 Section 7 of THE BLOND LADY. CHAPTER I Homelock Shears and Wilson were seated on either side of the fireplace in sheer sitting-room. The great detective's pipe had gone out. He knocked the ashes into the grate, refilled his briar, lit it, gathered the skirts of his dressing-gown around his knees, puffed away, and devoted all his attention to sending rings of smoke curling gracefully up to the ceiling. Wilson watched him. He watched him, as a dog, rolled up on the hearth-rug, watches its master, with wide-open eyes and unblinking lids, eyes which have no other hope than to reflect the expected movement on the master's part. Would shears break silence? Would he reveal the secret of his present dreams, and admit Wilson to the realm of meditation into which he felt that he was not allowed to enter uninvited? Shears continued silent. Wilson ventured upon a remark. Things are very quiet. There's not a single case for us to nibble at. Shears was more and more fiercely silent, but the rings of tobacco smoke became more and more successful, and anyone but Wilson would have observed that shears obtained from this the profound content which had arrived from the minor achievements of her vanity, at times when our brain is completely void of thought. This heartened, Wilson rose and walked to the window. The melancholy street lay stretched between the gloomy fronts of the houses, under a dark sky whence fell an angry and pouring rain. A cab drove past. Another cab. Wilson jotted down their numbers in his notebook. One can never tell. The postman came down the street, gave a treble knock at the door, and presently the servant entered with two registered letters. "'You look remarkably pleased,' said Wilson, when shears had unsealed and glanced through the first. This letter contains a very attractive proposal. You were worrying about a case. Here's one. Read it." Wilson took the letter and read. 18. Hugh Mojillo, Paris. Sir, I am writing to ask for the benefit of your assistance and experience. I have been the victim of a serious theft, and all the investigations attempted up to the present would seem to lead to nothing. I am sending you by this post a number of newspapers, which will give you all the details of the case. And if you are inclined to take it up, I shall be pleased if you will accept the hospitality of my house, and if you will fill in the enclosed sign check for any amount which you like to name for your expenses. Pray, telegraph to inform me, if I may expect you, and believe me to be, sir, very truly Baron Victor D'Ambleval. Well, said shears, this comes just at the right time. Why shouldn't I take a little run to Paris? I haven't been there since my famous duel with Arsène Lupin, and I shan't be sorry to revisit it under rather more peaceful conditions. He tore the check into four pieces, and, while Wilson, whose arm had not yet recovered from the injury received in the course of the aforesaid encounter, was envying bitterly against Paris and all its inhabitants, he opened the second envelope. A movement of irritation at once escaped him. He knitted his brow as he read the letter, and, when he had finished, he crumpled it into a ball, and threw it angrily on the floor. What's the matter, exclaimed Wilson in amazement. I picked up the ball, unfolded it, and read, with ever-increasing stupefaction. My dear maître, you know my admiration for you, and the interest which I take in your reputation. Well, accept my advice, and have nothing to do with the case in which you are asked to assist. Your interference would do a great deal of harm. All your efforts would only bring about a pitiable result, and you would be obliged publicly to acknowledge your defeat. I am exceedingly anxious to spare you this humiliation, and I beg you, in the name of our mutual friendship, to remain very quietly by your fireside. Give my kind remembrances to Dr. Wilson, and accept, for yourself, the respectful complements of yours most sincerely Arsène Lupin. Arsène Lupin, repeated Wilson, in bewilderment. Arsène Lupin has banged the table with his fist. Oh, I'm getting sick of the brute. He laughs at me as if I were a schoolboy. I am publicly to acknowledge my defeat, am I? Didn't I compel him to give up the blue diamond? He's afraid of you, suggested Wilson. You're talking nonsense. Arsène Lupin is never afraid, and the proof is that he challenges me. But how does he come to know of Bahon Dumbly Val's letter? How can I tell? You're asking silly questions, my dear fellow. I thought. I imagined. What? That I am a sorcerer? No. But I have seen you perform such marvels. No one is able to perform marvels. I know more than another. I make reflections, deductions, conclusions, but I don't make guesses. Only fools make guesses. Wilson adopted the modest attitude of a beaten dog, and did his best, lest he should be a fool, not to guess why Shears was striding angrily up and down the room. But when Shears rang for the servant and asked for his traveling bag, Wilson thought himself entitled, since this was a material fact, to reflect, deduce and conclude that his chief was going on a journey. The same mental operation enabled him to declare, in the tone of a man who has no fear of the possibility of a mistake, Homelock, you are going to Paris. Possibly. And you are going to Paris even more in reply to Lupin's challenge than to oblige Bahon de Meval. Possibly. Homelock, I will go with you. Aha, old friend, cried Shears, interrupting his walk. Aren't you afraid that your left arm may share the fate of the right? What can happen to me? You will be there. Well said. You're a fine fellow. And we will show this gentleman that he may have made a mistake in defying us so boldly. Quick, Wilson, and meet me at the first train. Won't you wait for the newspapers the Bahon mentions? What's the good? Shall I send a telegram? No. Arsene Lupin would know I was coming, and I don't wish him to. This time, Wilson, we must play a cautious game. That afternoon the two friends stepped on board the boat at Dover. They had a capital crossing. In the express from Calais to Paris, Shears indulged in three hours of the soundest sleep, while Wilson kept a good watch at the door of the compartment, and meditated with a wondering eye. Shears woke up feeling happy and well. The prospect of a new duel with Arsene Lupin delighted him, and he rubbed his hands with the contented air of a man preparing to taste untold joys. At last, exclaimed Wilson, we shall feel that we are alive, and he rubbed his hands with the same contented air. At the station, Shears took the rugs, and, followed by Wilson carrying the bags, each his burden, handed the tickets to the collector and walked gaily into the street. A fine day, Wilson, sunshine, Paris is dressed in her best to receive us. What a crowd! So much the better, Wilson, we stand last chance of being noticed. No one will recognize us in the midst of such a multitude. Mr. Shears, I believe? He stopped, somewhat taken aback, who on earth could be addressing him by name. A woman was walking beside him, or rather a girl, whose exceedingly simple dress accentuated her well-bred appearance. Her pretty face wore a sad and anxious expression. She repeated. You must be Mr. Shears, surely? He was silent, as much from confusion as from the habit of prudence, and she asked for the third time. Surely I am speaking to Mr. Shears? What do you want with me? He asked, grossly, thinking there is a questionable meeting. She placed herself in front of him. Listen to me, Mr. Shears, it is a very serious matter. I know that you are going to the Hugh-Murrillo. What's that? I know, I know, Hugh-Murrillo, number eighteen. Well, you must not, no, you must not go, I assure you, you will regret it. Because I tell you this, you need not think that I am interested in any way. I have a reason, I know what I'm saying. He tried to push her aside, she insisted. I entreat you to not be obstinate, oh, if I only knew how to convince you. Look into me, look into the depths of my eyes, they are sincere. They speak the truth. Dastardly she raised her eyes, a pair of beautiful, grave and limpid eyes that seemed to reflect her very soul. Wilson nodded his head. The young lady seems quite sincere, he said. Indeed I am, she said, besiegingly, and you must trust me. I do trust you, madmoselle, replied Wilson. Oh, how happy you make me, and your friend trusts me too. Does he not? I feel it. I'm sure of it. How glad I am. Oh, we'll be well. Oh, what a good idea I had. Listen, Mr. Shears, there's a train for Calais in twenty minutes. Now you must take it. Quick, come with me. It's this way, and you have not much time. She tried to drag Shears with her. He seized her by the arm, and in a voice which he strove to make as gentle as possible, said. Forgive me, madmoselle, if I am not able to accede to your wish, but I never turn aside from a task which I have undertaken. I entreat you, I entreat you. Oh, if you only knew. He passed on, and walked briskly away. Wilson lingered behind and said to the girl, Be of good hope, he will see the thing through to the end. He has never yet been known to fail. And he ran after Shears to catch him up. Homelock Shears versus Arsène Lupin. These words, standing out in great black letters, struck their eyes at the first steps they took. They walked up to them. A procession of sandwichmen was moving along in single file. In their hands they carried heavy farreled canes, with which they tapped the pavement in unison as they went, and their boards bore the above legend in front, and a further huge poster at the back which read, The Shears Lupin Contest, arrival of the English champion, the great detective grapples with the Hugh Moorillo mystery, full details echo de France. Wilson tossed his head. I say, homelock, I thought we were travelling incognito. I shouldn't be astonished to find the Republican guard waiting for us in the Hugh Moorillo with an official reception and champagne. When you tried to be witty, Wilson, snarled Shears, you're witty enough for two. He strode up to one of the men, with apparent intention of taking him in his powerful hands, and tearing him and his advertisement to shreds. Meanwhile a crowd gathered round the posters, laughing and joking. Suppressing a furious fit of passion, Shears said to the men, When were you hired? This morning. When did you start on your round? An hour ago. But the posters were ready? Lord, yes, they were there when we came to the office this morning. So Arsène Lupin had foreseen that Shears would accept the battle. Nay, Moor, the letter written by Lupin proved that he himself wished for the battle, and that it formed part of his intentions to measure swords once more with his rival. Why? What possible motive could urge him to recommence the contest? Homelock Shears showed a momentary hesitation. Lupin must really feel very sure of victory to display such insolence. And was it not falling into a trap to hasten like that in answer to the first call? Then, summoning up all his energy. Come along, Wilson. Driver, 18, Humuhilo, he shouted. And with swollen veins and fists clenched, as though for a boxing match, he leapt into a cab. The Humuhilo is lined with luxurious private residences, the backs of which look out upon the Parc Montsour. Number 18 is one of the handsomest of these houses, and Baron d'Ambleval, who occupies it with his wife and children, has furnished it in the most sumptuous style, as befits an artist and millionaire. There is a courtyard in front of the house, skirted on either side by the servant's offices. At the back, a garden mingles the branches of its trees with the trees of the park. The two Englishmen rang the bell, crossed the courtyard, and were admitted by a footman, who showed them into a small drawing-room at the other side of the house. They sat down, and took a rapid survey of the many valuable objects with which the room was filled. Very pretty things, whispered Wilson, taste and fancy. One can safely draw the deduction that people who have had the leisure to hunt out these articles are persons of a certain age, fifty, perhaps. It did not have time to finish. The door opened, and Messier d'Ambleval entered, followed by his wife. Accordingly to Wilson's deductions, they were both young, fashionably dressed, and very lively in speech and manner. Both were perfused in thanks. It is really too good of you to put yourself out like this. We are almost glad of this trouble, since it procures us the pleasure. How charming those French people are, thought Wilson, who never shirked the opportunity of making an original observation. But time is money, cried the Baron, and yours especially, Mr. Shears, let us come to the point. What do you think of the case? Do you hope to bring it to a satisfactory result? To bring the case to a satisfactory result? I must first know what the case is. Don't you know? No, and I will ask you to explain the matter fully, omitting nothing. What is it a case of? It is a case of theft. On what day did it take place? Reply the Baron, on Saturday night or Sunday morning. Six days ago's, therefore. Now pray go on. I must first tell you that my wife and I, though we lead the life expected of people in our position, go out very little. The education of our children, a few receptions, the beautifying of our home, these make up our existence, and all or nearly all our evenings are spent here, in this room, which is my wife's boudoir, and in which we have collected a few pretty things. Well, on Saturday last, at about eleven o'clock, I switched off the electric light, and my wife and I retired, as usual, to our bedroom. Where's that? The next room, that door over there. On the following morning, that is to say, Sunday, I rose early. As Suzanne, my wife, was still asleep, I came into this room as gently as possible, so as not to awake her. Imagine my surprise at finding the window open, after we had left it closed the evening before. A servant? Nobody enters this room in the morning before we ring. Besides I always take the precaution of boating that other door, which leads to the hall. Therefore the window must have been opened from the outside. I had a proof of it, besides. The second pane of the right-hand casement, the one next to the latch, had been cut out. And the window? The window, as you perceive, opens on a little balcony, surrounded by a stone ballastrade. We are on the first floor here, and you can see the garden at the back of the house, and the railings, that separated from the Parc Monceau. It is certain, therefore, that the man came from the Parc Monceau, climbed the railings by means of a ladder, and got up to the balcony. It is certain, you say? On either side of the railings, in the soft earth of the borders, we found holes left by the two uprights of the ladder, and there were two similar holes below the balcony. Lastly, the ballastrade shows two slight scratches, evidently caused by the contact of the ladder. Isn't the Parc Monceau closed at night? Closed? No. But in any case, there is a house building at number fourteen. It would have been easy to effect an entrance that way. Homelock shears reflected for a few moments, and resumed. Let us come to the theft. You say it was committed in the room where we now are. Yes, just here, between this twelve-century virgin and that chaste silver tabernacle. There was a little Jewish lamp. It has disappeared. And is that all? That's all. Oh, and what do you call a Jewish lamp? It is one of those lamps which they used to employ in the old days, consistent of a stem and of a receiver to contain the oil. This receiver had two or more burners which held the wicks. When all is said, objects of no great value. Just so. But the one in question formed a hiding place in which we had made it a practice to keep a magnificent antique jewel, a chimera in gold, set with rubies and emeralds, and worth a great deal of money. What was your reason for this practice? Upon my word, Mr. Shears, I should find it difficult to tell you. Perhaps we just thought it amusing to have a hiding place of this kind. Did nobody know of it? Nobody. Except, of course, the thief objected Shears. But for that he would not have taken the trouble to steal the Jewish lamp. Obviously. But how could he know of it, seeing that it was by an accident that we discovered the secret mechanism of the lamp? The same accident may have revealed it to somebody else, a servant, a visitor to the house. But let us continue. Have you informed the police? Certainly. The Examinant Magistrate has made his inquiry. The journalistic detectives attached to all the big newspapers have made theirs. But, as I wrote to you, it does not seem as though the problem had the least chance of ever being solved. Mr. Shears rose, went to the window, inspected the casemen, the balcony, the ballast-trade, employed his lens to study the two scratches on the stone, and asked Mr. Adumbleval to take him down to the garden. When they were outside, Shears simply sat down in a wicker chair, and contemplated the roof of the house with a dreamy eye. Then he suddenly walked toward two little wooden cases, with which, in order to preserve the exact marks, they had covered the holes, which the uprights of the ladder had left in the ground below the balcony. He removed the cases, went down on his knees, and, with rounded back and his nose six inches from the ground, searched and took his measurements. He went through the same performance along the railing, but more quickly. That was all. They both returned to the Boudoir, where Madame Dumbbleval was waiting for them. Shears was silent for a few minutes longer, and then spoke these words. "'Ever since you began your story, M. Le Barron, I was struck by the really too simple side of the offence. To apply a letter, remove a pane of glass, pick out an object, and go away.' "'No. Things don't happen so easily as that. It is all too clear, too plain.' "'You mean to say?' "'I mean to say that the theft of the Jewish lamp was committed under the direction of Arsène Lupin.' "'Arsène Lupin!' exclaimed the Baron. But it was committed without Arsène Lupin's presence, and without anybody's entering the house. Perhaps a servant slipped down to the balcony from his garret along a rain spout which I saw from the garden. "'But what evidence have you?' "'Arsène Lupin would not have left the Boudoir empty-handed.' "'Empty-handed?' "'And what about the lamp?' "'Taking the lamp would not have prevented him from taking this snuff-box, which I see is studded with diamonds, or this necklace of old opals. It would require but two movements more. His only reason for not making those movements was that he was not here to make them.' "'Still, the marks of the letter. A farce. Mere stage-play to divert suspicions. The scratches on the ball astray—a sham. They were made with sandpaper. Look, here are a few bits of paper which I picked up. The marks left by the uprights of the letter—humbug—examined the two rectangular holes below the balcony and the two holes near the railings. The shape is similar, but whereas they are parallel here, they are not so over there. Measure the space that separates each hole from its neighbor. It differs in the two cases. Below the balcony, the distance is nine inches. By the railings, it is eleven inches. What do you conclude from that? I conclude, since their outline is identical, that the four holes were made with one stump of wood cut to the right shape. The best argument would be the stump of wood itself. Here it is, such years. I picked it up in the garden behind the laurel tub. The baron gave in. It was only forty minutes since the Englishman had entered by that door, and not a vestige reminded of all that had been believed so far on the evidence of the apparent facts themselves. The reality, a different reality, came to light, founded upon something much more solid, the reasoning faculties of a homelock shears. It's a very serious accusation to bring against our people, Mr. Shears, said the baroness. They are old family servants, and not one of them is capable of deceiving us. If one of them did not deceive you, how do you explain that this letter was able to reach me on the same day and by the same post as the one you sent me? And he handed her the letter which Arsène Lupin had written to him. Madame D'Amleval was dumbfounded. Arsène Lupin, how did he know? Did you tell no one of your letter? No one, said the baron. The idea occurred to us the other evening at dinner. Before the servants? They were only our two children, and even then, no, Sophie and Henrietta were not at table. Were they, Suzanne? Madame D'Amleval reflected and declared, no, they had gone up to Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle, asked Shears, the governess, Alice de Ma, doesn't she have her meals with you? No, she has them by herself in her room. Wilson had an idea. The letter written to my friend, homeluck Shears, was posted? Naturally. Who posted it? Dominique, who has been with me as my own man for twenty years, replied the baron. Any search in that direction would be waste of time. Time employed in searching is never wasted, stated Wilson sententiously. This closed the first inquiries, and Shears asked leave to withdraw. An hour later, at dinner, he saw Sophie and Henrietta, the last children, two pretty little girls of eight and six, respectively. The conversation languished. Shears replied to the pleasant remarks of the baron and his wife, and so surly atoned that they thought it better to keep silence. Coffee was served. Shears swallowed the contents of his cup and rose from his chair. At that moment a servant entered with a telephone message for him. Shears opened it and read. That my enthusiastic admiration, results obtained by you in so short a time, make my head real. I feel quite giddy. Arsène Lupin. He could not suppress a gesture of annoyance, and showing the telegram to the baron. Do you begin to believe, he said, that your walls have eyes and ears? I can't understand it, murmured Monsieur D'Ambleval astounded. Nor eye. But what I do understand is that not a movement takes place here unperceived by him. Not a word is spoken, but he hears it. That evening Wilson went to bed with the easy conscience of a man who has done his duty, and who has no other business before him than to go to sleep. So he went to sleep very quickly, and was visited by beautiful dreams, in which he was hunting down Lupin all by himself, and just on the point of arresting him with his own hand. And the feeling of the pursuit was so lifelike that he woke up. Someone was touching his bed. He seized his revolver. Another movement, Lupin, and I shoot. Steady, old chap, steady on. Hello, is that you, shears? Do you want me? I want your eyes, get up. He led him to the window. Look over there, beyond the railings. In the park? Yes. Do you see anything? No, nothing. I again, I am sure you see something. Oh, so I do, a shadow, no, two. I thought so, against the railings. See, they're moving, let's lose no time. Groping and holding on to the banister, they made their way down the stairs, and came to a room that opened on the garden steps. Through the glass doors, they could see the two figures still in the same place. It's curious, said shears. I seem to hear noises in the house. In the house? Impossible. Everybody's asleep. Listen, though. At that moment, a faint whistle sounded from the railings, and they perceived an undecided light that seemed to come from the house. The Dumbledore Volsmas have switched on their light. Motor shears, it's their room above us. Then, it's they we heard, no doubt, said Glosson. Perhaps they are watching the railings. A second whistle, still fainter than the first. I can't understand, I can't understand, said shears, in a tone of excation. No more can I, confessed Glosson. Shears turned the key of the door, and bolted it, and softly pushed it open. A third whistle, this time a little deeper, and in a different note. And, above their heads, the noise grew louder, more hurried. It sounds rather as if it were on the balcony of the boudoir, whispered shears. He put his head between the glass doors, but at once drew back with a stifled oath. Wilson looked out in his turn. Close to them, a ladder rose against the wall, leaning against the balustrade of the balcony. By Jove, said shears, there's someone in the boudoir. That's what we heard. Quick, let's take away the ladder. But, at that moment, a form slid from the top to the bottom. The ladder was removed, and the man who carried it wrenched swiftly toward the railings, to the place where his accomplices were waiting. Shears and Wilson had darted out. They came up with the man, as he was placing the ladder against the railings. Two shots rang out from the other side. "'Won't that?' cried Shears. "'No,' replied Wilson. He caught the man around the body, and tried to throw him. But the man turned, seized him with one hand, and with the other plunged a knife full into his chest. Wilson gave a sigh, staggered, and fell. "'Damnation!' roared Shears. "'If they've done for him, I'll do for them.' He laid Wilson on the lawn, and rushed at the ladder. Too late. The man had run up it, and, in company with his accomplices, was fleeing through the shrubs. "'Wilson, Wilson, it's not serious, is it? Say it's only a scratch.' The doors of the house opened suddenly. Monsieur Dumbleval was the first to appear, followed by the manservants carrying candles. "'What is it?' cried the Baron. "'Is Mr. Wilson hurt?' "'Nothing, only a scratch,' repeated Shears, endeavoring to delude himself into the belief. Wilson was bleeding copiously, and his face was deftly pale. Twenty minutes later, the doctor declared that the point of the knife had penetrated to within a quarter of an inch of the heart. "'A quarter of an inch?' That Wilson was always a lucky dog, said Shears, summing up the situation in an envious tone. "'Lucky, lucky,' grunted the doctor. "'Why, with his strong constitution he'll be all right. After six weeks in bed and two months' confaliscence. "'No longer?' "'No, unless complications ensue.' "'Why, on earth, should there be any complications?' Fully reassured, Shears returned to Monsieur Dumbleval in the boudoir. This time, the mysterious visitor had not shown the same discretion. He had laid hands, without shame, on the diamond-studded snuff-box, on the opal necklace, and, generally, on anything that could find room in the pockets of a self-respecting burglar. The window was still open. One of the panes had been neatly cut out, and a summary inquiry held at Debrae showed that the latter came from the unfinished house, and that the burglars must have come that way. "'In short,' said Monsieur Dumbleval, with a touch of irony in his voice, it is an exact repetition of the theft of the Jewish Lemp. "'Yes, if we accept the first version favored by the police. Do you still refuse to adopt it? Doesn't this second theft shake your opinion as regards the first?' On the contrary, it confirms it. It seems incredible. You have the undoubted proof that last night's burglary was committed by somebody from the outside, and you still maintain that the Jewish Lemp was stolen by one of our people—by someone living in the house. Then how do you explain—I explain nothing, Monsieur. I establish two facts which resemble each other only in appearance. I weigh them separately, and I am trying to find the link that connects them.' His convictions seemed so profound, his actions based upon such powerful motives that the Baron gave way. "'Very well. That is going in from the commissary of the police.' "'On no account,' exclaimed the Englishman eagerly, "'on no account whatever. The police are people whom I apply to only when I want them.' "'Still, the shots. Never mind the shots. Your friend. My friend is only wounded. Make the doctor hold his tongue. I will take all the responsibility as regards the police.' Two days elapsed, devoid of all incident, during which Scheers pursued his task with a minute care and a conscientiousness that was exasperated by the memory of that daring onslaught, perpetrated under his eyes, despite his presence, and without his being able to prevent its success. He searched the house and garden indefinitely, talked to the servants, and paid long visits to the kitchen and stables. And though he gathered no clue that threw any light upon the subject, he did not lose courage. "'I shall find what I'm looking for,' he thought, and I shall find it here. It is not a question now, as in the case of the blonde lady, of walking at hap hazard and of reaching, by roads unknown to me, and equally unknown goal. This time I am on the battlefield itself. The enemy is no longer the invisible, elusive loupin, but the flesh and blood accomplice who moves within the four walls of this house. Give me the least little particular, and I know where I stand.' This little particular, from which he was to derive such remarkable consequences, with a skill so prodigious that the case of the Jewish lamb may be looked upon as one in which his detective genius bursts forth most triumphantly, this little particular he was to obtain by accident. End of Section 7. Section 8 of the blonde lady. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leni. The blonde lady by Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexandre Teixeira de Matos. Section 7. The Jewish Lamp, Part 2. On the third day, entering the room above the boudoir, which was used as a schoolroom for the children, he came upon, and he had, the smaller of the two. She was looking for her scissors. You know, she said to Shears, I make papers, too, like the one you got the other evening. The other evening? Yes, after dinner. You got a paper with strips on it. You know, a telegram. Well, I make them, too. She went out. To anyone else, these words would have represented only the insignificant observation of a child. And Shears himself listened without paying much attention and continued his inspection. But suddenly he started running after the child, whose last phrase had all at once impressed him. He caught her at the top of the staircase and said, so you stick strips onto paper also, do you? Mariette very proudly declared, yes, I cut out the words and stick them on. And who taught you that pretty game? Mademoiselle, my governess, I saw her do it. She takes words out of newspapers and sticks them on. And what does she do with them? Makes telegrams and letters, which she sends off. Homelock Shears returned to the schoolroom, singularly puzzled by this confidence, and doing his utmost to extract from it the inferences of which it allowed. There was a bundle of newspapers on the mantelpiece. He opened them and saw, in fact, that there were groups of words or lines missing, regularly and neatly cut out. But he had only to read the words that came before or after to ascertain that the missing words had been removed with the scissors at random, evidently by Henriette. It was possible that, in the pile of papers, there was one which Mademoiselle had cut herself. But how was he to make sure? Mechanically, Shears turned the pages of the lesson book heaped up on the table, and of some others lying on the shelves of a cupboard. And suddenly a cry of joy escaped him. In a corner of the cupboard, under a pile of old exercise books, he had found a children's album, a sort of picture alphabet, and, in one of the pages of this album, he had seen a gap. He examined the page. It gave the names of the days of the week, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and so on. The word Saturday was missing. Now the Jewish lamp was stolen on a Saturday night. Shears felt that little clutch at his heart, which always told him, in the plainest manner possible, when he had hit upon the nutty point of a mystery. That grip of truth, that feeling of certainty, never deceived him. He hastened to turn over the pages of the album, feverishly and confidently. A little further on came another surprise. It was a page consisting of capital letters followed by a row of figures. Nine of the letters and three of the figures had been carefully removed. Shears wrote them down in his notebook, in the order which they would have occupied, and obtained the following result. C-D-E-H-N-O-P-R-Z, two, three, seven. By Jove, he muttered. There's not much to be made out of that at first sight. Was it possible to rearrange these letters and employing them all to form one, two, or three complete words? Shears attempted to do so in vain. One solution alone suggested itself, return continually to the point of his pencil, and, in the end, appeared to him the right one, because he agreed with the logic of the fact and also corresponded with the general circumstances. Admitting that the page in the album contained each of the letters of the alphabet once, and once only, it was probable. It was certain that he had to do with incomplete words, and that these words had been completed with letters taken from other pages. Given these conditions and allowing for the possibility of a mistake, the puzzle stood thus. R-E-P-O-N-D-Z, C-H, two, three, seven. The first word was clear, répondez, reply. And E was missing, because the letter E, having been once used, was no longer available. As for the last unfinished word, it undoubtedly formed, with the number two, three, seven, the address which the sender gave to the receiver of the letter. He was advised to fix the day for Saturday and asked to send a reply to C-H, two, three, seven. Either C-H, two, three, seven was the official number of a post-restaurant, or else the two letters C-H formed part of an incomplete word. Sheers turned over the leaves of the album. Nothing had been cut from any of the following pages. He must, therefore, until further orders, be content with the explanation hit upon. Isn't it fun? Henriette had returned. He replied, yes, great fun. Only, haven't you any other papers? Or else some words ready cut out for me to stick on? Papers? No. And then Mademoiselle wouldn't like it. Mademoiselle? Yes. Mademoiselle has scolded me already. Why? Because I told you things. And she says you must never tell things about people you are fond of. You were quite right to tell me. Henriette seemed delighted with his approval, so much so that, from a tiny canvas bag pinned onto her frock, she took a few strips of stuff, three buttons, two lumps of sugar, and lastly, a square piece of paper which she held out to Sheers. There, I'll give it to you all the same. It was the number of a cab, number 8279. Where did you get this from? It fell out of her purse. When? On Sunday at Mass, when she was taking out some coppers for the collection. And now I will tell you how not to get scalded. Don't tell Mademoiselle that you have seen me. Sheers went off in search of Monsieur D'Ambléval and asked him straight out about Mademoiselle. The Baron gave a start. Alice de Mont, would you think, oh, impossible. How long has she been in your service? Only twelve months, but I know no quieter person, nor any in whom I place more confidence. How is it that I have not yet seen her? She was away for two days. And at present? Immediately on her return she took up her position by your friend's bedside. She's a first-rate nurse, gentle, attentive. Mr. Wilson seems delighted with her. Oh! said Sheers, who had quite omitted to inquire after old chap's progress. He thought for a moment unasked. And did she go out on Sunday morning? The day after the robbery? Yes. The Baron called his wife and put the question to her. She replied, Mademoiselle took the children to the eleven o'clock mass, as usual. But before that? Before? No. Or rather, but I was so upset by the theft. Still I remember that, on the evening before, she asked Leif to go out on Sunday morning to see a cousin who was passing through Paris, I think. But surely you don't suspect her? Maybe not, but I should like to see her. He went up to Wilson's room. A woman dressed like a hospital nurse in a long grey linen gown was stooping over the sick man and giving him a draw. When she turned round, Sheers recognized the girl who had spoken to him outside the gare du Nord. Not the slightest explanation passed between them. Alice de Ma smiled gently with her grave and charming eyes, without a trace of embarrassment. The Englishman wanted to speak, tried to utter a syllable or two, and was silent. Then she resumed her task, moved about peacefully before Sheers' astonished eyes, shifted bottles, rolled and unrolled linen bandages, and again gave him her bright smile. Sheers turned on his heels, went downstairs, saw Messier Dumblevall's mutter in the courtyard, got into it, and told the chauffeur to drive him to the yard at Levalois, of which the address was marked on the cab ticket given him by the child. Dupré, the driver who had taken out No. 8279 on Sunday morning, was not there, and Sheers sent back the motor-car, and waited until he came to change horses. Dupré, the driver, said yes. He had taken up a lady in your departement so, a young lady in black, with a big veil on her. She seemed very excited. Was she carrying a parcel? Yes, a longish parcel. Then where did you drive her to? Avenue de Terre, at the corner of the Place Saint-Ferdinand. She stayed for ten minutes or so, and then we went back to the departement so. Would you know the house again in Avenue de Terre? Rather. Shall I take you there? Presently. Go first to 36 Quai des Orphèves. At the police headquarters, he had the good fortune to come upon Chief Inspector Ghanimah. Are you disengaged, Messier Ghanimah? If it's about Lupin, no. It is about Lupin. Then I shan't stir. What? You give up? I give up the impossible. I'm tired of this unequal contest, of which we are certain to have the worst. It's cowardly. It's ridiculous. It's anything you please. I don't care. Lupin is stronger than we are. Consequently, there's nothing to do but give in. I'm not giving in. He'll make you give in like the rest of us. Well, it's a sight that can't fail to please you. That's true enough," said Ghanimah innocently, and as you seem to want another beating, come along. Ghanimah and Shears stepped into the cab. They told the driver to stop a little way before he came to the house and on the other side of the avenue in front of a small café. They sat down outside it, among tubs of laurels and spindle trees. The light was beginning to wane. Waiter, said Shears, penned an ink. He wrote a note, and calling the waiter again said, take this to the concierge of the house opposite. It's the man in the cab smoking his pipe in the gateway. The concierge hurried across, and after Ghanimah had announced himself as a chief inspector, Shears asked if a young lady in black had called at the house on Sunday morning. In black? Yes, about nine o'clock. It's the one who goes up to the second floor. Do you see much of her? No, but she's been offner lately, almost every day during the past fortnight. And since Sunday, only once, without counting to-day. What, has she been to-day? She's there now. She's there now. Yes, she came about ten minutes ago, her cab is waiting on the Place Saint-Ferdinand, as usual. I pass her in the gateway. And who is the tenant of the second floor? There are two, a dressmaker, mademoiselle Angers, and a gentleman who hired a couple of furnished rooms a month ago, under the name of Prisson. What makes you say under the name? I have an idea that it's an assumed name. My wife does his rooms. Well, he has in two articles of clothing marked with the same initials. How does he live? Oh, he's almost always out. Sometimes he does not come home for three days together. Did he come in on Saturday night? On Saturday night? Wait, what I think. Yes, he came in on Saturday night and hasn't stirred out since. And what sort of a man is he? Faith, I couldn't say. He changes so. His tall, his short, his fat, his thin, dark and fair. I don't always recognize him. Ghanimah and sheers exchanged glances. It's he, uttered Ghanimah. It must be he. For a moment, the old detective experienced a real agitation which betrayed itself by a deep breath and a clenching of the fists. Sheers too, although more master of himself, felt something clutching at his heart. Look out, sa déconcierge. Here comes the young lady. As he spoke, Mademoiselle appeared in the gateway and crossed the square. And here is Monsieur Prisson. Monsieur Prisson, which is he? The gentleman with the parcel under his arm. But he's taking no notice of the girl. She's going to her cab alone. Oh, well, I've never seen them together. The two detectives rose hurriedly. By the light of the street lamps they recognized Lupin's figure as he walked away in the opposite direction to the square. Which will you follow? Ask Ghanimah. Him, of course, his big game. Then I'll shadow the young lady, suggested Ghanimah. No, no, said the Englishman quickly, not wishing to reveal any part of the case to Ghanimah. I know her to find the young lady when I want her. Don't leave me. At a distance, and availing themselves of the occasional shelter of the passers-by in the kiosks, Ghanimah and Sheers set off in pursuit of Lupin. It was an easy enough pursuit, for he did not turn around and walk quickly, with a slight layness in the right leg, so slight that it needed the eye of a trained observer to perceive it. He's pretending to limp, said Ghanimah, and he continued, ha, if we could only pick up two or three policemen and pounce upon the fellow. As it is, here's a chance of her losing him. But no policemen appeared in sight before the Porte d'Eterne, and, once the fortifications were passed, they could not reckon on the least assistance. Let us separate, said Sheers, the places deserted. They were on the boulevard Victor Hugo. They each took a different pavement and followed the line of the trees. They walked like this for twenty minutes, until the moment when Lupin turned to the left and along the same. Here they saw him go down to the edge of the river. He remained there for a few seconds, during which they were unable to distinguish his movements. Then he climbed up the bank again and returned by the way he had come. They pressed back against the pillars of a gate. Lupin passed in front of them. He no longer carried a parcel. And as he moved away another figure appeared from behind the corner of a house and slipped in between the trees. Sheers said in a low voice, that one seems to be following him, too. Yes, I believe I saw him before as we came. The pursuit was resumed, but was now complicated by the presence of this figure. Lupin followed the same road, passed through the Porte d'Eterne again, and entered the house on the Place Saint-Ferdinand. The concierge was closing the door for the night when Ganymar came up. You saw him, I suppose. Yes, I was turning off the gas on the stairs. He has bolted his door. Is there no one with him? No one. He doesn't keep a servant. He never has his meals here. Is there no back staircase? No. Ganymar sat to Sheers. The best thing will be for me to place myself outside Lupin's door, while you go to the Hugh de Moor and fetch the commissary of police. I'll give you a line for him. Sheers objected. Suppose he escapes meanwhile. But I shall be here. Single-handed, it would be an unequal contest between you and him. Still, I can't break into his rooms. I'm not entitled to, especially at night. Sheers shrugged his shoulders. Once you've arrested Lupin, no one will hole over the coals for the particular manner in which we affected the arrest. Besides, we may as well ring the bell, what? Then we'll see what happens. They went up the stairs. There was a double door on the left of the landing. Ganymar rang the bell. Not a sound. He rang again. No one stirred. Let's go win, muttered Sheers. Yes, come along. Nevertheless, they remained motionless, irresolute. Like people who hesitate before taking a decisive step, they were afraid to act, and it suddenly seemed to them, impossible, that Arsène Lupin should be there, so near to them, behind that frail partition which they could smash with a blow of their fists. They, both of them, knew him too well, demon that he was, to admit that he would allow himself to be nabbed so stupidly. No, no, a thousand times no, he was not there. He must have escaped, by the adjoining houses, by the roofs, by some suitably prepared outlet, and once again the shadow of Arsène Lupin was all that they could hope to lay hands upon. They shuddered, an imperceptible sound coming from the other side of the door had, as it were, grazed the silence, and they received the impression, the certainty, that he was there after all, separated from them by that thin wooden partition, and that he was listening to them, that he heard them. What were they to do? It was a tragic situation, for all their coolness, as old stages of the police, they were overcome by so great an excitement, that they imagined they could hear the beating of their own hearts. Gunymarch consulted Shears with a silent glance, and then struck the door violently with his fist. A sound of footsteps was now heard, a sound which there was no longer any attempt to conceal. Gunymarch shook the door. Shears gave an irresistible thrust with his shoulder, and burst it open, and they both rushed in. Then they stopped short. A shot resounded in the next room, and another followed by the thud of a falling body. When they entered, they saw the man lying with his face against the marble of the mental piece. He gave a convulsive movement, his revolver slipped from his hand. Gunymarch stooped, and turned the dead man's head. It was covered with blood, which trickled from two large wounds in the cheek and temple. There is no recognizing him, he whispered. One thing is certain, said Shears. It's not he. How do you know you haven't even examined him? The Englishman sneered. Do you think Arsene Lupin is the man to kill himself? Still, we believed we knew him outside. We believed, because we wanted to believe. The fellow beset her minds. Then it's one of his accomplices. Arsene Lupin's accomplices do not kill themselves. Then who is it? They searched the body. In one pocket, Holmlock Shears found an empty note case. In another, Gunymarch found a fuel leak. There were no marks on his linen or on his clothes. The trunks, a big box and two bags, contained nothing but personal effects. There was a bundle of newspapers on the mental piece. Gunymarch opened them. They all spoke of the theft of the Jewish Lamp. An hour later, when Gunymarch and Shears left the house, they knew no more about the strange individual whom their intervention had driven to suicide. Who was he? Why had he taken his life? What link connected him with the disappearance of the Jewish Lamp? Who was it that dogged his steps during his walk? These were all complicated questions, so many mysteries. Holmlock Shears went to bed in a very bad temper. When he woke, he received an expressed letter couched in these words. Arsene Lupin begs to inform you of his tragic disease in the person of Juan Bresson and requests the honor of your company at his funeral, which will take place at the public expense on Thursday, the 25th of June. You see, old chap, said Holmlock Shears to Wilson, waving Arsene Lupin's letter in his hand. The worst of this business is that I feel the confounded fellows I constantly fixed upon me. Not one of my most secret thoughts escape him. I'm behaving like an actor, whose steps are ruled by the strictest stage directions, who moves here or there and says this or that because a superior will has so determined it. Do you understand, Wilson? Wilson would no doubt have understood. Had he not been sleeping, the sound sleep of a man, whose temperature is fluctuating between a hundred and two and a hundred and four degrees. But whether he heard or not made no difference to Shears, who continued, it will need all my energy and all my resources not to be discouraged. Fortunately with me, these little jibes are only so many pinpricks which stimulate me to further exertions. Once this thing is laid and the wound in my self-respect closed, I always end by saying, left away, my lad, sooner or later you will be betrayed by your own hand. For, when all is said, Wilson, wasn't it Lupin himself who, with his first telegram and the reflection which it suggested to that little Henriette, revealed to me the secret of his correspondence with Alice de Mont? You forget that detail, old chap? He walked up and down the room, with resounding strides at the risk of waking, old chap. However, things might be worse, and though the paths which I am following appear a little dark, I am beginning to see my way. To start with, I shall soon know all about Master Bresson. Ganymar and I have an appointment on the bank of the Seine, at the spot where Bresson flung his parcel, and we shall find out who he was and what he wanted. As regards the rest, it's a game to be played out between Alice de Mont and me. Not a very powerful adversary, huh, Wilson? And don't you think I shall soon know the sentence in the album in what those two single letters mean, the C and the H, for the whole mystery lies in that, Wilson? At this moment Mademoiselle entered the room, and seeing shears wave his arms about, said, Mr. Shears, I shall be very angry with you if you wake my patient. It's not nice of you to disturb him. The doctor insists upon absolute calm. He looked at her without a word, astonished, as on the first day at her inexplicable composure. Why do you look at me like that, Mr. Shears? You always seem to have something at the back of your mind. What is it? Tell me, please. She questioned him with all her bright face, with her guileless eyes, her smiling lips, and with her attitude, too, her hands joined together, her body bent slightly forward. And so great was her candor that it browsed the Englishman's anger. He came up to her and sat in a low voice. Preisson committed suicide yesterday. She repeated, without appearing to understand. Preisson committed suicide yesterday? As a matter of fact, her features underwent no change whatever. Preisson revealed the effort of a lie. You have been told, he said irritably, if not, you would at least have started. Ha! You were cleverer than I thought, but why pretend? He took the picture book, which he had placed on a table close at hand, and opening it at the cut-page. Can you tell me, he asked, in what order I am to arrange the letters missing here, so that I may understand the exact purpose of the note which was sent to Preisson four days before the theft of the Jewish lamp? In what order? Preisson? The theft of the Jewish lamp? She repeated the words slowly, as though to make out their meaning. He insisted, yes, here are the letters you used on this scrap of paper. What were you saying to Preisson? The letters I used? What was I saying to? Suddenly she burst out laughing. I see, I understand. I am an accomplice in the theft. There is a Monsieur Preisson who stole the Jewish lamp and killed himself, and I am the gentleman's friend, oh, how amusing! Then, whom did you go to see yesterday evening on the second floor of a house in the Avenue d'Eterne? Home? Why, my dressmaker, mademoiselle lingerie. Do you mean to imply that my dressmaker and my friend Monsieur Preisson are one and the same person? Sheers began to doubt, in spite of all. It is possible to counterfeit almost any feeling in such a way as to put another person off, terror, joy, anxiety, but not indifference, not happy and careless laughter. However, he said, one last word, why did you accost me at the Garde Nord the other evening, and why did you beg me to go back at once without beasing myself about the robbery? Oh, you're much too curious, Mr. Sheers. She replied, still laughing, in the most natural way. To punish you, I will tell you nothing, and in addition you shall watch the patient while I go to the chemist. There is an urgent prescription to be made up. I must hurry. She left the room. I have been tricked, muttered Sheers. I've not only got nothing out of her, but I have given myself away. And he remembered the case of the Blue Diamond, and the cross-examination to which he had subjected Clotilde de Stange. Mademoiselle had encountered him with the same serenity as the blonde lady, and he felt that he was again face to face with one of those creatures who, protected by Arsène Lupin, and under the direct action of his influence, preserved the most inscrutable calmness amid the very agony of danger. Sheers. Sheers. It was Wilson calling him. He went to the bed and bent over him. What is it, old chap, feeling bad? Wilson moved his lips, but was unable to speak. At last, after many efforts, he stammered out. No. Sheers. It wasn't she. It can't have been. What nonsense are you talking now? I tell you that it was she. It's only when I'm in the presence of a creature of lupins, trained and drilled by him, that I lose my head and behave so foolishly. She now knows the whole story of the album. I bet you that lupin will be told in less than an hour. Less than an hour? What am I talking about? This moment, most likely, the chemist, the urgent prescription, humbug. Without a further thought of Wilson, he rushed from the room, went down the avenue de Messine, and saw Mademoiselle enter a chemist's shop. She came out, ten minutes later, carrying two or three medicine bottles wrapped up in white paper. But when she returned up the avenue, she was accosted by a man who followed her, capped in hand, and with an obsequious air as though he were begging. She stopped, gave him an alms, and then continued on her way. She spoke to him, said the Englishman to himself. It was an intuition rather than uncertainty, but strong enough to induce him to alter his tactics. Leaving the girl, he set off on the track of the sham beggar. They arrived, in this way, one behind the other, on the Place Saint-Ferdinand, and the man hovered long round Crescent's house, sometimes raising his eyes to the second floor windows, and watching the people who entered the house. At the end of an hour's time, he climbed to the top of a trim car that was starting for Noë. Shears climbed up also and sat down behind the fellow at some little distance, beside a gentleman whose features were concealed by the newspaper which he was reading. When they reached the fortifications, the newspaper was lowered. Shears recognized Ghanimah, and Ghanimah, pointing to the fellow, sat in his ear. It's our man of last night, the one who followed Crescent. He's been hanging round the square for an hour. Nothing new about Crescent? Yes, a letter arrived this morning addressed to him. This morning? Then it must have been posted yesterday before the writer knew of Crescent's death. Just so. It is with the Examinant Magistrate, but I can tell you the exact words. He accepts no compromise. He wants everything, the first thing as well as those of the second business. If not, he will take steps and no signature, added Ghanimah. As you can see, those few lines won't be of much use to us. I don't agree with you at all, Monsieur Ghanimah. On the contrary, I consider them very interesting. And why, bless my soul? For reasons personal to myself, said shears, with the absence of ceremony with which he was accustomed to treat his colleague. The tram stopped at the terminus in the rue du Château. The men climbed down and walked away quietly. Shears followed so closely on his heels that Ghanimah took alarm. If he turns round, we are done. He won't turn round now. What do you know about it? He is an accomplice of Arsène Lupin's, and the fact that an accomplice of Lupin's walks away like that with his hands in his pocket proves, in the first place, that he knows his followed, and in the second, that he is not afraid. Still, we're running him pretty hard. No matter, he can slip through our fingers in a minute if he wants. He's too sure of himself. Come, come, you're getting at me. There are two cyclist police at the door of that café over there. If I decide to call on them and to tackle Arsène, I should like to know how he's going to slip through our fingers. Arsène does not seem much put out by that contingency, and he's calling on them himself. By Jupiter, said Ghanimah, the cheek of the fellow, the man, in fact, had walked up to the two policemen just as these were preparing to mount their bicycles. He spoke a few words to them, and then suddenly sprang upon a third bicycle which was leaning against the wall of the café, and rode away quickly with the two policemen. The Englishman burst with laughter. There, what did I tell you? Off before we knew where we were, and with two of your colleagues, Monsieur Ghanimah. Ha! He looks after himself, the Arsène Lupin, with cyclist policemen in his spay. Didn't I tell you our friend was a great deal too calm? What then? cried Ghanimah angrily. What could I do? It's very easy to laugh. Calm, calm, don't be cross. We'll have a revenge. For the moment, what we want is reinforcements. Full of fines waiting for me at the end of the avenue de Nuit. All right, pick him up and join me, both of you. Ghanimah went away, while shears followed the tracks of the two bicycles, which were easily visible on the dust of the road, because two of the machines refitted with grooved tires, and he soon saw that these tracks were leading him to the bank of the same, and that the three men had turned in the same direction as Bryson the previous evening. He thus came to the gate against which he himself had hidden with Ghanimah, and a little farther on he saw a tangle of grooved lines which showed that they had stopped there. Just opposite, a little neck of land jutted into the river, and at the end of it an old boat lay fastened. This was where Bryson must have flung his parcel, or rather dropped it. Shears went down incline, and saw that, as the bank sloped very gently and the water was low, he would easily find the parcel, unless the three men had been there first. No, no, he said to himself, they have not had time, a quarter of an hour at most, and yet why did they come this way? A man was sitting in the boat, fishing. Shears asked him, have you seen three men on bicycles? The angler shook his head. The Englishman insisted, yes, yes, three men, they stopped only a few yards from where you are. The angler put his rod under his arm, took a notebook from his pocket, wrote something on one of the pages, tore it out, and handed it to Shears. A great thrill shook the Englishman. At a glance, in the middle of the page which he held in his hand, he recognized the letters torn from the picture-book, C-D-E-H-N-O-P-R-Z-E-O-2-3-7. End of Section 8. The son hung heavily over the river. The angler had resumed his work, sheltered under the huge brim of his straw hat. His jacket and waistcoat lay folded by his side. He fished attentively, while the float of his line rocked idly on the current. Quite a minute elapsed, a minute of solemn and awful silence. Is it he, thought Shears, with an almost painful anxiety? And then the truth burst upon him. It is he, it is he, he alone is capable of sitting like that without a tremor of uneasiness, without the least fear as to what will happen. And who else could know the story of the picture-book? Alice must have told him by her messenger. Suddenly the Englishman felt that his hand, that his own hand, had seized the butt-end of his revolver, and that his eyes were fixed on the man's back, just below the neck. One movement, and the whole play was finished. A touch of the trigger and the life of the strange adventurer had come to a miserable end. The angler did not stir. The angler nervously gripped his weapon with a fierce longing to fire and have done with it, and at the same time with horror of a deed against which his nature revolted. Death was certain. It would be over. Ho! he thought. Let him get up. Let him defend himself. If not, he will have only himself to blame. Another second, and I fire. But a sound of footsteps made him turn his head, and he saw Ghanimah arrive, accompanied by his inspectors. Then, changing his idea, he leapt forward, sprang at one bounding to the boat, breaking the painter with the force of the jump, fell upon the man, and held him in a clozen brace. They both rolled to the bottom of the boat. Well, cried Lupin, struggling, and then, what does this prove? Suppose one of us reduces the other two impotence. What will he have gained? You will not know what to do with me, nor I with you. Wish I'll stay here like a couple of fools. The two oars slipped into the water. The boat began to drift. Mingled exclamations resounded along the bank, and Lupin continued. Lord, what a business! Have you lost all sense of things? Fancy being so silly at your age, you great schoolboy! You ought to be ashamed! He succeeded in releasing himself. Exasperated, resolved to stick at nothing, shears put his hand in his pocket, and oath escaped him. Lupin had taken his revolver. Then he threw himself on his knees and tried to catch hold of one of the oars in order to pull to the shore, while Lupin made desperate efforts after the other in order to pull out to mid-stream. Got it, missed it, said Lupin. However, it makes no difference. If you get your oar, I'll prevent you using it, and you'll do as much for me. But there, in life, we strive to act, without the least reason, for it's always fate that decides. There, you see, fate. Well, she's deciding for her old friend Lupin. Victory! The currents favoring me. The boat, in fact, was drifting away. Look out! cried Lupin. Someone on the bank pointed a revolver. Lupin ducked his head. A shot rang out. A little water spurted up around him. He burst out laughing. Heaven help us, it's friend Ganima. Now that's very wrong of you, Ganima. You have no right to fire except in self-defense. The spore Arsene makes you so furious that you forget your duties. Hello, he's starting again. But wretched man, be careful! You hit my dear matre here. He made a bulwark of his body for shears, and, standing up in the boat, facing Ganima. There, now I don't mind. Aim here, Ganima, straight at my heart. Higher to the left. Missed again. You clumsy beggar! Another shot? But you're trembling, Ganima. At the word of command, huh? And steady now. One, two, three, fire! Missed! That shit all. Does the government give you toys for pistols? He produced a long, massive, flat revolver. He fired without taking aim. The inspector lifted his hand to his hat. A bullet had made a hole through it. What do you say to that, Ganima? Ha! This is a better make. Heads off, gentlemen. This is the revolver of my noble friend, Matre Homelok Shears. And he tossed the weapon to the bank, right at the inspector's feet. Shears could not help giving a smile of admiration. What superabundant life! What young and spontaneous gladness! And how he seemed to enjoy himself! It was as though the sense of danger gave him a physical delight, as though life had no other object for these extraordinary men than the search of dangers which he amused himself afterward by averting. Meantime, crowds had gathered on either side of the river, and Ganima and his men were following the craft which swung down the stream, carried very slowly by the current. It meant inevitable mathematical capture. Confess, Matre, cried Lupin, turning to the Englishman, that he would not give up your seat for all the gold in the Transvaal. You are in the first row of the stalls. But first and before all the prologue, after which we will skip straight to the fifth act, the capture or the escape of Arsène Lupin. Therefore, my dear Matre, I have one request to make of you, and I beg you to enter yes or no, to save all ambiguity. Seize interesting yourself in this business. There is yet time, and I am still able to repair the harm which you have done. Later on, I shall not be. Do you agree? No. Lupin's features contracted. This obstinacy was causing him visible annoyance. He resumed. I insist. I insist even more for your sake than my own, for I am certain that you will be the first to regret your interference. Once more, yes or no? No. Lupin squatted on his heels, shifted one of the planks at the bottom of the boat, and for a few minutes worked at something which shears could not see. Then he rose, sat down beside the Englishman, and spoke to him in these words. I believe, Matre, that you and I came to the riverbank with the same purpose, that of fishing up the object which Bresson got rid of. Did we not? I, for my part, had made an appointment to meet a few friends, and I was on the point, as my scanty costume shows, of effecting a little exploration in the depths of the same, when my friends gave me notice of your approach. I am bound to confess that I was not surprised, having been kept informed, I venture to say, hourly, of the progress of your inquiry. It is so easy. As soon as the least thing likely to interest me occurs in the Rio Mojillo, quick, they ring me up and I know all about it. You can understand that, in these conditions, he stopped. The plank which he had removed now rose a trifle, and water was filtering in, all around, in driblets. The deuce! I don't know how I managed it, but I have every reason to think that there is a leak in this old boat. You're not afraid, Matre? Sheer struck his shoulders. Lupin continued, You can understand, therefore, that, in these conditions, and knowing beforehand that you would seek the contest all the more greedily, the more I strove to avoid it, I was rather pleased at the idea of playing a rubber with you, the result of which is certain, seeing that I hold all the trumps. And I wish to give our meeting the greatest possible publicity, so that your defeat might be universally known, and no new contest de Croson, nor Baron d'Ambleval, be tempted to solicit your aid against me. And in all this, my dear Matre, you must not see. He interrupted himself again, and using his half-closed hand as a field-glass, he watched the banks. Why, Jove, they frayed at a splattered cutter, a regular man of war's boat, and they're rowing like anything. In five minutes they will board us, and I shall be lost. Mr. Sheer, let me give you one piece of advice. Throw yourself upon me, tie me hand and foot, and deliver me to the law of my country. Does that suit you? Unless we suffer shipwreck, meanwhile, in which case there will be nothing for us to do but make our wills. What do you say? Their eyes met. This time, Sheer's understood Lupin's operations. He had made a hole in the bottom of the boat. And the water was rising. It reached the soles of their boots. It covered their feet. They did not move. It came above their ankles. The Englishman took his tobacco pouch, rolled a cigarette, and lit it. Lupin continued, And in all this, my dear maître, you must not see anything more than the humble confession of my powerlessness in face of you. It is tantamount to yielding to you, when I accept only those contests in which my victory is assured, in order to avoid those of which I shall not have selected the field. It is tantamount to recognizing that home-mocked Sheer's is the only enemy whom I fear and proclaiming my anxiety as long as Sheer's is not removed from my path. This, my dear maître, is what I wish to tell you on this one occasion when fate has allowed me the honor of a conversation with you. I regret only one thing, which is that this conversation should take place while we are having a foot-bath, a position lacking in dignity, I must confess, and what was I saying, a foot-bath, a hip-bath, rather. The water, in fact, had reached the seat on which they were sitting, and the boat sank lower and lower in the water. Sheer sat imperturbable, had cigarette at his lips, apparently wrapped in contemplation of the sky. For nothing in the world, in the face of that man surrounded by dangers, hemmed in by the crowd, hunted down by a pulse of police, and yet always retaining his good humor, for nothing in the world would he have consented to display the least sign of agitation. What, they both seem to be saying, do people get excited about such trifles? Is it not a daily occurrence to get drowned in a river? Is this the sort of event that deserves to be noticed? And the one chattered, and the other mused, while both concealed under the same mask of indifference, the formidable clash of their respective prides. Another minute, and they would sink. The essential thing, said Lupin, is to know if we shall sink before or after the arrival of the champions of the lull. All depends upon that. For the question of shipwreck is no longer in doubt. Maitre, the solemn moment has come to make our wills. I leave all my real and personal estate to homelock shears, a citizen of the British Empire. But, by jove, how fast they are coming, those champions of the lull. Ho, the dear people, it's a pleasure to watch them. What precision of stroke! Ha! Is that you, Sergeant Fallenfant? Well done! That idea of the men of Warscutter was capital. I shall recommend you to your superiors, Sergeant Fallenfant. And weren't you hoping for a medal? But you are. Consider it yours. And where's your friend, Dieuzee? On the left bank, I suppose, in the midst of a hundred natives. So that if I escape shipwreck, I shall be picked up on the left by Dieuzee and his natives, or else on the right by Ganymar and the Neuilly tribes. A nasty dilemma. There was an eddy. The bolts swung round, and sheer was obliged to cling to the roll-locks. Maitre, said Lupin. I beg of you to take off your jacket. You will be more comfortable for swimming. You want? Then I shall put on mine again. He slipped on his jacket, buttoned it tightly like shears, and sighed. What a fine fellow you are! And what a pity that you should persist in a business in which you are certainly doing the very best you can, but all in vain. Really, you are throwing away your distinguished talent. Mr. Lupin said shears at last abandoning his silence. You talk a great deal too much, and you often err through excessive confidence and frivolity. That's a serious reproach. It was in this way that, without knowing it, you supplied me a moment ago with the information I wanted. What? You wanted some information and you never told me? I don't require you or anybody. In three hours' time I shall hand the solution of the puzzle to Monsieur and reply, He did not finish his sentence. The boat had suddenly foundered, dragging them both with her. She rose to the surface at once, overturned, with her keel in the air. Loud shouts came from the two banks, followed by an anxious silence, and suddenly fresh cries. One of the shipwrecked men had reappeared. It was homelock shears. An excellent swimmer, he struck out boldly for Fallen Fawn's boat. Cheerly, Mr. Shears, roared the detective sergeant. You're all right, keep on, we'll see about him afterward. We've got him right enough. One more effort, Mr. Shears, catch hold. But Englishmen seized the rope which they threw to him. But while they were dragging him on board, a voice behind him called out. Yes, my dear maître, you shall have the solution. I am even surprised that you have not hit upon it already. And then, what use will it be to you? It's just then that you will have lost the battle. Seated comfortably astride the hoax of which he had scaled the sides while talking, Arsène Dupont continued his speech with solemn gestures, and as though he hoped to convince his hearers. Do you understand, my dear maître, that there is nothing to be done, absolutely nothing? You are in the deplorable position of a gentleman who, for l'enfant, took aim at him. Loupin, surrender! You're an ill-bred person, Sergeant for l'enfant. You've interrupted me in the middle of a sentence. I was saying, Loupin, surrender! But that's it all, Sergeant for l'enfant. One only surrenders running danger. Now surely you have not the face to believe that I am running the least danger. For the last time, Loupin, I call on you to surrender. Sergeant for l'enfant, you have not the smallest intention of killing me. At the most, you mean to wound me. You're so afraid of my escaping. And supposing that, by accident, the wound should be mortal. Oh, think of your remorse, wretched man, of your blighted old age! The shot went off. Loupin staggered, clung for a moment to the overturned boat. Then let go, and disappeared. It was just three o'clock when these events happened. At six o'clock precisely, as he had declared, homelock shears clad in a pair of trousers too short, and a jacket too tight for him, which he had borrowed from an innkeeper at Neuilly, and wearing a cap and a flannel shirt with a silk cord and tassels, entered the boudoir in the Hugh-Morrillo, after sending word to Missier Madame d'Amleval to ask for an interview. They found him walking up and down, and he looked to them so comical in his queer costume that they had a difficulty in suppressing their inclination to laugh. With a pensive air and a bent back he walked, like an automaton, from the window to the door and the door to the window, taking each time the same number of steps and turning each time in the same direction. He stopped, took up a knick-knack, examined it mechanically, and then resumed his walk. At last, planting himself in front of them, he asked, Is Mademoiselle here? Yes, in the garden, with the children. Monsieur le Bachon, as this will be our final conversation, I should like Mademoiselle d'Amleval to be present at it. So you decidedly? Have a little patience, Monsieur. The truth will emerge plainly from the facts which I propose to lay before you with the greatest possible precision. Very well. Suzanne, do you mind? Mademoiselle d'Amleval rose, and returned almost at once, accompanied by Alice de Mont. Mademoiselle, looking a little paler than usual, remained standing, leaning against the table, and without even asking to know why she had been sent for. Shears appeared not to see her, and turning abruptly toward Missier d'Amleval made his statement in a tone that admitted of no reply. After an inquiry extending over several days, and although certain events for a moment altered my view, I will repeat what I said from the first, that a Jewish lamp was stolen by someone living in this house. The name? I know it. Your evidence? The evidence which I have is enough to confound the culprit. It is not enough that the culprit should be confounded. He must restore the Jewish lamp? It is in my possession. The opal necklace? The snuff box? The opal necklace? The snuff box? In short, everything that was stolen on the second occasion is in my possession. Shears loved this dry, clap-trap way of announcing his triumphs. As a matter of fact, the Baron and his wife seemed stupefied, and looked at him with a silent curiosity, which was in itself the highest praise. He next summed up in detail all that he had done during those three days. He told how he had discovered the picture-book, wrote down on a sheet of paper the sentence formed by the letters which had been cut out, then described Parison's expedition to the bank of the Seine and his suicide, and lastly the struggle in which he, shears, had just been engaged with Lupin, the wreck of the boat, and Lupin's disappearance. When he had finished, the Baron said, in a low voice, Nothing remains but that you should reveal the name of the thief, whom do you accuse? I accuse the person who cut out the letters from this alphabet and communicated by means of those letters with Arsène Lupin. How do you know that this person's correspondent was Arsène Lupin? From Lupin himself. He held out a scrap of moist and crumpled paper. It was the page which Lupin had torn from his notebook in the boat, and on which he had written the sentence. And observe, said shears, in a gratified voice, that there was nothing to compel him to give me this paper, and thus make himself known. It was a mere schoolboy prank on his part, which gave me the information I wanted. What information, asked the Baron, I don't see. First copied out the letters and figures in pencil. C-D-E-H-N-O-P-R-Z-E-O-2-3-7. Well, said Messier Domblival, that's the formula which you have just shown as yourself. No, if you had turned this formula over and over as I have done, you would have seen at once that it contains two more letters than the first, an E and an O. As a matter of fact, I did not notice. Place these two letters beside the C and H which remained over from the word répondez, and you will see that the only possible word is echo. Which means? Which means the École de France, Lupin's newspaper, his own organ, the one for which he reserves his official communications. Send reply to the École de France agony column number 237. That was the key for which I had hunted so long and with which Lupin was kind enough to supply me. I have just come from the office of the École de France. And what have you found? I have found the whole detailed story of the relations between Arsène Lupin and his accomplice. And Shears spread out seven newspapers, opened at the fourth page, and picked out the following lines. One, Arsène Lupin, Lady Imple Protect, 540, Two, 540, Awaiting Explanations, AL, Three, AL, Under Dominion of Enemy, Lost, Four, 540, Right Address, Will Make Anque, 5, AL, Mojito, 6, 540, Park, 3 p.m., Violets, 7, 237, Agreed, Sat, Shelby Park, Son, Mourne. And you call that a detailed story? exclaimed M. Adam Leval. Why, of course, and if you will pay attention, you will think the same. First of all, a lady, signing herself 540, implores the protection of Arsène Lupin. To this, Lupin replies with a request for explanations. The lady answers that she is under the dominion of an enemy, press on, no doubt, and that she is lost unless someone comes to her assistance. Lupin, who is suspicious and dares not yet have an interview with a stranger, asks for the address and suggests an inquiry. The lady hesitates for four days, see the dates, and at last, under the pressure of events and the influence of press on threats, gives the name of her street, the Rue Mourrillo. The next day, Arsène Lupin advertises that he will be in the Parc Montsot at three o'clock, and asks the stranger to wear a bunch of violets as a token. Here follows an interruption of eight days in the correspondence. Arsène Lupin and the lady no longer need ride through the medium of the paper. They see each other or correspond direct. The plot is contrived. To satisfy Parc Saint's requirements, the lady will take the Jewish lamp. It remains to fix the day. The lady, who, from motives of prudence, corresponds by means of words cut out and stuck together, decides upon Saturday, and adds, send reply, echo, 237. Lupin replies that it is agreed, and that, moreover, he will be in the Parc on Sunday morning. On Sunday morning, the theft took place. Yes, everything fits in, said the Baron approvingly, and the story is complete. Sheers continued. So, the theft took place. The lady goes out on Sunday morning, tells Lupin what she has done, and carries the Jewish lamp to Bresson. Things then happen as Lupin foresaw. The police, mislad by an open window, four holes in the ground, and two scratches on the balcony, at once accept the burglary suggestion. The lady is easy in her mind. Very well, said the Baron. I accept his explanation as perfectly logical, but the second theft. The second theft was provoked by the first. After the newspapers had told how the Jewish lamp had disappeared, someone thought of returning to the attack, and seizing hold of everything that had not been carried away. Even this time, it was not a pretended theft, but a real theft, with a genuine burglary, ladders, and so on. Lupin, of course, no, Lupin does not act so stupidly. Lupin does not fire at people without very good reason. Then who was it, Bresson no doubt, unknown to the lady whom he had been blackmailing. It was Bresson who broke in here, whom I pursued, who wounded my poor Wilson. Are you quite sure? One of Bresson's accomplices wrote him a letter yesterday, before his suicide, which shows that his accomplice and Lupin had entered upon a parley for the restitution of all the articles stolen from your house. Lupin demanded everything, the first thing, that is to say, the Jewish lamp, as well as those of the second business. Moreover, he watched Bresson. When Bresson went to the bank of the Seine yesterday evening, one of Lupin's associates was dogging him at the same time as ourselves. What was Bresson doing at the bank of the Seine? Warned of the progress of my inquiry, warned by whom? By the same lady who very rightly feared lest the discovery of the Jewish lamp should entail the discovery of her adventure. Bresson, therefore, warned, collected into one parcel all that might compromise him, and dropped it in a place where it would be possible for him to recover it, once the danger was passed. It was on his return, that, hunted down by Ganymar and me, and doubtless having other crimes on his conscience, he lost his head and shot himself. But what did the parcel contain, the Jewish lamp and your other things? Then they are not in your possession. Immediately after Lupin's disappearance, I took advantage of the bath which he had compelled me to take to drive to the spot chosen by Bresson, and I found your stolen property wrapped up in linen and oil-skin. Here it is, on the table. Without a word, the Baron cut the string, tore through the pieces of wet linen, took out the lamp, turned the screw under the foot, pressed with both hands on the receiver, opened it into two equal parts, and revealed the golden chimera set with rubies and emeralds. It was untouched. In all this scene, apparently so natural and consisting of a simple statement of facts, there was something that made it terribly tragic, which was the formal, direct, irrefutable accusation which sheers hurled at Mademoiselle with every word he uttered. And there was also Alice de Man's impressive silence. During that long, that cruel accumulation of small, super-added proofs, not a muscle of her face had moved, not a gleam of rebellion or fear had disturbed the serenity of her limpid glance. What was she thinking? And, still more, what would she say at a solemn moment when she must reply, when she must defend herself and break the iron circle in which the Englishman had so cleverly imprisoned her? The moment had struck, and the girl was silent. Speak, speak! cried Monsieur D'Amleval. She did not speak. He insisted, one word will clear you, one word of protest, and I will believe you. That word she did not utter. The Baron stepped briskly across the room, returned, went back again, and then, addressing sheers, Well, no, sir, I refuse to believe it true. There are some crimes which are impossible. And this is opposed to all that I know, all that I have seen for a year. He put his hand on the Englishman's shoulder. But are you yourself, sir, absolutely and definitely sure that you are not mistaken? Sheers hesitated, like a man attacked unawared, who does not defend himself at once. However, he smiled and said, No one but the person whom I accuse could, thanks to the position which she fills in your house, know that the Jewish lamb contained that magnificent jewel. I refuse to believe it. What are the Baron? Ask her. The one thing which he had not tried, in the blind confidence which he felt in the girl, but it was no longer permissible to deny the evidence. He went up to her and looking her straight in the eyes. Was it you, mademoiselle? Did you take the jewel? Did you correspond with Arsène Lupin and sham the burglary? She replied, Yes, monsieur. She did not lower her head. Her face expressed neither shame nor embarrassment. Is it possible, stammered monsieur Dumbleval? I would never have believed. You are the last person I should have suspected. How did you do it, unhappy girl? She said, I did, as Mr. Sheers has said. On Saturday night I came down here to the Boudoir, took the lamb, and in the morning carried it to that man. But no, objected the Baron, what she says is impossible. Impossible, why? Because I found the door of the Boudoir locked in the morning. She collared, lost countenance, and looked at Sheers as though to ask his advice. The Englishman seemed struck by Alice's embarrassment, even more than by the Baron's objection. Had she then no reply to make? Did the confession that confirmed the explanation, which he, Sheers, had given up the theft of the Jewish lamb, conceal a lie, which an examination of the facts at once laid bare? The Baron continued. The door was locked, I repeat. I declared that I found the bolt as I left it at night. If you had come that way as you pretend, someone must have opened the door to you from the inside, that is to say, from the Boudoir or from our bedroom. Now there was no one in these two rooms, no one except my wife and myself. Sheers bent down quickly and covered his face with his two hands to hide it. He had flushed scarlet. Something resembling two sudden alight had struck him and left him dazed and ill at ease. The holes stood reveal to him like a dim landscape from which the darkness was suddenly lifting. Alice de Man was innocent. Alice de Man was innocent. That was a certain blinding fact, and at the same time explained the sort of embarrassment which he had felt since the first day at directing the terrible accusation against this young girl. He saw clearly now. He knew. It needed but a movement, and then and there the irrefutable proof would stand forth before him. He raised his head, and after a few seconds, as naturally as he could, turned his eyes toward Madame d'Ambleval. She was pale, with that unaccustomed pallor that overcomes us at the relentless hours of life. Her hands, which she strove to hide, trembled imperceptibly. Another second thought sheers, and she will have betrayed herself. He placed himself between her and her husband, with the imperious longing to ward off the terrible danger which, through his fault, threatened this man and this woman. But at the sight of the Baron, he shuddered to the very depths of his being. The same sudden revelation which had dazzled him with its brilliance he was now enlightening Monsieur d'Ambleval. The same thought was working in the husband's brain. He understood in his turn. He saw. Desperately, Alice d'Ambleval strove to resist the implacable truth. You are right, Monsieur. I made a mistake. As a matter of fact, I did not come in this way. I went through the hall and the garden, and with the help of a ladder. It was a supreme effort of devotion, but a useless effort. The words did not ring true. The voice had lost its assurance, and the sweet girl was no longer able to retain her limpid glance and her great air of sincerity. She hung her head, defeated. The silence was frightful. Madame d'Ambleval waited. Her features livid and drawn with anguish and fear. The Baron seemed to be still struggling, as though refusing to believe in the downfall of his happiness. At last he stammered. Speak! Explain yourself! I have nothing to say, my poor friend. She said, in a very low voice, her features wrung with despair. Then, mademoiselle, mademoiselle saved me, through devotion, through affection, and accused herself. I saved you from what? From whom? From that man. Bresson! Yes, he held me by his threats. I met him at a friend's house, and I had the madness to listen to him. Oh, there was nothing that you cannot forgive, but I wrote him two letters. You shall see them. I bought them back. You know how. Oh, have pity on me. I have been so unhappy. You! You, Suzanne! He raised his clenched fists to her, ready to beat her, ready to kill her. But his arms fell to his sides, and he murmured again. You, Suzanne! You! Is it possible? In short, abrupt sentences, she told the heartbreaking and commonplace story. Her terrified awakening in the face of the man's infamy, her remorse, her madness. And she also described Alyssa's admirable conduct. The girl suspecting her mistress's despair, forcing a confession from her, writing to Lupin, and contriving the story of a robbery to save her from Bresson's clutches. You, Suzanne! You! repeated Monsieur D'Ambleval, bent double, overwhelmed. How could you? On the evening of the same day, the steamer, Vy de Londres, from Calais to Dover, was gliding slowly over the motionless water. The night was dark and calm. Peaceful clouds were suggested, rather than seen, above the boat, and all around, Night veals of mist separated her from the infinite space in which the moon and the stars were shedding their cold but invisible radiance. Most of the passengers had gone to the cabins and saloons. A few of them, however, bolder than the rest, were walking up and down the deck, or else dozing under thick rugs in the big rocking chairs. Here and there the gleam showed of a cigar, and mingling with the gentle breath of the wind came the murmur of voices that dare not rise high in the great silent silence. One of the passengers, who was walking to and fro with even strides, stopped beside a person stretched out on a bench, looked at her, and when she moved slightly, said, I thought you were asleep, Mademoiselle Alice. No, Mr. Shears, I do not feel sleepy. I was thinking. What of? I felt indiscreet to ask. I was thinking of Madame Dumbleval. How sad she must be. Her life is ruined. Not at all, not at all, he said eagerly. Her fault is not one of those which can never be forgiven. Monsieur Dumbleval will forget that lapse. Already when we left, he was looking at her less harshly. Perhaps, but it will take long to forget, and she is suffering. Are you very fond of her? Very. That gave me such strength to smile when I was trembling with fear, to look you in the face when I wanted to avoid your glance. And are you unhappy at leaving her? Most unhappy. I have no relations or friends. I had only her. You shall have friends, said the Englishman, whom this grief was upsetting. I promise you that. I have connections. I have much influence. I assure you that will not regret your position. Madame Dumbleval will not be there. They exchanged no more words. Homelock Shears took two or three more turns along the deck, and then came back and settled down near his travelling companion. The misty curtain lifted, and the clouds seemed to part in the sky. Stars twinkled up above. Shears took his pipe from the pocket of his Inverness Cape, filled it and struck four matches, one after the other, without succeeding in lighting it. As he had none left, he rose, and sat to a gentleman seated a few steps off. Could you oblige me with a light, please? The gentleman opened the bark of fuses and struck one. A flame blazed up. By its light Shears saw Arsène Lupin. If the Englishman had not given a tiny movement, an almost imperceptible movement of recoil, Lupin might have thought that his presence on board was known to him. No great was the mastery which Shears retained over himself, and so natural the ease with which he held out his hand to his adversary. Keeping well, Monsieur Lupin? Bravo! exclaimed Lupin, from whom the self-command drew a cry of admiration. Bravo! What for? What for? You'll see me reappear before you like a ghost after witnessing my dive into the same, and from pride, from a miraculous pride which I will call essentially British, you give not a movement of astonishment, you utter not a word of surprise. Upon my word I repeat, Bravo! It's admirable. There's nothing admirable about it. From the way you fell off the boat I could see that you fell of your own accord and that you had not been struck by the sergeant's shot. And you went away without knowing what became of me? What became of you? I knew. Five hundred people were commanding the two banks over a distance of three-quarters of a mile. Once you escaped death your capture was certain. And yet I'm here. Monsieur Lupin, there are two men in the world of whom nothing can astonish me, myself first and you next. Peace was concluded. If shears had failed in his undertakings against Arsène Lupin, if Lupin remained the exceptional enemy whom he must definitely renounce all attempts to capture, if, in the course of the engagements, Lupin always preserved his superiority, the Englishman had, nevertheless, thanks to his formidable tenacity, recovered the Jewish lamp, just as he had recovered the blue diamond. Perhaps this time the result was less brilliant, especially from the point of view of the public, since shears was obliged to suppress the circumstances in which the Jewish lamp had been discovered, and to proclaim that he did not know the culprit's name. But as between men and men, between Lupin and shears, between burglar and detective, there was, in all fairness, neither victor nor vanquished. Each of them could lay claim to equal triumphs. They talked, therefore, like courteous adversaries, who have laid down their arms and who esteem each other at their true worth. At shears' request Lupin described his escape. If indeed, he said, you can call it an escape. It was so simple. My friends were on the watch, since we had arranged to meet in order to fish up the Jewish lamp. And so, after remaining a good half-hour under the overturned keel of the boat, I took advantage of a moment when, full on fun, his men were looking for my corpse along the banks, and I climbed on to the wreck again. My friends had only to pick me up in their motorboat and to dash off before the astounded eyes of the five hundred sightseers, Ghanimar and Foul Enfant. Very pretty, cried shears, most successful. And now, have you business in England? Yes, a few accounts to settle. But I was forgetting. Monsieur D'Ambleval? He knows all. Ha, my dear maître! What did I tell you? The harm's done now, but you won't repair. Would it not have been better to let me go to work in my own way? A day or two more, and I should have recovered the Jewish lamp and the other things from Bresson, and send them back to the D'Ambleval. And those two good people would have gone on, living peacefully together. Instead of which? Instead of which, snarled shears, I have muddled everything up and brought the scorn into a family which you were protecting. Well, yes, if you like, protecting. Is it indispensable that one should always steal, cheat, and do harm? That's all you do good also. When I have time, besides, it amuses me. I think it extremely funny that, in the present adventure, I should be the good genius who rescues and saves, and you the wicked genius who brings despair and tears. Certainly the D'Ambleval home is broken up, and Alice de Ma is weeping. She could not have remained. Garima would have ended by discovering her, and through her they would have worked back to Madame D'Ambleval. Quite of your opinion, maître, but whose fault was it? Two men passed in front of them. Sheer satcheloupins, in a voice the tone of which seemed a little altered. Do you know who those two gentlemen are? I think one was the captain of the boat. And the other? I don't know. It is Mr. Austin Gillett, and Mr. Austin Gillett occupies in England a post which corresponds with that of your Monsieur Dujouis. Oh! What luck! Would you have the kindness to introduce me? Monsieur Dujouis is a great friend of mine, and I should like to be able to say as much of Mr. Austin Gillett. The two gentlemen reappeared. And suppose I were to take you at your word, Monsieur Loupin? Said Sheer's rising. He had seized D'Arsène Loupin's wrist, and held it in a grip of steel. Why grip me so hard, maître? I am quite ready to go with you. He allowed himself, in fact, to be dragged along, without least resistance. The two gentlemen were walking away from them. Sheer's increased his pace. His nails dug into Loupin's very flesh. Come along, come along! He said, under his breath, in a sort of fevered haste to settle everything as quickly as possible. Come along, quick! But he stopped short. At least the man had followed them. What are you doing, mademoiselle? You need not trouble to come. It was Loupin, who replied. I beg you to observe, maître, that mademoiselle is not coming of her own free will. I am holding her wrist with an energy similar to that which you are applying to mine. And why? Why? Well, I am bent upon introducing her also. Her part in the story of the Jewish lamb is even more important than mine. As an accomplice of Arsène Loupin, and of Prison as well, she too must tell the adventure of the Baron de Bléval, which is sure to interest the police immensely, and in this way you will have pushed your kind interference to its last limits, O generous Sheer's. The Englishman had released his prisoner's wrist. Loupin let go of mademoiselle's. They stood for a few seconds without moving, looking at one another. Then Sheer's went back to his bench, and sat down. Loupin and the girl resumed their places. A long silence divided them. Then Loupin said, You see, maître, do what we may. We shall never be in the same camp. You will always be on one side of the ditch, high on the other. We can nod, shake hands, exchange a word or two, but the ditch is always there. You will always be Homelock Sheer's detective, and I, Arsène Loupin, burglar. And Homelock Sheer's will always more or less spontaneously, more or less seasonably, obey his instinct as a detective, which is to hum down the burglar and run him in, if possible. And Arsène Loupin will always be consistent with his burglar's soul in avoiding the grasp of the detective and laughing at him if he can, and this time he can. He burst into a cunning, cruel and detestable laugh. Then suddenly, becoming serious, he leaned toward the girl. Be sure, mademoiselle, that though reduced to the last extremity, I would not have betrayed you. Arsène Loupin never betrays, especially those whom he likes and admires, and you must permit me to say that I like and admire the dear, plucky creature that you are. It took a visiting card from his pocket-book, tore it in two, gave one half to the girl, and in a touched and respectful voice. If Mr. Sheer's does not succeed in his steps, mademoiselle, pray, go to Lady Strongborough, whose address you can easily find out. Hand her this half-card and say, Faithful Memories, Lady Strongborough will show you the devotion of a sister. Thank you, said the girl. I will go to her to-morrow. And now, maître, cried Loupin, in the satisfied tone of a man who has done his duty, let me bid you good night. The mist has the latest, and there is still time to take forty winks. He stretched himself at full length and crossed his hands behind his head. The sky had opened before the moon. She shed her radiant brightness around the stars and over the sea. The mist floated upon the water, and space in which the last mists were dissolving seemed to belong to it. The line of the coast stood out against a dark horizon. Passengers came up on deck, which was now covered with people. Mr. Austin Gillett passed in the company of two men whom Sheer's recognized as members of the English detective force. On his bench Loupin slept. End of Section 9 End of The Blonde Lady by Maurice Leblanc Translated by Alexandre Deschez de Giammatous