders well back he made a gesture signifying more eloquently than any words: “All that is ended!”

  “And now…?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Now for our get-away,” he replied with assumed lightness. “Before dawn we must be out of Paris…. Two minutes, while I straighten this place up and leave it as I found it.”

  He moved back to the safe, restored the wing of the screen to the spot from which he had moved it, and after an instant’s close examination of the rug, began to explore his pockets.

  “What are you looking for?” the girl enquired.

  “My memoranda of the combination—”

  “I have it.” She indicated its place in a pocket of her coat. “You left it on the floor, and I was afraid you might forget—”

  “No fear!” he laughed. “No”—as she offered him the folded paper—“keep it and destroy it, once we’re out of this. Now those portières…”

  Extinguishing the desk-light, he turned attention to the draperies at doors and windows….

  Within five minutes, they were once more in the silent streets of Passy.

  They had to walk as far as the Trocadéro before Lanyard found a fiacre, which he later dismissed at the corner in the Faubourg St. Germain.

  Another brief walk brought them to a gate in the garden wall of a residence at the junction of two quiet streets.

  “This, I think, ends our Parisian wanderings,” Lanyard announced. “If you’ll be good enough to keep an eye out for busybodies—and yourself as inconspicuous as possible in this doorway…”

  And he walked back to the curb, measuring the wall with his eye.

  “What are you going to do?”

  He responded by doing it so swiftly that she gasped with surprise: pausing momentarily within a yard of the wall, he gathered himself together, shot lithely into the air, caught the top curbing with both hands, and…

  She heard the soft thud of his feet on the earth of the enclosure; the latch grated behind her; the door opened.

  “For the last time,” Lanyard laughed quietly, “permit me to invite you to break the law by committing an act of trespass!”

  Securing the door, he led her to a garden bench secluded amid conventional shrubbery.

  “If you’ll wait here,” he suggested—“well, it will be best. I’ll be back as soon as possible, though I may be detained some time. Still, inasmuch as I’m about to break into this hôtel, my motives, which are most commendable, may be misinterpreted, and I’d rather you’d stop here, with the street at hand. If you hear a noise like trouble, you’ve only to unlatch the gate…. But let’s hope my purely benevolent intentions toward the French Republic won’t be misconstrued!”

  “I’ll wait,” she assured him bravely; “but won’t you tell me—?”

  With a gesture, he indicated the mansion back of the garden.

  “I’m going to break in there to pay an early morning call and impart some interesting information to a person of considerable consequence—nobody less, in fact, than Monsieur Ducroy.”

  “And who is that?”

  “The present Minister of War…. We haven’t as yet the pleasure of each other’s acquaintance; still, I think he won’t be sorry to see me…. In brief, I mean to make him a present of the Huysman plans and bargain for our safe-conduct from France.”

  Impulsively she offered her hand and, when he, surprised, somewhat diffidently took it, “Be careful!” she whispered brokenly, her pale sweet face upturned to his. “Oh, do be careful! I am afraid for you….”

  And for a little the temptation to take her in his arms was stronger than any he had ever known….

  But remembering his stipulated year of probation, he released her hand with an incoherent mumble, turned, and disappeared in the direction of the house.

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE FORLORN HOPE

  Established behind his splendid mahogany desk in his office at the Ministère de la Guerre, or moving majestically abroad attired in frock coat and glossy topper, or lending the dignity of his presence to some formal ceremony in that beautiful uniform which appertained unto his office, Monsieur Hector Ducroy cut an imposing figure.

  Abed … it was sadly otherwise.

  Lanyard switched on the bedside light, turning it so that it struck full upon the face of the sleeper; and as he sat down, smiled.

  The Minister of War lay upon his back, his distinguished corpulence severely dislocating the chaste simplicity of the bed-clothing. Athwart his shelving chest, fat hands were folded in a gesture affectingly naïve. His face was red, a noble high-light shone upon the promontory of his bald pate, his mouth was open. To the best of his unconscious ability he was giving a protracted imitation of a dog-fight; and he was really exhibiting sublime virtuosity: one readily distinguished individual howls, growls, yelps, against an undertone of blended voices of excited non-combatants…

  As suddenly as though some one, wearying of the entertainment, had lifted the needle from that record, it was discontinued. The Minister of War stirred uneasily in his sleep, muttered a naughty word, opened one eye, scowled, opened the other.

  He blinked furiously, half-blinded but still able to make out the disconcerting silhouette of a man seated just beyond the glare: a quiet presence that moved not but eyed him steadfastly; an apparition the more arresting because of its very immobility.

  Rapidly the face of the Minister of War lost several shades of purple. He moistened his lips nervously with a thick, dry tongue, and convulsively he clutched the bed-clothing high and tight about his neck, as though labouring under the erroneous impression that the sanctity of his person was threatened.

  “What do you want, monsieur?” he stuttered in a still, small voice which he would have been the last to acknowledge his own.

  “I desire to discuss a matter of business with monsieur,” replied the intruder after a small pause. “If you will be good enough to calm yourself—”

  “I am perfectly calm—”

  But here the Minister of War verified with one swift glance an earlier impression, to the effect that the trespasser was holding something that shone with metallic lustre; and his soul began to curl up round the edges.

  “There are eighteen hundred francs in my pocketbook—about,” he managed to articulate. “My watch is on the stand here. You will find the family plate in the dining-room safe, behind the buffet—the key is on my ring—and the jewels of madame my wife are in a small strong-box beneath the head of her bed. The combination—”

  “Pardon: monsieur labours under a misapprehension,” the housebreaker interposed drily. “Had one desired these valuables, one would readily have taken them without going to the trouble of disturbing the repose of monsieur…. I have, however, already mentioned the nature of my errand.”

  “Eh?” demanded the Minister of War. “What is that? But give me of your mercy one chan
ce to explain! I have never wittingly harmed you, monsieur, and if I have done so without my knowledge, rest assured you have but to petition me through the proper channels and I will be only too glad to make amends!”

  “Still you do not listen!” the other insisted. “Come, Monsieur Ducroy—calm yourself. I have not robbed you, because I have no wish to rob you. I have not harmed you, for I have no wish to harm you. Nor have I any wish other than to lay before you, as representing Government, a certain matter of State business.”

  There was silence while the Minister of War permitted this exhortation to sink in. Then, apparently reassured, he sat up in bed and eyed his untimely visitor with a glare little short of truculent.

  “Eh? What’s that?” he demanded. “Business? What sort of business? If you wish to submit to my consideration any matter of business, how is it you break into my home at dead of night and rouse me in this brutal fashion”—here his voice faltered—“with a lethal weapon pointed at my head?”

  “Monsieur will admit he speaks under an error,” returned the burglar. “I have yet to point this pistol at him. I should be very sorry to feel obliged to do so. I display it, in fact, simply that monsieur may not forget himself and attempt to summon servants in his resentment of this (I admit) unusual method of introducing one’s self to his attention. When we understand each other better there will be no need for such precautions, and then I shall put my pistol away, so that the sight of it may no longer annoy monsieur.”

  “It is true, I do not understand you,” grumbled the Minister of War.

  “Why—if your errand be peaceable—break into my house?”

  “Because it was urgently necessary to see monsieur instantly. Monsieur will reflect upon the reception one would receive did one ring the front door-bell and demand audience at three o’clock in the morning!”

  “Well …” Monsieur Ducroy conceded dubiously. Then, on reflection, he iterated the monosyllable testily: “Well! What is it you want, then?”

  “I can best explain by asking monsieur to examine—what I have to show him.”

  With this Lanyard dropped the pistol into his coat-pocket, from another produced a gold cigarette-case, and from the store of this last with meticulous care selected a single cigarette.

  Regarding the Minister of War in a mystifying manner, he began to roll the cigarette briskly between his palms. A small shower of tobacco sifted to the floor: the rice-paper cracked and came away; and with the bland smile and gesture of a professional conjurer, Lanyard exhibited a small cylinder of stiff paper between his thumb and index-finger.

  Goggling resentfully, Monsieur Ducroy spluttered:

  “Eh—what impudence is this?”

  His smile unchanged, Lanyard bent forward and silently dropped the cylinder into the Frenchman’s hand. At the same time he offered him a pocket magnifying-glass. “What is this?” Ducroy persisted stupidly. “What—what—!”

  “If monsieur will be good enough to unroll the papers and examine them with the aid of this glass—”

  With a wondering grunt, the other complied, unrolling several small sheets of photographer’s printing-out paper, to which several extraordinarily complicated and minute designs had been transferred—strongly resembling laborious efforts to conventionalize a spider’s web.

  But no sooner had Monsieur Ducroy viewed these through the glass, than he started violently, uttered an excited exclamation, and subjected them to an examination both prolonged and exacting.

  “Monsieur is, no doubt, now satisfied?” Lanyard enquired when his patience would endure no longer.

  “These are genuine?” the Minister of War demanded sharply, without looking up.

  “Monsieur can readily discern notations made upon the drawings by the inventor, Georges Huysman, in his own hand. Furthermore, each plan has been marked in the lower left-hand corner with the word ‘accepted’ followed by the initials of the German Minister of War. I think this establishes beyond dispute the authenticity of these photographs of the plan for Huysman’s invention.”

  “Yes,” the Minister of War agreed breathlessly. “You have the negatives from which these prints were made?”

  “Here,” Lanyard said, indicating a second cigarette.

  And then, with a movement so leisurely and careless that his purpose was accomplished before the other in his preoccupation was aware of it, the adventurer leaned forward and swept up the prints from the counterpane in front of Monsieur Ducroy.

  “Here!” the Frenchman exclaimed. “Why do you do that?”

  “Monsieur no longer questions their authenticity?”

  “I grant you that.”

  “Then I return to myself these prints, pending negotiations for their transfer to France.”

  “How did you come by them?” demanded Monsieur Ducroy, after a moment’s thought.

  “Need monsieur ask? Is France so ill-served by her spies that you do not already know of the misfortune one Captain Ekstrom recently suffered in London?”

  Ducroy shook his head. Lanyard received this indication with impatience. It seemed hardly possible that the French Minister of War could be either so stupid or so ignorant….

  But with a patient shrug, he proceeded to elucidate.

  “Captain Ekstrom,” he said, “but recently succeeded in photographing these plans and took them to London to sell to the English. Unfortunately for himself—unhappily for perfidious Albion!—Captain Ekstrom fell in with me and mistook me for Downing Street’s representative. And here are the plans.”

  “You are—the Lone Wolf—then?”

  “I am, as far as concerns you, monsieur, merely the person in possession of these plans, who offers them through you, to France, for a price.”

  “But why introduce yourself to me in this extraordinary fashion, for a transaction for which the customary channels—with which you must be familiar—are entirely adequate?”

  “Simply because Ekstrom has followed me to Paris,” Lanyard explained indulgently. “Did I venture to approach you in the usual way, my chances of rounding out a useful life thereafter would be practically nil. Furthermore, my circumstances are such that it has become necessary for me to leave France immediately—without an hour’s delay—also secretly; else I might as well remain here to be butchered…. Now you command the only means I know of, to accomplish my purpose. And that is the price, the only price, you will have to pay me for these plans.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “It is on schedule, is it not, that Captain Vauquelin of the Aviation Corps is to attempt a non-stop flight from Paris to London this morning, with two passengers, in a new Parrott biplane?”

  “That is so…. Well?”

  “I must be one of those passengers; and I have a companion, a young lady, who will take the place of the other.”

  “It isn’t possible, monsieur. Those arrangements are already fixed.”

  “You will countermand them.”

  “There is no time—”

  “You can get into telephonic communication with Port Aviation in two minutes.”

  “But the passengers have been promised—”

  “You will disappoint them.”

  “The start is to be made in the first flush of daylight. How could you reach Port Aviation in time?”

  “In your motor-car, monsieur.”

  “It cannot be done.”

  “It must! If the start must be delayed till we arrive, you will give orders that it shall be so delayed.”

  For a minute the Minister of War hesitated; then he shook his head definitely.

  “The difficulties are insuperable—”

  “There is no such thing, monsieur.”

  “I am sorry: it can’t be done.”

  “That is your answer?”

 
“It is regrettable, monsieur…”

  “Very well!” Lanyard bent forward again, took a match from the stand on the bedside table, and struck it. Very calmly he advanced the flame toward the cigarette containing the roll of inflammable films.

  “Monsieur!” Ducroy cried in horror. “What are you doing?”

  Lanyard favoured him with a look of surprise.

  “I am about to destroy these films and prints.”

  “You must never do that!”

  “Why not? They are mine, to do with as I like. If I cannot dispose of them at my price, I shall destroy them!”

  “But—my God!—what you demand is impossible! Stay, monsieur! Think what your action means to France!”

  “I have already thought of that. Now I must think of myself.”

  “But—one moment!”

  Ducroy sat up in bed and dangled hairy fat legs over the side.

  “But one moment only, monsieur. Don’t make me waste your matches!”

  “Monsieur, it shall be as you desire, if it lies in my power to accomplish it.”

  With this the Minister of War stood up and made for the telephone, in his agitation forgetful of dressing-gown and slippers.

  “You must accomplish it, Monsieur Ducroy,” Lanyard advised him gravely, puffing out the flame; “for if you fail, you make yourself the instrument of my death. Here are the plans.”

  “You trust them to me?” Ducroy asked in astonishment.

  “But naturally: that makes it an affair of your honour,” Lanyard explained suavely.

  With a gesture of graceful capitulation the Frenchman accepted the little roll of film.

  “Permit me,” he said, “to acknowledge the honour of monsieur’s confidence!”