Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes (2 page)

But Mon. Gerbois entertained the idea that he had suffered an enormous loss. There must have been a fortune concealed in a secret drawer, and that was the reason the young man had resorted to crime.

“My poor father, what would we have done with that fortune?” asked Suzanne.

“My child! With such a fortune, you could make a most advantageous marriage.”

Suzanne sighed bitterly. Her aspirations soared no higher than her cousin Philippe, who was indeed a most deplorable object. And life, in the little house at Versailles, was not so happy and contented as of yore.

Two months passed away. Then came a succession of startling events, a strange blending of good luck and dire misfortune!

On the first day of February, at half-past five, Mon. Gerbois entered the house, carrying an evening paper, took a seat, put on his spectacles, and commenced to read. As politics did not interest him, he turned to the inside of the paper. Immediately his attention was attracted by an article entitled:

“Third Drawing of the Press Association Lottery.No. 514, series 23, draws a million.”

The newspaper slipped from his fingers. The walls swam before his eyes, and his heart ceased to beat. He held No. 514, series 23. He had purchased it from a friend, to oblige him, without any thought of success, and behold, it was the lucky number!

Quickly, he took out his memorandum-book. Yes, he was quite right. The No. 514, series 23 was written there, on the inside of the cover. But the ticket?

He rushed to his desk to find the envelope-box in which he had placed the precious ticket; but the box was not there, and it suddenly occurred to him that it had not been there for several weeks. He heard footsteps on the gravel walk leading from the street.

He called:

“Suzanne! Suzanne!”

She was returning from a walk. She entered hastily. He stammered, in a choking voice:

“Suzanne … the box … the box of envelopes?”

“What box?”

“The one I bought at the Louvre … one Saturday … it was at the end of that table.”

“Don’t you remember, father, we put all those things away together.”

“When?”

“The evening … you know … the same evening … ”

“But where? … Tell me, quick! … Where?”

“Where? Why, in the writing-desk.”

“In the writing-desk that was stolen?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, mon Dieu! … In the stolen desk!”

He uttered the last sentence in a low voice, in a sort of stupor. Then he seized her hand, and in a still lower voice, he said:

“It contained a million, my child.”

“Ah! Father, why didn’t you tell me?” she murmured, naively.

“A million!” he repeated. “It contained the ticket that drew the grand prize in the Press Lottery.”

The colossal proportions of the disaster overwhelmed them, and for a long time they maintained a silence that they feared to break. At last, Suzanne said:

“But, father, they will pay you just the same.”

“How? On what proof?”

“Must you have proof?”

“Of course.”

“And you haven’t any?”

“It was in the box.”

“In the box that has disappeared.”

“Yes; and now the thief will get the money.”

“Oh! That would be terrible, father. You must prevent it.”

For a moment he was silent; then, in an outburst of energy, he leaped up, stamped on the floor, and exclaimed:

“No, no, he shall not have that million; he shall not have it! Why should he have it? Ah! Clever as he is, he can do nothing. If he goes to claim the money, they will arrest him. Ah! Now, we will see, my fine fellow!”

“What will you do, father?”

“Defend our just rights, whatever happens! And we will succeed. The million francs belong to me, and I intend to have them.”

A few minutes later, he sent this telegram:

“Governor Crédit Foncier

“rue Capucines, Paris.

“Am holder of No. 514, series 23. Oppose by all legal means any other claimant.

“GERBOIS.”

Almost at the same moment, the Crédit Foncier received the following telegram:

“No. 514, series 23, is in my possession.

“ARSÈNE LUPIN.”

Every time I undertake to relate one of the many extraordinary adventures that mark the life of Arsène Lupin, I experience a feeling of embarrassment, as it seems to me that the most commonplace of those adventures is already well known to my readers. In fact, there is not a movement of our “national thief,” as he has been so aptly described, that has not been given the widest publicity, not an exploit that has not been studied in all its phases, not an action that has not been discussed with that particularity usually reserved for the recital of heroic deeds.

For instance, who does not know the strange history of “The Blonde Lady,” with those curious episodes which were proclaimed by the newspapers with heavy black headlines, as follows: “Lottery Ticket No. 514!” … “The Crime on the avenue Henri-Martin!” … “The Blue Diamond!” … The interest created by the intervention of the celebrated English detective, Herlock Sholmes! The excitement aroused by the various vicissitudes which marked the struggle between those famous artists! And what a commotion on the boulevards, the day on which the newsboys announced: “Arrest of Arsène Lupin!”

My excuse for repeating these stories at this time is the fact that I produce the key to the enigma. Those adventures have always been enveloped in a certain degree of obscurity, which I now remove. I reproduce old newspaper articles, I relate old-time interviews, I present ancient letters; but I have arranged and classified all that material and reduced it to the exact truth. My collaborators in this work have been Arsène Lupin himself, and also the ineffable Wilson, the friend and confidant of Herlock Sholmes.

Every one will recall the tremendous burst of laughter which greeted the publication of those two telegrams. The name “Arsène Lupin” was in itself a stimulus to curiosity, a promise of amusement for the gallery. And, in this case, the gallery means the entire world.

An investigation was immediately commenced by the Crédit Foncier, which established these facts: That ticket No. 514, series 23, had been sold by the Versailles branch office of the Lottery to an artillery officer named Bessy, who was afterward killed by a fall from his horse. Some time before his death, he informed some of his comrades that he had transferred his ticket to a friend.

“And I am that friend,” affirmed Mon. Gerbois.

“Prove it,” replied the governor of the Crédit Foncier.

“Of course I can prove it. Twenty people can tell you that I was an intimate friend of Monsieur Bessy, and that we frequently met at the Café de la Place-d’Armes. It was there, one day, I purchased the ticket from him for twenty francs—simply as an accommodation to him.

“Have you any witnesses to that transaction?”

“No.”

“Well, how do you expect to prove it?”

“By a letter he wrote to me.”

“What letter?”

“A letter that was pinned to the ticket.”

“Produce it.”

“It was stolen at the same time as the ticket.”

“Well, you must find it.” It was soon learned that Arsène Lupin had the letter. A short paragraph appeared in the 
Echo de France
—which has the honor to be his official organ, and of which, it is said, he is one of the principal shareholders—the paragraph announced that Arsène Lupin had placed in the hands of Monsieur Detinan, his advocate and legal adviser, the letter that Monsieur Bessy had written to him—to him personally.

This announcement provoked an outburst of laughter. Arsène Lupin had engaged a lawyer! Arsène Lupin, conforming to the rules and customs of modern society, had appointed a legal representative in the person of a well-known member of the Parisian bar!

Mon. Detinan had never enjoyed the pleasure of meeting Arsène Lupin—a fact he deeply regretted—but he had actually been retained by that mysterious gentleman and felt greatly honored by the choice. He was prepared to defend the interests of his client to the best of his ability. He was pleased, even proud, to exhibit the letter of Mon. Bessy, but, although it proved the transfer of the ticket, it did not mention the name of the purchaser. It was simply addressed to “My Dear Friend.”

“My Dear Friend! That is I,” added Arsène Lupin, in a note attached to Mon. Bessy’s letter. “And the best proof of that fact is that I hold the letter.”

The swarm of reporters immediately rushed to see Mon. Gerbois, who could only repeat:

“My Dear Friend! That is I … Arsène Lupin stole the letter with the lottery ticket.”

“Let him prove it!” retorted Lupin to the reporters.

“He must have done it, because he stole the writing-desk!” exclaimed Mon. Gerbois before the same reporters.

“Let him prove it!” replied Lupin.

Such was the entertaining comedy enacted by the two claimants of ticket No. 514; and the calm demeanor of Arsène Lupin contrasted strangely with the nervous perturbation of poor Mon. Gerbois. The newspapers were filled with the lamentations of that unhappy man. He announced his misfortune with pathetic candor.

“Understand, gentlemen, it was Suzanne’s dowry that the rascal stole! Personally, I don’t care a straw for it … but for Suzanne! Just think of it, a whole million! Ten times one hundred thousand francs! Ah! I knew very well that the desk contained a treasure!”

It was in vain to tell him that his adversary, when stealing the desk, was unaware that the lottery ticket was in it, and that, in any event, he could not foresee that the ticket would draw the grand prize. He would reply:

“Nonsense! of course, he knew it … else why would he take the trouble to steal a poor, miserable desk?”

“For some unknown reason; but certainly not for a small scrap of paper which was then worth only twenty francs.”

“A million francs! He knew it; he knows everything! Ah! You do not know him—the scoundrel! … He hasn’t robbed you of a million francs!”

The controversy would have lasted for a much longer time, but, on the twelfth day, Mon. Gerbois received from Arsène Lupin a letter marked “confidential,” which read as follows:

“Monsieur, the gallery is being amused at our expense. Do you not think it is time for us to be serious? The situation is this: I possess a ticket to which I have no legal right, and you have the legal right to a ticket you do not possess. Neither of us can do anything. You will not relinquish your rights to me; I will not deliver the ticket to you. Now, what is to be done?
“I see only one way out of the difficulty: Let us divide the spoils. A half-million for you; a half-million for me. Is not that a fair division? In my opinion, it is an equitable solution, and an immediate one. I will give you three days’ time to consider the proposition. On Thursday morning I shall expect to read in the personal column of the Echo de France a discreet message addressed to 
M. Ars. Lup
, expressing in veiled terms your consent to my offer. By so doing you will recover immediate possession of the ticket; then you can collect the money and send me half a million in a manner that I will describe to you later.

“In case of your refusal, I shall resort to other measures to accomplish the same result. But, apart from the very serious annoyances that such obstinacy on your part will cause you, it will cost you twenty-five thousand francs for supplementary expenses.

“Believe me, monsieur, I remain
your devoted servant,
ARSÈNE LUPIN.”

In a fit of exasperation Mon. Gerbois committed the grave mistake of showing that letter and allowing a copy of it to be taken. His indignation overcame his discretion.

“Nothing! He shall have nothing!” he exclaimed, before a crowd of reporters. “To divide my property with him? Never! Let him tear up the ticket if he wishes!”

“Yet five hundred thousand francs is better than nothing.”

“That is not the question. It is a question of my just right, and that right I will establish before the courts.”

“What! Attack Arsène Lupin? That would be amusing.”

“No; but the Crédit Foncier. They must pay me the million francs.”

“Without producing the ticket, or, at least, without proving that you bought it?”

“That proof exists, since Arsène Lupin admits that he stole the writing-desk.”

“But would the word of Arsène Lupin carry any weight with the court?”

“No matter; I will fight it out.” The gallery shouted with glee; and wagers were freely made upon the result with the odds in favor of Lupin. On the following Thursday the personal column in the 
Echo de France
 was eagerly perused by the expectant public, but it contained nothing addressed to 
M. Ars. Lup
. Mon. Gerbois had not replied to Arsène Lupin’s letter. That was the declaration of war.

That evening the newspapers announced the abduction of Mlle. Suzanne Gerbois.

The most entertaining feature in what might be called the Arsène Lupin dramas is the comic attitude displayed by the Parisian police. Arsène Lupin talks, plans, writes, commands, threatens and executes as if the police did not exist. They never figure in his calculations.

And yet the police do their utmost. But what can they do against such a foe—a foe that scorns and ignores them?

Suzanne had left the house at twenty minutes to ten; such was the testimony of the servant. On leaving the college, at five minutes past ten, her father did not find her at the place she was accustomed to wait for him. Consequently, whatever had happened must have occurred during the course of Suzanne’s walk from the house to the college. Two neighbors had met her about three hundred yards from the house. A lady had seen, on the avenue, a young girl corresponding to Suzanne’s description. No one else had seen her.

Inquiries were made in all directions; the employees of the railways and street-car lines were questioned, but none of them had seen anything of the missing girl. However, at Ville-d’Avray, they found a shopkeeper who had furnished gasoline to an automobile that had come from Paris on the day of the abduction. It was occupied by a blonde woman—extremely blonde, said the witness. An hour later, the automobile again passed through Ville-d’Avray on its way from Versailles to Paris. The shopkeeper declared that the automobile now contained a second woman who was heavily veiled. No doubt, it was Suzanne Gerbois.