 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Hollow Needle, Further Adventures of Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc, translated by Alexander Texiero de Matos. CHAPTER X. THE TREASURES OF THE KINGS OF FRANCE. A curtain was drawn back. Good morning, my dear Boutrelle, you're a little late. Lunch was fixed for twelve. However, it's only a few minutes. But what's the matter? Don't you know me? Have I changed so much? In the course of his fight with Lupin, Boutrelle had met with many surprises, and he was still prepared at the moment of the final catastrophe, to experience any number of further emotions. But the shock which he received this time was utterly unexpected. It was not astonishment, but stupefaction, terror. The man who stood before him, the man whom the brutal force of events compelled him to look upon as Arsène Lupin, was Valmeras. Valmeras, the owner of the Chateau de l'Aiguille, Valmeras, the very man to whom he had applied for assistance against Arsène Lupin. Valmeras, his companion on the expedition to Croisant. Valmeras, the plucky friend who had made Raymond's escape possible by telling one of Lupin's accomplices, or pretending to tell him, in the dusk of the Great Hall. And Valmeras was Lupin. You! You! So it's you, he stammered. Why not? exclaimed Lupin. Did you think that you knew me for good, and all because you had seen me in the guise of a clergyman, or under the features of Monsieur Merci Bon? Alas, when a man selects the position in society which I occupy, he must needs make use of his little social gifts. If Lupin were not able to change himself, at will, into a minister of the Church of England, or a member of the Academy of Inscriptions and belle-être, it would be a bad look out for Lupin. Now, Lupin, the real Lupin, is here before you, Bochelet. Take a good look at him. But then, if it's you, then mademoiselle—Yes, Bochelet, as you say. He again drew back the hanging, beckoned, and announced. Mademoiselle de Saint-Veron. Ah! Mehmed the Lord, confounded in spite of everything. Mademoiselle de Saint-Veron. No, no, protested Lupin. Mademoiselle de Saint-Veron, or rather, if you prefer, madame Louis Valmeras, my wedded wife, married to me in accordance with the strictest forms of law, and all thanks to you, my dear Bochelet. He held out his hand to him. All my acknowledgments, and no ill-will on your side, I trust? Strange to say, Bochelet felt no ill-will at all, no sense of humiliation, no bitterness. He realised so strongly the immense superiority of his adversary, that he did not blush at being beaten by him. He pressed the offered hand. Luncheon is served, ma'am. A butler had placed a tray of dishes on the table. You must excuse us, Bochelet. My chef is away, and we can only give you a cold lunch. Bochelet felt very little inclined to eat. He sat down, however, and was enormously interested in Lupin's attitude. How much exactly did he know? Was he aware of the danger he was running? Was he ignorant of the presence of Ghanimah and his men? And Lupin continued. Yes, thanks to you, my dear friend. Certainly Raymond and I loved each other from the first. Just so, my boy. Raymond's abduction, her imprisonment, were mere humbug. We loved each other. But neither she nor I, when we were free to love, would allow a casual bond at the mercy of chance to be formed between us. The position, therefore, was hopeless for Lupin. Fortunately, it ceased to be so, if I resumed my identity as the Louis Valmerat that I had been from a child. It was then that I conceived the idea, as you refused to relinquish your quest, and had found the chateau de la guille of profiting by your obstinacy. And my silliness. Poh! Anyone would have been caught as you were. So you were really able to succeed because I screened you and assisted you? Of course. How could anyone suspect Valmerat of being Lupin, when Valmerat was Bochelet's friend, and after Valmerat had snatched from Lupin's clutches the girl whom Lupin loved? And how charming it was! Such delightful memories! The expedition to Croson, the bouquets we found, my pretended love letter to Raymond. And later the precautions which I, Valmerat, had to take against myself, Lupin, before my marriage. And the night of your great banquet, Bochelet, when you fainted in my arms. Oh! what memories! There was a pause. Bochelet watched Raymond. She had listened to Lupin without saying a word, and looked at him with eyes in which he read love, passion, and something else besides. Something which the lad could not define, a sort of anxious embarrassment, and a vague sadness. But Lupin turned his eyes upon her, and she gave him an affectionate smile, their hands met over the table. What do you say to the way I have arranged my little home, Bochelet? cried Lupin. There's a style about it, isn't there? I don't pretend that it is comfortable as it might be. And yet some have been quite satisfied with it, and not the least of mankind, either. Look at the list of distinguished people who have owned the needle in their time, and who thought it an honour to leave a mark of their sojourn. On the walls, one below the other, were carved the following names. Julius Caesar, Charlemagne Rolo, William the Conqueror, Richard Curdeleon, Louis XI, Francis I, Henry IV, Louis XIV, Arsène Lupin. Whose name will figure after hours, he continued. Alas, the list is closed. From Caesar to Lupin, and there it ends. Soon the nameless mob will come to visit the strange citadel, and to think that, but for Lupin, all this would have remained for ever unknown to men. Ah, Bochelet, what a feeling of pride was mine on the day when I first set foot on this abandoned soil. To have found a lost secret, and become its master, its sole to inherit such an inheritance, to live in the needle after all those kings. He was interrupted by a gesture of his wife's. She seemed greatly agitated. There is a noise. She said, Underneath us you can hear it. It's the lapping of the water, said Lupin. No, indeed it's not. I know the sound of the waves. This is something different. What would you have it be, darling? said Lupin, smiling. I invited no one to lunch except Bochelet. And addressing the servant, Charolais, did you lock the staircase doors behind the gentleman? Yes, sir, and fasten the bolts. Lupin rose. Come, Raymond, don't shake like that. Why, you're quite pale. He spoke a few words to her in an undertone, as also to the servant, drew back the curtain, and sent them both out of the room. The noise below grew more distinct. It was a series of dull blows repeated at intervals. Bochelet thought, Ghanimal has lost patience, and is breaking down the doors. Lupin resumed the thread of his conversation, speaking very calmly, and as though he had not really heard. By Jove the needle was badly damaged when I succeeded in discovering it. One could see that no one had possessed the secret for more than a century, since Louis XVI and the Revolution. The tunnel was threatening to fall in. The stairs were in a shocking state. The water was trickling in from the sea. I had to prop up and strengthen and rebuild the whole thing. Bochelet could not help asking. When you arrived, was it empty? Very nearly. The kings did not use the needle as I have done as a warehouse. As a place of refuge, then? Yes, no doubt, in times of invasion and during the civil wars. But its real destination was to be—how shall I put it?—the strong room on the bank of the kings of France. The sound of blows increased more distinctly now. Ghanimal must have broken down the first door and was attacking the second. There was a short silence, and then more blows nearer still. It was the third door. Two remained. Through one of the windows Bochelet saw a number of fishing-smacks sailing round the needle, and not far away, floating on the waters like a great black fish, the torpedo boat. What a row! exclaimed Lupin. One can't hear oneself speak. Let's go upstairs, shall we? It may interest you to look over the needle. They climbed to the floor above which was protected like the others by a door which Lupin locked behind him. My picture-gallery, he said. The walls were covered with canvases on which Bochelet recognized the most famous signatures. There were Raphael's Madonna of the Agnes Day, Andrea de Sato's portrait of Lucrezia Fidi, Titian's Salome, Botticelli's Madonna, and Angels and Number of Tintoretto's, Carpaccio's Rembrandt's Veluquez. What fine copies! said Bochelet approvingly. Lupin looked at him with an air of stupor faction. What! copies! you must be mad. The copies are in Madrid, my dear fellow, in Florence, Venice, Munich, Amsterdam. Then these are the original pictures, my lad, patiently collected in all the museums of Europe where I have replaced them like an honest man with first-rate copies. But some day or other, some day or other, the fraud will be discovered? Well, they will find my signature on each canvas at the back, and they will know that it was I who have endowed my country with the original masterpieces. After all, I have only done what Napoleon did in Italy. Oh, look, Bochelet, here are M. de Gevera's four rubences. The knocking continued within the hollow of the needle without ceasing. I can't stand this, said Lupin. Let's go higher. A fresh staircase, a fresh door. The tapestry room, Lupin announced. The tapestries were not hung on the walls, but rolled, tied up with cord, ticketed. And in addition there were parcels of old fabrics, which Lupin unfolded, wonderful brocades, admirable velvets, soft, faded silks, churched vestments worn with silver and gold. They went higher still, and Bochelet saw the room containing the clocks and other timepieces. The book room, oh, the splendid bindings, the precious undiscoverable volumes, the unique copies stolen from the great public libraries, the lace room, the knick-knack room. And each time the circumference of the room grew smaller. And each time now the sound of knocking was more distant. Guénemar was losing ground. This is the last room, said Lupin, the treasury. This one was quite different. It was round also, but very high and conical in shape. It occupied the top of the edifice, and its floor must have been fifteen or twenty yards below the extreme point of the needle. On the cliff side there was no window, but on the side of the sea, whence there were no indiscreet eyes to fear, two glazed openings admitted plenty of light. The ground was covered with a parketed flooring of rare wood forming concentric patterns. Against the walls stood glass cases and a few pictures. The pearls of my collection, said Lupin. All that you have seen so far as for sale, things come and things go, that's business. But here, in this sanctuary, everything is sacred. There is nothing here but choice essential pieces, the best of the best, priceless things. Look at these jewels, Bottrallet. Chaldean amulets, Egyptian necklaces, Celtic bracelets, Arab chains. Look at these statuettes, Bottrallet, at this Greek Venus, this Corinthian Apollo. Look at these tannergras, Bottrallet. All the real tannergras are here. Outside this glass case there is not a single, genuine tannergras statuette in the whole wide world. What a delicious thing to be able to say! Bottrallet, do you remember Thomas and his gang of church pillagers in the south? Agents of mine, by the way? Well, here is the unbezac reliquary, the real one, Bottrallet. Do you remember the Louvre scandal, the tiara which was admitted to be false, invented and manufactured by a modern artist? Here is the tiara of Cetaphanes, the real one, Bottrallet. Look, Bottrallet, look with all your eyes. Here is the marvel of marvels, the supreme masterpiece, the work of no mortal brain. Here is Leonardo's Giaconda, the real one. Neil, Bottrallet, Neil, all womankind stands before you in this picture. There was a long silence between them. Below the sound of blows drew nearer. Two or three doors, no more, separated them from Ganymar. In the offing they saw the blackback of the torpedo boat and the fishing-smacks cruising to and fro. The boy asked, and the treasure? Ah, my little man, that's what interests you most. None of those masterpieces of human art can compete with the contemplation of the treasure as a matter of curiosity, eh? And the whole crowd will be like you. Come, you shall be satisfied. He stamped his foot, and in so doing made one of the discs composing the floor-pattern turned right over. Then, lifting it, as though it were the lid of a box, he uncovered a sort of large round bowl, dug in the thickness of the rock. It was empty. A little farther he went through the same performance. Another large bowl appeared. It was also empty. He did this three times over again. The three other bowls were empty. Eh? Grindelupin, what a disappointment! Under Louis the fortieth, under Henry the fourth, under Richelieu the five bowls were full. But think of Louis the fourteenth, the folly of Versailles, the walls, the great disasters of the rain. And think of Louis the fifteenth, the spendthrift king with his pompadour and his dubari, how they must have drawn on the treasure in those days, with what thieving claws they must have scratched at the stone. You see there's nothing left. He stopped. Yes, Bochelet, there is something, the sixth hiding-place. This one was intangible. Not one of them dared touch it. It was the very last resource, the nest egg, the something put by for a rainy day. Look, Bochelet! He stooped and lifted up the lid. An iron box filled the bowl. Lupin took from his pocket a key with a complicated bit and wards and opened the box. A dazzling sight presented itself. Every sort of precious stone sparkled there. Every colour gleamed, the blue of the sapphires, the red of the rubies, the green of the emeralds, the yellow of the topazes. Look, look, little Bochelet! They have squandered all the cash, all the gold, all the silver, all the crown pieces, and all the duquesques, and all the doubloons. But the chest with the jewels has remained intact. Look at the settings! They belong to every period, to every century, to every country. The dowries of the queens are here. Each brought her share. Margaret of Scotland and Charlotte of Savoy, Duchesses of Austria, Eleanor, Elizabeth, Marie-Therese, Mary of England and Catherine de Medici's, and all the arch, Marie-Antoinette. Look at those pearls, Bochelet, and those diamonds! Look at the size of the diamonds! Not one of them is but worthy of an empress. The pit diamond is no finer. He rose to his feet, and held up his hand, as one taking an oath. Bochelet, you shall tell the world that Lupin has not taken a single one of the stones that were in the royal chest. Not a single one. I swear it on my honour. I had no right to. They are the fortune of France. Below them Ganimar was making all speed. It was easy to judge by the reverberation of the blows that his men were attacking the last door, but one, the door that gave access to the knick-knack room. Let us leave the chest open, said Lupin, and all the cavities, too, all those little empty graves. He went round the room, examined some of the glass cases, gazed at some of the pictures, and as he walked said pensively, How sad it is to leave all this! What a wrench! The happiest hours of my life have been spent here, alone in the presence of these objects which I loved, and my eyes will never behold them again, and my hands will never touch them again. His drawn face bore such an expression of lassitude upon it that Bochelet felt a vague sort of pity for him. Sorrow in that man must assume larger proportions than in another, even as joy did, or pride or humiliation. He was now standing by the window, and with his finger pointing to the horizon, said, What is sad as still is that I must abandon that? All that! How beautiful it is! The boundless sea, the sky. On either side the cliffs of Etreta with their three natural archways, the Port d'Amont, the Port d'Aval, the Manaporte, so many triumphal arches for the master. And the master was I. I was the king of the story, the king of fairyland, the king of the hollow needle. A strange and supernatural kingdom, from Caesar to Lupin, not a destiny. He burst out laughing. King of fairyland! Why not say king of ebto at once? What nonsense! King of the world! Yes, that's more like it. From this topmost point of the needle I ruled the globe. I held it in my claws like a prey. Lift the tiara of Satofani's Bochelet. You see those two telephones? The one on the right communicates with Paris, a private line. The one on the left with London, a private line. Through London I am in touch with America, Asia, Australia, South Africa. In all those continents I have my officers, my agents, my jackals, my scouts. I drive in international trade. I hold the great market in arts and antiquities, the world's fair. Ah, Bochelet, there are moments when my power turns my head. I feel intoxicated with strength and authority. The door gave way below. They heard Ganymar and his men running about and searching. After a moment Lupin continued in a low voice. And now it's over. A little girl crossed my path. A girl with soft hair and wistful eyes and an honest—yes, an honest soul. And it's over. I myself am demolishing the mighty edifice. All the rest seems absurd and childish to me. Nothing counts but her hair, and her wistful eyes and her honest little soul. The men came up the staircase. A blow shook the door, the last door. Lupin sees the boy sharply by the arm. Do you understand, Bochelet, why I let you have things your own way when I could have crushed you time after time weeks ago? Do you understand how you succeeded in getting as far as this? Do you understand that I had given each of my men his share of the plunder when you met them the other night on the cliff? You do understand, don't you? The hollow needle is the great adventurer. As long as it belongs to me, I remain the great adventurer. Once the needle is recaptured, it means that the past and I are parted, and that the future begins. A future of peace and happiness in which I shall have no occasion to blush when Raymond's eyes are turned upon me. A future—he turned furiously towards the door. Stop that noise, Ganimar, will you? I haven't finished my speech. The blows came faster. It was like the sound of a beam that was being hurled against the door. Bochelet, mad with curiosity, stood in front of Lupin and awaited events, without understanding what Lupin was doing or contemplating. To give up the needle was all very well. But why was he giving up himself? What was his plan? Did he hope to escape from Ganimar? And on the other hand, where was Raymond? Lupin, meantime, was murmuring dreamily, an honest man. Arsène Lupin, an honest man, no more robbery, leading the life of everybody else. And why not? There is no reason why I should not meet with the same success. But do stop that now, Ganimar. Don't you know you ask that I'm uttering historic words and that Bochelet is taking them in for the benefit of posterity? He laughed. I'm wasting my time. Ganimar will never grasp the use of my historic words. He took a piece of red chalk, put a pair of steps to the wall, and wrote in large letters. Arsène Lupin gives and bequeaths to France all the treasures contained in the hollow needle, on the sole condition that these treasures be housed at the Musée du Louvre in rooms which shall be known as the Arsène Lupin rooms. Now, he said, my conscience is at ease. France and I are quits. The attackers were striking with all their might. One of the panels burst in two. A hand was put through and fumbled for the lock. Thunder, said Lupin, that idiot of a Ganimar is capable of affecting his purpose for once in his life. He rushed to the lock and removed the key. Sold, old chap, the door's tough, I have plenty of time. Bochelet, I must say good-bye. And thank you, for really you could have complicated the attack, but you're so tactful. While speaking, he moved towards a large trip-titch by van der Waeden, representing the wise men of the East. He shut the right-hand panel, and in so doing exposed a little door concealed behind it and seized the handle. Good luck to your hunting, Ganimar, and kind regards at home. A pistol-shot resounded. Lupin jumped back. Ah, you rascal, full in the heart, have you been taking lessons? You've done for the wise men, full in the heart, smashed to smithereens, like a pipe at the fair. Lupin, surrender! roared Ganimar, with his eyes glittering, and his revolvers showing through the broken panel of the door. Surrender, I say! Did the old guard surrender? If you stir a limb, I'll blow your brains out. Nonsense, you can't get me here! As a matter of fact Lupin had moved away. And though Ganimar was able to fire straight in front of him through the breach in the door, he could not fire still less take aim on the side where Lupin stood. Lupin's position was a terrible one for all that, because the outlet on which he was relying, the little door behind the trip-titch, opened right in front of Ganimar. To try to escape meant to expose himself to the detective's fire, and there were five bullets left in the revolver. By Jove, he said, laughing, there's a slump in my shares this afternoon. You've done a nice thing. Lupin, old fellow, you wanted a last sensation, and you've gone a bit too far. You shouldn't have talked so much." He flattened himself against the wall. A further portion of the panel had given way under the men's pressure, and Ganimar was less hampered in his movements. Three yards no more separated the two antagonists. But Lupin was protected by a glass case with a giltwood framework. Why don't you help, but Relay, cried the old detective, gnashing his teeth with rage. Why don't you shoot him instead of staring at him like that? Isidore, in fact, had not budged—had remained till that moment an eager but passive spectator. He would have liked to fling himself into the contest with all his strength and to bring down the prey which he held at his mercy. He was prevented by some inexplicable sentiment. But Ganimar's appeal for assistance shook him. His hand closed on the butt of his revolver. If I take part in it, he thought, Lupin is lost, and I have the right. It's my duty. Their eyes met. Lupin's were calm, watchful, almost inquisitive, as though in the awful danger that threatened him, he were interested only in the moral problem that held the young man in its clutches. Would Isidore decide to give the finishing stroke to the defeated enemy? The door cracked from top to bottom. Help, but Relay! We've got him! Ganimar bellowed. Isidore raised his revolver. What happened was so quick that he knew of it, so to speak, only by the result? He saw Lupin bob down and run along the walls, skimming the door right under the weapon which Ganimar was vainly brandishing. And he felt himself suddenly flung to the ground, picked up the next moment, and lifted by an invincible force. Lupin held him in the air like a living shield behind which he hid himself. Ten to one that I escape, Ganimar! Lupin, you see, has never quite exhausted his resources. He had taken a couple of brisk steps backwards to the trip-titch, holding Boatrelay with one hand flat against his chest, with the other he cleared the passage, and closed the little door behind them. A steep staircase appeared before their eyes. Come along, said Lupin, pushing Boatrelay before him. The land-forces are beaten. Let us turn our attention to the French fleet. After Waterloo Trafalgar. You're having some fun for your money, eh, my lad? Oh, how good! Listen to them knocking in the trip-titch now. It's too late, my children. But hurry along, Boatrelay. The staircase dug out in the wall of the needle, dug in its very crust, turned round and round the pyramid, encircling it like the spiral of a toboggan slide. Each hurrying the other, they clattered down the treads, taking two or three at a bound. Here and there a ray of light trickled through a fissure, and Boatrelay carried away the vision of the fishing-smacks, hovering a few dozen fathoms off and of the black torpedo-boat. They went down and down, Isidore in silence, Lupin still bubbling over with merriment. I should like to know what Ganemar is doing. Is he tumbling down the other staircases to bar the entrance to the tunnel against me? No, he's not such a fool as that. He must have left four men there, and four men are sufficient. He stopped. Listen, they're shouting up above. That's it, they've opened the window and are calling to their fleet. Why, look, the men are busy on board the smacks. They're exchanging signals. The torpedo-boat is moving. Dear old torpedo-boat, I know you, you're from the Havre. Guns crew to the guns. Hello, there's the commander. How are you, Dugay Truin? He put his arm through a cleft and waved his handkerchief. Then he continued his way downstairs. The enemy's fleet have all set sail, he said. We shall be bordered before we know where we are. Heavens, what fun! They heard the sound of voices below them. They were just then approaching the level of the sea, and they emerged almost at once into a large cave, in which two lanterns were moving about in the dark. A woman's figure appeared and threw itself on Lupin's neck. Quick, quick, I was so nervous about you. What have you been doing? But you're not alone. Lupin re-assured her. It's our friend Baudrillet. Just think, Baudrillet had the tact, but I'll talk about that later. There's no time now. Charley, are you there? That's right, and the boat? The boat's ready, sir," Charley replied. Fire away, said Lupin. In a moment the noise of a motor crackled, and Baudrillet, whose eyes were gradually becoming used to the gloom, ended by perceiving that they were on a sort of key, at the edge of the water, and that a boat was floating before them. A motorboat, said Lupin, completing Baudrillet's observations. This noxious wall of ahippe is a door-old chap? You don't understand. Still you have only to think, as the water before your eyes is no other than the water of the sea, which filters into this excavation each high tide, the result is that I have a safe little private roadstead all to myself. But it's closed, Baudrillet protested. No one can get in or out. Yes, I can, said Lupin, and I'm going to prove it to you. He began by handing Ray Mondin, then he came back to fetch Baudrillet. The lad hesitated. Are you afraid? asked Lupin. What of? Of being sunk by the torpedo boat? No. Then you're considering whether or not it's your duty to stay with Guernimar, law and order, society and morality, instead of going off with Lupin, shame, infamy and disgrace. Exactly. Unfortunately, my boy, you have no choice. For the moment they must believe the two of us dead, and leave me the peace to which a prospective, honest man is entitled. Later on, when I have given you your liberty, you can talk as much as you please. I shall have nothing more to fear. By the way in which Lupin clutched his arm, Baudrillet felt that all resistance was useless. Besides, why resist? Had he not discovered and handed over the hollow needle? Why did he care about the rest? Had he not the right to humour the irresistible sympathy with which, in spite of everything, this man inspired him? The feeling was so clear in him that he was half inclined to say to Lupin, Look here, you're running another, a more serious danger. Homelock sheers is on your track. Come along, said Lupin, before Isidore had made up his mind to speak. He obeyed and let Lupin lead him to the boat, the shape of which struck him as peculiar, and its appearance quite unexpected. Once on deck they went down a little steep staircase, or rather a ladder hooked onto a trap-door which closed above their heads. At the foot of the ladder, brightly lit by a lamp, was a very small saloon, where Raymond was waiting for them, and where the three had just room to sit down. Lupin took the mouthpiece of a speaking tube from a hook and gave the order. Let her go, Charolet. Isidore had the unpleasant sensation which one feels when going down in a lift, the sensation of the ground vanishing beneath you, the impression of emptiness, space. This time it was the water retreating, and space opened out slowly. We're sinking, eh? grinned Lupin. Don't be afraid, we've only to pass from the upper cave where we were to another little cave, situated right at the bottom and half open to the sea, which can be entered at low tide. All the shellfish-catchers know it. Ah, ten seconds' wait. We're going through the passage and it's very narrow, just the size of the submarine. But, asked Boatrelet, how is it that the fishermen who enter the lower cave don't know that it's open at the top, and that it communicates with another from which a staircase starts and runs through the needle? The facts are at the disposal of the first comer. Wrong, Boatrelet! The top of the little public cave is closed at low tide by a movable platform, painted the colour of the rock. Which the sea, when it rises, shifts and carries up with it, and when it goes down, fastens firmly over the little cave. That is why I am able to pass at high tide. A clever notion, what? It's an idea of my own. True, neither Caesar nor Louis XIV, nor, in short, any of my distinguished predecessors could have had it, because they did not possess submarines. They were satisfied with the staircase, which then ran all the way down to the little bottom cave. I did away with the last treads of the staircase, and invented the trick of the movable ceiling. It's a present I'm making to France. Raymond, my love, put out the lamp beside you. We shan't want it now, on the contrary. A pale light, which seemed to be of the same colour as the water, met them as they left the cave, and made its way into the cabin through the two portholes, and through a thick glass skylight that projected above the planking of the deck, and allowed the passengers to inspect the upper layers of the sea. And suddenly a shadow glided over their heads. The attack is about to take place. The fleet is investing the needle. But hollow as the needle is, I don't see how they propose to enter it. He took up the speaking tube. Don't leave the bottom, Charolais. Where are we going? Why, I told you, to Port Lupin. And at full speed, do you hear? We want water to land by. There's a lady with us. They skimmed over the rocky bed. The seaweed stood up on end like a heavy dark vegetation, and the deep currents made it wave gracefully, stretching and billowing like floating hair. Another shadow, a longer one. That's the torpedo boat, said Lupin. We shall hear the roar of the guns presently. What will Dugay-Truin do? Bombard the needle? Think of what we're missing, Bochelet, by not being present at the meeting of Dugay-Truin and Ganymar. The juncture of the land and naval forces. Hi, Charolais. Don't go to sleep, my man. They were moving very fast for all that. The rocks had been succeeded by sand fields, and then almost at once they saw more rocks, which marked the eastern extremity of Etretat, the Port d'Amour. Fish fled at their approach. One of them bolder than the rest, fastened on to a porthole, and looked at the occupants of the saloon with its great, fixed, staring eyes. That's better, cried Lupin. We're going now. What do you think of my cockle-shell, Bochelet? Not so bad, is she? Do you remember the story of the Seven of Hearts? The wretched end of Lacombe at the engineer, and now, after punishing his murderers, I presented the state with his papers and his plans for the construction of a new submarine. One more gift to France? Well, among the plans, I kept those of a submersible motorboat, and that is how you come to have the honour of sailing in my company. He called to Charolais. Take us up, Charolais. There's no danger now. They shot up to the surface, and the glass skylight emerged above the water. They were a mile from the coast, out of sight, therefore, and Bochelet was now able to realise, more fully, at what a headlong pace they were travelling. First Ficombe passed before them, then all the Norman Seaside places, Sompierre, the petit dalle, Volet, Saint-Yalerie, Veul, Guybaville. Lupin kept on jesting, and Isidore never worried of watching and listening to him. Amazed as he was at the man's spirits, at his gaiety, his mischievous ways, his careless chav, his delight in life. He also noticed Raymond. The young woman sat silent, nestling up against the man she loved. She had taken his hands between her own, and kept on raising her eyes to him. And Bochelet constantly observed that her hands were twitching, and that the wistful sadness of her eyes increased. And each time it was like a dumb and sorrowful reply to Lupin's sallies. One would have thought that his frivolous words, his sarcastic outlook on life, caused her physical pain. Hush! she whispered. It's defying destiny to laugh. So many misfortunes can meet us still. Opposite to yet, they had to dive, lest they should be seen by the fishing-craft. And twenty minutes later, they shot at an angle towards the coast, and the boat entered a little submarine harbour formed by a regular gap between the rocks, drew up beside a jetty, and rose gently to the surface. Lupin announced. Porte-Lupin! The spot, situated at sixteen miles from Dieppe, and twelve from the Tréport, and protected moreover by the two landslips of Cliff, was absolutely deserted. A fine sand carpeted the rounded slope of the tiny beach. Jump on shore, Bochelet. Raymond, give me your hand. You, Charolais, go back to the needle, see what happens between Ghanimah and Duge Chouin, and come back and tell me at the end of the day. The thing interests me tremendously. Bochelet asked himself with a certain curiosity how they were going to get out of this hemmed-in creek, which was called Porte-Lupin, when, at the foot of the cliff, he saw the uprights of an iron ladder. Isidore, said Lupin, if you knew your geography and your history, you would know that we are at the bottom of the gorge of Parfanval in the parish of Biville. More than a century ago, on the night of the 23rd of August, 1803, Georges Cadoudal and six accomplices who had landed in France with the intention of kidnapping the first consul, Bonaparte, scrambled up to the top by the road which I will show you. Since then, this road has been demolished by landslips, but Louis Valmaras, better known by the name of Farsen Lupin, had it restored at his own expense, and bought the farm of the Novillette, where the conspirators spent the first night, and where, retired from business, and withdrawing from the affairs of this world, he means to lead the life of a respectable country squire with his wife and his mother by his side. The gentleman burglar is dead! Long live the gentleman farmer! After the ladder came a sort of gully, an abrupt ravine hollowed out apparently by the rains, at the end of which they laid hold of a makeshift staircase, furnished with a handrail. As Lupin explained, this handrail had been placed there, where it was in the stead of the Estampeche, a long rope fastened to stakes, by which the people of the country, in the old days, used to help themselves down when going to the beach. After a painful climb of half an hour, they emerged on the table-land, not far from one of those little cabins dug out of the soil itself, which serve as shelters for the ex-icemen. And as it happened, two minutes later, at a turn in the path, one of these Custom House officials appeared. He drew himself up and saluted. Lupin asked, —Any news, Gommel? —No, Governor. —You have met no one at all suspicious looking? —No, Governor, only—what? —My wife, who does dress-making at the Nervilette. —Yes, I know, Césarine, my mother spoke of her. —Well? It seems a sailor was prowling about the village this morning. —What sort of face had he? —Not a natural face, sort of Englishman's face. —Ah! said Lupin, in a tone preoccupied. —And you have given, Césarine, orders? —To keep her eyes open, yes, Governor. —Very well. Keep a look out for Charley's return in two or three hours from now. If there's anything, I shall be at the farm. He walked on and said to Bolcherley, —This makes me uneasy. Is it sheers? —Ah! If it's he in his present state of exasperation, I have everything to fear. He hesitated a moment. I wonder if we hadn't better turn back. —Yes, I have a nasty pre-sentiment of evil. Gently undulating planes stretched before them as far as the eye could see. A little to the left a series of handsome avenues of trees led to the farm of the Nervilette, the buildings of which were now in view. It was the retreat which he had prepared, the haven of rest which he had promised Raymond. Was he, for the sake of an absurd idea, to renounce happiness at the very moment when it seemed within his reach? He took his idore by the arm and calling his attention to Raymond who was walking in front of them. Look at her. When she walks her figure has a little swing at the waist which I cannot see without quivering. But everything in her gives me that thrill of emotion and love, her movements and her repose, her silence and the sound of her voice. I tell you, the mere fact that I am walking in the track of her footsteps makes me feel in the seventh heaven. —Ah! Bolcherley, will she ever forget that I was once Lupin? Shall I ever be able to wipe out from her memory the past which she loathes and detests? He mastered himself and with obstinate assurance. She will forget, he declared. She will forget because I have made every sacrifice for her sake. I have sacrificed the inviolable sanctuary of the hollow needle. I have sacrificed my treasures, my power, my pride. I will sacrifice everything. I don't want to be anything more, but just a man in love and an honest man, because she can only love an honest man. After all, why should I not be honest? It is no more degrading than anything else. The quip escaped him, so to speak, unawares. His voice remained serious and free of all chaff, and he muttered with restrained violence. —Ah! Bolcherley, you see, of all the unbridled joys which I have tasted in my adventurous life, there is not one that equals the joy with which her look fills me when she is pleased with me. I feel quite weak then, and I should like to cry. —Was he crying? Bolcherley had an intuition that his eyes were wet with tears. Tears in Lupin's eyes. Tears of love. They were nearing an old gate that served as an entrance to the farm. Lupin stopped for a moment and stammered. —Why am I afraid? I feel a sort of weight on my chest. —Is the adventure of the hollow needle not over? Has destiny not accepted the issue which I selected? Raymond turned round, looking very anxious. —Here comes Césarine. She's running. The excise man's wife was hurrying from the farm as fast as she could. Lupin rushed up to her. —What is it? What has happened? Speak. Choking, quite out of breath, Césarine stuttered. —A man! I saw a man this morning. —A man! I saw a man in the sitting-room. —The Englishman of this morning? Yes, but in a different disguise. —Did he see you? —No, he saw your mother. Madame Valmora caught him as he was just going away. —Well? He told her he was looking for Louis Valmora that he was a friend of yours. —Then? —The madame said that her son had gone abroad for years. —And he went away? —No, he made signs through the window that overlooked the plain as if he were calling to someone. Lupin seemed to hesitate. —A loud cry tore the air. Raymond moaned. —It's your mother. I recognise. —He flung himself upon her and dragging her away in a burst of fierce passion. —Come, let us fly. You first. But suddenly he stopped, distraught, overcome. —No, I can't do it. It's too awful. —Forgive me, Raymond, that poor woman down there. Stay here. Butcherelle, don't leave her. He darted along the slope that surrounds the farm, turned and followed it at a run, till he came to the gate that opens on the plain. Raymond, whom Butcherelle had been unable to hold back, arrived almost as soon as he did, and Butcherelle hiding behind the trees, saw in the lonely walk that led from the farm to the gate, three men, of whom one the tallest went ahead, while the two others were holding by the arms a woman who tried to resist and who uttered moans of pain. The daylight was beginning to fade. Nevertheless, Butcherelle recognised homelock shears. The woman seemed of a certain age. Her livid features were set in a frame of white hair. They all four came up. They reached the gate. Shears opened one of the folding leaves. Then Lupin strode forward and stood in front of him. The encounter appeared all the more terrible in as much as it was silent, almost solemn. For long moments the two enemies took each other's measure with their eyes, and equal hatred distorted the features of both of them. Neither moved. Then Lupin spoke in a voice of terrifying calmness. Tell your men to leave that woman alone. No. It was as though both of them feared to engage in a supreme struggle, as though both were collecting all their strength. And there were no words wasted this time. No insults. No bantering challenges. Silence. A death-like silence. Mad with anguish, Raymond awaited the issue of the duel. Butcherelle had caught her arms and was holding her motionless. After a second Lupin repeated, Order your men to leave that woman alone. No. Lupin said, Listen shears. But he interrupted himself, realising the silliness of the words. In the face of that colossus of pride and willpower which called itself homelock shears, of what use were threats. Resolved upon the worst, suddenly he put his hand to his jacket pocket. The Englishman anticipated his movement, and leaping upon his prisoner, thrust the barrel of his revolver within two inches of his temple. If you stir a limb, I fire. At the same time his two satellites drew their weapons and aimed them at Lupin. Lupin drew himself up, stifled the rage within him, and coolly, with his hands in his pockets, and his breast exposed to the enemy, began once more. Shears for the third time, let that woman be. The Englishman sneered. I have no right to touch her, I suppose. Come, come, enough of this humbug. Your name isn't Valmarat any more than its Lupin. You stole the name, just as you stole the name of Shamaras. And the woman whom you pass off as your mother is Victoire, your old accomplice, the one who brought you up. Shears made a mistake. Carried away by his longing for revenge, he glanced across at Raymond, whom these revelations filled with horror. Lupin took advantage of his imprudence, with a sudden movement he fired. Damnation, bellowed shears, whose arm pierced by a bullet fell to his side. And addressing his men, shoot you two, shoot him down! But already Lupin was upon them, and not two seconds had he lapsed before the one on the right was sprawling on the ground with his chest smashed, while the other, with his jaw broken, fell back against the gate. Hurry up, Victoire, tie them down. And now, Mr. Englishman, it's you and I. He ducked with an oath. Ah, you scoundrel! Shears had picked up his revolver with his left hand, and was taking aim at him. A shot, a cry of distress! Raymond had flung herself between the two men, facing the Englishman. She staggered back, brought her hand to her neck, drew herself up, spun round on her heels, and fell at Lupin's feet. Raymond, Raymond! He threw herself upon her, took her in his arms, and pressed her to him. Dead, he said. There was a moment of stupefaction. Shears seemed confounded by his own act. Victoire stammered. My poor boy! My poor boy! Beauchelet went up to the young woman and stooped to examine her. Lupin repeated. Dead. Dead. He said it in a reflective tone as though he did not yet understand. But his face became hollow, suddenly transformed, ravaged by grief. And then he was seized with a sort of madness, made senseless gestures, wrung his hands, stamped his feet, like a child that suffers more than it is able to bear. You villain! he cried, suddenly in an excess of hatred. And flinging shears back with a formidable blow, he took him by the throat and dug his twitching fingers into his flesh. The Englishman gasped without even struggling. My boy! My boy! said Victoire in a voice of entreaty. Beauchelet ran up. But Lupin had already let go and stood sobbing beside his enemy's stretched upon the ground. Oh pitiful sight! Beauchelet never forgot its tragic horror. He who knew all Lupin's love for Raymond, and all that the great adventurer had sacrificed of his own being, to bring a smile to the face of his well-beloved. Night began to cover the field of battle with a shroud of darkness. The three Englishmen lay bound and gagged in the tall grass. Distant songs broke the vast silence of the plain. It was the farmhands returning from their work. Lupin drew himself up. He listened to the monotonous voices. Then he glanced at the happy homestead of the Novelette, where he had hoped to live peacefully with Raymond. Then he looked at her. The poor, loving victim whom love had killed, and who, all white, was sleeping her last eternal sleep. The men were coming nearer, however. Then Lupin bent down, took the dead woman in his powerful arms, lifted the corpse with a single effort, and, bent in two, stretched it across his back. Let us go, Victoire. Let us go, dear. Good-bye, Beauchelet! he said. And bearing his precious and awful burden followed by his old servant, silent and fierce he turned toward the sea, and plunged into the darkness of the night. End of Chapter 10 End of the Hollow Needle, Further Adventures of Our Saint Lupin by Maurice Leblanc. This recording is in the public domain.