813 - Maurice LeBlanc (best short novels of all time TXT) 📗

money!”

He laid the bundles on the table, within reach of the scoundrels.

The Broker roared:

“Humbug! He’s trying to gain time. Shoot him down!”

He raised his arm. His companions held him back.

And Lupin continued:

“Of course, this need not affect your plan of campaign. You came here, first, to kidnap Mrs. Kesselbach and, secondly, to lay hands on her jewels. Far be it from me to interfere with your laudable intentions!”

“Look here, what are you driving at?” growled the Broker, listening in spite of himself.

“Aha, Broker, I’m beginning to interest you, am I?… Come in, old chap… Come in, all of you… There’s a draught at the top of those stairs… and such pretty fellows as you mustn’t run the risk of catching cold… What, are we afraid? Why, I’m all by myself!… Come, pull yourselves together, my lambs!”

They entered the room, puzzled and suspicious.

“Shut the door, Broker… we shall be more comfortable. Thanks, old man. Oh, by the way, I see the notes are gone. Therefore we’re agreed,- How easy it is for honest men to come to terms!”

“Well… and next?”

“Next? Well, as we’re partners…”

“Partners?”

“Why, haven’t you accepted my money? We’re working together, old man, and we will carry off the young woman together first and carry off the jewels after.”

The Broker grinned:

“Don’t want you for that.”

“Yes, you do, old man.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t know where the jewels are hidden and I do.”

“We’ll find out.”

“Tomorrow. Not tonight.”

“Well, let’s hear. What do you want?”

“My share of the jewels.”

“Why didn’t you take the lot, as you know where they are?”

“Can’t get at them by myself. There’s a way of doing it, but I don’t know it. You’re here, so I’m making use of you.”

The Broker hesitated:

“Share the jewels… Share the jewels… A few bits of glass and brass, most likely…”

“You fool!… There’s more than a million’s worth.”

The men quivered under the impression made upon them.

“Very well,” said the Broker. “But suppose the Kesselbach gets away? She’s in the next room, isn’t she?”

“No, she’s in here.”

Lupin for a moment pulled back one of the leaves of the screen, revealing the heap of dresses and bedclothes which he had laid out on the sofa:

“She’s here, fainting. But I shan’t give her up till we’ve divided.”

“Still…”

“You can take it or leave it. I don’t care if I am alone. You know what I’m good for. So please yourselves…”

The men consulted with one another and the Broker said:

“Where is the hiding-place you’re talking of?”

“Under the fireplace. But, when you don’t know the secret, you must first lift up the whole chimney-piece, looking-glass, marble and all in a lump, it seems. It’s no easy job.”

““Pooh, we’re a smart lot, we are! Just you wait and see. In five minutes…”

He gave his orders and his pals at once set to work with admirable vigor and discipline. Two of them, standing on chairs, tried to lift the mirror. The four others attacked the fireplace itself. The Broker, on his knees, kept his eyes on the hearth and gave the word of command:

“Cheerily, lads!… Altogether, if you please!… Look out!… One, two… ah, there, it’s moving!…”

Standing behind them, with his hands in his pockets, Lupin watched them affectionately and, at the same time, revelled with all his pride, as an artist and master, in this striking proof of his authority, of his might, of the incredible sway which he wielded over others. How could those scoundrels for a second accept that improbable story and lose all sense of things, to the point of relinquishing every chance of the fight in his favor?

He took from his pockets two great massive and formidable revolvers and, calmly, choosing the first two men whom he would bring down and the two who would fall next, he aimed as he might have aimed at a pair of targets in a rifle-gallery.

Two shots together and two more…

Loud yells of pain… Four men came tumbling down, one after the other, like dolls at a cockshy.

“Four from seven leaves three,” said Lupin. “Shall I go on?”

His arms remained outstretched, levelled at the Broker and his two pals.

“You swine!” growled the Broker, feeling for a weapon.

“Hands up, “cried Lupin, “or I fire!… That’s it… Now, you two, take away his toys… If not… !”

The two scoundrels, shaking with fear, caught hold of their leader and compelled him to submit.

“Bind him!… Bind him, confound it!.. What difference does it make to you?… Once I’m gone, you’re all free… Come along, have you finished? The wrists first… with your belts… And the ankles… Hurry up!…”

The Broker, beaten and disabled, made no further resistance. While his pals were binding him, Lupin stooped over them and dealt them two terrific blows on the head with the butt-end of his revolver. They sank down in a heap.

“That’s a good piece of work,” he said, taking breath. “Pity there are not another fifty of them. I was just in the mood… And all so easily done… with a smile on one’s face… What do you think of it, Broker?”

The scoundrel lay cursing. Lupin said:

“Cheer up, old man! Console yourself with the thought that you are helping in a good action, the rescue of Mrs. Kesselbach. She will thank you in person for your gallantry.”

He went to the door of the second room and opened it:

“What’s this?” he said, stopping on the threshold, taken aback, dumfounded.

The room was empty.

He went to the window, saw a ladder leaning against the balcony, a telescopic steel ladder, and muttered:

“Kidnapped… kidnapped… Louis de Malreich… Oh, the villain!…”

He reflected for a minute, trying to master his anguish of mind, and said to himself that, after all, as Mrs. Kesselbach seemed to be in no immediate danger, there was no cause for alarm.

But he was seized with a sudden fit of rage and flew at the seven scoundrels, gave a kick or two to those of the wounded who stirred, felt for his banknotes and put them back in his pocket, then gagged the men’s mouths and tied their hands with anything that he could find—blind-cords, curtain-loops, blankets and sheets reduced to strips—and, lastly, laid in a row on the carpet, in front of the sofa, seven bundles of humanity, packed tight together and tied up like so many parcels:

“Mummies on toast!” he chuckled. “A dainty dish for those who like that sort of thing!… You pack of fools, how does this suit you, eh? There you are, like corpses at the Morgue… Serves you right for attacking Lupin, Lupin the protector of the widow and orphan!.. Are you trembling? Quite unnecessary, my lambs! Lupin never hurt a fly yet!… Only, Lupin is a decent man, he can’t stand vermin; and the Lupin knows his duty. I ask you, is life possible with a lot of scamps like you about? Think of it: no respect for other people’s lives; no respect for property, for laws, for society; no conscience; no anything! What are we coming to? Lord, what are we coming to?”

Without even taking the trouble to lock them in, he left the room, went down the street and walked until he came to his taxi. He sent the driver in search of another and brought both cabs back to Mrs. Kesselbach’s house.

A good tip, paid in advance, avoided all tedious explanations. With the help of the two men, he carried the seven prisoners down and plumped them anyhow, on one another’s knees, into the cabs. The wounded men yelled and moaned. He shut the doors, shouting:

“Mind your hands!”

He got up beside the driver of the front cab.

“Where to?” asked the man.

“36, Quai des Orfevers: the detective-office.”

The motors throbbed, the drivers started the gear and the strange procession went scooting down the slopes of the Trocadero.

In the streets, they passed a few vegetable-carts. Men carrying long poles were turning out the street-lamps.

There were stars in the sky. A cool breeze was wafted through the air.

Lupin sang aloud:

The Place de la Concorde, the Louvre… In the distance, the dark bulk of Notre Dame… “J He turned round and half opened the door:

“Having a good time, mates? So am I, thank you. It’s a grand night for a drive and the air’s delicious!.”

They were now bumping over the ill-paved quays. And soon they arrived at the Palais de Justice and the door of the detective-office.

“Wait here,” said Lupin to the two drivers, “and be sure you look after your seven fares.”

He crossed the outer yard and went down the passage on the right leading to the rooms of the central office. He found the night inspectors on duty.

“A bag, gentlemen,” he said, as he entered, “a a fine bag too. Is M. Weber here? I am the new commissary of police for Auteuil.”

“M. Weber is in his flat. Do you want him sent for?”—“Just one second. I’m in a hurry. I’ll leave a line for him.”

He sat down at a table and wrote:

“My Dear Weber,

“I am bringing you the seven scoundrels composing Altenheim’s gang, the men who killed Gourel (and plenty of others) and who killed me as well, under the name of M. Lenormand.

“That only leaves their leader unaccounted for. I am going to effect his arrest this minute. Come and join me. He lives in the Rue Delaizement, at Neuilly and goes by the name of Leon Massier. “Kind regards.

“Yours,

“ArsŽne Lupin, “Chief of the Detective-service.”

He sealed the letter:

“Give that to M. Weber. It’s urgent. Now I want seven men to receive the goods. I left them on the quay.”

On going back to the taxis, he was met by a chief inspector:

“Ah, it’s you M. Leboeuf!” he said. “I’ve made a fine haul… The whole of Altenheim’s gang… They’re there in the taxicabs.”

“Where did you find them?”

“Hard at work kidnapping Mrs. Kesselbach and robbing her house. But I’ll tell you ah1 about it when the time comes.”

The chief inspector took him aside and, with the air of surprise:

“I beg your pardon, monsieur, but I was sent for to see the commissary of police for Auteuil. And I don’t seem to… Whom have I the honor of addressing?”

“Somebody who is making you a handsome present of seven hooligans of the finest quality.”

“Still, I should like to know…”

“My name?”

“Yes.”

“ArsŽne Lupin.”

He nimbly tripped the chief inspector up, ran to the Rue de Rivoli, jumped into a passing taxicab and drove to the Porte des Ternes.

The Route de la Revoke was close by. He went to No. 3.

For all his coolness and self-command, ArsŽne Lupin was unable to control his excitement. Would he find Dolores Kesselbach? Had Louis de Malreich taken her either to his own place or to the Broker’s shed?

Lupin had taken the key of the shed from the Broker, so that it was easy for him, after ringing and walking across the different yards, to open the door and enter the lumber-shop.

He switched on his lantern and took his bearings. A little to the right was the free space in which he had seen the accomplices hold their last confabulation. On the sofa mentioned by the Broker he saw a black figure, Dolores lay wrapped in blankets and gagged.

He helped her up.

“Ah, it’s you, it’s you!” she stammered. “They haven’t touched you!”

And, rising and pointing to the back of the shop:

“There… he went out that side… I heard him… I am sure… You must go… please!”

“I must get you away first,” he said.

“No, never mind me…