She went to her bedroom and opened one of the doors of a hanging wardrobe filled with dresses. Pulling these aside, she pushed open another door which formed the back of the wardrobe and led to a room in the next house:
“Help me carry him, Gabriel. And you’ll nurse him as well as you can, won’t you? For the present, he’s worth his weight in gold to us, the artist! …”
The hours succeeded one another. Days passed.
One morning, the wounded man regained a moment’s consciousness. He raised his eyelids and looked around him.
He was lying in a room larger than that in which he had been stabbed, a room sparsely furnished, with thick curtains hanging before the windows from top to bottom. There was light enough, however, to enable him to see young Gabriel Dugrival seated on a chair beside him and watching him.
“Ah, it’s you, youngster!” he murmured. “I congratulate you, my lad. You have a sure and pretty touch with the dagger.”
And he fell asleep again.
That day and the following days, he woke up several times and, each time, he saw the stripling’s pale face, his thin lips and his dark eyes, with the hard look in them:
“You frighten me,” he said. “If you have sworn to do for me, don’t stand on ceremony. But cheer up, for goodness’ sake. The thought of death has always struck me as the most humorous thing in the world. Whereas, with you, old chap, it simply becomes lugubrious. I prefer to go to sleep. Good night!”
Still, Gabriel, in obedience to Mme. Dugrival’s orders, continued to nurse him with the utmost care and attention. The patient was almost free from fever and was beginning to take beef-tea and milk. He gained a little strength and jested:
“When will the convalescent be allowed his first drive? Is the bath-chair there? Why, cheer up, stupid! You look like a weeping-willow contemplating a crime. Come, just one little smile for daddy!”
One day, on waking, he had a very unpleasant feeling of constraint. After a few efforts, he perceived that, during his sleep, his legs, chest and arms had been fastened to the bedstead with thin wire strands that cut into his flesh at the least movements.
“Ah,” he said to his keeper, “this time it’s the great performance! The chicken’s going to be bled. Are you operating, Angel Gabriel? If so, see that your razor’s nice and clean, old chap! The antiseptic treatment, if you please!”
But he was interrupted by the sound of a key grating in the lock. The door opposite opened and Mme. Dugrival appeared.
She approached slowly, took a chair and, producing a revolver from her pocket, cocked it and laid it on the table by the bedside.
“Brrrrr!” said the prisoner. “We might be at the Ambigu! … Fourth act: the Traitor’s Doom. And the fair sex to do the deed. … The hand of the Graces. … What an honour! … Mme. Dugrival, I rely on you not to disfigure me.”
“Hold your tongue, Lupin.”
“Ah, so you know? … By Jove, how clever we are!”
“Hold your tongue, Lupin.”
There was a solemn note in her voice that impressed the captive and compelled him to silence. He watched his two gaolers in turns. The bloated features and red complexion of Mme. Dugrival formed a striking contrast with her nephew’s refined face; but they both wore the same air of implacable resolve.
The widow leant forward and said:
“Are you prepared to answer my questions?”
“Why not?”
“Then listen to me. How did you know that Dugrival carried all his money in his pocket?”
“Servants’ gossip. …”
“A young manservant whom we had in our employ: was that it?”
“Yes.”
“And did you steal Dugrival’s watch in order to give it back to him and inspire him with confidence?”
“Yes.”
She suppressed a movement of fury:
“You fool! You fool! … What! You rob my man, you drive him to kill himself and, instead of making tracks to the uttermost ends of the earth and hiding yourself, you go on playing Lupin in the heart of Paris! … Did you forget that I swore, on my dead husband’s head, to find his murderer?”
“That’s what staggers me,” said Lupin. “How did you come to suspect me?”
“How? Why, you gave yourself away!”
“I did? …”
“Of course. … The fifty thousand francs. …”
“Well, what about it? A present. …”
“Yes, a present which you gave cabled instructions to have sent to me, so as to make believe that you were in America on the day of the races. A present, indeed! What humbug! The fact is, you didn’t like to think of the poor fellow whom you had murdered. So you restored the money to the widow, publicly, of course, because you love playing to the gallery and ranting and posing, like the mountebank that you are. That was all very nicely thought out. Only, my fine fellow, you ought not to have sent me the selfsame notes that were stolen from Dugrival! Yes, you silly fool, the selfsame notes and no others! We knew the numbers, Dugrival and I did. And you were stupid enough to send the bundle to me. Now do you understand your folly?”
Lupin began to laugh:
“It was a pretty blunder, I confess. I’m not responsible; I gave different orders. But, all the same I can’t blame anyone except myself.”
“Ah, so you admit it! You signed your theft and you signed your ruin at the same time. There was nothing left to be done but to find you. Find you? No, better than that. Sensible people don’t find Lupin: they make him come to them! That was a masterly notion. It belongs to my young nephew, who loathes you as much as I do, if possible, and who knows you thoroughly, through reading all the books that have been written about you. He knows your prying nature, your need to be always plotting, your mania
