Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (best books to read TXT) 📗
- Author: Maurice Leblanc
Book online «Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (best books to read TXT) 📗». Author Maurice Leblanc
“So ... you’re going to arrest her ... you’re going to arrest her?” said the Duke thoughtfully: and he took a step or two up and down the room, still thinking hard.
“Well, you understand the position, don’t you, your Grace?” said Guerchard, in a tone of apology. “Believe me that, personally, I’ve no animosity against Mademoiselle Kritchnoff. In fact, the child attracts me.”
“Yes,” said the Duke softly, in a musing tone. “She has the air of a child who has lost its way ... lost its way in life.... And that poor little hiding-place she found ... that rolled-up handkerchief ... thrown down in the corner of the little room in the house next door ... it was absolutely absurd.”
“What! A handkerchief!” cried Guerchard, with an air of sudden, utter surprise.
“The child’s clumsiness is positively pitiful,” said the Duke.
“What was in the handkerchief? ... The pearls of the pendant?” cried Guerchard.
“Yes: I supposed you knew all about it. Of course M. Formery left word for you,” said the Duke, with an air of surprise at the ignorance of the detective.
“No: I’ve heard nothing about it,” cried Guerchard.
“He didn’t leave word for you?” said the Duke, in a tone of greater surprise. “Oh, well, I dare say that he thought to-morrow would do. Of course you were out of the house when he found it. She must have slipped out of her room soon after you went.”
“He found a handkerchief belonging to Mademoiselle Kritchnoff. Where is it?” cried Guerchard.
“M. Formery took the pearls, but he left the handkerchief. I suppose it’s in the corner where he found it,” said the Duke.
“He left the handkerchief?” cried Guerchard. “If that isn’t just like the fool! He ought to keep hens; it’s all he’s fit for!”
He ran to the fireplace, seized the lantern, and began lighting it: “Where is the handkerchief?” he cried.
“In the left-hand corner of the little room on the right on the second floor. But if you’re going to arrest Mademoiselle Kritchnoff, why are you bothering about the handkerchief? It can’t be of any importance,” said the Duke.
“I beg your pardon,” said Guerchard. “But it is.”
“But why?” said the Duke.
“I was arresting Mademoiselle Kritchnoff all right because I had a very strong presumption of her guilt. But I hadn’t the slightest proof of it,” said Guerchard.
“What?” cried the Duke, in a horrified tone.
“No, you’ve just given me the proof; and since she was able to hide the pearls in the house next door, she knew the road which led to it. Therefore she’s an accomplice,” said Guerchard, in a triumphant tone.
“What? Do you think that, too?” cried the Duke. “Good Heavens! And it’s me! ... It’s my senselessness! ... It’s my fault that you’ve got your proof!” He spoke in a tone of acute distress.
“It was your duty to give it me,” said Guerchard sternly; and he began to mount the steps.
“Shall I come with you? I know where the handkerchief is,” said the Duke quickly.
“No, thank you, your Grace,” said Guerchard. “I prefer to go alone.”
“You’d better let me help you,” said the Duke.
“No, your Grace,” said Guerchard firmly.
“I must really insist,” said the Duke.
“No—no—no,” said Guerchard vehemently, with stern decision. “It’s no use your insisting, your Grace; I prefer to go alone. I shall only be gone a minute or two.”
“Just as you like,” said the Duke stiffly.
The legs of Guerchard disappeared up the steps. The Duke stood listening with all his ears. Directly he heard the sound of Guerchard’s heels on the floor, when he dropped from the chimney-piece of the next room, he went swiftly to the door, opened it, and went out. Bonavent was sitting on the chair on which the young policeman had sat during the afternoon. Sonia, in her hat and cloak, was half-way down the stairs.
The Duke put his head inside the drawing-room door, and said to the empty room: “Here is Mademoiselle Kritchnoff, M. Guerchard.” He held open the door, Sonia came down the stairs, and went through it. The Duke followed her into the drawing-room, and shut the door.
“There’s not a moment to lose,” he said in a low voice.
“Oh, what is it, your Grace?” said Sonia anxiously.
“Guerchard has a warrant for your arrest.”
“Then I’m lost!” cried Sonia, in a panic-stricken voice.
“No, you’re not. You must go—at once,” said the Duke.
“But how can I go? No one can get out of the house. M. Guerchard won’t let them,” cried Sonia, panic-stricken.
“We can get over that,” said the Duke.
He ran to Guerchard’s cloak, took the card-case from the inner pocket, went to the writing-table, and sat down. He took from his waist-coat pocket the permit which Guerchard had given him, and a pencil. Then he took a card from the card-case, set the permit on the table before him, and began to imitate Guerchard’s handwriting with an amazing exactness. He wrote on the card:
“Pass Mademoiselle Kritchnoff.”
“J. GUERCHARD.”
Sonia stood by his side, panting quickly with fear, and watched him do it. He had scarcely finished the last stroke, when they heard a noise on the other side of the opening into the empty house. The Duke looked at the fireplace, and his teeth bared in an expression of cold ferocity. He rose with clenched fists, and took a step towards the fireplace.
“Your Grace? Your Grace?” called the voice of Guerchard.
“What is it?” answered the Duke quietly.
“I can’t see any handkerchief,” said Guerchard. “Didn’t you say it was in the left-hand corner of the little room on the right?”
“I told you you’d better let me come with you, and find it,” said the Duke, in a tone of triumph. “It’s in the right-hand corner of the little room on the left.”
“I could have sworn you said the little room on the right,” said Guerchard.
They heard his footfalls die away.
“Now, you must get out of the house quickly.” said the Duke. “Show this card to the detectives at the door, and they’ll pass you without a word.”
He pressed the card into her hand.
“But—but—this card?” stammered Sonia.
“There’s no time to lose,” said the Duke.
“But this is madness,” said Sonia. “When Guerchard finds out about this card—that you—you—”
“There’s no need to bother about that,” interrupted the Duke quickly. “Where are you going to?”
“A little hotel near the Star. I’ve forgotten the name of it,” said Sonia. “But this card—”
“Has it a telephone?” said the Duke.
“Yes—No. 555, Central,” said Sonia.
“If I haven’t telephoned to you before half-past eight to-morrow morning, come straight to my house,” said the Duke, scribbling the telephone number on his shirt-cuff.
“Yes, yes,” said Sonia. “But this card.... When Guerchard knows ... when he discovers.... Oh, I can’t let you get into trouble for me.”
“I shan’t. But go—go,” said the Duke, and he slipped his right arm round her and drew her to the door.
“Oh, how good you are to me,” said Sonia softly.
The Duke’s other arm went round her; he drew her to him, and their lips met.
He loosed her, and opened the door, saying loudly: “You’re sure you won’t have a cab, Mademoiselle Kritchnoff?”
“No; no, thank you, your Grace. Goodnight,” said Sonia. And she went through the door with a transfigured face.
THE DUKE STAYS
The Duke shut the door and leant against it, listening anxiously, breathing quickly. There came the bang of the front door. With a deep sigh of relief he left the door, came briskly, smiling, across the room, and put the card-case back into the pocket of Guerchard’s cloak. He lighted a cigarette, dropped into an easy chair, and sat waiting with an entirely careless air for the detective’s return. Presently he heard quick footsteps on the bare boards of the empty room beyond the opening. Then Guerchard came down the steps and out of the fireplace.
His face wore an expression of extreme perplexity:
“I can’t understand it,” he said. “I found nothing.”
“Nothing?” said the Duke.
“No. Are you sure you saw the handkerchief in one of those little rooms on the second floor—quite sure?” said Guerchard.
“Of course I did,” said the Duke. “Isn’t it there?”
“No,” said Guerchard.
“You can’t have looked properly,” said the Duke, with a touch of irony in his voice. “If I were you, I should go back and look again.”
“No. If I’ve looked for a thing, I’ve looked for it. There’s no need for me to look a second time. But, all the same, it’s rather funny. Doesn’t it strike you as being rather funny, your Grace?” said Guerchard, with a worried air.
“It strikes me as being uncommonly funny,” said the Duke, with an ambiguous smile.
Guerchard looked at him with a sudden uneasiness; then he rang the bell.
Bonavent came into the room.
“Mademoiselle Kritchnoff, Bonavent. It’s quite time,” said Guerchard.
“Mademoiselle Kritchnoff?” said Bonavent, with an air of surprise.
“Yes, it’s time that she was taken to the police-station.”
“Mademoiselle Kritchnoff has gone, sir,” said Bonavent, in a tone of quiet remonstrance.
“Gone? What do you mean by gone?” said Guerchard.
“Gone, sir, gone!” said Bonavent patiently.
“But you’re mad.... Mad!” cried Guerchard.
“No, I’m not mad,” said Bonavent. “Gone! But who let her go?” cried Guerchard.
“The men at the door,” said Bonavent.
“The men at the door,” said Guerchard, in a tone of stupefaction. “But she had to have my permit ... my permit on my card! Send the fools up to me!”
Bonavent went to the top of the staircase, and called down it. Guerchard followed him. Two detectives came hurrying up the stairs and into the drawing-room.
“What the devil do you mean by letting Mademoiselle Kritchnoff leave the house without my permit, written on my card?” cried Guerchard violently.
“But she had your permit, sir, and it WAS written on your card,” stammered one of the detectives.
“It was? ... it was?” said Guerchard. “Then, by Jove, it was a forgery!”
He stood thoughtful for a moment. Then quietly he told his two men to go back to their post. He did not stir for a minute or two, puzzling it out, seeking light.
Then he came back slowly into the drawing-room and looked uneasily at the Duke. The Duke was sitting in his easy chair, smoking a cigarette with a listless air. Guerchard looked at him, and looked at him, almost as if he now saw him for the first time.
“Well?” said the Duke, “have you sent that poor child off to prison? If I’d done a thing like that I don’t think I should sleep very well, M. Guerchard.”
“That poor child has just escaped, by means of a forged permit,” said Guerchard very glumly.
“By Jove, I AM glad to hear that!” cried the Duke. “You’ll forgive my lack of sympathy, M. Guerchard; but she was such a child.”
“Not too young to be Lupin’s accomplice,” said Guerchard drily.
“You really think she is?” said the Duke, in a tone of doubt.
“I’m sure of it,” said Guerchard, with decision; then he added slowly, with a perplexed air:
“But how—how—could she get that forged permit?”
The Duke shook his head, and looked as solemn as an owl. Guerchard looked at him uneasily, went out of the drawing-room, and shut the door.
“How long has Mademoiselle Kritchnoff been gone?” he said to Bonavent.
“Not much more than five minutes,” said Bonavent. “She came out from talking to you in the drawing-room—”
“Talking to me in the drawing-room!” exclaimed Guerchard.
“Yes,” said Bonavent. “She came out and went straight down the stairs and out of the house.”
A faint, sighing gasp came from Guerchard’s lips. He dashed into the drawing-room, crossed the room quickly to his cloak, picked it up, took the card-case out of the pocket, and counted the cards in it. Then he looked at the Duke.
The Duke smiled at him, a charming smile, almost caressing.
There seemed to be a lump in Guerchard’s throat; he swallowed it loudly.
He put the card-case into the breast-pocket of the coat he was wearing. Then he cried sharply, “Bonavent! Bonavent!”
Bonavent opened the door, and stood in the doorway.
“You sent off Victoire in the prison-van, I suppose,” said Guerchard.
“Oh, a long while ago, sir,” said Bonavent.
“The van had been waiting at the door since half-past nine.”
“Since half-past nine? ... But I told them I shouldn’t want it till a quarter to eleven. I suppose they were making an effort to be in time for once. Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Guerchard.
“Then I suppose I’d better send the other prison-van away?” said Bonavent.
“What other van?” said Guerchard.
“The van which has just arrived,” said Bonavent.
“What! What on earth are you talking about?” cried Guerchard, with a sudden anxiety in his voice and on his face.
“Didn’t you order two prison-vans?” said Bonavent.
Guerchard jumped; and his face went purple with fury and dismay. “You don’t mean to tell me that two prison-vans have been here?” he cried.
“Yes, sir,” said Bonavent.
“Damnation!” cried Guerchard. “In which of them did you
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