The Confessions of Arsène Lupin - Maurice Leblanc (always you kirsty moseley TXT) 📗

“Yes⁠ ⁠… would you like me to⁠ ⁠… ?”

“No, leave it as it is. They are coming.”

“They are coming!” spluttered Jeanne, in affright.

“Yes, beyond a doubt.”

“But who? Do you suspect anyone?”

“I don’t know who.⁠ ⁠… I expect that there is someone hidden in the house⁠ ⁠… or in the park.”

“Oh, I feel so frightened!”

“Don’t be frightened. The sportsman who’s looking after you seems jolly clever and makes a point of playing a safe game. I expect he’s on the lookout in the court.”

The doctor put out the night-light, went to the window and raised the blind. A narrow cornice, running along the first story, prevented him from seeing more than a distant part of the courtyard; and he came back and sat down by the bed.

Some very painful minutes passed, minutes that appeared to them interminably long. The clock in the village struck; but, taken up as they were with all the little noises of the night, they hardly noticed the sound. They listened, listened, with all their nerves on edge:

“Did you hear?” whispered the doctor.

“Yes⁠ ⁠… yes,” said Jeanne, sitting up in bed.

“Lie down⁠ ⁠… lie down,” he said, presently. “There’s someone coming.”

There was a little tapping sound outside, against the cornice. Next came a series of indistinct noises, the nature of which they could not make out for certain. But they had a feeling that the window in the dressing-room was being opened wider, for they were buffeted by gusts of cold air.

Suddenly, it became quite clear: there was someone next door.

The doctor, whose hand was trembling a little, seized his revolver. Nevertheless, he did not move, remembering the formal orders which he had received and fearing to act against them.

The room was in absolute darkness; and they were unable to see where the adversary was. But they felt his presence.

They followed his invisible movements, the sound of his footsteps deadened by the carpet; and they did not doubt but that he had already crossed the threshold of the room.

And the adversary stopped. Of that they were certain. He was standing six steps away from the bed, motionless, undecided perhaps, seeking to pierce the darkness with his keen eyes.

Jeanne’s hand, icy-cold and clammy, trembled in the doctor’s grasp.

With his other hand, the doctor clutched his revolver, with his finger on the trigger. In spite of his pledged word, he did not hesitate. If the adversary touched the end of the bed, the shot would be fired at a venture.

The adversary took another step and then stopped again. And there was something awful about that silence, that impassive silence, that darkness in which those human beings were peering at one another, wildly.

Who was it looming in the murky darkness? Who was the man? What horrible enmity was it that turned his hand against the girl and what abominable aim was he pursuing?

Terrified though they were, Jeanne and the doctor thought only of that one thing: to see, to learn the truth, to gaze upon the adversary’s face.

He took one more step and did not move again. It seemed to them that his figure stood out, darker, against the dark space and that his arm rose slowly, slowly.⁠ ⁠…

A minute passed and then another minute.⁠ ⁠…

And, suddenly, beyond the man, on the right a sharp click.⁠ ⁠… A bright light flashed, was flung upon the man, lit him full in the face, remorselessly.

Jeanne gave a cry of affright. She had seen⁠—standing over her, with a dagger in his hand⁠—she had seen⁠ ⁠… her father!

Almost at the same time, though the light was already turned off, there came a report: the doctor had fired.

“Dash it all, don’t shoot!” roared Lupin.

He threw his arms round the doctor, who choked out:

“Didn’t you see?⁠ ⁠… Didn’t you see?⁠ ⁠… Listen!⁠ ⁠… He’s escaping!⁠ ⁠…”

“Let him escape: it’s the best thing that could happen.”

He pressed the spring of his electric lantern again, ran to the dressing-room, made certain that the man had disappeared and, returning quietly to the table, lit the lamp.

Jeanne lay on her bed, pallid, in a dead faint.

The doctor, huddled in his chair, emitted inarticulate sounds.

“Come,” said Lupin, laughing, “pull yourself together. There is nothing to excite ourselves about: it’s all over.”

“Her father!⁠ ⁠… Her father!” moaned the old doctor.

“If you please, doctor, Mlle. Darcieux is ill. Look after her.”

Without more words, Lupin went back to the dressing-room and stepped out on the window-ledge. A ladder stood against the ledge. He ran down it. Skirting the wall of the house, twenty steps farther, he tripped over the rungs of a rope-ladder, which he climbed and found himself in M. Darcieux’s bedroom. The room was empty.

“Just so,” he said. “My gentleman did not like the position and has cleared out. Here’s wishing him a good journey.⁠ ⁠… And, of course, the door is bolted?⁠ ⁠… Exactly!⁠ ⁠… That is how our sick man, tricking his worthy medical attendant, used to get up at night in full security, fasten his rope-ladder to the balcony and prepare his little games. He’s no fool, is friend Darcieux!”

He drew the bolts and returned to Jeanne’s room. The doctor, who was just coming out of the doorway, drew him to the little dining-room:

“She’s asleep, don’t let us disturb her. She has had a bad shock and will take some time to recover.”

Lupin poured himself out a glass of water and drank it down. Then he took a chair and, calmly:

“Pooh! She’ll be all right by tomorrow.”

“What do you say?”

“I say that she’ll be all right by tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“In the first place, because it did not strike me that Mlle. Darcieux felt any very great affection for her father.”

“Never mind! Think of it: a father who tries to kill his daughter! A father who, for months on end, repeats his monstrous attempt four, five, six times over again!⁠ ⁠… Well, isn’t that enough to blight a less sensitive soul than Jeanne’s for good and all? What a hateful memory!”

“She will forget.”

“One does not forget such a thing as that.”

“She will forget, doctor, and for a very simple reason.⁠ ⁠…”

“Explain yourself!”

“She is not M. Darcieux’s daughter!”

“Eh?”

“I repeat, she is not that