 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded in New South Wales, Australia, August 2006. The Hollow Needle, Further Adventures of Arsène Lupin, by Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexander Texier-Odomatos. Chapter 3. The Corpse At six o'clock in the evening, having finished all he had to do, M. Fiëlle, accompanied by M. Predoux, his clerk, stood waiting for the carriage, which was to take him back to Dieppe. He seemed restless, nervous. Twice over, he asked. You haven't seen anything of young Baudrillet, I suppose? No, M. Lejouge d'instruction, I can't say I have. Where on earth can he be? I haven't said eyes on him all day. Suddenly he had an idea. Handed his portfolio to Predoux, ran round the chateau, and made for the ruins. Isidore Baudrillet was lying near the cloisters, flat on his face, with one arm folded under his head, on the ground carpeted with pine needles. He seemed drowsing. Hello, young man, what are you doing here? Are you asleep? I'm not asleep. I've been thinking. Ever since this morning? Ever since this morning. It's not a question of thinking. One must see into things first. Study facts. Look for clues. Establish connecting links. The time for thinking comes after, when one pieces all that together and discovers the truth. Yes, I know. That's the usual way, the right one, I daresay. Mine is different. I think first. I try, above all, to get the general hang of the case, if I may so express myself. Then I imagine a reasonable and logical hypothesis, which fits in with the general idea. And then, and not before, I examine the facts to see if they agree with my hypothesis. That's a funny method and a terribly complicated one. It's a sure method, M. Fiol, which is more than can be said of yours. Come, come, facts are facts. With your ordinary sort of adversary, yes. But given an enemy endowed with a certain amount of cunning, the facts are those which he happens to have selected. Take the famous clues upon which you base your inquiry. Why? He was at liberty to arrange them as he liked. And you see where that can lead you, into what mistakes and absurdities, when you are dealing with a man like Arsene Lupin, Homlock Shears himself fell into the trap. Arsene Lupin is dead. No matter. His gang remains, and the pupils of such a master are masters themselves. M. Fiol took Isidore by the arm, and, leading him away. Words, young man, words. Here is something of more importance. Listen to me. Ghanimar is otherwise engaged at this moment, and will not be here for a few days. On the other hand, the Count de Gèvres had telegraphed a Homlock Shears, who has promised his assistance next week. Now, don't you think, young man, that would be a feather in our cap, if we were able to say to those two celebrities, on the day of their arrival, awfully sorry, gentlemen, but we couldn't wait. The business is done. It was impossible for M. Fiol to confess helplessness with greater candour. Bo Trelès suppressed a smile, and, pretending not to see through the worthy magistrate, replied, I confess, M. Le Jus d'instruction, that, if I was not present at your inquiry just now, it was because I hoped that you would consent to tell me the results. May I ask what you have learnt? Well, last night at eleven o'clock, the three gendarmes, whom Sergeant Kivillon had left on guard at the château, received a note from the sergeant telling them to hasten with all speed to Ouvil, where they are stationed. They at once rode off, and when they arrived at Ouvil, they discovered that they had been tricked, that the order was a forgery, and that there was nothing for them to do but return to Umprumsi. This they did, accompanied by Sergeant Kivillon, but they were away for an hour and a half, and, during this time, the crime was committed. In what circumstances? Very simple circumstances indeed. A ladder was removed from the farm-buildings, and placed against the second story of the château. A pane of glass was cut out, and a window opened. Two men, carrying a dark lantern, entered Mademoiselle de Gèvre's room and gagged her before she could cry out. Then, after binding her with cords, they softly opened the door of the room in which Mademoiselle de Saint-Veron was sleeping. Mademoiselle de Gèvre heard a stifled moan followed by the sound of a person struggling. A moment later, she saw two men carrying her cousin, who was also bound and gagged. They passed in front of her, and went out through the window. Then Mademoiselle de Gèvre terrified and exhausted, fainted. But what about the dogs? I thought M. de Gèvre had brought two almost wild sheep-dogs which were let loose at night. They were found dead, poisoned. By whom? Nobody could get near them. It's a mystery. The fact remained that the two men crossed the ruins without let or hindrance, and went out by the little door which we have heard so much about. They passed through the copse-wood following the line of the disused quarries. It was not until they were nearly half a mile from the château at the foot of the tree known as the Great Oak that they stopped and executed their purpose. If they came with the intention of killing Mademoiselle de Saint-Veron, why didn't they murder her in her room? I don't know. Perhaps the incident that settled their determination only occurred after they left the house. Perhaps the girl succeeded in releasing herself from her bonds. In my opinion the scarf which was picked up was used to fasten her wrists. In any case the blow was struck at the foot of the Great Oak. I have collected indisputable proofs. But the body? The body has not been found, but there is nothing excessively surprising in that. As a matter of fact the trail which I followed brought me to the church at Vérangeville and the old cemetery perched on the top of the cliff. From there it is a sheer precipice, a fall of over three hundred feet to the rocks and the sea below. In a day or two a stronger tide than usual will cast up the body on the beach. Obviously this is all very simple. Yes it is all very simple and doesn't trouble me in the least. Lupin is dead, his accomplices heard of it and to revenge themselves have killed Mademoiselle de Saint-Veron. These are facts which did not even require checking. But Lupin? What about him? What has become of him? In all probability his confederates removed his corpse at the same time they carried away the girl. What proof have we? None at all. Any more than of his staying in the ruins, or of his death, or of his life. And that is the real mystery Monsieur Bautrellez. The murder of Mademoiselle Raymond solves nothing. On the contrary it only complicates matters. What has been happening during the past two months at the Château d'Ambrume-si? If we don't clear up the riddle young man, others will give us the go-by. On what day are those others coming? Wednesday, Tuesday perhaps. Bautrellez seemed to be making an inward calculation and then declared. Monsieur le juge d'instruction, this is Saturday. I have to be back at school on Monday evening. Well, if you will have the goodness to be here at ten o'clock exactly on Monday morning, I will try to give you the key to the riddle. Really Monsieur Bautrellez? Do you think so? Are you sure? I hope so at any rate. And where are you going now? I am going to see if the facts consent to fit in with the general theory which I am beginning to perceive. And if they don't fit in? Well, Monsieur le juge d'instruction, said Bautrellez with a laugh, then it will be their fault and I must look for others which will prove more tractable. Till Monday then? Till Monday. A few minutes later Monsieur Filleux was driving towards Dieppe, while Isidore mounted a bicycle which he had borrowed from the Comte de Gervais and rode off along the road to Yerville and called back Encore. There was one point in particular on which the young man was anxious to form a clear opinion because this just appeared to him to be the enemy's weakest point. Objects of the size of the four Rubens pictures cannot be juggled away. They were bound to be somewhere. Granting that it was impossible to find them for the moment, might one not discover the road by which they had disappeared. What Bautrellez surmised was that the four pictures had undoubtedly been carried off in the motor-car, but that before reaching Koldebec they were transferred to another car which had crossed the Seine either above Koldebec or below it. Now the first horse-boat down the stream was at Kea Berth, a greatly frequented ferry and consequently dangerous. Upstream there was the ferry boat at La Meillerée, a large but lonely market town lying well off the main road. By midnight Isidore had covered the thirty-five or forty miles to La Meillerée and was knocking at the door of an inn by the water-side. He slept there and in the morning questioned the ferrymen. They consulted the counter-foils in the traffic-book. No motor-car had crossed on Thursday the twenty-third of April. A horse-drawn vehicle then suggested Bautrellez. A cart? A van? No, not either. Isidore continued his enquiries all through the morning. He was on the point of leaving for Kea Berth when the waiter of the inn at which he had spent the night said, I came back from my thirteen days' training on the morning of which you were speaking and I saw a cart, but it did not go across. Really? No, they unloaded it on to a flat boat, a barge of sorts which was moored to the wharf. And where did the cart come from? Oh, I knew it at once. It belonged to Master Vatinelle the Carter. And where does he live? At Louveteau. Bautrellez consulted his military map. The hamlet of Louveteau lay where the high road between Yves-Tour and Côte-Bec was crossed by a little winding road that ran through the woods to La Meirée. Not until six o'clock in the evening did Isidore succeed in discovering Master Vatinelle in a pot-house. Master Vatinelle was one of those artful old Normans who are always on their guard, who distrust strangers but who are unable to resist the lure of a gold coin or the influence of a glass or two. Well, yes, sir, the men in the motor-car that morning had told me to meet them at five o'clock in the cross-roads. They gave me four great big things, as high as that. One of them went with me, and we carted the things to the barge. You speak of them as if you knew them before. I should think I did know them. It was the sixth time they were employing me. Isidore gave a start. The sixth time, you say, and since when? Why, every day before that one, to be sure. But it was other things then. Great blocks of stone, or else smaller, longish ones, wrapped up in newspapers, which they carried as if they were worth I don't know what. Oh, I mustn't touch those on any account. But what's the matter? You've turned quite white. Nothing. The heat of the room. Bochele staggered out into the air. The joy, the surprise that the discovery made him feel giddy. He went back very quietly to Varangeville, slept in the village, spent an hour at the mayor's offices with the schoolmaster, and returned to the chateau. There he found a letter awaiting him, care of Monsieur Le Compte de Gèvre. It consisted of a single line, second warning, hold your tongue, if not. Come, he muttered, I shall have to make up my mind and take a few precautions for my personal safety, if not, as they say. It was nine o'clock. He strolled out among the ruins and then lay down near the cloisters and closed his eyes. Are you satisfied with the results of your campaign? It was, Monsieur Filleule. Delighted, Monsieur la juge d'instruction. By which you mean to say? By which I mean to say that I am prepared to keep my promise, in spite of this very uninviting letter. He showed the letter to Monsieur Filleule. Pouh! stuff and nonsense! cried the magistrate. I hope you won't let that prevent you. From telling you what I know? No, Monsieur la juge d'instruction. I have given my word and I shall keep it. In less than ten minutes you shall know a part of the truth. A part? Yes, in my opinion. Lupin's hiding place does not constitute the whole of the problem. Far from it. But we shall see later on. Monsieur Baudrillet, nothing that you could do could astonish me now. But how were you able to discover? Oh, in a very natural way. In the letter from the old man Harlington to Monsieur Etienne de Vaudrillet or rather to Lupin. The intercepted letter? There is a phrase which always puzzled me. After saying that the pictures are to be forwarded as arranged he goes on to say, you may add the rest if you are able to succeed which I doubt. Yes, I remember. What was this rest? A work of art? A curiosity? The chateau contains nothing of any value besides the rubences and the tapestries. Jewelry? There is very little. And what there is of it is not worth much. On the other hand, was it conceivable that people so prodigiously clever as Lupin should not have succeeded in adding the rest which they themselves had evidently suggested? A difficult undertaking, very likely. Exceptional. Surprising, I dare say. But possible and therefore certain since Lupin wished it. And yet he failed. Nothing has disappeared. He did not fail. Something has disappeared. Yes, the rubences. Something which has been replaced by a similar thing. As in the case of the rubences, something much more uncommon, much rarer, much more valuable than the rubences. Well, what? You're killing me with this procrastination. While talking, the two men had crossed the ruins, turned toward the little door and were now walking beside the chapel. Bautrallet stopped. Do you really want to know, Monsieur le juge d'instruction? Of course, I do. Bautrallet was carrying a walking stick, a strong knotted stick. Suddenly, with a backstroke of this stick, he smashed one of the little statues that adorned the front of the chapel. Why, you're mad! shouted Monsieur Fiëlle beside himself, rushing at the broken pieces of the statue. You're mad! That old saint was an admirable bit of work. An admirable bit of work echoed Isidore giving a whirl which brought down the Virgin Mary. Monsieur Fiëlle took hold of him round the body. Young man, I won't allow you to commit. A wise man of the east came toppling to the ground, followed by a manger containing the mother and child. If you stir another limb, I fire. The comte de Gèvre had appeared upon the scene and was cocking his revolver. Bautrallet burst out laughing. That's right, Monsieur le comte. Blaze away. Take a shot at them as if you were at a fair. Wait a bit. This chap carrying his head in his hands. Saint John the Baptist fell. Shattered to pieces. Oh! shouted the count, pointing his revolver. You young vandal! Those masterpieces! Sham, Monsieur le comte. What? What's that? roared Monsieur Fiëlle, resting the comte de Gèvre's weapon from him. Sham, repeated Bautrallet. Paper pulp and plaster. Oh, nonsense! It can't be true. Hollow plaster, I tell you. Nothing at all. The count stooped and picked up a sliver of a statuette. Look at it, Monsieur le comte. Come and see for yourself. It's plaster. Rusty, musty, mildewed plaster made to look like old stone. But plaster for all that. Plaster casts. That's all that remains of your perfect masterpiece. That's what they've done in just a few days. That's what the Siëlle Charpentier who copied the Rubensers prepared a year ago. He seized Monsieur Fiëlle's arm in his turn. What do you think of it, Monsieur le juge d'instruction? Isn't it fine? Isn't it grand? Isn't it gorgeous? The chapel has been removed. A whole Gothic chapel collected stone by stone. A whole population of statues captured and replaced by these chaps in Stucco. One of the most magnificent specimens of an incomparable artistic period, confiscated. The chapel, in short, stolen. Isn't it immense? Ah, Monsieur le juge d'instruction, what a genius the man is. You're allowing yourself to be carried away, Monsieur Bortrelle. One can't be carried away too much, Monsieur, when one has to do with people like that. Everything above the average deserves our admiration. And this man soars above everything. There is in his flight a wealth of imagination, a force and power, a skill and freedom that send a thrill through me. Pity he's dead, said Monsieur Fiëlle with a grin. Pity he's dead, said Monsieur Fiëlle with a grin. He'd have ended by stealing the towers of Notre-Dame. Easy door shrugged his shoulders. Don't laugh, Monsieur. He upsets you, dead, though he may be. I don't say not. I don't say not, Monsieur Bortrelle. I confess that I feel a certain excitement now that I am about to set eyes on him, unless indeed his friends have taken away the body. And always admitting, observed the Compte Gèvre, that it was really he who was wounded by my poor niece. Was he beyond a doubt, Monsieur Le Compte? declared Bortrelle. It was he, believe me, who fell in the ruins under the shot fired by mademoiselle de Saint-Ferrand. It was he whom she saw rise and who fell again and dragged himself towards the cloisters to rise again for the last time. This by a miracle which I will explain to you presently, to rise again for the last time and reach this stone shelter, which was to be his tomb. And Bortrelle struck the threshold of the chapel with his stick. Hey, what? cried Monsieur Fierle, taken aback. His tomb? Do you think that impenetrable hiding place? It was here, there, he repeated. But we searched it. Badly. There is no hiding place here, protested Monsieur Le Gèvre. I know the chapel. Yes, there is Monsieur Le Compte. Go to the mayor's office at Verrancheville where they have collected all the papers that used to be in the old parish and you will learn from those papers which belong to the eighteenth century that there is a crypt below the chapel. This crypt out the states back to the Roman chapel upon the site of which the present one was built. But how can Lupin have known this detail? asked Monsieur Fierle. In a very simple manner, because of the works which he had to execute to take away the chapel. Come, come, Monsieur Bortrelle, you're exaggerating. He has not taken away the whole chapel. Look, not one of the stones of this top course Obviously, he cast and took away only what had a financial value, the wrought stones, the sculptures, the statuettes, the whole treasure of little columns and carved arches. He did not trouble about the groundwork of the building itself. The foundations remain. Therefore, Monsieur Bortrelle, Lupin was not able to make his way into the crypt. At that moment, Monsieur Le Gèvre, who had been to call a servant, returned with the key of the chapel. He opened the door. After a short examination, Bortrelle said, the flagstones on the ground have been respected, as one might expect, but it is easy to perceive that the high altar is nothing more than a cast. Now, generally the staircase leading to the crypt opens in front of the high altar and passes under it. What do you conclude? I conclude that Lupin discovered the crypt when working at the altar. The count set for a pickaxe and Bortrelle attacked the altar. The plaster flew right and left. He pushed the pieces aside as he went on. By Jove, muttered Monsieur Fierle, I am eager to know. So am I, said Bortrelle, whose face was pale with anguish. He hurried his blows, and suddenly his pickaxe, which until then had encountered no resistance, struck against a harder material and rebounded. There was a sound of something falling in, and all that remained of the altar went tumbling into the gap after the block of stone which had been struck by the pickaxe. A puff of cold air rose to his face. He lit a match, and moved it from side to side over the gap. The staircase begins further forward than I expected under the entrance flags almost. I can see the last steps there right at the bottom. Is it deep? Three or four yards, the steps are very high, and there are some missing. It is hardly likely, said Monsieur Fierle, that the accomplices can have had time to remove the body from the cellar of Moselle de Saint-Véran during the short absence of the gendarmes. Besides, why should they? No, in my opinion, the body is here. A servant brought them a ladder. Bortrelle let it down through the opening and fixed it after groping among the fallen fragments. Holding the two uprights firmly, will you go down, Monsieur Fierle? He asked. The magistrate holding a candle in his hand ventured down the ladder. The Comte Gèvre followed him and Bortrelle in his turn mechanically he counted eighteen rungs while his eyes examined the crypt where the glimmer of the candle struggled against the heavy darkness. But at the bottom his nostrils were assailed by one of those foul and violent smells which linger in the memory for many a long day. And suddenly a trembling hand seized him by the shoulder. Well, what is it? Bortrelle, Bortrelle, he could not get a word out for terror. Monsieur le juge d'instruction, compose yourself. Bortrelle, he is there. Eh? Yes, there was something under the big stone that broke off the altar. I pushed the stone and I touched, I shall never, shall never forget. Where is it? On this side, don't you notice the smell? And then look, see. He took the candle and held it towards emotionless forms stretched upon the ground. The three men bent down quickly. The corpse lay half-naked, lean, frightful. The flesh which had the greenish hue of soft wax appeared in places through the torn clothes. But the most hideous thing, the thing that had drawn a cry of terror from the young man's lips was the head. The head which had just been crushed by the block of stone, the shapeless head, a repulsive mass in which not one feature could be distinguished. Baudrillet took four strides up the ladder and fled into the daylight and the open air. Monsieur Fillele found him again lying flat on the ground with his hands glued to his face. I congratulate you, Baudrillet, he said. In addition to the discovery of the hiding place, there are two points on which I have been able to verify the correctness of your assertions. First of all, the man on whom the man is marked. Also he lived in Paris, under the name of Etienne de Votrier, his linen is marked with the initials E v, that ought to be sufficient proof, I think, don't you? Isidore did not stir. Monsieur Lecont has gone to have a horse put to, they're sending for Dr. Jeuet, who will make the usual examination. In my opinion, death must have taken place a week ago at least, the state of decomposition of the corpse, Yes, yes. What I say is based upon absolute reasons, thus, for instance. M. Fiéle continued his demonstrations, without, however, obtaining any more manifest marks of attention. But M. de Gèvres' return interrupted his monologue. The Comte brought two letters. One was to tell him that homeloc shears would arrive next morning. «Capital!» cried M. Fiéle joyfully. «Inspector Ghanimar will be here, too. It will be delightful. «The other letter is for you, M. Le Juge d'instruction,» said the Comte. «Better and better», said M. Fiéle, after reading it, «there will certainly not be much for those two gentlemen to do. M. Bortrelaix, I hear from Dieppe that the body of a young woman was found by some shrimpers this morning on the rocks. Bortrelaix gave a start. What's that, the body? Of a young woman. The body is horribly mutilated, they say, and it would be impossible to establish the identity, but for a very narrow little gold-curb bracelet on the right arm, which has become encrusted in the swollen skin. Now Mademoiselle de Saint-Veyron used to wear a gold-curb bracelet on her right arm. Evidently, therefore, M. Le Comte, this is the body of your poor niece, which the sea must have washed to that distance. What do you think, Bortrelaix? Nothing, nothing, or rather, yes, everything is connected as you see, and there is no link missing in my argument. All the facts, one after the other, however contradictory, however disconcerting they may appear, end by supporting the supposition which I imagined from the first. I don't understand. You soon will. Remember, I promised you the whole truth. But it seems to me. A little patience, M. Le Juge d'instruction. So far you have had no cause to complain of me. It is a fine day. Go for a walk. Lunch at the château. Smoke your pipe. I shall be back by four o'clock. As for my school, well, I don't care. I shall take the night-train. They had reached the out-houses at the back of the château. Bortrelaix jumped on his bicycle and rode away. At Dieppe he stopped at the office of the local paper, the Vigie, and examined the file for the last fortnight. Then he went on to the market-town of Anvermue, six or seven miles further. At Anvermue he talked to the mayor, the rector, and the local policeman. The church-clock struck three. His inquiry was finished. He returned singing for joy. He pressed upon the two pedals turn by turn with an equal and powerful rhythm. His chest opened wide to take in the keen air that blew from the sea, and from time to time he forgot himself to the extent of uttering shouts of triumph to the sky, when he thought of the aim which he was pursuing, and of the success which was crowning his efforts. Anvermue Macie appeared in sight. He coasted at full speed down the slope leading to the château. The top rows of venerable trees that lined the road seemed to run to meet him, and to vanish behind him forthwith. And all at once he uttered a cry. In a sudden vision he had seen a rope stretched from one tree to another across the road. His machine gave a jolt and stopped short. Bortrelaix was flung three yards forwards with immense violence, and it seemed to him that only chance, a miraculous chance, caused him to escape a heap of pebbles on which logically he ought to have broken his head. He lay for a few seconds stunned. Then, all covered with bruises, with the skin flayed from his knees, he examined the spot. On the right lay a small wood by which his aggressor had no doubt fled. Bortrelaix untied the rope. To the tree on the left around which it was fastened, a small piece of paper was fixed with string. Bortrelaix unfolded it and read, The Third and Last Warning. He went on to the château, put a few questions to the servants, and joined the examining magistrate in a room on the ground floor, at the end of the right wing, where Monsieur Fiéle used to sit in the course of his operations. Monsieur Fiéle was writing, with his clerk seated opposite to him. At a sign from him the clerk left the room, and the magistrate exclaimed, Why, what have you been doing to yourself, Monsieur Bortrelaix? Your hands are covered with blood. It's nothing, it's nothing, said the young man, just a fall occasioned by this rope which was stretched in front of my bicycle. I will only ask you to observe that the rope comes from the château. Not longer than twenty minutes ago it was being used to dry linen on, outside the laundry. You don't mean to say so. Monsieur le juge d'instruction, I am being watched here by someone in the very heart of the place, who can see me, who can hear me, and who minute by minute observes my actions and knows my intentions. Do you think so? I am sure of it. It is for you to discover him, and you will have no difficulty in that. As for myself, I want to have finished and to give you the promised explanations. I have made faster progress than our adversaries expected, and I am convinced that they mean to take vigorous measures on their side. The circle is closing around me. The danger is approaching, I feel it. Nonsense, Bautrallet. You wait and see. For the moment let us lose no time. And first a question on a point which I want to have done with it once. Have you spoken to anybody of that document which Sergeant Kevion picked up and handed you in my presence? No indeed, not to a soul. But do you attach any value? The greatest value. It's an idea of mine, an idea I confess which does not rest upon a proof of any kind. For up to the present I have not succeeded in deciphering the document, and therefore I am mentioning it, so that we need not come back to it. Bautrallet pressed his hand on Monsieur Filles and whispered, Don't speak. There's someone listening outside. The gravel creaked. Bautrallet ran to the window and leaned out. There's no one there, but the border has been trodden down. We can easily identify the footprints. He closed the window and sat down again. You see, Monsieur, le juge d'instruction. The enemy has even ceased to take the most ordinary precautions. He has not time left. He too feels that the hour is urgent. Let us be quick, therefore, and speak, since they do not wish us to speak. He laid the document on the table and held it in position, unfolded. One observation, Monsieur, le juge d'instruction, to begin with. The paper consists almost entirely of dots and figures. And in the first three lines and the fifth, the only ones with which we have to do at present, for the fourth seems to present an entirely different character, not one of those figures is higher than the number five. There is therefore a great chance that each of these figures represents one of the five vowels, taken in alphabetical order. Let us put down the result. He wrote on a separate piece of paper. Then he continued, As you see, this does not give us much to go upon. The key is at the same time very easy, because the inventor has contented himself with replacing the vowels by figures and the consonants by dots, and very difficult if not impossible, because he has taken no further trouble to complicate the problem. It is certainly pretty obscure. Let us try to throw some light upon it. The second line is divided into two parts, and the second part appears in such a way that it probably forms one word. If we now seek to replace the intermediary dots by consonants, we arrive at the conclusion. After searching and casting about that the only consonants, which are logically able to support the vowels, are also logically able to produce only one word, the word demoiselle. That would refer to Mademoiselle de Gèvres and Mademoiselle de Saint-Verron, undoubtedly. And do you see nothing more? Yes, I also note a hiatus in the middle of the last line, and if I apply a similar operation to the beginning of the line, I at once see that the only consonant able to take the place of the dot between the diphthongs FAI and UI is the letter G, and that when I have thus formed the first five letters of the word A-I-G-U-I, it is natural and inevitable that, with the next two dots and the final E, I should arrive at the word Aiguille. Yes, the word Aiguille forces itself upon us. Finally for the last word, I have three vowels and three consonants. I cast about again. I try all the letters one after the other, and starting with the principle that the two first letters are necessary consonants, I find that the three words apply F-ERV, P-ERV and CH-ERV. I eliminate the words F-ERV and P-ERV as possessing no possible relation to a needle, and I keep the word CH-ERVS, making hollow needle by Jove. I admit that your solution is correct because it needs must be, but how does it help us? Not at all, said Bochka-Lay in a thoughtful tone, not at all for the moment. Later on we shall see. I have an idea that a number of things are included in the puzzling conjunction of those two words, Aiguille-Creuse. What is troubling me at present is rather the material on which the document is written, the paper employed. Do they still manufacture this sort of rather coarse-grained parchment? And then this ivory colour, and those folds, the wear of those folds, and lastly look, those marks of a red ceiling wax on the back. At that moment Bochka-Lay was interrupted by Predoux, the magistrate's clerk who opened the door, and announced the unexpected arrival of the Chief Public Prosecutor. M. F-ERV rose. Anything new? Is M. Le Procurat-General downstairs? No, M. Le Juste Instruction. M. Le Procurat-General has not left his carriage. He is only passing through Ambroumsi, and begs you to be good enough to go down to him at the gate. He only has a word to say to you. That's curious, muttered M. F-ERV. However, we shall see. Excuse me, Bochka-Lay, I shan't belong. He went away. His footsteps sounded outside. Then the clerk closed the door, and turned the key, and put it in his pocket. Hello! exclaimed Bochka-Lay, greatly surprised. What are you locking us in for? We shall be able to talk so much better, retorted Predoux. Bochka-Lay rushed towards another door which led to the next room. He had understood. The accomplice was Predoux, the clerk of the examining magistrate himself. Predoux grinned. Don't hurt your fingers, my young friend. I have the key of that door, too. There's the window! cried Bochka-Lay. Too late, said Predoux, planting himself in front of the casement, revolver in hand. Every chance of retreat was cut off. There was nothing more for Isidore to do, nothing except to defend himself against the enemy who was revealing himself with such brutal daring. He crossed his arms. Good! mumbled the clerk, and now let us waste no time. He took out his watch. Our worthy Monsieur Fiële will walk down to the gate. At the gate he will find no body, of course. No more public prosecutor than my eye. Then he will come back. That gives us about four minutes. It will take me one minute to escape by this window, clear through the little door by the ruins, and jump on the motorcycle waiting for me. That leaves three minutes, which is just enough. Predoux was a queer sort of misshapen creature, who balanced on a pair of very long spindle legs a huge trunk, as round as the body of a spider, and furnished with immense arms. A bony face and a low small stubborn forehead pointed to the man's narrow obstinacy. Bochka-Lay felt a weakness in his legs, and staggered. He had to sit down. Speak, he said. What do you want? The paper. I've been looking for it for three days. I haven't got it. You're lying. I saw you put it back in your pocket-book when I came in. Next. Next you must undertake to keep quite quiet. You're annoying us. Leave us alone, and mind your own business. Our patience is at an end. He had come nearer, with the revolver still aimed at the young man's head, and spoken a hollow voice, with a powerful stress on each syllable that he uttered. His eyes were hard, his smile cruel. Bochka-Lay gave a shudder. It was the first time that he was experiencing the sense of danger, and such danger, he felt himself in the presence of an implacable enemy, endowed with blind and irresistible strength. And next, he asked, with less assurance in his voice, Next, nothing. You will be free. We will forget. There was a pause, then Predoux resumed. There is only a minute left. You must make up your mind. Come, old chap, don't be a fool. We are the stronger, you know. Always and everywhere. Quick, the paper. Isidore did not flinch. With a livid and terrified face he remained master of himself, nevertheless, and his brain remained clear amid the breakdown of his nerves. The little black hole of the revolver was pointing six inches from his eyes. The finger was bent, and obviously pressing on the trigger. It only wanted a moment. The paper, repeated Predoux, if not. Here it is, said Portrelay. He took out his pocket-book and handed it to the clerk, who seized it eagerly. Capital, we've come to our senses. I've no doubt there's something to be done with you. You're troublesome, but full of common sense. I'll talk about it to my pals. And now I'm off. Goodbye. He pocketed his revolver and turned back to the fastening of the window. There was a noise in the passage. Goodbye, he said. I'm only just in time. But the idea stopped him. With a quick movement he examined the pocket-book. Damn and blast it! he grated through his teeth. The paper's not there! You've done me! He leapt into the room. Two shots rang out. Isidore, in his turn, had seized the pistol and fired. Missed old chap! shouted Predoux. Your hands shaking, you're afraid. They caught each other round the body and came down to the floor together. There was a violent and incessant knocking at the door. Isidore's strength gave way, and he was at once overcome by his adversary. It was the end. A hand was lifted over him, armed with a knife, and fell. A fierce pain burst into his shoulder. He let go. He had an impression of someone fumbling on the inside pocket of his jacket and taking the paper from it. Then, through the lowered veil of his eyelids, he half saw the man stepping over the windowsill. The same newspapers which, on the following morning, related the last episodes that had occurred at the Chateau Ambrumeci, the trickery at the chapel, the discovery of Arsène Lupin's body, and of Raymond's body, and lastly the murderous attempt made upon Boltchallet by the clerk to the examining magistrate, also announced two further pieces of news. The disappearance of Ganymar and the kidnapping of Holmlock Shears in broad daylight in the heart of London, at the moment when he was about to take the train for Dover. Lupin's gang, therefore, which had been disorganized for a moment by the extraordinary ingenuity of a seventeen-year-old schoolboy, was now resuming the offensive and was winning all along the line from the first. Lupin's two great adversaries, Shears and Ganymar, were put away. Isidore Boltchallet was disabled. The police were powerless. For the moment there was no one left capable of struggling against such enemies. CHAPTER IV FACE TO FACE One evening, five weeks later, I had given my man leave to go out. It was the day before the fourteenth of July. The night was hot, a storm threatened, and I felt no inclination to leave the flat. I opened wide the glass doors leading to my balcony, lit my reading lamp, and sat down in an easy chair to look through the papers which I had not yet seen. It goes without saying that there was something about Arsène Lupin in all of them. Since the attempt at murder of which poor Isidore Boltchallet had been the victim, not a day had passed without some mention of the Ambramese mystery. It had a permanent headline devoted to it. Never had public opinion been excited to that extent, thanks to the extraordinary series of hurried events of unexpected and disconcerting surprises. Monsieur Fillouy, who was certainly accepting the secondary part allotted to him with a good faith worthy of all praise, had let the interviewers into the secret of his young advisers' exploits during the memorable three days, so that the public was able to indulge in the rashest suppositions. And the public gave itself free scope. Specialists and experts in crime, novelists and playwrights, retired magistrates and chief detectives, erstwhile the cocks and budding homelock cherses each had his theory and expanded it in lengthy contributions to the press. Everybody corrected and supplemented the inquiry of the examining magistrate and all on the word of a child, on the word of Isidore Botrelay, a sixth-form schoolboy at the lycée Jean-Saint-Décaille. For, really, it had to be admitted the complete elements of the truth were now in everybody's possession. What did the mystery consist of? They knew the hiding place where Arsène Lupin had taken refuge and lay in a dying? There was no doubt about it. Dr Delattre, who continued to plead professional secrecy and refused to give evidence, nevertheless confessed to his intimate friends who lost no time in blabbing that he really had been taken to a crypt to attend a wounded man whom his confederates introduced to him by the name of Arsène Lupin. And as the corpse of Etienne du Vaudret was found in the same crypt, and as the said Etienne du Vaudret was none other than Arsène Lupin, as the official examination went to show, all this provided an additional proof, if one were needed, of the identity of Arsène Lupin and the wounded man. Therefore, with Lupin dead and Mademoiselle de Saint-Varant's body recognised by the kerb bracelet on her wrist, the tragedy was finished. It was not. Nobody thought that it was, because Botrelay had said the contrary. Nobody knew in what respect it was not finished, but on the word of the young man the mystery remained complete. The evidence of the senses did not prevail against the statement of a Botrelay. There was something which people did not know, and of that something they were convinced that he was in position to supply a triumphant explanation. It is easy, therefore, to imagine the anxiety with which, at first, people awaited the bulletins, issued by the two D.A.P. doctors, to whose care the candidiers entrusted his patient. The distress that prevailed during the first few days, when his life was thought to be in danger, and the enthusiasm of the morning when the newspapers announced that there was no further cause for fear. The least details excited the crowd. People wept at the thought of Botrelay nursed by his old father, who had been hurriedly summoned by telegram, and they also admired the devotion of Mamzell-Sousin de Gestre, who spent night after night by the wounded lads' bedside. Next came a swift and glad convalescence, that last the public were about to know. They would know what Botrelay had promised to reveal to Monsieur Fillet, and the decisive words which the knife of the would-be assassin had prevented him from uttering. And they would also know everything outside the tragedy itself that remained impenetrable or inaccessible to the efforts of the police. With Botrelay free and cured of his wound, one could hope for some certainty regarding Harlington, Arsène Lupin's mysterious accomplice, who was still detained at the Sainte-Brisse. One would learn what had become after the crime of Bredoux-the-Clarke, that other accomplice whose daring was really terrifying. With Botrelay free, one could also form a precise idea concerning the disappearance of Ghanimar and the kidnapping of Shears. How was it possible for two attempts of this kind to take place, neither the English detectives nor their French colleagues possessed the slightest clue on the subject? On Witt Sunday Ghanimar did not come home, nor on the Monday either, nor during the five weeks that followed. In London, on Witt Monday, Homelock Shears took a cab at eight o'clock in the evening to drive to the station. He had hardly stepped in, when he tried to alight, probably feeling a presentiment of danger, but two men jumped into the handsome, one on either side, flung him back on the seat, and kept in there between them, or rather under them. All this happened in sight of nine or ten witnesses who had no time to interfere. The cab drove off to Gallup, and after that nothing. Nobody knew anything. Perhaps also Botrelay would be able to give the complete explanation of the document, the mysterious paper to which Bredoux-the-Magistrates-Clarke attached enough importance to recover it with blows of the knife from the person in whose possession it was. The problem of the hollow needle, it was called, by the countless solvers of riddles who, with their eyes bent upon the figures and dots, strove to read a meaning into them. The hollow needle, what a bewildering conjunction of two simple words, what an incomprehensible question was set by that scrap of paper whose very origin and manufacture were unknown. The hollow needle, was it a meaningless expression, the puzzle of a schoolboy scribbling with pen and ink on the corner of a page, or were they two magic words which could compel the whole great adventure of Lupin, the great adventurer to assume its true significance? Nobody knew. But the public soon would know, for some days the papers had been announcing the approaching arrival of Baudrillet. The struggle was on the point of recommencing, and this time it would be implacable on the part of the young man who was burning to take revenge. And, as it happened, my attention just then was drawn to his name printed in capitals, the grand journal headed its front page with the following paragraph. We have persuaded Monsieur Isidore Baudrillet to give us the first right of printing his revelations. Tomorrow, Tuesday, before the police themselves are informed, the grand journal will publish the whole truth of the Ambramese mystery. That's interesting, eh? What do you think of it, my dear chap? I started from my chair. There was someone sitting beside me, someone I did not know. I cast my eyes round for a weapon, but as my visitor's attitude appeared quite inoffensive, I restrained myself and went up to him. He was a young man with strongly marked features, long, fair hair, and a short, tawny beard divided into two points. His dress suggested the dark clothes of an English clergyman, and his whole person, for that matter, wore an air of austerity and gravity that inspired respect. Who are you? I asked. And, as he did not reply, I repeated, Who are you? How did you get in? What are you here for? He looked at me and said, Don't you know me? Oh, no. Oh, that's really curious. Just search your memory. One of your friends, a friend of a rather special kind, however? I caught him smartly by the arm. You lie, you lie. No, you're not the man you say you are. It's not true. Then why are you thinking of that man rather than another, he asked, with a laugh. Oh, that laugh, that bright and clear young laugh, whose amusing irony had so often contributed to my diversion. I shivered. Could it be? No, no, I protested with a sort of terror. It cannot be. It can't be I, because I'm dead, eh? he retorted, and because you don't believe in ghosts. He laughed again. Am I the sort of man who dies? Do you think I would die like that shot in the back by a girl? Really, you misjudge me, as though I would ever consent to such a death as that. So it is you, I stammered, still incredulous, and yet greatly excited. So it is you, I can't manage to recognise you. In that case, he said gaily, I am quite easy. If the only man to whom I have shown myself in my real aspect fails to know me today, then everybody who will see me henceforth, as I am today, is bound not to know me either. When he sees me in my real aspect, if indeed I have a real aspect, I recognise his voice now that he was no longer changing its tone, and I recognise his eyes also and the expression of his face and his whole attitude and his very being through the counterfeit appearance in which he had shrouded it. Arsène Lupin, I muttered. Yes, Arsène Lupin, he cried, rising from his chair, the one and only Arsène Lupin returned from the realms of darkness, since it appears that I expired and passed away in that crypt. Arsène Lupin, alive and kicking, in the full exercise of his will, happy and free, and more than ever resolved to enjoy that happy freedom in a world where hitherto he has received nothing but favours and privileges. It was my turn to laugh. Well, it's certainly you, and livelier this time than on the day when I had the pleasure of seeing you last year. I congratulate you. I was alluding to his last visit, the visit following on the famous adventure of the Diadem. Footnote, Arsène Lupin, play in three acts and four scenes by Maurice Loublon and Francis de Croisé. His interrupted marriage, his flight with Sonia Kirkov and the Russian girl's horrible death. On that day I had seen an Arsène Lupin whom I did not know, weak, downhearted with eyes tired with weeping, and seeking for a little sympathy and affection. Be quiet, he said. The past is far away. It was a year ago, I observed. It was ten years ago, he declared. Arsène Lupin's years count for ten times as much as another man's. I did not insist, and, changing the conversation, how did you get in? Why, how do you think? Through the door, of course. Then, as I saw nobody, I walked across the drawing-room and out by the balcony, and here I am. Yes, but the key of the door. There are no doors for me, as you know. I wanted your flat, and I came in. It is at your disposal. Am I to leave you? Oh, not at all. You won't be in the way. In fact, I can promise you an interesting evening. Are you expecting someone? Yes, I've given him an appointment here at ten o'clock. He took out his watch. It's ten now. If the telegram reached him, he ought to be here soon. The front doorbell rang. What did I tell you? No, don't trouble to get up. I'll go. With whom on earth could he have made an appointment? And what sort of scene was I about to assist at, dramatic or comic? For Lupin himself, to consider it worthy of interest, the situation must be somewhat exceptional. He returned in a moment and stood back to make way for a young man, tall and thin and very pale in the face. Without a word and with a certain solemnity about his movements that made me feel ill at ease, Lupin switched on all the electric lamps one after the other till the room was flooded with light. Then the two men looked at each other, exchanged profound and penetrating glances as if, with all the effort of their gleaming eyes, they were trying to pierce into each other's souls. It was an impressive sight to see them thus, grave and silent, but who could the newcomer be? I was on the point of guessing the truth, through his resemblance to a photograph which had recently appeared in the papers, when Lupin turned to me. My dear chap, let me introduce Monsieur Isidore Bottrallet. And, addressing the young man, he continued, I have to thank you, Monsieur Bottrallet, first, for being good enough on receipt of a letter from me to postpone your revelations until after this interview, and secondly, for granting me this interview with so good a grace. Bottrallet smiled. Allow me to remark that my good grace consists above all in obeying your orders. The threat which you made to me in the letter in question was the more peremptory in being aimed not at me, but at my father. My words said Lupin, laughing, we must do the best we can, and make use of the means of action of acts safe to us. I knew by experience that your own safety was indifferent to you, seeing that you resisted the arguments of Master Bredoux. There remained your father, your father for whom you have a great affection, I played on that string. And here I am, said Bottrallet approvingly. I motioned them to be seated, they consented, and Lupin resumed in that tone of imperceptible banter which is all his own. In any case, Monsieur Bottrallet, if you will not accept my thanks, you will at least not refuse my apologies. Apologies, bless my soul. What for? For the brutality which Master Bredoux showed you. I confess that the act surprised me. It was not Lupin's usual way of behaving a stab. I assure you I had no hand in it. Bredoux is a new recruit. My friends, during the time that they had the management of our affairs, thought that it might be useful to win over to our cause the clerk of the magistrate himself who was conducting the inquiry. Your friends were right. Bredoux, who was especially attached to your person, was in fact most valuable to us. But with the ardour peculiar to any neophyte who wishes to distinguish himself, he pushed his zeal too far, and thwarted my plans by permitting himself on his own initiative to strike your blow. Oh, it was a little accident. Not at all, not at all, and I have reprimanded him severely. I am bound, however, to say in his favour, that he was taken unawares by the really unexpected rapidity of your investigation. If you had only left us a few hours longer, you would have escaped that unpardonable attempt. And I should doubtless have enjoyed the enormous advantage of undergoing the same fate as Monsieur Gunymar and Mr Homelock Shears. Exactly, said Lupin, laughing heartily, and I should not have known the cruel terrors which your wound caused me. I have had an atrocious time because of it, believe me, and at this moment your pallor fills me with all the stings of remorse. Can you ever forgive me? The proof of confidence which you have shown me in delivering yourself unconditionally into my hands, it would have been so easy for me to bring a few of Gunymar's friends with me, that proof of confidence wipes out everything. Whilst he speaking seriously, I confess frankly that I was greatly perplexed. The struggle between the two men was beginning in a manner which I was simply unable to understand. I had been present at the first meeting between Lupin and Homelock Shears in the café near the Garment Parnasse. Footnote, Arsène Lupin versus Homelock Shears by Maurice Leblanc. And I could not help recalling the haughty carriage of the two competence, the terrific clash of their pride under the politeness of their manners, the hard blows which they dealt each other, their faints, their arrogance. Here it was quite different, Lupin, it is true, had not changed. He exhibited the same tactics, the same crafty affability. But what a strange adversary he had come upon. Was it even an adversary? Really he had neither the tone of one nor the appearance. Very calm, but with a real calmness, not one assumed to cloak the passion of a man endeavouring to restrain himself. Very polite, but without exaggeration, smiling, but without chaff, smiling, but without chaff, he presented the most perfect contrast to Arsène Lupin. A contrast so perfect, even that to my mind, Lupin appeared as much perplexed as myself. No, there was no doubt about it. In the presence of that frail stripling with cheeks smooth as a girl's and candid and charming eyes, Lupin was losing his ordinary self-assurance. Several times over I observed traces of embarrassment in him. He hesitated, did not attack frankly, wasted time in mawkish and affected phrases. It also looked as though he wanted something. He seemed to be seeking, waiting, what for, some aid? There was a fresh ring of the bell. He himself ran and opened the door. He returned with a letter. Will you allow me, gentlemen, he asked. He opened the letter. It contained a telegram. He read it and became as though transformed. His face lit up, his figure righted itself, and I saw the veins on his forehead swell. It was the athlete who once more stood before me, the ruler, sure of himself, master of events and master of persons. He spread the telegram on the table, and, striking it with his fist exclaimed, Now, Monsieur Boutrelle, it's you and I. Boutrelle adopted a listening attitude, and Lupin began in measured, but harsh and masterful tones. Let us throw off the mask, what say you, and have done with hypocritical compliments. We are two enemies who know exactly what to think of each other. We act towards each other as enemies, and therefore we ought to treat with each other as enemies. To treat, echoed Boutrelle in a voice of surprise. Yes, to treat, I did not use that word at random, and I repeat it in spite of the effort, the great effort to which it costs me. This is the first time I have employed it to an adversary. But also I may as well tell you at once it is the last. Make the most of it. I shall not leave this flat without a promise from you. If I do, it means war. Boutrelle seemed more and more surprised. He said very prettily, I was not prepared for this. You speak so funnily, it is so different from what I expected. Yes, I thought you were not a bit like that. Why this display of anger? Why use threats? Are we enemies because circumstances bring us into opposition? Enemies, why? Lupin appeared a little out of countenance, but he snarled and leaning over the boy. Listen to me, youngster, he said. It is not a question of picking one's words, it's a question of a fact, a positive, indisputable fact. And that fact is this. In all the past ten years, I have not yet knocked up against an adversary of your capacity. With Ganymar and Honot shears, I played as if they were children. With you, I am obliged to defend myself. I will say more to retreat. Yes, at this moment you and I well know that I must look upon myself as worsted in the fight. Isidore Boutrelle has got the better of Arsene Lupin. My plans are upset. What I tried to leave in the dark, you have brought into the full light of day. You annoy me, you stand in my way. Well, I've had enough of it. Bredoux told you so to no purpose. I now tell you so again, and I insist upon it, so that you may take it to heart I've had enough of it. Boutrelle nodded his head. Yes, but what do you want? Peace. Each of us minding his own business, keeping to his own side. That is to say you free to continue your burger is undisturbed, I free to return to my studies. Your studies, anything you please, I don't care, but you must leave me in peace. I want peace. How can I trouble it now? Lupin seized his hand violently. You know quite well. Don't pretend not to know. You are at this moment in possession of a secret to which I attach the highest importance. This secret you were free to guess, but you have no right to give it to the public. Are you sure that I know it? You know it, I'm certain. Day by day, hour by hour, I have followed your train of thought and the progress of your investigations. At the very moment when Bredoux struck you, you were about to tell all. Subsequently you delayed your revelations out of solicitude for your father, but they are now promised to this paper here. The article is written. It will be set up in an hour. It will appear tomorrow. Quite right. Lupin rose and slashing the air with his hand. It shall not appear, he cried. It shall appear, said Baudrillet, starting up in his turn. At last the two men were standing up to each other. I received the impression of a shock as if they had seized each other round the body. Baudrillet seemed to burn with a sudden energy. It was as though a spark had kindled within him a group of new emotions. Pluck, self-respect, the passion of fighting, the intoxication of danger. As for Lupin, I read in the radiance of his glance the joy of the jurist who at length encounters the sword of his hated rival. Is the article in the printer's hands? Not yet. Have you it there on you? No fear, I shouldn't have it by now, in that case. Then one of the assistant editors has it in a sealed envelope. If I am not at the office by midnight, he will have it set up. Ah, the scoundrel, Mutted Lupin. He is provided for everything. His anger was increasing visibly and frightfully. Baudrillet chuckled, jeering in his turn carried away by his success. Stop that, you brat, Rod Lupin. You're forgetting who I am, and that, if I wished, upon my word, he's daring to laugh. A great silence fell between them. Then Lupin stepped forward and in Mutted tones with his eyes on Baudrillet's. You shall go straight to the grand journal. No. Tears up your article. No. See the editor. No. Tell him you made a mistake. No. And write him another article, in which you will give the official version of the Ambra Maisie mystery, the one which everyone has accepted. No. Lupin took up a steel ruler that lay on my desk and broke it in two without an effort. His palo was terrible to see. He wiped away the beads of perspiration that stood on his forehead. He, who had never known his wishes resisted, was being maddened by the obstinacy of this child. He pressed his two hands on Baudrillet's shoulder and emphasising every syllable continued. You shall do, as I tell you, Baudrillet, you shall say that your latest discoveries have convinced you of my death, and there is not the least doubt about it. You shall say so because I wish it, because it has to be believed that I am dead. You shall say so above all, because if you do not say so, because if I do not say so, your father will be kidnapped tonight, as Ganemard and Homelock Shears were. Baudrillet gave a smile. Don't laugh. Answer. My answer is that I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I have promised to speak, and I shall speak. Speak in the sense which I have told you. I shall speak the truth, cried Baudrillet, eagerly. It is something which you can't understand, the pleasure, the need, rather, of saying the thing that is and saying it aloud. The truth is here in this brain which has guessed it and discovered it, and it will come out all naked and quivering. The article, therefore, will be printed as I wrote it. The world shall know that Lupin is alive and shall know the reason why he wished to be considered dead. Although all, and he added calmly, and my father shall not be kidnapped. Once again they were both silent, with their eyes still fixed upon each other. They watched each other. Their swords were engaged up to the hilt, and it was like the heavy silence that goes before the mortal blow, which of the two was to strike it. Lupin said between his teeth, failing my instructions to the contrary, two of my friends have orders to enter your father's room tonight at three o'clock in the morning to seize him and carry him off to join Ganymard and Homelock shears. A burst of shrill laughter interrupted him. Why, you highwayman, don't you understand, cried Baudrillet, that I have taken my precautions? So you think that I am innocent enough, ass enough, to have sent my father home in the open country? Oh, the gay, bantering laugh that lit up the boy's face. It was a new sort of laugh on his lips, a laugh that showed the influence of Lupin himself, and the familiar form of address which he adopted placed him at once on his adversary's level. He continued, You see, Lupin, your great fault is to believe your schemes infallible. You proclaim yourself beaten to you, what humbug! And you forget that others can have their little schemes too. Mine is a very simple one, my friend. It was delightful to hear him talk. He walked up and down with his hands in his pockets and with the easy swagger of a boy teasing a caged beast. Really, at this moment he was revenging with the most terrible revenges, all the victims of the greater adventurer. And he concluded, Lupin, my father is not in Savoy. He is at the other end of France in the centre of a big town guarded by twenty of our friends who have orders not to lose sight of him until our battle is over. Would you like the details? He is at Cherbourg in the house of one of the keepers of the arsenal. And remember that the arsenal is closed at night and that no one is allowed to enter it by day unless he carries an authorization and is accompanied by a guide. He stopped in front of Lupin and defied him like a child making faces at his playmate. What do you say to that, master? For some minutes Lupin had stood motionless not a muscle of his face had moved. What were his thoughts upon what action was he resolving? To anyone knowing the fierce violence of his pride the only possible solution was the total immediate and final collapse of his adversaries. His fingers twitched for a second I had a feeling that he was about to throw himself upon the boy and ring his neck. What do you say to that, master? Bertrandet repeated Lupin took up the telegram that lay on the table held it out and said very calmly here baby read that Bertrandet became serious suddenly impressed by the gentleness of the movement he unfolded the paper and at once raising his eyes murmured what does it mean I don't understand at any rate you understand the first word said Lupin the first word of the telegram that is to say the name of the place from which it was sent look Cherbourg yes yes I understand Cherbourg and then and then I should think the rest is quite plain removal of luggage finished friends left with it and will wait instructions till eight morning well is there anything there that seems obscure the word luggage you wouldn't have them right what then the way in which the operation was performed the miracle by which your father was taken out of Cherbourg Arsenal in spite of his 20 bodyguards that's as easy as ABC and the fact remains that the luggage has been dispatched what do you say to that baby with all his tense being with all his exasperated energy Isidore tried to preserve a good countenance but I saw his lips quiver his jaw shrink his eyes vainly strived to fix upon a point he lisped a few words then was silent and suddenly gave way and with his hands before his face burst into loud sobs oh father father an unexpected result perhaps which Lupin's pride demanded but also something more something infinitely touching and infinitely artless Lupin gave a movement of annoyance and took up his hat as though this unaccustomed display of sentiment were too much for him but on reaching the door he stopped hesitated and then returned slowly step by step the soft sound of the sobs rose like the sad wailing of a little child overcome with grief the lads' shoulders marked the heart-rending rhythm tears appeared through the crossed fingers Lupin leaned forward and without touching Portrallet said in a voice that had not the least tone of pleasantry nor even of the offensive pity of the victor don't cry youngster this is one of those blows which a man must expect when he rushes headlong into the fray as you did the worst disasters lie in wait for him the destiny of fighters will have it so we must suffer it as bravely as we can then with a sort of gentleness he continued you were right you see we are not enemies I've known it for long from the very first I felt for you for the intelligent creature that you are an involuntary sympathy and admiration and that is why I wanted to say this to you don't be offended whatever you do I should be extremely sorry to offend you but I must say it well give up struggling against me I'm not saying this out of vanity nor because I despise you but you see the struggle is too unequal you do not know nobody knows all the resources which I have at my command look here this secret of the hollow needle which you are trying so vainly to unravel suppose for a moment that it is a formidable inexhaustible treasure perhaps an invisible, prodigious fantastic refuge or both perhaps think of the superhuman power which I must derive from it and you do not know either all the resources which I have within myself all that my will and my imagination enable me to undertake and to undertake successfully only think that my whole life ever since I was born I might almost say has tended toward the same aim the convict before coming what I am and to realise in its perfection the type which I wish to create which I have succeeded in creating that being so what can you do at that very moment when you think that victory lies within your grasp it will escape you there will be something of which you have not thought a trifle, a grain of sand which I shall have put in the right place unknown to you I entreat you give up I should be obliged to hurt you and the thought distresses me and placing his hand on the boy's forehead he repeated once more youngstead give up I should only hurt you who knows if the trap into which you will inevitably fall has not already opened under your footsteps Botrelay uncovered his face he was no longer crying had he heard Lupin's words one might have doubted it judging by his inattentive air for two or three minutes he was silent he seemed to weigh the decision which he was about to take to examine the reasons for and against to count up the favourable and unfavourable chances at last he said to Lupin if I change the sense of the article if I confirm the version of your death and if I undertake never to contradict the false version which I shall have sanctioned do you swear that my father will be free I swear it friends have taken your father by motor car to another provincial town at seven o'clock tomorrow morning if the article in the grand jour now is what I want it to be I shall telephone to them and they will restore your father to liberty very well said Botrelay I submit to your conditions quickly as though he saw no object in prolonging the conversation after accepting his defeat he rose took his hat bowed to me bowed to Lupin and went out Lupin watched him go listened to the sound of the door closing and muttered poor little beggar at eight o'clock the next morning I sent my man out to buy the grand jour now it was twenty minutes before he brought me a copy most of the kiosk being already sold out I unfolded the paper with feverish hands Botrelay's article appeared on the front page I give it as it stood and as it was quoted in the press of the whole world the Ambra Maisie mystery I do not intend in these few sentences to set out in detail the mental processes and the investigations that have enabled me to reconstruct the tragedy I should say the twofold tragedy of Ambra Maisie in my opinion this sort of work and the judgments which it entails deductions, inductions, analyses and so on are only interesting in a minor degree and in any case are highly commonplace No, I shall content myself with setting forth the two leading ideas which I followed and if I do that it will be seen that in so setting them forth and in solving the two problems which they raise I shall have told the story just as it happened in the exact order of the different incidents it may be said that some of these incidents are not proved and that I leave too large a field to conjecture that is quite true but in my view my theory is founded upon a sufficiently large number of proved facts to be able to say that even those facts which are not proved must follow from the strict logic of events The stream is so often lost under the pebbly bed it is nevertheless the same stream that reappears at intervals and mirrors back the blue sky The first riddle that confronted me a riddle not in detail but as a whole was how came it that Lupin mortally wounded one might say managed to live for five or six weeks without nursing, medicines or food at the bottom of a dark hole Let us start at the beginning On Thursday the 16th of April at four o'clock in the morning Arsene Lupin surprised in the middle of one of his most daring burglaries runs away by the path leading to the ruins and drops down shot He drags himself painfully along falls again and picks himself up in the desperate hope of reaching the chapel The chapel contains a crypt the existence of which he has discovered by accident If he can borrow there he may be saved By dint of an effort he approaches it he is but a few yards away when a sound of footsteps approaches Harrest and lost he lets himself go The enemy arrives It is Mamazelle Rémond de Saint-Veron This is the prologue or rather the first scene of the drama What happened between them? This is the easier to guess in as much as the sequel of the adventures gives us all the necessary clues At the girl's feet lies a wounded man exhausted by suffering who will be captured in two minutes This man has been wounded by herself Will she also give him up? If he is Jean de Valle's murderer yes, she will let destiny take its course but in quick sentences he tells her the truth about this awful murder committed by her uncle Monsieur de Gerser She believes him What will she do? Nobody can see them The footman Victor is watching the little door The other Albert, posted at the drawing room window has lost sight of both of them Will she give up the man she is wounded? The girl is carried away by a movement of irresistible pity which any woman will understand Instructed by Loupard with a few movements she binds up the wound with his handkerchief to avoid the marks which the blood would leave Then with the aid of the key which he gives her she opens the door of the chapel He enters, supported by the girl she locks the door and walks away Albert arrives If the chapel had been visited at that moment at least during the next few minutes before Loupard had had time to recover his strength to raise the flagstone and disappear by the stairs leading to the crypt he would have been taken But this visit did not take place until six hours later and then only in the most superficial way As it is, Loupard is saved and saved by whom by the girl who very nearly killed him Thenceforth whether she wishes it or no Mancelle de Saint-Varan It is his accomplice Not only is she no longer able to give him up but she is obliged to continue her work Else the wounded man will perish in the shelter in which she has helped to conceal him Therefore she continues For that matter if her feminine instinct makes the task a compulsory one it also makes it easy She is full of artifice she foresees and forestalls everything It is she who gives the examining magistrate the most description of our Saint-Loupard The reader will remember the difference of opinion on this subject between the cousins It is she, obviously who, thanks to certain signs which I do not know of suspects an accomplice of Loupard's in the driver of the fly She warns him She informs him of the urgent need of an operation It is she, no doubt who substitutes one cap for the other It is she who causes the famous letter to be written in which she is personally threatened How, after that is it possible to suspect her It is she who at that moment when I was about to confide my first impressions to the examining magistrate pretends to have seen me the day before in the copswood alarms Monsieur Fillet on my score and reduces me to silence A dangerous move, no doubt because it arises my attention and directs it against the person who assails me with an accusation which I know to be false but an efficacious move because the most important thing of all is to gain time and close my lips Lastly, it is she who during 40 days feeds Loupard brings him his medicine The chemist at Ouvil will produce the prescription which he made up for Mancelle de Saint-Varant nurses him, dresses his wound watches over him and cures him Here we have the first of our two problems solved at the same time that the ambrumaisie mystery is set forth Our Saint-Loupin found close at hand in the chateau itself The assistance which was indispensable to him in order first not to be discovered and secondly to live He now lives and we come to the second problem corresponding with the second ambrumaisie mystery the study of which served me Why does Loupard, alive free at the head of his gang omnipotent as before why does Loupard make desperate efforts efforts with which I am constantly coming into collision to force the idea of his death upon the police and the public We must remember that Mancelle de Saint-Varant was a very pretty girl The photographs reproduced in the papers after her disappearance give but an imperfect notion of her beauty which was bound to follow Loupard seeing this lovely girl daily for five or six weeks longing for her presence when she is not there subjected to her charm and grace when she is there inhaling the cool perfume of her breath when she bends over him Loupard becomes enamoured of his nurse Gratitude turns to love admiration to passion she is his salvation but she is also the joy of his eyes the dream of his lonely hours and the hope his very life He respects her sufficiently not to take advantage of the girl's devotion and not to make use of her to direct his confederates There is in fact a certain lack of decision apparent in the acts of the gang but he loves her also his scruples weaken and as Mancelle de Saint-Varant refuses to be touched by a love that offends her as she relaxes her visits when they become less necessary on the day when he is cured desperate maddened by grief he takes a terrible resolve he leaves his lair prepares his stroke and on Saturday the 6th of June assisted by his accomplices he carries off the girl this is not all the abduction must not be known all search all surmises all hope even must be cut short Mancelle de Saint-Varant must pass for dead there is a mock murder proofs are supplied for the police inquiries there is doubt about the crime a crime for that matter not unexpected a crime foretold by the accomplices a crime perpetrated to revenge the chief's death and through this very fact observe the marvellous ingenuity of the conception through this very fact the belief in this death is so to speak stimulated it is not enough to suggest a belief it is necessary to compel the certainty loupin for sees my interference I am sure to guess the trickery of the chapel I am sure to discover the crypt and as the crypt will be empty the whole scaffolding will come to the ground the crypt shall not be empty in the same way the death of Mancelle de Saint-Varant will not be definite unless the sea gives up her corpse the sea shall give up the corpse of Mancelle de Saint-Varant the difficulty is tremendous the double obstacle seems insurmountable yes to anyone but Lupin but not to Lupin as he had foreseen I guess the trickery of the chapel I discover the crypt and I go down into the lair where Lupin has taken refuge his corpse is there any person who had admitted the death of Lupin as possible would have been baffled but I had not admitted this eventuality for an instant first by intuition and secondly by reasoning pretence thereupon became useless and every seen vain I said to myself at once that the block of stone disturbed by the pickaxe had been placed there with a very curious exactness that the least knock was bound to make it fall and that in falling it must inevitably reduce the head of the false Arsene Lupin to pulp in such a way as to make it utterly irreconisable one of the discovery half an hour later I hear that the body of Mancelle de Saint-Véran has been found on the rocks at Dieppe or rather a body which is considered to be Mancelle de Saint-Véran's for the reason that the arm has a bracelet similar to one of that young lady's bracelets this however is the only mark of identity for the corpse is irreconisable thereupon I remember and I understand a few days earlier I happen to read in a number of the Vigida Dieppe that a young American couple staying at Anvémur had committed suicide by taking poison and that their bodies had disappeared on the very night of the death I hasten to Anvémur the story is true and told except in so far as concerns the disappearance because the brothers of the victims came to claim the corpses and took them away after the usual formalities the name of these brothers no doubt was Arsene Lupin and Co consequently the thing is proved we know why Lupin shammed the murder of the girl and spread the rumour of his own death he is in love and does not wish it known and to reach his ends he shrinks from nothing he even undertakes that incredible theft of the two corpses which he needs in order to impersonate himself and Mancelle de Saint-Véran in this way he will be at ease no one can disturb him no one will ever suspect the truth which he wishes to suppress no one yes three adversaries at the most might conceive doubts Ghanimar whose arrival is hourly expected Holmlock Shears who is about to cross the channel and I who am on the spot this constitutes a threefold danger he removes it he kidnaps Ghanimar he kidnaps Holmlock Shears he has me stabbed by Bredoux one point alone remains obscure why was Lupin so fiercely bent upon snatching the document about the hollow needle from me he surely did not imagine that by taking it away he could wipe out from my memory the text of the five lines of which it consists then why did he fear that the character of the paper itself or some other clue could give him a hint be that as it may this is the truth of the Amber Maisie mystery I repeat the conjecture plays a certain part in the explanation which I offer even as it played a greater part in my personal investigation but if one waited for proofs and facts to fight Lupin one would run a great risk either of waiting forever or else of discovering proofs and facts carefully prepared by Lupin which would lead in a direction immediately opposite to the object in view I feel confident that the facts when they are known will confirm my surmise in every respect Isidore Baudrillet mastered for a moment by Arsène Lupin distressed by the abduction of his father and resigned to defeat Isidore Baudrillet in the end was unable to persuade himself to keep silence the truth was too beautiful and too curious the proofs which he was able to produce were too logical and too conclusive for him to consent to misrepresent it the whole world was waiting for his revelations he spoke on the evening of the day on which his article appeared the newspapers announced the kidnapping of Mr Baudrillet Sr Isidore was informed of it by a telegram from Cherbourg which reached him at 3 o'clock End of chapter 4