 CHAPTER III HOMELOCK SHIRES OPENS HUSTILITIES WHAT CAN I GET, YOU GENTLEMAN? ANYTHING YOU PLEASE," REPLAINED ARSEN LUPIN, IN THE VOICE OF A MAN WHO TAKES NO INTEREST IN HIS FOOD. THANK YOU, PLEASE, BUT NO MEAT OR WINE. THE WAITER WALKED AWAY WITH A SCORNFUL AIR. I EXCLAIMED, DO YOU MEAN TO SAY THAT YOU ARE STILL A VEGETARIAN? YES, MORE THAN EVER," SAID LUPIN. FROM TASTE, CONVICTION, HABIT, FOR REASONS OF HEALTH. AND DO YOU NEVER BREAK YOUR RULE? OH YES, WHEN I GO OUT TO DINNER, SO IT'S NOT TO APPEAR EXCENTRIC. WE WERE DINING NEAR THE GARDENOR, INSIDE A LITTLE RESTURAN, WHERE ARSEN LUPIN HAD INVITED ME TO JOIN HIM. HIS RATHER FUND OF TELEGRAPHING TO ME, OCCASIONALLY, IN THE MORNING, AND ARRANGING A MEETING OF THIS KIND IN SOME CORNER OR OTHER OF PARIS. HE ALWAYS ARRIVES IN THE HIGHEST SPIRITS, REJOICING IN LIFE, UNEFFECTEDLY AND GOOD HUMIDLY, AND ALWAYS HAS SOME SURPRISING ANNECDOT TO TELL ME, SOME MEMORY, THE STORY OF SOME ADVENTURE THAT I HAVE NOT HEARD BEFORE? THAT EVENING, HE SEEM TO ME TO LET HIMSELF GO EVEN MORE THAN USUAL. HE LEFT UNCHATTERED WITH A SINGULAR ANIMATION, AND WITH THAT DELICATE IRONY, WHICH IS ALL HIS OWN, AN IRONY DEVOID OF BITTERNESS, LIGHT AND SPONTANIUS. IT WAS A PLEASURE TO SEE HIM LIKE THAT, AND I COULD NOT HELP EXTRACING MY SATISFACTION. OH YES, HE CRIED, I HAVE DAYS WHEN EVERYTHING SEEMS DELIGHTFUL, WHEN LIFE BUBBLES IN ME LIKE AN INFINITE TREASURE, WHICH I CAN NEVER EXAUST. AND YET GOODNESS KNOWS THAT I LIVE WITHOUT COUNTING. Too much so, perhaps. The treasure is infinite, I tell you. I can spend myself and squander myself. I can fling my strength and my youth to the four winds of heaven, and I am only making room for greater and more youthful strength. And then, really, my life is so beautiful, I need only have the wish, isn't it so, to become, from one day to the next, anything, an orator, a great manufacturer, a politician. Well, I swear to you, the idea would never enter my head. Arsène Lupin I am, Arsène Lupin I remain. And I search history in vain for a destiny to compare with mine, fuller, more intense. Napoleon? Yes, perhaps. But then it is Napoleon at the end of his imperial career, during the campaign in France, that Europe was crushing him, and when he was wondering whether each battle was not the last which he could fight. Was he serious? Was he jesting? The tone of his voice had grown more eager, and he continued. Everything's there, you see, danger, the uninterrupted impression of danger, oh, to breathe it like the air one breathes, to feel it around one, blowing, roaring, lining weight, approaching, and in the midst of the storm, to remain calm, not to flinch. If you do, you are lost. There's only one sensation to equal it, that of the chauffeur driving his car. But that drive lasts for a morning, whereas mine lasts all through life. How lyrical we are, I cried, and you would have me believe that you have no special reason for excitement? He smiled. You're a shrewd enough psychologist, he replied. There is something more, as you say. He poured out a tumbler of water, drank it down, and asked, Have you seen the tawn today? No. Homelock's shears was to have crossed the channel this afternoon. He arrived in Paris at six. The devil he did, and why? He's taking a little trip at the expense of the croissant, what Tric's nephew and the Gérbois fellow. They all met at the Gare du Nord, and went on to see Ganymar. The six of them are in conference at this moment. Notwithstanding the immense curiosity with which he inspires me, I never ventured to question Arsène Lupin as to the acts of his private life, until he has spoken of them to me himself. It is a matter of discretion on my part, with which I never compound. Besides, at that time, his name had not yet been mentioned, at least not publicly, in connection with the Blue Diamond. I waited patiently, therefore. He continued. The tawn also prints an interview with that excellent Ganymar, according to which a certain blonde lady, said to be my friend, is supposed to have murdered Baron d'Autraic, and tried to steal his famous ring from Madame de Crozon, and it goes without saying that he accuses me of being the instigator of both these crimes. A slight shiver passed through me. Could it be true? Was I to believe that the habit of theft, his mode of life, the sheer logic of events had driven this man to murder? I looked at him. He seemed so calm. His eyes met mine so frankly. I examined his hands. They were modeled with infinite daintiness, were really inoffensive hands, the hands of an artist. Ganymar is a lunatic, I muttered. He protested. Not a bit of it, not a bit of it. Ganymar is shrewd enough. Sometimes he's even quick-witted. Quick-witted? Yes, yes. For instance, this interview is a master's troke. First, he announces the coming of his English rival, so as to put me on my guard, and make Shears' test more difficult. Secondly, he specifies the exact point to which he has carried the case, so that Shears may enjoy only the benefit of his own discoveries. That's fair fighting. Still, you have two adversaries to deal with now, and such adversaries. Oh, one of them doesn't count. And the other? Shears? Oh, I admit that he's more of a match for me. But that's just what I love, and why you seem in such good spirits. To begin with, there's the question of my vanity. They consider that I'm worth asking the famous Englishman to meet. Next, think of the pleasure which a fighter like myself must take in the prospect of a duel with Holmlock Shears. Well, I shall have to exert myself to the utmost, for I know the fellow he won't retreat a step. He's a clever man. A very clever man. As a detective, I doubt if his equal exists, or has ever existed. Only, I have one advantage over him, which is that he's attacking, while I am on the defensive, mine is the easier game to play. Besides, he gave an imperceptible smile before completing his phrase. Besides, I know his way of fighting, and he does not know mine. And I have a few slight thrusts in store for him, which will give him something to think about. He tapped the table lightly with his fingers, and flung out little sentences with a delighted air. Arsène Lupin versus Holmlock Shears. France versus England. Revenge for Trafalgar at last. Ha! The poor wretch. The things that I am prepared, and the Lupin armed, he stopped, suddenly, seized with a fit of coughing, and hid his face in his napkin, as though something had gone down the wrong way. What is it? I asked a crumb. Why don't you take some water? No, it's not that. He gasped. What then? I want air. Shall I open the window? No, I shall go out. Quick. Give me my hat and coat. I'm off. But what does it all mean? You see, the taller of those two men who have just come in, well, I want you to keep on my left as we go out to prevent his seeing me. The one sitting behind you? Yes. For personal reasons, I prefer I'll tell you why outside. But who is it? Holmlock Shears. He made a violent effort to overcome his agitation, as though he felt ashamed of it. Put down his napkin, drank a glass of water, and then, quite recovered, said with a smile. It's funny, isn't it? I'm not easily excited by this unexpected meeting. What are you afraid of? Seeing that no one can recognize you under all your transformations. I myself, each time I see you, feel as if I were with a new person. He will recognize me, said Arsene Dupin. He saw me only once, but I felt that he saw me for life, and that what he saw was not my appearance, which I can always alter, but the very being that I am. And then, and then, I wasn't prepared. What a curious meeting, and this little restaurant. Well, said I, shall we go? No. No. What do you propose to do? The best thing will be to act frankly, to trust him. You can't be serious. Oh, but I am. Besides, it would be a good thing to question him, to know what he knows. Ha! There. I feel that his eyes are fixed on my neck, on my shoulders. He's trying to think, to remember. He reflected. I noticed a mischievous smile on his lips. And then, obeying, I believe, some whim of his frivolous nature, rather than the needs of the position itself, he rolls abruptly, spun round on his heels, and, with a bow, sad gaily. What a stroke of luck! Who would have thought it? Call me to introduce my friend. For a second or two, the Englishman was taken aback. Then he made an instinctive movement, as though he were ready to fling himself upon Arsène Lupin. Lupin shook his head. That would be a mistake. Just saying nothing of the bad taste of it, and the uselessness. The Englishman turned his head from side to side, as though looking for assistance. That's no better. And also, are you quite sure that you are entitled to lay hands upon me? Come, be a sportsman. The display of sportsmen-like qualities was not particularly tempting on this occasion. Nevertheless, it probably appeared to sheers to be the wisest course, for he half-rose and coldly introduced his companion. Mr. Wilson, my friend and assistant, Mr. Arsène Lupin. Wilson's stupefaction made us all laugh. His eyes and mouth, both wide open, drew two streaks across his expensive face, with its skin gleaming and tight stretched like an apple's, while his bristly hair stood up like so many thick-set, hardy blades of grass. Wilson, you don't seem able to conceal your bewilderment at one of the most natural incidents in the world, grin homelock shears with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. Wilson stammered, why? Why don't you arrest him? Don't you see, Wilson, that the gentleman is standing between the door and myself, and at two steps from the door, before I move the finger he would be outside. Don't let that stand in your way, said Lupin. He walked round the table and sat down, so that the Englishman was between him and the door, thus placing himself at his mercy. Wilson looked at sheers to see if he might admire this piece of pluck. Sheers remained impenetrable. But after a moment he called, waiter? The waiter came up, four whiskeys and sodas. The piece was signed, until for their orders. Soon after, seated, all four round one table, we were quietly chatting. Homelock shears is a man of the sort one meets every day. He's about fifty years of age, and looks like a decent city clerk who has spent his life keeping books at a desk. He has nothing to distinguish him from the ordinary respectable Londoner with his clean-shaven face and his somewhat heavy appearance. Nothing except his terribly keen, bright, penetrating eyes. And then, of course, he is homelock shears, that is to say, a sort of miracle of intuition, of insight, of perspicacity, of shriveness. It is as though nature had amused herself by taking the two most extraordinary types of detective that fiction had invented, Paul Stupa and Gabo Rios Lecoq, in order to build up one in her own fashion, more extraordinary yet and more unreal. And upon my word, anyone hearing of the adventures which have made the name of homelock shears famous all over the world must feel inclined to ask if he is not a legendary person, a hero who was stepped straight from the brain of some great novel writer of a kind of Doyle, for instance. He at once, when Arsène Lupin asked him how long he meant to stay, led the conversation into its right channel and replied, that depends upon yourself, Monsieur Lupin. Oh, exclaimed the other, laughing, if he depended on me, I should ask you to take tonight's boat back. Tonight is rather early, but I hope in a week or 10 days. Are you in such a hurry? I am very busy. There's a robbery at the Anglo-Chinese bank, and Lady Echelstone has been kidnapped, as you know. Tell me, Monsieur Lupin, do you think a week will do? Amply. If you confine yourself to the two cases connected with the Blue Diamond, it will just give me time to take my precautions, supposing the solution of those two mysteries to give you certain advantages over me that might endanger my safety. Yes, said the Englishman, I expect to have gained those advantages in a week or 10 days. And to have me arrested on the 11th? On the 10th, at the very latest. Lupin reflected, and shaking his head, it will be difficult, it will be difficult. Difficult, yes, but possible, and therefore, certain. Absolutely certain, said Wilson, as though he himself had clearly perceived the long series of operations which would lead his friend to the result announced. Homelock Shear smiled. Wilson, who knows what he's talking about, is there to confirm what I say. And he went on. Of course, I have not all the cards in my hands, because the case is already a good many months old. I have not the factors, the clues upon which I am accustomed to base my inquiries. Such as mud stains and cigarette ashes, said Wilson, with an air of importance. But in addition to the remarkable conclusions arrived at by Monsieur Ganyma, I have at my service all the articles written on the subject, all the evidence collected, and consequently, a few ideas of my own regarding the mystery. A few views suggested to us, either by analysis or hypotheses, added Wilson sententially. Would it be indiscreet, said Arsène Lupin, in the differential tone which he adopted toward Shears, would it be indiscreet to ask what general opinion you have been able to form? It was really most stimulating to see those two men seated together, with their elbows on the table, arguing solemnly and dispassionately, as though they were trying to solve a steep problem, or to come to an agreement on some controversial point. And this was coupled with a very delicate irony which both of them, as experts and artists, thoroughly enjoyed. As for Wilson, he wasn't the seventh heaven. Shears slowly filled his pipe, lidded and sad. I consider that this case is infinitely less complicated than it appears at first sight. Very much less, echoed Wilson faithfully. I say the case, for in my opinion there is but one case. The death of Baron d'Otrec, the story of the Ring, and don't let us forget that the mystery of number 514 series 23, are only the different aspects of what we may call the puzzle of the blonde lady. Now, in my opinion, what lies before me is simply to discover the link which connects these three phases of the same story, the particular fact which proves the uniformity of the three methods. Garimard, who is a little superficial in his judgments, sees this uniformity in the faculty of disappearing, in the power of coming and going unseen. This intervention of miracles does not satisfy me. Well? Well, according to me, said Shears decidedly, the characteristics shared by the three incidents lies in your manifest and evident, although hitherto unperceived, intentioned to have the affair performed on a stage which you have previously selected. This points to something more than a plan on your part, a necessity, rather, a sine qua non of success. Could you give a few particulars? Easily. For instance, from the commencement of your contest with Monsieur Gérbois, it was evident that Metro Dettino's flat was the place selected by you, the inevitable place at which you were all to meet. No place seemed quite as safe to you, so much so that you made what one might almost call a public appointment there with the blonde lady and Magmoise Gérbois. The daughter of the professor, explained Wilson. Let us now speak of the blue diamond. Did you try to get hold of it during all the years that Baron d'Autraic had it in his possession? No. But the Baron moves into his brother's house. Six months later, Antoinette Breya appears upon the scene, and the first attempt is made. You fail to secure the diamond, and the sale takes place amid great excitement at the Hotel Tours. Is the sale free? Is the richest bidder sure of getting the diamond? Not at all. At the moment when Hirschman is about to become the owner, a lady has a threatening letter thrust into his hand, and the diamond goes through the Contest de Croissant, who has been worked upon and influenced by the same lady. Does it vanish at once? No. You lack the facilities. So an interval ensues, but the Countess moves to her country house. This is what you were waiting for. The ring disappears. To reappear in the Toothpowder of Pleichon, the Consul, objected to Loupin, how odd. Come, come, said Hirsch, striking the table with his fist. Tell that to the marines. You can take in fools with that, but not an old fox like me. What do you mean? Hirsch took his time, as though he wished to save up his effect. Then he said, the blue diamond found in the Toothpowder is an imitation diamond, the real one you kept. Arsène Loupin was silent for a moment. And then, with his eyes fixed on the Englishman, said very simply, you're a great man, sir. Isn't he, said Wilson, emphatically in gaping with admiration? Yes, said Loupin. Everything becomes cleared up and appears in its true sense. Not one of the examining magistrates, not one of the special reporters who have been exciting themselves about these cases, has come half as near the truth. I look upon you as a marvel of insight and logic. Puh! said the Englishman, flattered at the compliment paid him by so great an expert. It only needed a little thought. It needed to know how to use one's thought. And there are so few who do know. But now, that the field of surmise has been narrowed, and the ground swept clear. Well, now, all that I have to do is to discover why the three cases were enacted, at 25, Hugh-Cléperron, at 134 Avenue-en-Rymartin, and within the walls of the Chateau des Croisons. The whole case lies there. The rest is mere talk and child's play. Don't you agree? I agree. In that case, Monsieur Loupin, am I not right in saying that I shall have finished my business in 10 days? In 10 days, yes, the whole truth will be known. And you will be arrested. No. No. For me to be arrested, there would have to be a conjunction of such unlikely circumstances, a series of such stupefying pieces of ill-luck, that I cannot admit the possibility what neither circumstances nor luck may be able to effect, Monsieur Loupin, can be brought about by one man's will and persistence. If the will and persistence of another man do not oppose an invincible obstacle to that plan, Mr. Shears, there is no such thing as an invincible obstacle, Monsieur Loupin. The two exchange the penetrating glance, free from provocation on either side, the cone and fearless. It was the clash of two swords about to open the combat. It sounded clear and frank. Joy, cried Loupin. Here's the man at last. An adversary is a rara awids at any time. And this one is homeluck Shears. We shall have some sport. You're not afraid, asked Wilson. Very nearly, Mr. Wilson, said Loupin, rising. And the proof is that I'm going to hurry to make good my retreat, else I might risk being caught napping. Ten days, we said, Mr. Shears. Ten days. This is Sunday. It will all be over by Wednesday week. And I shall be under lock and key, without the slightest doubt, by Jove. And I was congratulating myself on my quiet life. No bothers, a good, steady little business. The police sent to the right about, in a comforting sense of the general sympathy that surrounds me. We shall have to change all this. It is the reverse of the medal. After sunshine comes rain. This is no time for laughing. Goodbye. Look sharp, said Wilson, full of solicitude on behalf of a person whom Shears inspired with such obvious respect. Don't lose a minute. Not a minute, Mr. Wilson, except to tell you how pleased I have been to meet you, and how I envy the leader who has an assistant so valuable as yourself. Gordius vows were exchanged, as between two adversaries on the fencing ground, who bear each other no hatred, but who are constrained by fate to fight to the death. And Lupin took my arm and dragged me outside. What do you say to that, old fellow? There's a dinner that will be worth describing in your memoirs of me. He closed the door of the restaurant and, stopping a little way off, do you smoke? No, but no more do you, Shirley. No more do I. He lit a cigarette, with a wax match which he waved several times to put it out. But he had once flung away the cigarette, ran across the road, and joined two men who had emerged from the shadow, as though summoned by a signal. He talked to them for a few minutes on the opposite pavement, and then returned to me. I beg your pardon, but I shall have my work cut out with that confounded shears. I swear, however, that he has not done with Lupin yet. By Jupiter, I'll show the fellow the stuff I'm made of. Good night. The unspeakable Wilson is right. I have not a minute to lose. He walked rapidly away. Thus ended that strange evening, or at least that part of it, with which I had to do. For many other incidents occurred during the hours that followed, events which the confidences of the others who were present at that dinner have fortunately enabled me to reconstruct in detail. At the very moment when Lupin left me, homelock shears took out his watch and rose in his turn. Twenty to nine. At nine o'clock I am to meet the Count and Countess at the railway station. Let's go! cried Wilson, tossing off two glasses of whiskey in succession. They went out. Wilson, don't turn your head. We may be followed. If so, let us act as though we don't care whether we are or not. Tell me, Wilson, what's your opinion? Why was Lupin in that restaurant? Wilson, without hesitation, replied, to get some dinner. Wilson, the longer we work together, the more clearly I perceive the constant progress you are making. Upon my word, you're becoming amazing. Wilson blushed with satisfaction in the dark, and shears resumed. Yes, he went to get some dinner. And then, most likely, to make sure if I am really going to croissant, as Ganimar says I am, in his interview, I shall leave, therefore, so as not to disappoint him. But, as it is a question of gaining time upon him, I shall not leave. Ah, said Wilson, nonplussed, I want you, old chap, to go down the street. Take a cab, take two cabs, three cabs. Come back later to fetch the bags, which we left in the cloakroom, and then drive as fast as you can to the Elyse Palace. And what am I to do at the Elyse Palace? Ask for a room, go to bed, sleep the sleep of the just, and await my instructions. Wilson, proud of the important task allotted to him, went off. Homelock Shears took his ticket at the railway station and entered the Amiens Express, in which the content contest the croissant had already taken their seats. He merely bowed to them, lit a second pipe, and smoked it placidly, standing in the corridor. The train started. Ten minutes later, he came and sat down beside the countess, and asked, have you the ring on you, madame? Yes. Please let me look at it. He took it and examined it. As I thought, it is a fake diamond. Faked? Yes, by a new process which consists in subjecting diamond dust to enormous heat until it melts, whereupon it is simply reformed into a single diamond. Why, but my diamond is real. Yes, yours, but this is not yours. Where is mine then? In the hands of Arsene Lupin. And this one? This one was put in its place and slipped into Herb Leichen's tooth powder flask where you found it. Then it's an imitation? Absolutely. Non-plus and overwhelmed, the countess said nothing more, while her husband, refusing to believe the statement, turned the jewel over and over in his fingers. She finished by stemming out. But it's impossible. Why didn't they just simply take it? And how did they get it? That's just what I mean to try to discover. A croissant? No, I shall get out at Créu and return to Paris. That's where the game between Arsene Lupin and myself must be played out. The tricks will count the same wherever you make them. But it is better that Lupin should think that I am out of town. Still, what difference can it make to you, madame? The main object is your diamond, is it not? Yes. Well, set your mind at rest. Only a little while ago I gave an undertaking which will be much more difficult to keep. On the word of homelock shears, you shall have the real diamond back. The train slowed down. He put the imitation diamond in his pocket and opened the carriage door. The count cried, take care. That's the wrong side. Lupin will lose my tracks this way if he's having me shadowed. Goodbye. The porter protested. The Englishman made for the station master's office. 50 minutes later, he jumped into a train which brought him back to Paris a little before midnight. He ran across the station into the refreshment room, went out by the other door and sprang into a cab. Drive to the Hugh Claipéron. After making sure that he was not being followed, he stopped the cab at the commencement of the street and began to make a careful examination of the house in which met what did he not live and of the two adjoining houses. He paced off certain distances and noted the measurements in his memorandum book. Now, drive to the Avenue Henri Martin. He dismissed his cab at the corner of the Avenue and the Hugh de la Pomp, walked along the pavement to number 134, and went through the same performance in front of the house which Baron d'Autrec had occupied and the two houses by which it was hemmed in on either side, measuring the width of their respective frontages and calculating the depth of the little gardens in front of the houses. The Avenue was deserted and very dark under its four rows of trees, amid which an occasional gas jets seem to struggle vainly against the thickness of the gloom. One of these lamps threw pale light upon a part of the house and sheer sudden notice, too light, hanging on the railings, saw the two neglected walks that encircled the miniature lawn and the great empty windows of the uninhabited house. That's true, he thought. There has been no tenon since the Baron's death. Ha! If I could just get in and make a preliminary visit. The idea no sooner passed through his mind that he wanted to put it into execution. But how to manage? The height of the gate made it impossible for him to climb it. It took an electric lantern from his pocket, as well as a skeleton key which he always carried. Though his great surprise, he found that one of the doors of the gate was standing ajar. He, therefore, slipped into the garden, taking care not to close the gate behind him. He had not gone three steps when he stopped. A glimmer of light had passed along one of the windows on the second floor. And the glimmer passed along a second window and a third, while he was able to see nothing but a shadow outlying against the walls of the rooms. And the glimmer descended from the second floor to the first, and for a long time wandered from room to room. Who on earth can be walking about at one in the morning in the house where Baron Dothrake was murdered? Thought shears, feeling immensely interested. There was only one way of finding out, which was to enter the house himself. He did not hesitate, but the men must have seen him as he crossed the belt of light cast by the guest-jack and made his way to the steps, for the glimmers suddenly went out and shears did not see it again. He softly tried the door at the top of the steps. It was open also. Hearing no sound, he ventured to penetrate the darkness, fell for the knob of the bolster, found it and went up one floor. The same silence, the same darkness continued to rain. On reaching the landing, he entered one of the rooms and went to the window, which showed white in the dim light of the night outside. Through the window, he caught sight of the man who had doubtless gunned down by another staircase and out by another door and was now slipping along the shrubs on the left that lined the walls separating the two gardens. That should, exclaimed shears, he'll escape me. He rushed downstairs and leapt into the garden with a view to cutting off the man's retreat. At first he saw no one and it was some seconds before he distinguished among the confused heap of shrubs a darker farm which was not quite stationary. The Englishman paused to reflect. Why had the fellow not tried to run away when he could easily have done so? Was he staying there to spy in his turn upon the intruder who had disturbed him in his mysterious errand? In any case, thought shears, it is not Lupin. Lupin would be cleverer, he must be one of his gang. Long minutes passed, shears stood motionless with his eyes fixed upon the adversary who was watching him. But as the adversary was motionless too and as the Englishman was not the man to hang about doing nothing, he fell to see if the cylinder of his revolver worked, loosened his dagger in its sheath and walked straight up to the enemy with the cold daring and the contempt of danger which make him so formidable. A sharp sound, the man was caulking his revolver. Shears rushed into the shrubbery. The other had no time to turn. The Englishman was upon him. There was a violent and desperate struggle amid which shears was aware that the man was making every effort to draw his knife. But shears stimulated by the thought of his coming victory and by the fierce longing to lay hold at once of these accomplices of Arsene Lupin's felt an irresistible strength welling up within himself. He threw his adversary, bore upon him with all his weight and holding him down with his five fingers clutching at his throat like so many claws, he felled for his electric lantern with the hand that was free, pressed the button and threw the light upon his prisoner's face. "'Wilson!' he shouted in terror. "'Homelok shears!' gasped the hollow, stifled voice. They remained long staring at each other without exchanging a word. Dumbfounded, stupefied, the air was torn by the horn of a motor-car. A breath of wind rustled through the leaves and shears did not stir. His fingers still fixed in Wilson's throat which continued to emit an ever-fainter rattle. And suddenly shears overcome with rage, let go his friend, but only to seize him by the shoulders and shake him frantically. What are you doing here? Answer me! What are you here for? Who told you to hide in the shrubbery and watch me? Watch you, grown Wilson, but I didn't know it was you. Then what? Why are you here? I told you to go to bed. I did go to bed. I told you to go to sleep. I did. You had no business to wake up. Your letter? What letter? The letter from you which a commissionary brought me at the hotel. A letter from me? You're mad. I assure you. Where's the letter? Wilson produced a sheet of no-paper and by the light of his lantern, shears read in amazement. Get up at once, Wilson, and go to the avenue in Rimartin as fast as you can. The house is empty. Go in, inspect it, make out an exact plan, and go back to bed. Home lock shears. I was busy measuring the rooms, said Wilson. When I saw a shadow in the garden, I had only one idea, to catch the shadow. The idea was excellent. Only look here, Wilson, said shears, helping his friend up and leading him away. The next time you get a letter from me, make sure first that it's not a forgery. Then the letter was not from you, asked Wilson, who began to have a glimmering of the truth. No, worse luck. Who wrote it then? Arsène Lupin. But with what object? I don't know. And that's just what bothers me. Why the deuce should he take the trouble to disturb your night's rest? If it were myself, I could understand, but you, I can't see what interest. I am anxious to get back to the hotel. So am I, Wilson. They reached the gate. Wilson, who was in front, took hold of one of the bars and pulled it. Hello, he said. Did you shut it? Certainly not. I left the gate ajar. But shears pulled in his turn and then frantically flung himself upon the lock. An oath escaped him. Damn it all. It's locked. The gate's locked. He shipped the gate with all his might, but, soon realizing the hopelessness of his exertions, left his arms fall to his sides in discouragement and jerked out. I understand the whole thing now. It's his doing. He foresaw that I should get out at Créil and he laid a pretty little trap for me in case I should come to start my inquiry tonight. In addition, he had the kindness to send you to keep me company in my captivity. All this to make me lose a day and also, no doubt, to show me that I would do much better to mine my own business. That is to say that we are his prisoners. You speak like a book. Homelock Shears and Wilson are the prisoners of Arsene Lupin. The adventure is beginning splendidly, but no, no, I refuse to believe. A hand touched his shoulder. It was Wilson's hand. Look, he said. Up there, a light. It was true. There was a light visible through one of the windows on the first floor. They both raced up, each by his own staircase, and reached the door of the lighted room at the same time. A candle-lamp was burning in the middle of the floor. Besided stood a basket, from which protruded the neck of a bottle, the legs of a chicken, and half a loaf of bread. Shears roared with laughter. Splendid, he gives us our supper. It's an enchanted palace, a regular, fairly land. Come, Wilson, throw off that dismal face. This is all very amusing. Are you sure it's very amusing? Moaned Wilson dolefully. Sure, cried Shears, with a gaiety that was too boisterous to be quite natural. Of course, I'm sure. I never saw anything more amusing in my life. It's first-rate farce. What a master of chaff is Arsene Lupin is. He tricks you, but he does it so gracefully. I wouldn't give my seat at this banquet for all the gold in the world. Wilson, old chap, you disappoint me. Again I have been mistaken in you. Are you really deficient in that nobility of character which makes a man bear up under misfortune? What have you to complain of? At this moment, you might be lying with my dagger in your throat, or I with yours and mine, for that was what you were trying for, you faithfulest friend. He succeeded by dint of humor and sarcasm in cheering up the wretched Wilson and forcing him to swallow a leg of the chicken and a glass of wine. But when the candle had gone out and they had to stretch themselves on the floor to sleep with the wall for a pillow, the painful and ridiculous side of the situation became apparent to them and their slumbers were sad. In the morning, Wilson woke aching in every bone and shivering with cold. A slight sound caught his ear. Homeluck shears on his knees, bent in two, was examining grains of dust through his lens and inspecting certain hardly perceptible chalk marks which formed figures which he put down in his notebook. Escorted by Wilson, who seemed to take a particular interest in this work, he studied each room and found similar chalk marks in two of the others. He also observed two circles on some oak panels, an arrow on a wainscoting and four figures on four steps of the staircase. After an hour spent in this way, Wilson asked, the figures are correct, are they not? I don't know if they're correct, replied shears, because good temper had been restored by these discoveries, but at any rate they mean something. Something very obvious, said Wilson, they represent the number of planks in the floor. Oh, yes, as for the two circles, they indicate that the panels sound hollow, as you can see by trying and the arrow points to show the direction of the dinner lift. Homeluck shears looked at him in admiration. Wow, my dear chap, how do you know all this? Your perspicacity almost makes me ashamed of myself. Oh, it's very simple, said Wilson, bursting with delight. I made those marks myself last night, in consequence of your instructions, or rather Lupin's instructions, as the letter I received from you came from him. I have little doubt that at that moment, Wilson was in greater danger than during his struggle with shears in the shrubbery. Shears felt a fierce longing to ring his neck. Mastering himself in an effort, he gave a grin that pretended to be a smile and said, well done, well done, that's an excellent piece of work, most useful. Have your wonderful powers of analysis and observation been exercised in any other direction? I may as well make use of the results obtained. No, that's all I did. What a pity, the start was so promising. Well, as things are, there's nothing left for us to do, but go, go, but how? The way respectable people usually go through the gate. It's locked. We must get it opened. Home by? Would you mind calling those two policemen walking down the avenue? But, but what? It's very humiliating. What will people say when they learn that you, Homeless Shears, and I, Wilson, have been locked up by Arsene Lupin? It can't be helped, my dear fellow. They will laugh like anything, replied Shears angrily with a frowning face, but we can't go on living here forever, can we? And you don't propose to try anything? Not I. Still, the men who brought the basket of provisions did not cross the garden, either incoming or going. There must, therefore, be another outlet. Let us look for it, instead of troubling the police. Abley argued, only you forget that the whole police of Paris have been hunting for this outlet for the past six months, and that I, myself, while you were asleep, examined the house from top to bottom. Ha, my dear Wilson, Arsene Lupin is a sort of game where you are not accustomed to haunt. He leaves nothing behind him, you see. Homeless Shears and Wilson were let out at eleven o'clock, and taken to the nearest police station, where the commissary, after cross-questioning them severely, released them with the most exasperating pretenses of courtesy. Gentlemen, I am grieved beyond measure at your mishap. You will have a poor opinion of our French hospitality. Lord, what a night you must have spent. Look on my word, Lupin might have shown you more consideration. They took a cab to the Elise Palace. Wilson went to the office and asked for the key of his room. The clerk looked through the visitor's book and replied in great surprise. But you gave up your room this morning, sir. What do you mean? How did I give up my room? You sent as a letter by your friend. What friend? Why? The gentleman who brought us your letter, here it is, with your card enclosed. Wilson took the letter and the enclosure. It was certainly one of his visiting-cars, and the letter was in his writing. Good Lord, he muttered, here's another nasty trick, and he added anxiously, what about the luggage? Why, your friend took it with him. Oh, so you gave it to him? Certainly, on the authority of your card. Just so, just so. They both went out and wandered down the Champs-Élysées, slowly and silently. A fine autumn sun filled the avenue. The air was mild and light. At the home-point, shears lit his pipe and resumed his walk. Wilson cried, I can't understand you, shears. You take it so calmly. The man laughs at you, plays with you as a cat played with a mouse, and you don't utter a word. Shears stopped and said, I'm thinking of your visiting-card, Wilson. Well, here's a man who, by way of preparing for a possible struggle with us, obtains specimens of your handwriting and mine, and has one of your cards ready, his pocketbook. Have you thought of the amount of precaution, of perspicacity, of determination, of method, of organization that all this represents? You mean to say, I mean to say, Wilson, that to fight an enemy so formidably armed, so wonderfully equipped, and to beat him, takes a man like myself. And even then, Wilson, he added, laughing, one does not succeed at the first attempt, as you see. At six o'clock, the École des France published the following paragraph in its special edition. This morning, Monsieur Tenard, the commissariat of police of the 16th division, released Monsieur's home lock shears and Wilson, who had been confined by order of Arsène Lupin in the late Baron d'Otrec's house where they spent an excellent night. They were also relieved of their luggage and had laid an information against Arsène Lupin. Arsène Lupin has been satisfied with giving them a little lesson this time, but he earnestly begs them not to compel him to adopt more serious measures. Puh, said home lock shears, crumpling up the paper. Schoolboy tricks, that's the only fault I have to find with Lupin. He's too childish, too fond of playing to the gallery. He's a street arabe at heart. So, you continue to take it calmly, shears? Quite calmly replied shears in a voice shaking with rage. What's the use of being angry? I am so certain of having the last word. End of chapter three. Chapter four of The Blonde Lady. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Lény. The Blonde Lady by Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexandre Teixeira de Matus. Chapter four. A glimmer in the darkness. However impervious to outside influences, a man's character, maybe, and shears is one of those men upon whom ill luck takes hardly any hold, there are yet circumstances in which the most undaunted feel the need to collect their forces before again facing the chances of a battle. I shall take a holiday today, said shears. And I, you, Wilson, must go and buy clothes and shirts and things to replenish our wardrobe. During that time, I shall rest. Yes, rest, shears, I shall watch. Wilson uttered those three words with all the importance of a sentry placed on Alpo's duty and therefore exposed to the worst dangers. He threw out his chest and stiffened his muscles. With a sharp eye, he glanced around the little hotel bedroom where they had taken up their quarters. That's right, Wilson, watch. I shall employ the interval in preparing a plan of campaign better suited to the adversary whom we have to deal with. You see, Wilson, we were wrong about Lupin. We must start again from the beginning. Even earlier, if we can, but have we time? Nine days, old chap, five days more than we want. The Englishman spent the whole afternoon smoking and dozing. He did not begin operations until the following morning. I'm ready now, Wilson. We can't go ahead. Let's go ahead, cried Wilson, full of martial order. My legs are twitching to start. Shears had three long interviews. First, with Maître Détinot, whose flat he inspected through and through. Next, with Suzanne Gerbois, to whom he telegraphed to come and whom he questioned about the blonde lady. Lastly, with Sir Auguste, who had returned to the visitation convent after the murder of Baron d'Autrègue. At each visit, Wilson waited outside, and, after each visit, asked, satisfied? Quite. I was sure of it. We're on the right track now. Let's go ahead. They did a great deal of going. They called as the two mentions on either side of the house in the Avenue Henri Martin. From there, they went on to the rue Clépéron and, while he was examining the front of No. 25, Shears continued, It is quite obvious that there are secret passages between all these houses, but what I cannot make out. For the first time, and in his inmost heart, Wilson doubted the omnipotence of his talented chief. Why was he talking so much and doing so little? Why, cried Shears, replying to Wilson's unspoken thoughts? Because with that confounded loupin, one has nothing to go upon. One works at random. Instead of deriving the truth from exact facts, one has to get at it by intuition and verify it afterward to see if it fits in. But the secret passages, what then? Even if I knew them, if I knew the one which admitted loupin to his lawyer's study, or the one taken by the blonde lady after the murder of Baron d'Autrègue, how much further should I be? Would that give me a weapon to go for him with? Let's go for him in any case, said Wilson. He had not finished speaking when he jumped back with a cry. Something had fallen at their feet. A bag half filled with sand, which might have hurt them seriously. Shears looked up. Some men were working in a cradle, hooked on to the balcony of the fifth floor. Upon my word, he said, we've had a lucky escape. The clumsy beggars. Another yard, and we should have cut that bag on our heads. One would really think, he stopped, darted into the house, rushed up the staircase, rang the bell on the fifth landing, bursting to the flat, to the great alarm of the footman who opened the door and went out on the balcony. There was no one there. Where are the workmen who were here a moment ago? He asked the footman. They have just gone. Which way? Why? Down the servant's staircase. Shears leaned over. He saw two men leaving the house, leaning their bicycles. They mounted and rode away. Have they been working on this cradle long? No, only since this morning. They were new men. Shears joined Wilson down below. They went home in a depressed mood and the second day ended in silent gloom. They followed a similar program on the following day. They sat down on a bench in the Avenue Henri-Martin. Wilson, who was thoroughly bored by this interminable weight opposite the three houses, felt driven to desperation. What do you expect, Shears, to see Lupin come out? No. Or the blonde lady? No. What then? I expect some little thing to happen, some little tiny thing which I can use as a starting point. And if nothing happens? In that case, something will happen inside myself, a spark that will set us going. The only incident that broke the monotony of the morning was a rather disagreeable one. A gentleman was coming down the riding path that separates the two roadways of the Avenue when his horse served, struck the bench on which they were sitting and backed against Shears' shoulder. Tuh-tuh, snarled Shears, a shade more and I should have had my shoulders smashed. The rider was struggling with his horse. The Englishman drew his revolver and took aim. But Wilson seized his arm smartly. You're mad, homelock. Wow, look here, he'll kill that gentleman. Let go, Wilson, do let go! A wrestle ensued during which the horseman got his mount under control and galloped away. Now you can fire, exclaimed Wilson triumphantly when the man was at some distance. But you confounded fool, don't you understand that that was a confederate of Arsène Lupin's? Shears was trembling with rage. Wilson stammered pitchlessly. What do you mean, that gentleman was a confederate of Lupin's, like the workman who flung that bag at our heads. It's not credible, credible or not. There was a means handy of obtaining a proof by killing that gentleman. By simply bringing down his horse. But for you I should have got one of Lupin's pulse. Do you see now what a fool you've been? The afternoon was passed in a very silent fashion. Shears and Wilson did not exchange a word. At five o'clock, as they were pacing up and down the rue Clépéron, taking care, however, to keep away from the houses, three young working men came along the pavement singing arm in arm, knocked up against them and tried to continue their road without separating. Shears, who was in a bad temper, pushed them back. There was a short scuffle. Shears put up his fists, struck one of the men in the chest and gave another, blowing the face, whereupon the men desisted and walked away with a third. Ha! cried Shears. I feel all the better for that. My nerves were a bit strained, good business. But he saw Wilson leaning against the wall. Hello, old chap, he said. What's up? You look quite pale. Old chap pointed to his arm, which was hanging lifeless by his side and stammered. I don't know. My arm's hurting me. Your arm? Badly? Yes, rather. It's my right arm. He tried to lift it, but could not. Shears felt it gently at first and there more roughly. To see exactly, he said, how much it hurts. It hurt exactly so much that Wilson, on being led to a neighboring chemist's shop, experienced an immediate need to fall into a dead faint. The chemist and his assistant did what they could. They discovered that the arm was broken and that it was a case for a surgeon, an operation, and a hospital. Meanwhile, the patient was undressed and began to relieve his sufferings by roaring with pain. That's all right, that's all right, said Shears, who was holding Wilson's arm. Just a little patience, old chap. In five or six weeks, you won't know that you've been hurt, but I'll make them pay for it, the scoundrels. You understand. I mean him, especially, for it's that wretched Lupin who's responsible for this. Oh, I swear to you that if ever, he interrupted himself suddenly, dropped the arm, which gave Wilson such a shock of pain that the poor wretch fainted once more and striking his forehead, shouted, Wilson, I have an idea! Could it possibly? He stood motionless, with his eyes fixed before him and muttered in short sentences. Yes, that's it, it's all clear now. The explanation staring us in the face. Why, of course, I knew it only needed a little thought. Ha, my dear Wilson, this will rejoice your heart. And, leaving old chap where he was, he rushed into the street and ran to number 25. One of the stones above the door on the right bore the inscription. The Stange, architect, 1875. The same inscription appeared on number 23. So far, this was quite natural. But what would he find down there in Avenue Henri Martin? He hailed the passing cab. Drive to 134 Avenue Henri Martin. Go as fast as you can. Standing up in the cab, he urged on the horse, promising the driver tip after tip. Faster, faster still! He was in an agony as he turned the corner of the Hudela Pump. Had he caught a glimpse of the truth, on one of the stones of the house, he read the words, this Stange, architect, 1874. And he found the same inscription, this Stange, architect, 1874, on each of the adjoining blocks of flats. The reaction after this excitement was so great that he sank back into the cab for a few minutes, all trembling with delight. At last a tiny glimmer flickered in the darkness. Amid the thousand intersecting paths in the great gloomy forest, he had found the first sign of a trail followed by the enemy. He entered the telephone office and asked to be put on to the Chateau de Crozon. The countess herself answered, hello, is that you, madame? Is that Mr. Shears? How are things going? Very well. Well, tell me quickly. Hello, are you there? Yes. When was the Chateau de Crozon built? It was burned down 30 years ago and rebuilt. By home, in what year? There's an inscription over the front door, Lucien de Stange, architect, 1877. Thank you, madame. Goodbye. Goodbye. He went away muttering. De Stange, Lucien de Stange, I seem to know the name. He found a public library, consulted the modern biographical dictionary and copied out the reference to Lucien de Stange, born 1840, Grand Prix de Rome, officer of the Legion of Honor, author of several valuable works on architecture, et cetera. He next went to the chemists and from there to the hospital to which Wilson had been moved. Old chap was lying on his bed of pain with his arm in splints, shivering with fever and slightly delirious. Victory, victory, cried shears. I have one end of the clue. What clue? The clue that will lead me to success. I am now treading firm soil where I shall find marks and indications. Cigarette ashes, asked Wilson whom the interest of the situation was reviving. And plenty of other things. Just think, Wilson. I have discovered the mysterious link that connects the three adventures of the blonde lady. Why were the three houses in which the three adventures took place selected by Arsène Lupin? Yes, why? Because those three houses, Wilson, were built by the same architect. It was easy to guess that, you say? Certainly it was. And that's why nobody thought of it. Nobody except yourself. Just so. And I now understand how the same architect, by contriving similar plans, enabled three actions to be performed, which appeared to be miraculous, though they were really quite easy and simple. What luck. It was high time, old chap, for I was beginning to lose patience. This is the fourth day, out of ten. Oh, but from now onward, he could no longer keep his seat, exulting in his gladness beyond his wand. Oh, when I think that, just now, in the street, those ruffians might have broken my arm as well as yours. What do you say to that, Wilson? Wilson simply shuddered at the horrid thought. And sheers continued, Let this be a lesson to us. You see, Wilson, our great mistake has been to fight Lupin in the open and to expose ourselves in the most obliging way to his attacks. The thing is not as bad as it might be because he only got at you. And I came off with a broken arm, moaned Wilson. Whereas it might have been both of us, but no more swaggering. Watched in broad daylight, I'm beaten. Working freely in the shade, I have the advantage, whatever the enemy's strength may be. Gunymar might be able to help you. Never. On the day when I can say, Arsene Lupin is there, that is his hiding place, this is how you must set to work to catch him. I shall hunt up Gunymar at one of the two addresses he gave me, his flat in the Hypergoles or the Taven-Suis on the Place du Châtelet. But till then I shall act alone. He went up to the bed, put his hand on Wilson's shoulder, the bad shoulder, of course, and said, in a very affectionate voice, Take care of yourself, old chap. Your task, henceforth, will consist in keeping two or three of Lupin's men busy. They will waste their time waiting for me to come and inquire after you. It's a confidential task. Thank you ever so much, replied Wilson gratefully. I shall do my best to perform it conscientiously. So you are not coming back? Why should I, asked shears coldly. No, you're quite right, you're quite right. I'm going on as well as can be expected. You might do one thing for me, homelock. Give me a drink. A drink? Yes, I'm parched with thirst and this fever of mine. Wow, of course. Wait a minute. He fumbled about among some bottles, came upon a packet of tobacco, filled and lit his pipe, and suddenly, as though he had not even heard his friend's request, walked away, while old chap cast longing glances at the water bottle beyond his reach. Is Monsieur Distange at home? The butler eyed the person to whom he had opened the door of the house, the magnificent house at the corner of the Place Malserbe and the Hugh Montchana and, at the sight of the little gray-haired, ill-shaven man who's long and far from immaculate frockcoat matched the oddity of a figure to which nature had been anything but kind, replied with due scorn. Monsieur Distange may be at home or he may be out. It depends. Has Monsieur card? Monsieur had no card, but he carried a letter of introduction and the butler had to take it to Monsieur Distange whereupon Monsieur Distange ordered a newcomer to be shown in. He was ushered into a large circular room which occupied one of the wings of the house and which was lined with books all round the walls. Are you Monsieur Stickman? asked the architect. Yes, sir. My secretary writes that he's ill and sends you to continue the general catalogue of my books, which he began under my direction and of the German books in particular. Have you any experience of this sort of work? Yes, sir, a long experience, replied Stickman in a strong teutonic accent. In this conditions the matter was soon settled and Monsieur Distange set to work with his new secretary without further delay. Homelock shears had carried the citadel. In order to escape Lupin's observation and to obtain an entrance into the house which Monsieur Distange occupied with his daughter, Clotilde, the illustrious detective had been obliged to take a leap in the dark to resort to untold strategies, to win the favor and confidence of a host of people under endless different names. In short, to lead 48 hours of the most complex life. The particulars which he had gathered were these. Monsieur Distange, who was in failing health and anxious for rest, had retired from business and was living among the architectural books which it had been his hobby to collect. He had no interest left in life beyond the handling and examining of those old dusty volumes. As for his daughter, Clotilde, she was looked upon as eccentric. She spent her days like her father in the house but in another part of it and never went out. This is all, thought shears, as he wrote down the titles of the books in his catalogue to Monsieur Distange's dictation. This is all more or less indefinite but it is a good step forward. I am bound to discover the solution of one, at least, of these exciting problems. Is Monsieur Distange an accomplice of Arsène Lupin's? Does he see him now? Are there any papers relating to the building of the three houses? Will these papers supply me with the address of other properties, similarly faked, which Lupin may have reserved for his own use and that of his gang? Monsieur Distange an accomplice of Arsène Lupin's. This venerable man, an officer of the Legion of Honor, working hand-in-hand with a burglar. The presumption was hardly tenable. Besides, supposing that they were accomplices, how did Monsieur Distange come to provide for Arsène Lupin's various escapes 30 years before they occurred at a time when Arsène was in his cradle? No matter, the Englishman stuck to his guns. With his prodigious intuition, with that instinct which is all his own, he felt a mystery surrounding him. This was perceptible by his small signs, which he could not have described with precision, but which impressed him from the moment when he first set foot in the house. On the morning of the second day, he had as yet discovered nothing of interest. He first saw Clotille Distange at two o'clock when she came to fetch a book from the library. She was a woman of 30, dark, with slow and silent movements, and her features bore the look of indifference of those who lived much within themselves. She exchanged a few words with Monsieur Distange and left the room without so much as glancing at shears. The afternoon dragged on monotonously. At five o'clock, Monsieur Distange stated that he was going out. Shears remained alone in the circular gallery that ran round the library, halfway between floor and ceiling. It was growing dark and he was preparing to leave in his turn when he heard a creaking sound, and at the same time felt that there was someone in the room. Minute followed slowly upon minute, and suddenly he started. A shadow had emerged from the semi-darkness quite close to him on the balcony. Was it credible? How long had this unseen person been keeping him company? And where did he come from? And the man went down the steps and turned in the direction of a large oak cupboard. Crouching on his knees behind the tapestry that covered the rail of the gallery, Shears watched and saw the man rummage among the papers with which the cupboard was crammed. What was he looking for? And suddenly the door opened and Mademoiselle Distange entered quickly, saying to someone behind her, so you have quite changed your mind about going out, Father. In that case, I'll turn on the light. Wait a minute, don't move. The man closed the doors of the cupboard and hid himself in the embrace of a broad window, drawing the curtains in front of him. How was it that Mademoiselle Distange did not see him? How was it that she did not hear him? She calmly switched on the electric light and stood back for her father to pass. They sat down side by side. Mademoiselle Distange opened the book which she had brought with her and began to read. Has your secretary gone? She said presently. Yes, so it seems. Are you still satisfied with him? She continued, as if in ignorance of the real secretary's illness and of the arrival of Stickman in his stead. Quite, quite. Monsieur Distange's head dropped on his chest. He fell asleep. A moment elapsed. The girl went on reading. But one of the window curtains was moved aside and the man slipped along the wall toward the door, an action which made him pass behind Monsieur Distange, but right in front of Clotilde and in such a way that she was able to see him plainly. It was Arsène Lupin. The Englishman quivered with delight. His calculations were correct. He had penetrated to the very heart of the mystery and Lupin was where he had expected to find him. Clotilde, however, did not stir. Although it was impossible that a single movement of that man had escaped her. And Lupin was close to the door and had his arms stretched toward the handle when his clothes grazed the table and something fell to the ground. Monsieur Distange walked with a start. In a moment, Arsène Lupin was standing before him, smiling, head in hand. Maxime Bergman cried Monsieur Distange in delight. My dear Maxime, what stroke of good luck brings you here today? The wish to see you and mademoiselle Distange. When did you come back? Yesterday. Are you staying to dinner? Thank you, no. I am dining out with some friends. Come to morrow, then. Clotilde, make him come to morrow, my dear Maxime. I was thinking of you only the other day. Really? Yes, I was arranging my old papers in that cupboard and I came across our last account. Which one? The Avignon Himartin account. Do you mean to say you keep all that waste paper? What for? The three moved into a little drawing-room which was connected with the round library by a wide recess. Is it Lupin? Thought shears, seized with a sudden doubt. All the evidence pointed to him, but it was another man as well, a man who resembled Arsène Lupin in certain respects and who, nevertheless, preserved his distinct individuality, his own features, look, and complexion. Dressed for the evening, with a white tie and a soft-fronted shirt following the lines of his body, he talked gaily, telling stories which made Musier Distange laugh aloud and which brought a smile to Clotilde's lips. And each of these smiles seemed a reward which Arsène Lupin coveted and which he rejoiced at having won. His spirits and gait increased, and, imperceptibly, at the sound of his clear and happy voice, Clotilde's face brightened up and lost the look of coldness that tended to spoil it. They are in love, thought shears. But what on earth can Clotilde Distange and Maxime Bergmont have in common? Does she know that Maxime is Arsène Lupin? He listened anxiously until seven o'clock, making the most of every word spoken. Then, with infinite precautions, he came down and crossed the side of the room where there was no danger of his being seen from the drawing-room. Once outside, after assuring himself that there was no motor-car or cab waiting, he limped away along the Boulevard Malserbe. Then he turned down a side street, put on the overcoat which he carried over his arm, changed the shape of his hat, drew himself up, and, thus transformed, returned to the square where he waited, with his eyes fixed on the door of the Hotel Distange. Arsène Lupin came out almost at once and walked down the rue de Constantinople and the rue de Londres, toward the center of the town. Shears followed him at a hundred yards distance. It was a delicious moment for the Englishman. His nifty hair greedily, like a good hound, sending a fresh trail. It really seemed infinitely sweet to him to be following his adversary. It was no longer he that was watched, but Arsène Lupin, the invisible Arsène Lupin. He kept him, so to speak, fastened at the end of his eyes, as though with unbreakable bonds. And he reveled in contemplating, among the other pedestrians, the spray which belonged to him. But a curious incident soon struck him. In the center of the space that separated Arsène Lupin himself, other people were going in the same direction, notably two tall fellows in bowler hats on the left pavement, while two others in caps were following on the right pavement, smoking cigarettes as they went. This might be only a coincidence, but Shears was more surprised when the four men stopped as Lupin entered a tobacconist's shop and still more when they started again as he came out, but separately, each keeping to his own side of the Chaucer d'Antin. Confounded, thought Shears, he's being shadowed. The idea that others were on Arsène Lupin's track, that others might rob him, not of the glory, he cared little for that, but of the huge pleasure, the intense delight of conquering unnated, the most formidable enemy that he had ever encountered. This idea exasperated him. And yet there was no possibility of a mistake. The man wore that look of detachment, that too-natural look which distinguishes persons who, while regulating their gait by another's, endeavored to remain unobserved. Does Ganyma know more than he pretends, muttered Shears, is he making game of me? He felt inclined to accost one of the four men with a view to acting in concert with him. But as they approached the boulevard, the crowd became denser. He was afraid of losing Lupin and quickened his pace. He turned into the boulevard just as Lupin had his foot on the step of the Restaurant-en-Croix at the corner of the Hugh-du-Hélder. The door was open and Shears, sitting on a bench on the boulevard, on the opposite side of the road, saw him take his seat at a table, laid with the greatest luxury and decorated with flowers, where he was warmly welcomed by three men in evening clothes and two beautifully dressed ladies who had been waiting for him. Shears looked for the four rough fellows and saw them scattered among the groups of people who were listening to the Bohemian band of the neighboring café. Strange to say, they appeared to be not nearly so much interested in Arsene Lupin as in the people surrounding them. Suddenly, one of them took a cigarette from his case and addressed the gentleman in a frock coat and tall hat. The gentleman offered the light from his cigar and Shears received the impression that they were talking at greater length than the mirrored lighting of a cigarette demanded. At last, the gentleman went up the steps and glanced into the Restaurant. Seeing Lupin, he walked up to him, exchanged a few words with him and selected a table close at hand. And Shears realized that he was none other than the horseman of the Avenue-en-Rymartin. Now he understood. Not only was Arsene not being shadowed, but these men were members of his gang. These men were watching over his safety. They were his bodyguards, his satellites, his vigilant escort. Wherever the master ran any danger, there his accomplices were, ready to warn him, ready to defend him. The four men were accomplices. The gentleman in the frock coat was an accomplice. A thrill passed through the Englishman's frame. Would he ever succeed in laying hands on that inaccessible person? The power represented by an association of this kind, ruled by such a chief, seemed boundless. He tore a leaf from his notebook, wrote a few lines and pencil, put the note in an envelope and gave it to a boy of 15 who had laying down on the bench beside him. Here, my lad, take a cab and give this letter to the young lady behind the bar at the Tavern Suisse on the Place du Châtelet. Be as quick as you can. He handed him a five-frame piece. The boy went off. Half an hour he lapsed. The crowd had increased and cheers, but occasionally caught sight of Lupin's followers. Then, someone graced against him and a voice sat in his ear. Well, Mr. Shears, what can I do for you? Is that you, Mr. Ganima? Yes, I got your note. What is it? He's there. What's that you say? Over there, inside the restaurant. Move a little to the right. Do you see him? No. He's filling the glass of the lady on his left. But that's not Lupin. Yes, it is. Are you sure you? And yet, well, it may be. Oh, the rascal, how like himself he is. Mr. Ganima, innocently. And who are the others? Accomplices? No. The lady beside him is Lady Clifden. The other is the Duchess of Cleath. An opposite her is the Spanish ambassador in London. Ganima took a step toward the road, but Shears held him back. Don't be so reckless. You're alone. So is he. No. There are men on the Boulevard Mountain Guard, not to mention that gentleman inside the restaurant. But I have only to take him by the collar and shout his name to have the whole restaurant on my side, all the waiters. I would rather have a few detectives. That would, said Lupin's friends, off. No, Mr. Shears, we have no choice, you see. He was right, and Shears felt it. It was better to make the attempt and take advantage of the exceptional circumstances. He contented himself with saying to Ganima, do your best not to be recognized before you can help it. He himself slipped behind a newspaper kiosk without losing sight of Arsène Lupin, who was leaning over Lady Clifton, smiling. The inspector crossed the street, looking straight before him, with his hands in his pockets. But the moment he reached the opposite pavement, he veered briskly round and sprang up the steps. A shrill whistle sounded. Ganima knocked up against the head waiter, who suddenly blocked the entrance and pushed him back with indignation, as he might push back any intruder whose doubtful attire would have disgraced the luxury of the establishment. Ganima staggered. At the same time, the gentleman in the frack coat came out. He took the part of the inspector and began a violent discussion with the head waiter. Both of them had hold of Ganima, one pushing him forward, the other back, until, in spite of all his efforts at angry protests, the unhappy man was hustled to the bottom of the steps. A crowd gathered at once. Two policemen, attracted by the excitement, tried to make their way through, but they encountered an incomprehensible resistance and were unable to get clear of the shoulders that pushed against them, the backs that borrowed their progress. And suddenly, as though by enchantment, the way was opened. The head waiter, realizing his mistake, made the most abject apologies. The gentleman in the frack coat withdrew his assistance. The crowd parted, the policemen passed in, and Ganima rushed toward the table with the six guests. There were only five left. He looked around. There was no way out, except the door. Where's the person who was sitting here? He shouted to the five bewildered guests. Yes, there were six of you. Where's the sixth? Monsieur Destro? No, no, Arsène Lupin. A waiter stepped up. The gentleman has just gone up to the mezzanine floor. Ganima flew upstairs. The mezzanine floor consisted of private rooms and had a separate exit to the boulevard. It's no use now, grown Ganima. It's far away by this time. He was not so very far away, 200 yards at most, in the omnibus running between the Bastille and the Madeleine, which lumbered peacefully along behind the three horses, crossing the Place de l'Opera and going down the boulevard de Capucine. Two tall fellows in baller hats stood talking on the conductor's platform. On the top, near the steps, a little old man sat dosing. It was homelock shears. And, with his head swaying from side to side, rocked by the movement of the omnibus, the Englishman solid loquized. Ha, if dear old Wilson could see me now, how proud he would be of his chief. Puh, it was easy to foresee, from the moment when the whistle sounded, that the game was up, and that there was nothing serious to be done except to keep a watch around the restaurant. But that devil of a man adds a zest to life and no mistake. On reaching the end of the journey, shears leaned over. Sores and lupin passed out in front of his guards and heard him mutter, at the étoile. The étoile, just so, an assignation, I shall be there. I'll let him go ahead in that mutter cab, while I follow his two pals in a four-wheeler. The two pals went off on foot, made for the étoile, and rang at the door of number forty, Hugh Chalcain, a house with a narrow frontage. Shears found a hiding place in the shadow of a recess formed by the angles of that unfrequented little street. One of the two windows on the ground floor opened, and a man in a bowler hat closed the shutters. The window space above the shutters was lit up. In ten minutes' time, a gentleman came and rang at the same door, and immediately afterward another person. And at last a motor-car drew up, and Shears saw two people get out. Arsène Loupa and a lady wrapped in a cloak and a thick veil. The blonde lady, I presume, thought shears as the cab drove away. He waited for a moment, went up to the house, climbed on to the window-ledge, and, by standing on tiptoe, succeeded in peering into the room through that part of the window which the shutters failed to cover. Arsène Loupa was leaning against the chimney and talking in an animated fashion. The others stood round and listened attentively. Shears recognized the gentleman in the frock coat and thought he recognized the head-waiter of the restaurant. As for the blonde lady, she was sitting in a chair with her back turned toward him. They are holding a council, he thought. This evening's occurrences have alarmed them and they feel a need to discuss things. Oh, if I could only catch them all at one swoop. One of the accomplices moved, and Shears leaped down and fell back into the shadow. The gentleman in the frock coat and the head-waiter left the house. Then the first floor was lit up and someone closed the window shutters. It was now dark, above and below. He and she have remained on the ground floor, said homelock to himself. The two accomplices live on the first story. He waited during a part of the night without stirring from his place, fearing lest Arsène Loupa should go away during his absence. At four o'clock in the morning, seeing two policemen at the end of the street, he went up to them, explained the position and left them to watch the house. Then he went to Ghanimah's flat in the Hupegoles and told the servant to wake him. I've got him again. Arsène Loupa? Yes. If you haven't got him any better than you did just now, I may as well go back to bed. However, let's go and see the commissary. They went to the Huemesnil and from there to the house of the commissary, Monsieur des Quântres. Next, accompanied by half a dozen men, they returned to the Huishalgrins. Any news asked sheers of the two policemen watching the house. No, sir, none. The daylight was beginning to show in the sky and the commissary, after disposing his men, rang and entered the lodge of the concierge. Terrified by this intrusion, the woman, all trembling, said that there was no tenant on the ground floor. What do you mean no tenant? cried Ganima. No, it's the people on the first floor, two gentlemen called Léhu. They have furnished the apartment below for some relations from the country. A lady and a gentleman? Yes. Did they come with them last night? They may have, I was asleep. I don't think so, though, for here's the key. They didn't ask for it. With this key, the commissary opened the door on the other side of the passage. The ground floor flat contained only two rooms. They were empty. Impossible, said shears. I saw them both here. The commissary grinned. I dare say, but they are not here now. Let us go to the first floor. They must be there. The first floor is occupied by two gentlemen called Léhu. We will question the two gentlemen called Léhu. They all went upstairs and the commissary rang. At the second ring, a man who was none other than one of the bodyguards appeared in his shirt sleeves and with a furious air. Well, what is it? What's all this noise about? Why do you come waking people up for? But he stopped in confusion. Lord bless my soul. Am I dreaming? Why, it's Monsieur de Quantre. And you too, Monsieur Ganyma. What can I do for you? There was a roar of laughter. Ganyma was splitting with a fit of merriment which doubled him up and seemed to threaten an apoplectic fit. It's you, Léhu, he spluttered out. Ha, that's the best thing I ever heard. Léhu, Arsène Lupin's accomplice. It'll be the death of me, I know it will. And where's your brother, Léhu? Is he visible? Are you there, Edmond? It's Monsieur Ganyma, come to pay us a visit. Another man came forward at the sight of whom Ganyma's hilarity increased still further. Well, I never. Dear, dear me. Ha, my friends, you're in a nice pickle. Who would have suspected it? It's a good thing that old Ganyma keeps his eyes open and still better that he has friends to help him. Friends who have come all the way from England. And turning to shears, he said. Mr. Shears, let me introduce. Victor Léhu, detective inspector, one of the best in the Iron Brigade. And Edmond Léhu, head clerk in the fingerprint department. End of chapter four.