The Hollow Needle; Further adventures of Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (accelerated reader books .TXT) 📗

took from his pocket a key with a complicated bit and wards and opened the box.

A dazzling sight presented itself. Every sort of precious stone sparkled there, every color gleamed, the blue of the sapphires, the red of the rubies, the green of the emeralds, the yellow of the topazes.

“Look, look, little Beautrelet! They have squandered all the cash, all the gold, all the silver, all the crown pieces and all the ducats and all the doubloons; but the chest with the jewels has remained intact. Look at the settings. They belong to every period, to every century, to every country. The dowries of the queens are here. Each brought her share: Margaret of Scotland and Charlotte of Savoy; duchesses of Austria: Éléonore, Elisabeth, Marie-Thérèse, Mary of England and Catherine de Médicis; and all the arch—Marie Antoinette. Look at those pearls, Beautrelet! And those diamonds: look at the size of the diamonds! Not one of them but is worthy of an empress! The Pitt Diamond is no finer!”

He rose to his feet and held up his hand as one taking an oath:

“Beautrelet, you shall tell the world that Lupin has not taken a single one of the stones that were in the royal chest, not a single one, I swear it on my honor! I had no right to. They are the fortune of France.”

Below them, Ganimard was making all speed. It was easy to judge by the reverberation of the blows that his men were attacking the last door but one, the door that gave access to the knicknack-room.

“Let us leave the chest open,” said Lupin, “and all the cavities, too, all those little empty graves.”

He went round the room, examined some of the glass cases, gazed at some of the pictures and, as he walked, said, pensively:

“How sad it is to leave all this! What a wrench! The happiest hours of my life have been spent here, alone, in the presence of these objects which I loved. And my eyes will never behold them again and my hands will never touch them again—”

His drawn face bore such an expression of lassitude upon it that Beautrelet felt a vague sort of pity for him. Sorrow in that man must assume larger proportions than in another, even as joy did, or pride, or humiliation. He was now standing by the window, and, with his finger pointing to the horizon, said:

“What is sadder still is that I must abandon that, all that! How beautiful it is! The boundless sea—the sky.—On either side, the cliffs of Étretat with their three natural archways: the Porte d’Armont, the Porte d’Aval, the Manneporte—so many triumphal arches for the master. And the master was I! I was the king of the story, the king of fairyland, the king of the Hollow Needle! A strange and supernatural kingdom! From Cæsar to Lupin: what a destiny!” He burst out laughing. “King of fairyland! Why not say King of Yvetot at once? What nonsense! King of the world, yes, that’s more like it! From this topmost point of the Needle, I ruled the globe! I held it in my claws like a prey! Lift the tiara of Saitapharnes, Beautrelet.—You see those two telephones? The one on the right communicates with Paris: a private line; the one on the left with London: a private line. Through London, I am in touch with America, Asia, Australia, South Africa. In all those continents, I have my offices, my agents, my jackals, my scouts! I drive an international trade. I hold the great market in art and antiquities, the world’s fair! Ah, Beautrelet, there are moments when my power turns my head! I feel intoxicated with strength and authority.”

The door gave way below. They heard Ganimard and his men running about and searching.

After a moment, Lupin continued, in a low voice:

“And now it’s over. A little girl crossed my path, a girl with soft hair and wistful eyes and an honest, yes, an honest soul—and it’s over. I myself am demolishing the mighty edifice.—All the rest seems absurd and childish to me—nothing counts but her hair—and her wistful eyes—and her honest little soul—”

The men came up the staircase. A blow shook the door, the last door—

Lupin seized the boy sharply by the arm:

“Do you understand, Beautrelet, why I let you have things your own way when I could have crushed you, time after time, weeks ago? Do you understand how you succeeded in getting as far as this? Do you understand that I had given each of my men his share of the plunder when you met them the other night on the cliff? You do understand, don’t you? The Hollow Needle is the great adventure. As long as it belongs to me, I remain the great adventurer. Once the Needle is recaptured, it means that the past and I are parted and that the future begins, a future of peace and happiness, in which I shall have no occasion to blush when Raymonde’s eyes are turned upon me, a future—”

He turned furiously toward the door:

“Stop that noise, Ganimard, will you? I haven’t finished my speech!”

The blows came faster. It was like the sound of a beam that was being hurled against the door. Beautrelet, mad with curiosity, stood in front of Lupin and awaited events, without understanding what Lupin was doing or contemplating. To give up the Needle was all very well; but why was he giving up himself? What was his plan? Did he hope to escape from Ganimard? And, on the other hand, where was Raymonde?

Lupin, meantime, was murmuring, dreamily:

“An honest man.—Arsène Lupin an honest man—no more robbery—leading the life of everybody else.—And why not? There is no reason why I should not meet with the same success.—But do stop that now, Ganimard! Don’t you know, you ass, that I’m uttering historic words and that Beautrelet is taking them in for the benefit of posterity?” He laughed. “I am wasting my time. Ganimard will never grasp the use of my historic words.”

He took a piece of red chalk, put a pair of steps to the wall and wrote, in large letters:

Arsène Lupin gives and bequeaths to France all the treasures contained in the Hollow Needle, on the sole condition that these treasures be housed at the Musee du Louvre in rooms which shall be known as the Arsène Lupin Rooms.

“Now,” he said, “my conscience is at ease. France and I are quits.”

The attackers were striking with all their might. One of the panels burst in two. A hand was put through and fumbled for the lock.

“Thunder!” said Lupin. “That idiot of a Ganimard is capable of effecting his purpose for once in his life.”

He rushed to the lock and removed the key.

“Sold, old chap!—The door’s tough.—I have plenty of time—Beautrelet, I must say good-bye. And thank you!—For really you could have complicated the attack—but you’re so tactful!”

While speaking, he moved toward a large triptych by Van der Weyden, representing the Wise Men of the East. He shut the right-hand panel and, in so doing, exposed a little door concealed behind it and seized the handle.

“Good luck to your hunting, Ganimard! And kind regards at home!”

A pistol-shot resounded. Lupin jumped back: “Ah, you rascal, full in the heart! Have you been taking lessons? You’ve done for the Wise Man! Full in the heart! Smashed to smithereens, like a pipe at the fair!—”

“Lupin, surrender!” roared Ganimard, with his eyes glittering and his revolver showing through the broken panel of the door. “Surrender, I say!”

“Did the old guard surrender?”

“If you stir a limb, I’ll blow your brains out!”

“Nonsense! You can’t get me here!”

As a matter of fact, Lupin had moved away; and, though Ganimard was able to fire straight in front of him through the breach in the door, he could not fire, still less take aim, on the side where Lupin stood. Lupin’s position was a terrible one for all that, because the outlet on which he was relying, the little door behind the triptych, opened right in front of Ganimard. To try to escape meant to expose himself to the detective’s fire; and there were five bullets left in the revolver.

“By Jove,” he said, laughing, “there’s a slump in my shares this afternoon! You’ve done a nice thing. Lupin, old fellow: you wanted a last sensation and you’ve gone a bit too far. You shouldn’t have talked so much.”

He flattened himself against the wall. A further portion of the panel had given way under the men’s pressure and Ganimard was less hampered in his movements. Three yards, no more, separated the two antagonists. But Lupin was protected by a glass case with a gilt-wood framework.

“Why don’t you help, Beautrelet?” cried the old detective, gnashing his teeth with rage. “Why don’t you shoot him, instead of staring at him like that?”

Isidore, in fact, had not budged, had remained, till that moment, an eager, but passive spectator. He would have liked to fling himself into the contest with all his strength and to bring down the prey which he held at his mercy. He was prevented by some inexplicable sentiment.

But Ganimard’s appeal for assistance shook him. His hand closed on the butt of his revolver:

“If I take part in it,” he thought, “Lupin is lost. And I have the right—it’s my duty.”

Their eyes met. Lupin’s were calm, watchful, almost inquisitive, as though, in the awful danger that threatened him, he were interested only in the moral problem that held the young man in its clutches. Would Isidore decide to give the finishing stroke to the defeated enemy?

The door cracked from top to bottom.

“Help, Beautrelet, we’ve got him!” Ganimard bellowed.

Isidore raised his revolver.

What happened was so quick that he knew of it, so to speak, only by the result. He saw Lupin bob down and run along the wall, skimming the door right under the weapon which Ganimard was vainly brandishing; and he felt himself suddenly flung to the ground, picked up the next moment and lifted by an invincible force.

Lupin held him in the air, like a living shield, behind which he hid himself.

“Ten to one that I escape, Ganimard! Lupin, you see, has never quite exhausted his resources—”

He had taken a couple of brisk steps backward to the triptych. Holding Beautrelet with one hand flat against his chest, with the other he cleared the passage and closed the little door behind them.

A steep staircase appeared before their eyes.

“Come along,” said Lupin, pushing Beautrelet before him. “The land forces are beaten—let us turn our attention to the French fleet.—After Waterloo, Trafalgar.—You’re having some fun for your money, eh, my lad?—Oh, how good: listen to them knocking at the triptych now!—It’s too late, my children.—But hurry along, Beautrelet!”

The staircase, dug out in the wall of the Needle, dug in its very crust, turned round and round the pyramid, encircling it like the spiral of a tobogganslide. Each hurrying the other, they clattered down the treads, taking two or three at a bound. Here and there, a ray of light trickled through a fissure; and Beautrelet carried away the vision of the fishing-smacks hovering a few dozen fathoms off, and of the black torpedo-boat.

They went down and down, Isidore in silence, Lupin still bubbling over with merriment:

“I should like to know what Ganimard is doing? Is he tumbling down the other staircases to bar the entrance to the tunnel against me? No, he’s not such a fool as that. He must have left four men there—and four men are sufficient—” He stopped. “Listen—they’re shouting up above. That’s it, they’ve opened the window and are calling to their fleet.—Why, look, the men are busy on board the smacks—they’re exchanging signals.—The torpedo-boat is moving.—Dear old torpedo-boat! I know you, you’re from the Havre.—Guns’ crews to the guns!—Hullo, there’s the commander!—How are you, Duguay-Trouin?”

He put his arm through a cleft and waved his handkerchief. Then he continued his way downstairs:

“The enemy’s fleet have set all sail,” he said. “We shall be boarded before we know where we are. Heavens, what fun!”

They heard the sound of voices below them. They were just then approaching the level of the sea and they emerged, almost at once, into a large cave into which two lanterns were moving about in the dark.

A woman’s figure appeared and threw itself on Lupin’s neck:

“Quick, quick, I was so nervous about you. What have you been doing?—But you’re not alone!—”

Lupin reassured her:

“It’s our friend Beautrelet.—Just think, Beautrelet had the tact—but I’ll talk about that later—there’s no time now.—Charolais are you there? That’s right!—And the boat?”

“The boat’s ready, sir,” Charolais replied,

“Fire away,” said Lupin.

In a moment, the noise of a motor crackled and Beautrelet, whose eyes were gradually becoming used to the gloom, ended by perceiving that they were on a sort of quay, at the edge of the water, and that a boat was floating