The Teeth of the Tiger - Maurice Leblanc (feel good books txt) 📗

A little later he began to laugh and, again raising his voice, said:

“Afraid of what, Florence? That I shall kill you perhaps? No, no, have no fear⁠—”

The portress had heard nothing more. But was this not enough to justify every alarm?

Don Luis caught hold of the deputy chief:

“Come along! I knew it: the man is capable of anything. It’s the tiger! He means to kill her!”

He rushed outside, dragging the deputy toward the two police motors waiting five hundred yards down. Meanwhile, Mazeroux was trying to protest:

“It would be better to search the house, to pick up some clues⁠—”

“Oh,” shouted Don Luis, increasing his pace, “the house and the clues will keep!⁠ ⁠… But he’s gaining ground, the ruffian⁠—and he has Florence with him⁠—and he’s going to kill her! It’s a trap!⁠ ⁠… I’m sure of it⁠—”

He was shouting in the dark, dragging the two men along with irresistible force.

They neared the motors.

“Get ready!” he ordered as soon as he was in sight. “I’ll drive myself.”

He tried to get into the driver’s seat. But Weber objected and pushed him inside, saying:

“Don’t trouble⁠—the chauffeur knows his business. He’ll drive faster than you would.”

Don Luis, the deputy chief, and two detectives crowded into the cab; Mazeroux took his seat beside the chauffeur.

“Versailles Road!” roared Don Luis.

The car started; and he continued:

“We’ve got him! You see, it’s a magnificent opportunity. He must be going pretty fast, but without forcing the pace, because he doesn’t think we’re after him. Oh, the villain, we’ll make him sit up! Quicker, driver! But what the devil are we loaded up like this for? You and I, Deputy Chief, would have been enough. Hi, Mazeroux, get down and jump into the other car! That’ll be better, won’t it, Deputy? It’s absurd⁠—”

He interrupted himself; and, as he was sitting on the back seat, between the deputy chief and a detective, he rose toward the window and muttered:

“Why, look here, what’s the idiot doing? That’s not the road! I say, what does this mean?”

A roar of laughter was the only answer. It came from Weber, who was shaking with delight. Don Luis stifled an oath and, making a tremendous effort, tried to leap from the car. Six hands fell upon him and held him motionless. The deputy chief had him by the throat. The detectives clutched his arms. There was no room for him to struggle within the restricted space of the small car; and he felt the cold iron of a revolver on his temple.

“None of your nonsense,” growled Weber, “or I’ll blow out your brains, my boy! Aha! you didn’t expect this! It’s Weber’s revenge, eh?”

And, when Perenna continued to wriggle, he went on, in a threatening tone:

“You’ll have only yourself to blame, mind!⁠ ⁠… I’m going to count three: one, two⁠—”

“But what’s it all about?” bellowed Don Luis.

“Prefect’s orders, received just now.”

“What orders?”

“To take you to the lockup if the Florence girl escaped us again.”

“Have you a warrant?”

“I have.”

“And what next?”

“What next? Nothing: the Sante⁠—the examining magistrate⁠—”

“But, hang it all, the tiger’s making tracks meanwhile! Oh, rot! Is it possible to be so dense? What mugs those fellows are! Oh, dash it!”

He was fuming with rage, and when he saw that they were driving into the prison yard, he gathered all his strength, knocked the revolver out of the deputy’s hand, and stunned one of the detectives with a blow of his fist.

But ten men came crowding round the doors. Resistance was useless. He understood this, and his rage increased.

“The idiots!” he shouted, while they surrounded him and searched him at the door of the office. “The rotters! The bunglers! To go mucking up a job like that! They can lay hands on the villain if they want to, and they lock up the honest man⁠—while the villain makes himself scarce! And he’ll do more murder yet! Florence! Florence⁠ ⁠…”

Under the lamp light, in the midst of the detectives holding him, he was magnificent in his helpless violence.

They dragged him away. With an unparalleled display of strength, he drew himself up, shook off the men who were hanging on to him like a pack of hounds worrying some animal at bay, got rid of Weber, and accosted Mazeroux in familiar tones. He was gloriously masterful, almost calm, so wholly did he appear to control his seething rage. He gave his orders in breathless little sentences, curt as words of command.

“Mazeroux, run around to the Prefect’s. Ask him to ring up Valenglay: yes, the Prime Minister. I want to see him. Have him informed. Ask the Prefect to say it’s I: the man who made the German Emperor play his game. My name? He knows. Or, if he forgets, the Prefect can tell him my name.”

He paused for a second or two; and then, calmer still, he declared:

“Arsène Lupin! Telephone those two words to him and just say this: ‘Arsène Lupin wishes to speak to the Prime Minister on very important business.’ Get that through to him at once. The Prime Minister would be very angry if he heard afterward that they had neglected to communicate my request. Go, Mazeroux, and then find the villain’s tracks again.”

The governor of the prison had opened the jail book.

“You can enter my name, Monsieur le Directeur,” said Don Luis. “Put down ‘Arsène Lupin.’ ”

The governor smiled and said:

“I should find a difficulty in putting down any other. It’s on the warrant: ‘Arsène Lupin, alias Don Luis Perenna.’ ”

Don Luis felt a little shudder pass through him at the sound of those words. The fact that he was arrested under the name of Arsène Lupin made his position doubly dangerous.

“Ah,” he said, “so they’ve resolved⁠—”

“I should think so!” said Weber, in a tone of triumph. “We’ve resolved to take the bull by the horns and to go straight for Lupin. Plucky of us, eh? Never fear, we’ll show you something better than that!”

Don Luis did not flinch. Turning to Mazeroux again, he said:

“Don’t forget my instructions, Mazeroux.”

But there