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

old maidservant who had shown them in. Don Luis was left alone.

He was still calm, but nevertheless felt a certain uneasiness, a longing to be up and doing, to throw himself into the fray; and his eyes kept on involuntarily returning to the face of the clock. The minute hand seemed endowed with extraordinary speed.

At last someone entered, ushering in a second person. Don Luis recognized Valenglay and the Prefect of Police.

“That’s it,” he thought. “I’ve got him.”

He saw this by the sort of vague sympathy perceptible on the old Premier’s lean and bony face. There was not a sign of arrogance, nothing to raise a barrier between the Minister and the suspicious individual whom he was receiving: just a manifest, playful curiosity and sympathy, It was a sympathy which Valenglay had never concealed, and of which he even boasted when, after Arsène Lupin’s sham death, he spoke of the adventurer and the strange relations between them.

“You have not changed,” he said, after looking at him for some time. “Complexion a little darker, a trifle grayer over the temples, that’s all.”

And putting on a blunt tone, he asked:

“And what is it you want?”

“An answer first of all, Monsieur le Président du Conseil. Has Deputy Chief Weber, who took me to the lockup last night, traced the motor cab in which Florence Levasseur was carried off?”

“Yes, the motor stopped at Versailles. The persons inside it hired another cab which is to take them to Nantes. What else do you ask for, besides that answer?”

“My liberty, Monsieur le Président.”

“At once, of course?” said Valenglay, beginning to laugh.

“In thirty or thirty-five minutes at most.”

“At half-past seven, eh?”

“Half-past seven at latest, Monsieur le Président.”

“And why your liberty?”

“To catch the murderer of Cosmo Mornington, of Inspector Vérot, and of the Roussel family.”

“Are you the only one that can catch him?”

“Yes.”

“Still, the police are moving. The wires are at work. The murderer will not leave France. He shan’t escape us.”

“You can’t find him.”

“Yes, we can.”

“In that case he will kill Florence Levasseur. She will be the scoundrel’s seventh victim. And it will be your doing.”

Valenglay paused for a moment and then resumed:

“According to you, contrary to all appearances, and contrary to the well-grounded suspicions of Monsieur le Préfet de Police, Florence Levasseur is innocent?”

“Oh, absolutely, Monsieur le Président!”

“And you believe her to be in danger of death?”

“She is in danger of death.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“I am.”

Valenglay experienced a little thrill of enjoyment. Lupin in love! Lupin acting through love and confessing his love! But how exciting!

He said:

“I have followed the Mornington case from day to day and I know every detail of it. You have done wonders, Monsieur. It is evident that, but for you, the case would never have emerged from the mystery that surrounded it at the start. But I cannot help noticing that there are certain flaws in it.

“These flaws, which astonished me on your part, are more easy to understand when we know that love was the primary motive and the object of your actions. On the other hand, and in spite of what you say, Florence Levasseur’s conduct, her claims as the heiress, her unexpected escape from the hospital, leave little doubt in our minds as to the part which she is playing.”

Don Luis pointed to the clock:

“Monsieur le Ministre, it is getting late.”

Valenglay burst out laughing.

“I never met anyone like you! Don Luis Perenna, I am sorry that I am not some absolute monarch. I should make you the head of my secret police.”

“A post which the German Emperor has already offered me.”

“Oh, nonsense!”

“And I refused it.”

Valenglay laughed heartily; but the clock struck seven. Don Luis began to grow anxious. Valenglay sat down and, coming straight to the point, said, in a serious voice:

“Don Luis Perenna, on the first day of your reappearance⁠—that is to say, at the very moment of the murders on the Boulevard Suchet⁠—Monsieur le Préfet de Police and I made up our minds as to your identity. Perenna was Lupin.

“I have no doubt that you understood the reason why we did not wish to bring back to life the dead man that you were, and why we granted you a sort of protection. Monsieur le Préfet de Police was entirely of my opinion. The work which you were pursuing was a salutary work of justice; and your assistance was so valuable to us that we strove to spare you any sort of annoyance. As Don Luis Perenna was fighting the good fight, we left Arsène Lupin in the background. Unfortunately⁠—”

Valenglay paused again and declared:

“Unfortunately, Monsieur le Préfet de Police last night received a denunciation, supported by detailed proofs, accusing you of being Arsène Lupin.”

“Impossible!” cried Don Luis. “That is a statement which no one is able to prove by material evidence. Arsène Lupin is dead.”

“If you like,” Valenglay agreed. “But that does not show that Don Luis Perenna is alive.”

“Don Luis Perenna has a duly legalized existence, Monsieur le President.”

“Perhaps. But it is disputed.”

“By whom? There is only one man who would have the right; and to accuse me would be his own undoing. I cannot believe him to be stupid enough⁠—”

“Stupid enough, no; but crafty enough, yes.”

“You mean Caceres, the Peruvian attaché?”

“Yes.”

“But he is abroad!”

“More than that: he is a fugitive from justice, after embezzling the funds of his legation. But before leaving the country he signed a statement that reached us yesterday evening, declaring that he faked up a complete record for you under the name of Don Luis Perenna. Here is your correspondence with him and here are all the papers establishing the truth of his allegations. Anyone will be convinced, on examining them, first, that you are not Don Luis Perenna, and, secondly, that you are Arsène Lupin.”

Don Luis made an angry gesture.

“That blackguard of a Caceres is a mere tool,” he snarled. “The other man’s behind him, has paid him, and is controlling his actions. It’s the scoundrel himself; I recognize his touch. He has once more tried to