 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eswa. The Hollow Needle, Further Adventures of Arsene Lupin by Maurice Leblanc, translated by Alexander Texera de Matos. Chapter 8. From Caesar to Lupin. Dash it all. It took me ten days. Me, Lupin. You will want ten years at least. These words, uttered by Lupin after leaving the Château de Véline, had no little influence on botreless conduct. Though very calm in the main and invariably master of himself, Lupin nevertheless was subject to moments of exaltation, of a more or less romantic expansiveness, at once theatrical and guzhumid, when he allowed certain admissions to escape him, certain imprudent speeches which a boy like botreless could easily turn to profit. Rightly or wrongly, botreless read one of these involuntary admissions into that phrase. He was entitled to conclude that, if Lupin drew a comparison between his own efforts and botreless in pursuit of the truth about the Hollow Needle, it was because the two of them possessed identical means of attaining their object. Because Lupin had no elements of success different from those possessed by his adversary, the chances were alike. Now, with the same chances, the same elements of success, the same means, ten days had been enough for Lupin. What were those elements, those means, those chances? They were reduced when always said to a knowledge of the pamphlet published in 1815, a pamphlet which Lupin, no doubt, like Massibon, had found by accident and thanks to which he had succeeded in discovering the indispensable document in Marie-Antoinette's Book of Hours. Therefore, the pamphlet and the document were the only two fundamental facts upon which Lupin had relied. With these, he had built up the whole edifice. He had had no extraneous aid. The study of the pamphlet and the study of the document, full stop, that was all. Well, could not Botrelet confine himself to the same ground? What was the use of an impossible struggle? What was the use of those vain investigations in which, even supposing that he avoided the pitfalls that were multiplied under his feet, he was sure, in the end, to achieve the poorest of results? His decision was clear and immediate, and in adopting it, he had the happy instinct that he was on the right path. He began by leaving his Jean-Saint-Dussais school fellow, without indulging in useless recriminations and taking his portmanteau with him, went and installed himself after much hunting about in a small hotel situated in the very heart of Paris. This hotel, he did not leave for days. At most, he took his meals at the table d'hôte. The rest of the time, locked in his room, with window curtains closed drawn, he spent in thinking. Ten days, Arsène Lupin had said. Botrelet, striving to forget all that he had done and to remember only the elements of the pamphlet and the document, aspired eagerly to keep within the limit of those ten days. However, the tenth day passed, and the eleventh, and the twelfth. But on the thirteenth day, a gleam lit up his brain, and very soon, with the bewildering rapidity of those ideas which develop in us like miraculous plants, the truth emerge, blossomed, gathered strength. On the evening of the thirteenth day, he certainly did not know the answer to the problem. But he knew, to a certainty, one of the methods which Lupin had beyond a doubt employed. It was a very simple method, hinging on this one question. Is there a link of any sort, uniting all the more or less important historic events with which the pamphlet connects the mystery of the hollow needle? The great diversity of these events made the question difficult to answer. Still, the profound examination to which Botrelet applied himself ended by pointing to one essential characteristic which was common to them all. Each one of them, without exception, had happened within the boundaries of the Old Kingdom of Neustria, which correspond very nearly with those of our present-day Normandy. All the heroes of the fantastic adventure are Norman, or become Norman, or play their part in the Norman country. What a fascinating procession through the ages! What a rousing spectacle was that of all those barons, dukes and kings, starting from such widely opposite points to meet in this particular corner of the world. Botrelet turned the pages of history at Hapazid. It was Rolf, or Vru, or Holo, first Duke of Normandy, who was master of the secret of the needle, according to the Treaty of Saint-Claire-sur-Hept. It was William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy, and King of England, whose banner-staff was pierced like a needle. It was Etrouan that the English burns Jane of Arc, mistress of the secret, and right at the beginning of the adventure. Who is that chief of the Caleti who pays his ransom to Caesar with the secret of the needle, but the chief of the men of the Co-country, which lies in the very heart of Normandy? The supposition becomes more definite. The field narrows. Rouen, the banks of the Seine, the Co-country. It really seems as though all roads lead in that direction. Two kings of France are mentioned more particularly after the secret is lost by the dukes of Normandy and their heirs, the kings of England, and becomes the royal secret of France. And these two are King Henry IV, who laid siege to Rouen and won the battle of Arc near Dieppe, and Francis I, who founded the Havre, and uttered that suggestive phrase. The kings of France carry secrets that often decide the fate of towns. Rouen, Dieppe, the Havre, the three angles of the triangle, the three large towns that occupy the three points. In the center, the Co-Country. The 17th century arrives. Louis XIV burns the book in which a person unknown reveals the truth. Captain de Larbery masters a copy, profits by the secret thus obtained, steals a certain number of jewels, and dies by the hand of high-willed murderers. Now at which spot is the ambush laid? At Gaillon. At Gaillon, a little town on the road leading from Havre, Rouen, or Dieppe, to Paris. A year later, Louis XIV buys a domain and builds the Château de Ligue. Where does he select his site? In the midlands of France, with the result that the curious are thrown off the scent and do not hunt about in Normandy. Rouen, Dieppe, the Havre, the Cauchois Triangle. Everything lies there. On one side, the sea. On another, the Seine. On the third, the two valleys that lead from Rouen to Dieppe. A light flashed across Baudrillet's mind. That extent of ground, that country of the high-table lands which run from the cliffs of the Seine to the cliffs of the Channel almost invariably constitute the field of operations of Arsène Lupin. For ten years, it was just this district which he parceled out for his purposes, as though he had his hand in the very centre of the region with which the legend of the hollow needle was most closely connected. The affair of Baron Caorne? On the banks of the Seine, between Rouen and the Havre. The Tibermenil case? At the other end of the table land, between Rouen and Dieppe. The Gruchet, Montigny, Cressville burglaries? In the midst of the Co-country. Where was Lupin going when he was attacked and bound hand and foot in his compartment by Pierre-en-Fret, the auto-murderer? To Rouen. Where was Holmlock shears Lupin's prisoner put on board ship? Near the Havre. And what was the scene of the whole of the present tragedy? En Bremécy, on the road between the Havre and Dieppe. Rouen, Dieppe, the Havre, always the Cauchois Triangle. And so, a few years earlier, possessing the pamphlet and knowing the hiding place in which Marie-Antoinette had concealed the document, Arsène Lupin had ended by laying his hand on the famous book of Hours. Once in possession of the document, he took the field, found, and settled down as in a conquered country. Baudrillet took the field. He set out in genuine excitement, thinking of the same journey which Lupin had taken, of the same hope with which he must have throbbed when he thus went in search of the tremendous secret which was to arm him with so great a power. Would his Baudrillet's efforts have the same victorious results? He left Rouen early in the morning, on foot, with his face very much disguised and his bag at the end of a stick on his shoulder, like an apprentice doing his round of France. He walked straight to Duclair, where he lunged. On leaving this town, he followed the Seine and practically did not lose sight of it again. His instinct, strengthened moreover by numerous influences, always brought him back to the sinuous banks of the St. Livre River. When the Chateau du Malachy was robbed, the objects stolen from Baron Caorne's collection were sent by way of the Seine. The old carvings removed from the chapel at Ambrumecy were carried to the Seine bank. He pictured the whole fleet of penises performing a regular service between Rouen and the Havre and draining the works of art and treasures from a countryside to dispatch them thence to the land of millionaires. I'm burning, I'm burning! muttered the boy, gasping at other truth which came to him in a mighty series of shocks and took away his breath. The checks encountered on the first few days did not discourage him. He had a firm and profound belief in the correctness of the supposition that was guiding him. It was bold, perhaps, and extravagant. No matter, it was worthy of the adversary pursued. The supposition was on a level with the prodigious reality that bore the name of Lupin. With a man like that, of what good could it be to look elsewhere than in the domain of the enormous, the exaggerated, the superhuman. Jumierge, the mairé, Saint-Wendri, Kudbeck, Tancarville, Kilbeuf were places filled with his memories. How often he must have contemplated the glory of their Gothic steeples or the splendor of their immense ruins. But the Havre, the neighborhood of the Havre, drew Isidor like a beacon fire. The kings of France carry secrets that often decide the fate of towns. Cryptic words, which suddenly for Baudrillet shone bright with clearness. Was this not an exact statement of the reasons that determined Francis I to create a town on this spot and was not the fate of the Havre de Grasse linked with the very secret of the needle? That's it! That's it! Stammered Baudrillet, excitedly. The Old Norman Estuary, one of the essential points, one of the original centers around which our French nationality was formed, is completed by those two forces, one in full view, alive, known to all, the new port commanding the ocean and opening on the world, the other dim and obscure, unknown and all the more alarming, inasmuch as it is invincible and impalpable. A whole site of the history of France and of the royal house is explained by the needle, even as it explains the whole story of Arsène Dupin. The same sources of energy and power supply and renew the fortunes of kings and of the adventurer. Baudrillet ferreted and snuffed from village to village, from the river to the sea, with his nose in the wind, his ears pricked, trying to compel the inanimate things to surrender that deep meaning. Or to this hill slope to be questioned? Or that forest? Or the houses of this hamlet? Or was it among the insignificant phrases spoken by that peasant yonder that he might hope to gather the one little illuminating word? One morning, he was launching at an inn, within sight of Onfleur, the old city of the estuary. Opposite him was sitting one of those heavy red-haired Norman horse dealers who do the fares of the district, whip in hand and clad in a long-smock frock. After a moment, it seemed to Baudrillet that the man was looking at him with a certain amount of attention, as though he knew him, or at least was trying to recognize him. Pou! he thought. There's some mistake. I've never seen that merchant before, nor he me. As a matter of fact, the man appeared to take no further interest in him. He lit his pipe, called for coffee and brandy, smoked and drank. When Baudrillet had finished his meal, he paid and rose to go. A group of men entered just as he was about to leave, and he had to stand for a few seconds near the table at which the horse dealer sat. He then heard the man say in a low voice, Good afternoon, Mr. Baudrillet. Without hesitation, Isidore sat down beside the man and said, Yes, that is my name, but who are you? How did you know me? That's not difficult, and yet I've only seen your portrait in the papers. But you are so badly, what you call it in French, so badly made up. He had a pronounce for an accent, and Baudrillet seemed to perceive, as he looked at him, that he too wore a facial disguise that entirely altered his features. Who are you, he repeated. Who are you? The stranger smiled. Don't you recognize me? No, I never saw you before. Nor are you, but think. The papers print my portrait also, and pretty often. Well, have you got it? No? It was an amusing, and at the same time a significant meeting. The boy at once saw the full bearing of it. After an exchange of compliments, he said to Shears, I suppose that you are here because of him? Yes. So, so, you think we have a chance in this direction? I'm sure of it. Baudrillet's delight at finding that Shears' opinion, agreed with his own, was not unmingled with other feelings. If the Englishman attained his object, it meant that, at the very best, the two would share their victory. And who could tell that Shears would not attain it first? Have you any proofs? Any clues? Don't be afraid, print the Englishman, who understood his uneasiness. I am not treading on your heels. With you, it's the document, the pamphlet, the things that do not inspire me with any great confidence. And with you? With me, it's something different. Should I be indiscreet, if not at all, you remember the story of the coronet, the story of the Duke de Charmerac? Yes. You remember Victoire, Lupin's old foster mother, the one whom my good friend Ganymar allowed to escape in a sham prison van? Yes. Through Victoire's traces, she lives on a farm not far from National Road Number 25. National Road Number 25 is the road from the Havre to Lille. Through Victoire, I shall easily get at Lupin. It will take long, no matter. I have dropped all my cases. This is the only one I care about. Between Lupin and me, it's a fight. A fight to death. He spoke these words with a sort of ferocity that betrayed all his bitterness at the humiliation which he had undergone, all his fierce hatred of the great enemy who had tricked him so cruelly. Go away now, he whispered. We are observed. It's dangerous. But mark my words. On the day when Lupin and I meet face to face, it will be tragic. Baudrillet felt quite reassured on living shears. He did not fear that the Englishman would gain on him, and here was one more proof which this chance interview had brought him. The road from the Havre to Lille passes through Dieppe. It is the great seaside road of the Co-country, the coast road commanding the channel cliffs. And it was on a farm near this road that Victoire was installed. Victoire, that is to say Lupin, for one did not move without the other, the master without the blindly devoted servant. I'm burning, I'm burning, he repeated to himself. Whenever circumstances bring me a new element of information, it confirms my supposition. On the one hand, I have the absolute certainty of the banks of the Seine, on the other, the certainty of the national road. The two means of communication meet at the Havre, the town of Francis I, the town of the secret. The boundaries are contracting, the Co-country is not large, and even so, I have only the western portion of the Co-country to search. He is set to work with renewed stubbornness. Anything that Lupin has found, he kept on saying to himself, there is no reason for my not finding. Certainly Lupin had some great advantage over him, perhaps a thorough acquaintance with the Co-country, a precise knowledge of the local legends, or less than that, a memory. Invaluable advantages these, for he, Baudrillet, knew nothing, was totally ignorant of the Co-country, which he had first visited at the time of the Ambrumecy burglary, and then only rapidly, without lingering. But what did it matter? Though he had to devote ten years of his life to his investigation, he would carry to a successful issue. Lupin was there, he could see him, he could feel him there, he expected to come upon him at the next turn of the road, on the skirt of the next wood, outside the next village, and though continually disappointed, he seemed to find in each disappointment a fresh reason for persisting. Often he would fling himself on the slope by the roadside and plunge into wild examination of the copy of the document which he always carried on him, a copy, that is to say, with vowels taking the place of the figures. packet E A E E E E E E W E Y O E O E E E Often also according to his habit, he would lie down flat, on his stomach, in the tall grass and think for hours. He had time enough. the future belonged to him. With wonderful patience, he tremed from the sand to the sea, and from the sea to the sand, going gradually farther, retracing his steps and never quitting the ground until, theoretically speaking, there was not a chance left of gathering the smallest particle upon it. He studied and explored Montivillier, and Saint-Romani, and Octaville, and Gonneville, and Cricotto. At night, he knocked at the peasant's doors, and asked for lodging. After dinner, they smoked together and chatted. He made them tell him the stories which they told one another on the long winter nights, and he never omitted to insinuate slyly. What about the needle? The legend of the hollow needle. Don't you know that? Upon my word, I don't, never heard of it. Just think, an old wife's tale, something that has to do with a needle, an enchanted needle perhaps, I don't know. Nothing. No legend, no recollection, and the next morning he walked blithely away again. One day, he passed through the pretty village of Saint-Jouin, which overlooks the sea, and descending among the chaos of rocks that have slipped from cliffs, he climbed up to the table land, and went in the direction of the dry valley of Bruinval, Cap d'Antifères, and the little creek of Belle Plage. He was walking gaily and lightly, feeling a little tired, perhaps, but glad to be alive, so glad even, that he forgot Lupin and the mystery of the hollow needle and victoire and shears, and interested himself in the sight of nature, the blue sky, the great emerald sea, all glittering in the sunshine. Some straight slopes and remains of brick walls, in which he seemed to recognize the vestiges of a Roman camp, interested him. Then his eyes fell upon a sort of little castle, built in imitation of an ancient fort, with cracked turrets and gothic windows. It stood on a jagged, rugged, rising promontory, almost detached from the cliff. A bad gate, flanked by iron handrails and bristling spikes, guarded the narrow passage. Baudrillet succeeded in climbing over, not without some difficulty. Over the pointed door, which was closed with an old rusty lock, he read the words, For de Fréphos. He did not attempt to enter, but turning to the right, after going down a little slope, he embarked upon a path that ran along a ridge of land furnished with a wooden handrail. Right at the end was a cave of very small dimensions, forming a sort of watchtower at the point of the rock in which it was hollowed out, a rock falling abruptly into the sea. There was just room to stand up in the middle of the cave. Multitudes of inscriptions crossed one another on the walls, an almost square hole cut in the stone, open like a dormer window on the land side, exactly opposite For Fréphos, the crenelated top of which appeared at 30 or 40 yards distance. Baudrillet threw off his knapsack and sat down. He had had a hard and tiring day. He fell asleep for a little. Then the cool wind that blew inside the cave woke him up. He sat for a few minutes without moving, absent-minded, veigide. He tried to reflect, to recapture his still-torpid thoughts, and as he recovered his consciousness, he was on the point of rising. When he received the impression that his eyes suddenly fixed, suddenly wide open, saw, a thrill shook him from head to foot. His hands clenched convulsively, and he felt the beats of perspiration forming at the roots of his hair. No, no, he stammered. It's a dream, an hallucination. Let's look, it's not possible. He plunged down on his knees and stooped over. Two huge letters, each perhaps a foot long, appeared cut in relief in the granite of the floor. Those two letters, clumsily, but plainly carved, with their corners rounded and their surface smoothed by the wear and tears of centuries, were a D and an F. D and F, all bewildering miracle. D and F, just two letters of the document. Oh, Baudrillet had no need to consult it to bring before his mind that group of letters in the fourth line, the line of the measurements and indications. He knew them well. They were inscribed for all time at the back of his pupils, and crusted for good and all in the very substance of his brain. He rose to his feet, went down the steep road, climbed back along the old fort, hung on to the spikes of the rail again, in order to pass, and walked briskly toward a shepherd whose flock was grazing some way off on a dip in the table land. That cave over there, that cave, his lips trembled, and he tried to find the words that would not come. The shepherd looked at him in amazement. At last, Isidore repeated. Yes, that cave over there, to the right of the fort. Has it a name? Yes, I should think so. Or the hetretaphore liked to call it the demoiselle. What? What? What's that you say? Why, of course. It's the chambre des demoiselles. Isidore felt like flying at his throat, as though all the truth lived in that man, and he hoped to get it from him at one swoop, to tear it from him. The demoiselle, one of the words, one of the only three known words of the document. A whirlwind of madness shook Baudrillet where he stood, and it rose all around him, blew upon him like a tempestuous call that came from the sea, that came from the land, that came from every direction, and whipped him with great lashes of the truth. He understood. The document appeared to him in its real sense. The chambre des demoiselles. Hetretaphore. That's it, he thought, his brain filled with light. It must be that. But why didn't I guess earlier? He said to the shepherd in a low voice, that will do. Go away. You can go. Thank you. The man, not knowing what to think, whistled to his dog and went. Left alone, Baudrillet returned to the fort. He had almost passed it when suddenly he dropped to the ground and lay cowering against a piece of wall. And, wringing his hands, he thought, I must be mad. If he were to see me, or his accomplices, I've been moving about for an hour. He did not stir another limb. The sun went down, little by little. The night mingled with the day, blurring the outline of things. Then, with little imperceptible movements, flat on his stomach, gliding, crawling, he crept along one of the points of the promontory to the extreme edge of the cliff. He reached it. Stretching out his hands, he pushed aside some tufts of grass and his head appeared over the precipice. Opposite him, almost level with the cliff, in the open sea rose an enormous rock, over 80 yards high, a colossal obelisk standing straight on its grand place, which showed at the surface of the water and tapering towards the summit like the giant tooth of a monster of the deep. White with the dirty gray white of the cliff, the awful monolith was straight with horizontal lines marked by flint and displaying the slow work of centuries which had heaped alternate layers of lime and pebble stone, one atop of the other. Here and there, a fissure, a break, and wherever these occurred, a scrap of earth with grass and leaves. And all this was mighty and solid and formidable with the look of an indestructible thing against which the furious assault of the waves and storms could not prevail. And it was definite and permanent and grand despite the grandeur of the cliffy rampart that commanded it despite the immensity of the space in which it stood. Portreles nails dug into the soil like the claws of an animal ready to leap upon its prey. His eyes penetrated the wrinkled texture of the rock, penetrated its skin, so it seemed to him it's very flesh. He touched it, felt it, took cognizance and possession of it, absorbed and assimilated it. The horizon turned crimson with all the flames of the vanished sun and long red clouds set motionless in the sky, formed glorious landscapes, fantastic lagoons, fiery plains, forests of gold, lakes of blood, a whole glowing and peaceful phantasmagoria. The blue of the sky grew darker, Venus shone with a marvelous brightness, then other stars lit up, timid as yet. And Portreles suddenly closed his eyes and convulsively pressed his folded arms to his forehead. Over there, oh, he felt as though he would die for joy, so great was the cruel emotion that wrung his heart. Over there, almost at the top of the needle of Etretat, a little below the extreme point round which the sea muse fluttered, a thread of smoke came filtering through a crevice, as though from an invisible chimney. A thread of smoke rose in slow spirals in the calm air of the twilight. End of chapter 8. The Etretat needle was hollow. Was it a natural phenomenon, an excavation produced by internal cataclysms, or by the imperceptible action of the rushing sea and a soaking rain, or was it a superhuman work executed by human beings, Gauls, Celts, prehistoric men? These, no doubt, were insoluble questions. And what did it matter? The essence of the thing was contained in this fact. The needle was hollow, at forty or fifty yards from that imposing arch which is called the Port de Valle, and which shoots out from the top of the cliff, like the colossal branch of a tree, to take root in the submerged rocks, stands an immense limestone cone, and this cone is no more than the shell of a pointed cap poised upon the empty waters. A prodigious revelation! After Lupin, here was Baudrillet discovering the key to the great riddle that had loomed over more than twenty centuries, a key of supreme importance to whoever possessed it in the days of old. In those distant times, when hordes of barbarians rode through and overran the old world, a magic key that opens the Cyclopean cavern to hold tribes fleeing before the enemy, a mysterious key that guards the door of the most inviolable shelter, an enchanted key that gives power and ensures preponderance. Because he knows this key, Caesar is able to subdue Gaul. Because they know it, the Normans force their sway upon the country, and from there, later, backed by that support, conquer the neighbouring island, conquer Sicily, conquer the East, conquer the New World. Masters of the secret, the kings of England lord it over France, humble her, dismember her, have themselves crowned at Paris. They lose the secret, and the route begins. Masters of the secret, the kings of France push back and overstep the narrow limits of their dominion, gradually founding a great nation and radiating with glory and power. They forget it, or know not how to use it, and death, exile, ruin follow. An invisible kingdom in mid-water and at ten fathoms from land, an unknown fortress taller than the towers of Notre Dame and built upon a granite foundation larger than a public square, what strength and what security, from Paris to the sea by the Seine. There the half, the new town, the necessary town, and sixteen miles dense, the hollow needle, the impregnable sanctuary. It is a sanctuary and also a stupendous hiding place, all the treasures of the kings increasing from century to century, all the gold of France, all that they extort from the people, all that they snatch from the clergy, all the booty gathered on the battlefields of Europe lie heaped up in the royal cave. Old Merovingian golds, ooze, glittering crown pieces, doubloons, ducats, Florence guineas, and the precious stones and the diamonds and all the jewels and all the ornaments. Everything is there. Who could discover it? Who could ever learn the impenetrable secret of the needle? Nobody. And Lupin becomes that sort of really disproportionate being whom we know that miracle incapable of explanation so long as the truth remains in the shadow. Infinite, though the resources of his genius be, they cannot suffice for the mad struggle which he maintains against society. He needs other, more material resources. He needs a sure place of retreat. He needs a certainty of impunity, the peace that allows of the execution of his plans. Without the hollow needle Lupin is incomprehensible, a myth, a character in a novel, having no connection with reality. Master of the secret and of such a secret. He becomes simply a man like another, but gifted with the power of wielding in a superior manner the extraordinary weapon with which destiny has endowed him. So the needle was hollow. It remained to discover how one obtained access to it. From the sea, obviously, there must be on the side of the offing some fissure where boats could land at certain hours of the tide. But on the side of the land, Bautrillet lay until ten o'clock at night hanging over the precipice with his eyes riveted on the shadowy mass formed by the pyramid, thinking and pondering with all the concentrated effort of his mind. Then he went down to Etretat, selected the cheapest hotel, dined, went up to his room and unfolded the document. It was the merest child's play to him now to establish its exact meaning. He at once saw that the three vowels of the word Etretat occurred in the first line in their proper order and at the necessary intervals. The first line now read as follows, E, A, A, Etretat, A. What words could come before Etretat? Words no doubt that referred to the position of the needle with regard to the town. Now the needle stood on the left, on the west. He ransacked his memory recollecting that westerly winds are called Vence de Val on the coast and that the nearest port was known as the Porte de Val. He wrote down N, Aval, Etretat, A. The second line was that containing the word de morcelle and once seeing in front of that word the series of all the vowels that form part of the words la chambre d'E he noted the two phrases N, Aval, Etretat, La chambre de de morcelle. The third line gave him more trouble and it was not until some groping that remembering the position near the chambre de de morcelle of the Forte de Frfos he ended by almost completely reconstructing the document. In Aval de Etretat la chambre de de morcelle sous la Forte de Frfos la Iguile Cruse. These were the four great formulas the essential and general formulas which you had to know by means of them you turned in Aval that is to say below or west of Etretat entered the chambre de de morcelle in all probability passed under Forte de Frfos and thus arrived at the needle. How? By means of the indications and measurements that constituted the fourth line these were evidently the more special formulas to enable you to find the outlet that you made your way and the road that led to the needle. Baudrillet at once presumed and his surmise was no more than the logical consequence of the document that if there really was a direct communication between the land and the obelisk of the needle the underground passage must start from the chambre de de morcelle pass under Forte de Frfos perpendicularly the 300 feet of cliff and by means of a tunnel contrived under the rocks of the sea end at the hollow needle which was the entrance to the underground passage did not the two letters D and F so plainly cut point to it and admit to it with the aid perhaps of some ingenious piece of mechanism the whole of the next morning Isidore strolled about Etretat and chatted with everybody he met in order to try and pick up useful information at last in the afternoon he went up the cliff disguised as a sailor he had made himself still younger and in a pair of trousers too short for him and a fishing jersey he looked a mere scape-grace of twelve or thirteen as soon as he entered the cave he knelt down before the letters here a disappointment awaited him it was no use his striking them pushing them manipulating them in every way they refused to move and it was not long in fact before he became aware that they were really unable to move and that therefore they controlled no mechanism and yet and yet they must mean something inquiries which he had made in the village went to show that no one had ever been able to explain their existence and that they abecoché in his valuable little book on Etretat footnote l'horigin d'Etretat the abecoché seems to conclude in the end that the two letters are the initials of a passer-by the revelations now made prove the fallacy of the theory had also tried in vain to solve this little puzzle but Isidore knew what the learned Norman archeologist did not know namely that the same two letters figured in the document on the line containing the indications was it a chance coincidence? impossible well then an idea suddenly occurred to him an idea so reasonable and so simple that he did not doubt its correctness for a second were not that D and that F the initials of the two most important words in the document the words that represented together with the needle the essential stations on the road to be followed the chambre de demoiselle and fort frais-force D for demoiselle F for frais-force the connection was too remarkable to be a mere accidental fact in that case the problem stood thus the two letters D F represent the relation that exists between the chambre de demoiselle and fort frais-force the single letter D which begins the line represents the demoiselle that is to say the cave in which you have to begin by taking up your position and the single letter F placed in the middle of the line represents frais-force that is to say the probable entrance to the underground passage between these various signs are two more first a sort of irregular rectangle marked with a stripe in the left bottom corner and next the figure nineteen signs which obviously indicate to those inside the cave the means of penetrating beneath the fort the shape of this rectangle puzzled Isidore was there around him on the walls of the cave or at any rate within reach of his eyes an inscription anything whatever affecting a rectangular shape he looked for a long time and was on the point of abandoning that particular scent when his eyes fell upon the little opening pierced in the rock that acted as a window to the chamber now the edges of this opening just formed a rectangle corrugated uneven clumsy but still a rectangle and Butrelay at once saw that by placing his two feet on the D and the F carved in the stone floor and this explained the stroke that surmounted the two letters in the document at the exact height of the window he took up his position in this place and gazed out the window looking landward as we know he saw first the path that connected the cave with the land a path hung between two precipices and next he caught sight of the foot of the hillock on which the fort stood to try and see the fort Butrelay leaned over to the left and it was then that he understood the meaning of the curved stripe the comma that marked the left bottom corner in the document at the bottom on the left hand side of the window a piece of flint projected and the end of it was curved like a claw it suggested a regular shooter's mark and when a man applied his eye to this mark he saw cut out on the slope of the mound facing him a restricted surface of land occupied almost entirely by an old brick wall a remnant of the original fort Frifosa or of the old Roman opidium built on this spot Butrelay ran to this piece of wall which was perhaps ten yards long it was covered with grass and plants there was no indication of any kind visible and yet that figure nineteen he returned to the cave took from his pocket a ball of string and a tape measure tied the string to the flint corner fastened a pebble at the nineteenth meter and flung it toward the land side the pebble at most reached the end of the path Idiot that I am thought Butrelay who reckoned by meters in those days the figure nineteen means nineteen fathoms or nothing having made the calculation he ran out the twine made a knot and felt about on the piece of wall for the exact and necessarily one point at which the knot formed at thirty-seven meters from the window of the demacel should touch the Frifos wall in a few moments the point of contact was established with his free hand he moved aside the leaves of Mullen that had grown on the interstices a cry escaped him the knot which he held pressed down with his forefinger was in the center of a little cross carved in relief on a brick and the sign that followed on the figure nineteen in the document was a cross it needed all his willpower to control the excitement with which he was overcome hurriedly with convulsive fingers he clutched the cross and pressing upon it turned it as he would have turned the spokes of a wheel the brick heaved he redoubled his effort it moved no further then without turning he pressed harder he at once felt the brick give away and suddenly there was the click of a bolt that is released the sound of a lock opening and on the right of the brick to the width of about a yard the wall swung round on a pivot and revealed the orifice of an underground passage like a madman Boutrelay seized the iron door in which the bricks were sealed it back violently and closed it astonishment, delight, fear of being surprised convulsed in his face so as to render it unrecognizable he beheld the awful vision of all that had happened here in front of that door during twenty centuries of all those people initiated into the great secret who had penetrated through that issue Celts, Gauls, Romans, Normans, Englishmen, Frenchmen Barons, Dukes, Kings and after all of them Arsene Lupin and after Lupin himself Boutrelay he felt that his brain was slipping away from him his eyelids fluttered he fell fainting and rolled to the bottom of the slope to the very edge of the precipice his task was done at least the task which he was able to accomplish alone with his unaided resources that evening he wrote a long letter to the chief of the detective service giving a faithful account of the results of his investigations and revealing the secret of the hollow needle he asked for assistance to complete his work and gave his address while waiting for the reply he spent two consecutive nights in the Chambre de Demoiselles he spent them overcome with fear his nerves shaken with a terror which was increased by the sounds of the night at every moment he thought he saw shadows approach in his direction people knew of his presence in the cave they were coming they were murdering him his eyes however staring madly before them stained by all the power of his will clung to the piece of wall on the first night nothing stirred but on the second by the light of the stars and a slender crescent moon he saw the door open and figures emerge from the darkness he counted two, three, four five of them it seemed to him that those five men were carrying fairly large loads he followed them for a little way they cut straight across the fields to the harbour road and he heard the sound of a motor-car driving away he retraced his steps, skirting a big farm but at the turn of the road that ran beside it he had only just time to scramble up a slope and hide behind some trees more men passed four, five men all carrying packages and two minutes later another motor snorted this time he had not the strength to return to his post and he went back to bed when he woke and had finished dressing the hotel waiter brought him a letter he opened it it contained Ganemard's card at last cried Bocherlei who after so hard a campaign was really feeling the need of a comrade in arms he ran downstairs without stretched hands Ganemard took them, looked at him for a moment and said you're a fine fellow, my lad who, he said, luck has served me there's no such thing as luck with him declared the inspector who always spoke of Lupin in a solemn tone without mentioning his name he sat down oh, we've got him just as we've had him twenty times over, said Bocherlei, laughing yes, but to-day to-day, of course, the case is different we know his retreat his stronghold, which means when all is said that Lupin is Lupin he can escape the Etreta needle cannot why do you suppose that he will escape? asked Ganemard anxiously why do you suppose that he requires to escape? replied Bocherlei there is nothing to prove that he is in the needle at present last night eleven of his men left it he may be one of the eleven Ganemard reflected you are right the great thing is the hollow needle for the rest let us hope that chance will favour us and now let us talk he resumed his serious voice, his self-important air, and said my dear Bocherlei, I have orders to recommend you to observe the most absolute discretion in regard to this matter orders from whom? asked Bocherlei jestingly the prefect of police higher than that the prime minister higher wow Ganemard lowered his voice Bocherlei, I was at the LSE last night they look upon this matter as a state secret of the utmost gravity there are serious reasons for concealing the existence of this little reasons of military strategy in particular it might become a revitalising centre a magazine for new explosives for lately invented projectiles for anything of that sort the secret arsenal of France in fact how can they hope to keep a secret like this in the old days one man alone held it the king today already there are a good few of us who know it without counting Lupin's gang still if we gained only ten years only five years silence those five years may be the saving of us but in order to capture this citadel this future arsenal it will have to be attacked Lupin must be dislodged and all this cannot be done without noise of course people will guess something but they won't know besides we can but try all right what's your plan here it is in two words to begin with you are not Isidore Boucherle and there's no question of us and Lupin either you are and you remain a small boy of Echarta who while strolling about the place caught some fellows coming out of an underground passage this makes you suspect the existence of a flight of steps which cuts through the cliff from top to bottom yes there are several of those flights of steps along the coast to the right of Echarta opposite Benauville they showed me the devil's staircase which every bather knows and I say nothing of the three or four tunnels used by fishermen so you will guide me in one half of my men I shall enter alone or a company that remains to be seen this much is certain that the attack must be delivered that way if Lupin is not in the needle we shall fix up a trap which he will be caught sooner or later if he is there if he is there he will escape from the needle by the other side the side overlooking the sea in that case he will at once be arrested by the other half of my men yes but if as I presume you choose a moment when the sea is at low ebb leaving the base of the needle uncovered the chase will be public because it will take place for all the men and women fishing for mussels, shrimps and shellfish who swarm on the rocks round about that is why I just mean to select the time when the sea is full in that case he will make off in a boat ah but I shall have a dozen fishing smacks each of which will be commanded by one of my men and we shall collar him if he doesn't slip through your dozen smacks like a fish through the meshes all right then I'll sink him a devil you will, shall you have guns? why yes of course there's a torpedo boat at the harv at this moment a telegram from me will bring her to the needle at the appointed hour how proud Lupin will be a torpedo boat well Mr. Garmad I see that you have provided for everything we have only to go ahead when do we deliver the assault? tomorrow at night? no by daylight at the flood tide as the clock strikes ten in the morning capital under his show of gaiety Butrelay concealed a real anguish of mind he did not sleep until the morning but lay pondering over the most impracticable schemes one after the other Ghanamad had left him in order to go to Ipor six or seven miles from Etretat where for prudent sake he had told his men to meet him and where he chartered twelve fishing smacks with the ostensible object of taking soundings along the coast at a quarter to ten escorted by a body of twelve stalwart men he met Isidor at the foot of the road that goes up the cliff at ten o'clock exactly they reached the skirt of the wall and it was the decisive moment at ten o'clock exactly Why, what's the matter with you Butrelay? jeered Ghanamad you're quite green in the face it's as well you can't see yourself Ghanamad the boy retorted one would think your last hour had come they both had to sit down and Ghanamad swallowed a few mouthfuls of rum it's not funky said but by Jove this is an exciting business each time that I'm on the point of catching him it takes me like that in the pit of my stomach a tram of rum no and if you drop behind that will mean that I'm dead however we'll see and now open sesame no danger of our being observed I suppose no the needle is not so high as to cliff and besides there's a bend in the ground where we are Butrelay went to the wall and pressed upon the brick the bolt was released and the underground passage came in sight by the gleam of the lanterns which they lit they saw that it was cut in the shape of a vault and that both the vaulting and the floor itself were entirely covered with bricks they walked for a few seconds and suddenly a staircase appeared Butrelay counted forty-five brick steps which the slow action of many footsteps had worn away in the middle blow said Ghanamad holding his head and stopping suddenly as though he had knocked against something what is it? a door bother muttered Butrelay looking at it and not an easy one to break down either it's just a solid block of iron we are done said Ghanamad there's not even a lock to it exactly that's what gives me hope why? a door is made to open and as this one has no lock that means that there is a secret way of opening it and as we don't know the secret I shall know it in a minute how? by means of the document the fourth line has no other object but to solve each difficulty as and when it crops up and the solution is comparatively easy because it's not written with a view to throwing searches off the scent but to assisting them comparatively easy I don't agree with you cried Ghanamad who has unfolded the document the number forty-four and a triangle with a dot in it that doesn't tell us much yes, yes it does look at the door you see it strengthened at each corner with a triangular slab of iron and the slabs are fixed with big nails take the left hand bottom slab and work the nail in the corner I'll lay ten to one we've hit the mark you've lost your bet said Ghanamad after trying then the figure forty-four must mean in a low voice reflecting as he spoke Bochele continued let me see Ghanamad and I are both standing on the bottom step of the staircase there are forty-five why forty-five when the figure in the document is forty-four a coincidence, no in all this business there is no such thing as a coincidence at least not an involuntary one Ghanamad be so good as to move one step higher up that's it, don't leave this forty-four step and now I will work the iron nail and the trick's done or I'll eat my boots the heavy door turned on its hinges a fairly spacious cavern appeared before their eyes we must be exactly under Fort Frifos said Bochele we have passed through the different earthy layers by now there will be no more brick we are in the heart of the solid limestone the room was dimly lit by a shaft of daylight that came from the other end going up to it they saw that it was a fissure in the cliff contrived in a projecting wall and forming a sort of observatory in front of them at a distance of fifty yards the impressive mass of the needle loomed from the waves on the right quite close was the arched buttress of the Port Deval and on the left very far away closing the graceful curve of a large inlet another rocky gateway more imposing still was cut out of the cliff the Manaport which was so wide and tall that a three master could have passed through it with all sail set behind and everywhere the sea I don't see our little fleet said Bochele I know said Ganemard the Port Deval hides the whole of the coast of Etchertaaniport but look over there in the offing that black line level with the water well that's our fleet of war torpedo boat number 25 with her there Lupan is welcome to break loose if he wants to study the landscape at the bottom of the sea a ballister marked the entrance to the staircase near the Fisher they started on their way down from time to time a little window pierced the wall of the cliff and each time they caught sight of the needle whose mass seemed to them to grow more and more colossal a little before reaching high water level the windows ceased and all was dark Isidore counted the steps allowed at the 358 they emerged into a wider passage which was barred by another iron door strengthened with slabs and nails we know all about this said butchery the document gives us 357 and a triangle dotted on the right we have only to repeat the performance the second door obeyed like the first along a very long tunnel appeared lit up at intervals by the gleam of a lantern swung from the vault the walls oozed moisture and drops of water fell to the ground so that to make walking easier a regular pavement of planks had been laid from end to end we are passing under the sea said Bautrillet are you coming Ghanamard without replying the inspector ventured into the tunnel followed the wooden foot plank and stopped before a lantern which he took down the utensils may date back to the middle ages the lighting is modern he said our friends use incandescent mantles he continued his way the tunnel ended in another and a larger cave with on the opposite side the first steps of a staircase that led upward it's the ascent of the needle beginning said Ghanamard this is more serious but one of his men called him there's another flight here sir they left and immediately afterward they discovered a third on the right the deuce muttered the inspector this complicates matters if we go by this way they'll make tracks by that shall we separate as Bautrillet no no that would mean weakening ourselves it would be better for one of us to go ahead and scout I will if you like very well Bautrillet I will remain with my men then there will be no fear of anything there may be other roads through the cliff than that by which we came and several roads also through the needle but it is certain that between the cliff and the needle there is no communication except the tunnel therefore they must pass through this cave and so I shall stay here till you come back go ahead Bautrillet and be prudent let's scoot back again Isidore disappeared briskly up the middle staircase at the thirtieth step a door an ordinary wooden door stopped him he seized the handle turned it the door was not locked he entered a room that seemed to him very low owing to its immense size lit by powerful lamps and supported by squat pillars with long vistas showing between them it had nearly the same dimensions as the needle itself it was crammed with packing cases and miscellaneous objects pieces of furniture, oak setees chests, credence tables strong boxes a whole confused heap of the kind which one sees in the basement of an old curiosity shop on his right and left Bautrillet perceived the wells of two staircases the same no doubt that started from the cave below he could easily have gone down therefore and told Ganemard but a new flight of stairs led upward in front of him and he had the curiosity to pursue his investigations alone thirty more steps a door and then a room not quite so large as the last Bautrillet thought and again opposite him an ascending flight of stairs thirty steps more a door a smaller room Bautrillet grasped the plan of the works executed inside the needle it was a series of rooms placed one above the other and therefore gradually decreasing in size they all served as storerooms in the fourth there was no lamp a little light filtered in through clefts through the walls and Bautrillet saw the sea some thirty feet below him at that moment he felt himself so far from Ganemard that a certain anguish began to take hold of him and he had to master his nerves lest he should take to his heels no danger threatened him however and a silence around him was even so great that he asked himself whether the whole needle had not been abandoned by Lupin and his confederates I shall not go beyond the next floor he said to himself thirty stairs again and a door this door was lighter in construction and modern in appearance he pushed it open gently quite prepared for flight there was no one there but the room differed from the others in its purpose there were hangings on the walls rugs on the floor two magnificent sideboards laden with gold and silver plate stood facing each other the little windows contrived in the deep narrow cleft were furnished with glass panes in the middle of the room was a richly decked table with a lace edged cloth dishes of fruits and cakes champagne and decanters and flowers heaps of flowers three places were laid around the table Botrelay walked up on the napkins were cards with the names of the party he read first Arsène Lupin Madame Arsène Lupin he took up the third card and started back with surprise it bore his own name Isidore Botrelay End of Chapter 9