The Hollow Needle (11 page)

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 M. Isidore Beautrelet.” And, addressing the young man, he continued, “I have to thank you, M. Beautrelet, 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.”

Beautrelet 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 word,” said Lupin laughing, “we must do the best we can and make use of the means of action vouchsafed 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 Beautrelet, 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, M. Beautrelet, 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 specially attached to your person, was, in fact, most valuable to us. But, with the ardor 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 you a 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 favor 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 M. Ganimard and Mr. Holmlock 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 Ganimard’s friends with me—that proof of confidence wipes out everything.”

Was 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 Holmlock Shears, in the cafe near the Gare Montparnesse,* and I could not help recalling the haughty carriage of the two combatants, the terrific clash of their pride under the politeness of their manners, the hard blows which they dealt each other, their feints, 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 endeavoring to restrain himself; very polite, but without exaggeration; 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, M. Beautrelet, it’s you and I!”

Beautrelet 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 toward each other as enemies; and therefore we ought to treat with each other as enemies.”

“To treat?” echoed Beautrelet, 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, 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.”

Beautrelet seemed more and more surprised. He said very prettily:

“I was not prepared for this—you speak so funnily! It’s 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’s 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 Ganimard and Holmlock 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 Beautrelet has got the better of Arsène 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!”

Beautrelet 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 burglaries 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 am 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 to-morrow.”

“Quite right.”

Lupin rose, and slashing the air with his hand, “It shall not appear!” he cried.

“It shall appear!” said Beautrelet, 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. Beautrelet 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 duellist 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 set it up.”

“Oh, the scoundrel!” muttered Lupin. “He has provided for everything!”

His anger was increasing, visibly and frightfully. Beautrelet chuckled, jeering in his turn, carried away by his success.

“Stop that, you brat!” roared 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 muttered tones, with his eyes on Beautrelet’s:

“You shall go straight to the Grand Journal.”

“No.”

“Tear 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 Ambrumesy mystery, the one which every one has accepted.”

“No.”

Lupin took up a steel ruler that lay on my desk and broke it in two without an effort. His pallor 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 Beautrelet’s shoulder and, emphasizing every syllable, continued:

“You shall do as I tell you, Beautrelet. You shall say that your latest discoveries have convinced you of my death, that 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 to-night, as Ganimard and Holmlock Shears were.”

Beautrelet 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 Beautrelet, 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. The world shall know 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 to-night, at three o’clock in the morning, to seize him and carry him off to join Ganimard and Holmlock Shears.”

A burst of shrill laughter interrupted him:

“Why, you highwayman, don’t you understand,” cried Beautrelet, “that I have taken my precautions? So you think that I am innocent enough, ass enough, to have sent my father home to his lonely little house in the open country!” Oh, the gay, bantering laughter 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, do you? What humbug! You are convinced that you will always win the day in the end—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 great 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 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 any one knowing the fierce violence of his pride the only possible solution was the total, immediate, final collapse of his adversary. His fingers twitched. For a second, I had a feeling that he was about to throw himself upon the boy and wring his neck.

“What do you say to that, master?” Beautrelet repeated.