The Crystal Stopper by Maurice Leblanc (good book club books .txt) 📗

“Oh, so you had them on you?” said Prasville.

“I felt so certain, monsieur le secretaire-general, that we should end by coming to an understanding.”

He took from his hat a fat envelope, sealed with five red seals, which was pinned inside the lining, and handed it to Prasville, who thrust it into his pocket. Then he said:

“Monsieur le secretaire-general, I don’t know when I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again. If you have the least communication to make to me, one line in the agony column of the Journal will be sufficient. Just head it, ‘M. Nicole.’ Good-day to you.”

And he withdrew.

Prasville, when he was alone, felt as if he were waking from a nightmare during which he had performed incoherent actions over which his conscious mind had no control. He was almost thinking of ringing and causing a stir in the passages; but, just then, there was a tap at the door and one of the office-messengers came hurrying in.

“What’s the matter?” asked Prasville.

“Monsieur le secretaire-general, it’s Monsieur le Depute Daubrecq asking to see you... on a matter of the highest importance.”

“Daubrecq!” exclaimed Prasville, in bewilderment. “Daubrecq here! Show him in.”

Daubrecq had not waited for the order. He ran up to Prasville, out of breath, with his clothes in disorder, a bandage over his left eye, no tie, no collar, looking like an escaped lunatic; and the door was not closed before he caught hold of Prasville with his two enormous hands:

“Have you the list?”

“Yes.”

“Have you bought it?”

“Yes.”

“At the price of Gilbert’s pardon?”

“Yes.”

“Is it signed?”

“Yes.”

Daubrecq made a furious gesture:

“You fool! You fool! You’ve been trapped! For hatred of me, I expect? And now you’re going to take your revenge?”

“With a certain satisfaction, Daubrecq. Remember my little friend, the opera-dancer, at Nice... It’s your turn now to dance.”

“So it means prison?”

“I should think so,” said Prasville. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. You’re done for, anyhow. Deprived of the list, without defence of any kind, you’re bound to fall to pieces of your own weight. And I shall be present at the break-up. That’s my revenge.”

“And you believe that!” yelled Daubrecq, furiously. “You believe that they will wring my neck like a chicken’s and that I shall not know how to defend myself and that I have no claws left and no teeth to bite with! Well, my boy, if I do come to grief, there’s always one who will fall with me and that is Master Prasville, the partner of Stanislas Vorenglade, who is going to hand me every proof in existence against him, so that I may get him sent to gaol without delay. Aha, I’ve got you fixed, old chap! With those letters, you’ll go as I please, hang it all, and there will be fine days yet for Daubrecq the deputy! What! You’re laughing, are you? Perhaps those letters don’t exist?”

Prasville shrugged his shoulders:

“Yes, they exist. But Vorenglade no longer has them in his possession.”

“Since when?”

“Since this morning. Vorenglade sold them, two hours ago, for the sum of forty thousand francs; and I have bought them back at the same price.”

Daubrecq burst into a great roar of laughter:

“Lord, how funny! Forty thousand francs! You’ve paid forty thousand francs! To M. Nicole, I suppose, who sold you the list of the Twenty-seven? Well, would you like me to tell you the real name of M. Nicole? It’s Arsene Lupin!”

“I know that.”

“Very likely. But what you don’t know, you silly ass, is that I have come straight from Stanislas Vorenglade’s and that Stanislas Vorenglade left Paris four days ago! Oh, what a joke! They’ve sold you waste paper! And your forty thousand francs! What an ass! What an ass!”

He walked out of the room, screaming with laughter and leaving Prasville absolutely dumbfounded.

So Arsene Lupin possessed no proof at all; and, when he was threatening and commanding and treating Prasville with that airy insolence, it was all a farce, all bluff!

“No, no, it’s impossible,” thought the secretary-general. “I have the sealed envelope.... It’s here.... I have only to open it.”

He dared not open it. He handled it, weighed it, examined it... And doubt made its way so swiftly into his mind that he was not in the least surprised, when he did open it, to find that it contained four blank sheets of note-paper.

“Well, well,” he said, “I am no match for those rascals. But all is not over yet.”

And, in point of fact, all was not over. If Lupin had acted so daringly, it showed that the letters existed and that he relied upon buying them from Stanislas Vorenglade. But, as, on the other hand, Vorenglade was not in Paris, Prasville’s business was simply to forestall Lupin’s steps with regard to Vorenglade and obtain the restitution of those dangerous letters from Vorenglade at all costs. The first to arrive would be the victor.

Prasville once more took his hat, coat and stick, went downstairs, stepped into a taxi and drove to Vorenglade’s flat.

Here he was told that the ex-deputy was expected home from London at six o’clock that evening.

It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Prasville therefore had plenty of time to prepare his plan.

He arrived at the Gare du Nord at five o’clock and posted all around, in the waiting-rooms and in the railway-offices, the three or four dozen detectives whom he had brought with him.

This made him feel easy. If M. Nicole tried to speak to Vorenglade, they would arrest Lupin. And, to make assurance doubly sure, they would arrest whosoever could be suspected of being either Lupin or one of Lupin’s emissaries.

Moreover, Prasville made a close inspection of the whole station. He discovered nothing suspicious. But, at ten minutes to six, Chief-inspector Blanchon, who was with him, said:

“Look, there’s Daubrecq.”

Daubrecq it was; and the sight of his enemy exasperated the secretary-general to such a pitch that he was on the verge of having him arrested. But he reflected that he had no excuse, no right, no warrant for the arrest.

Besides, Daubrecq’s presence proved, with still greater force, that