“What do I think of it?” roared Ganimard, beside himself with rage.
He had drawn his revolver and was pointing it straight at Lupin’s face.
“Hands up!” he cried. “That’s what I think of it!”
Lupin placed himself in front of him and shrugged his shoulders:
“Sold again!” he said.
“Hands up, I say, once more!”
“And sold again, say I. Your deadly weapon won’t go off.”
“What?”
“Old Catherine, your housekeeper, is in my service. She damped the charges this morning while you were having your breakfast coffee.”
Ganimard made a furious gesture, pocketed the revolver and rushed at Lupin.
“Well?” said Lupin, stopping him short with a well-aimed kick on the shin.
Their clothes were almost touching. They exchanged defiant glances, the glances of two adversaries who mean to come to blows. Nevertheless, there was no fight. The recollection of the earlier struggles made any present struggle useless. And Ganimard, who remembered all his past failures, his vain attacks, Lupin’s crushing reprisals, did not lift a limb. There was nothing to be done. He felt it. Lupin had forces at his command against which any individual force simply broke to pieces. So what was the good?
“I agree,” said Lupin, in a friendly voice, as though answering Ganimard’s unspoken thought, “you would do better to let things be as they are. Besides, friend of my youth, think of all that this incident has brought you: fame, the certainty of quick promotion and, thanks to that, the prospect of a happy and comfortable old age! Surely, you don’t want the discovery of the sapphire and the head of poor Arsène Lupin in addition! It wouldn’t be fair. To say nothing of the fact that poor Arsène Lupin saved your life. … Yes, sir! Who warned you, at this very spot, that Prévailles was left-handed? … And is this the way you thank me? It’s not pretty of you, Ganimard. Upon my word, you make me blush for you!”
While chattering, Lupin had gone through the same performance as Ganimard and was now near the door. Ganimard saw that his foe was about to escape him. Forgetting all prudence, he tried to block his way and received a tremendous butt in the stomach, which sent him rolling to the opposite wall.
Lupin dexterously touched a spring, turned the handle, opened the door and slipped away, roaring with laughter as he went.
Twenty minutes later, when Ganimard at last succeeded in joining his men, one of them said to him:
“A house-painter left the house, as his mates were coming back from breakfast, and put a letter in my hand. ‘Give that to your governor,’ he said. ‘Which governor?’ I asked; but he was gone. I suppose it’s meant for you.”
“Let’s have it.”
Ganimard opened the letter. It was hurriedly scribbled in pencil and contained these words:
“This is to warn you, friend of my youth, against excessive credulity. When a fellow tells you that the cartridges in your revolver are damp, however great your confidence in that fellow may be, even though his name be Arsène Lupin, never allow yourself to be taken in. Fire first; and, if the fellow hops the twig, you will have acquired the proof (1) that the cartridges are not damp; and (2) that old Catherine is the most honest and respectable of housekeepers.
“One of these days, I hope to have the pleasure of making her acquaintance.
VI
Shadowed by Death
After he had been round the walls of the property, Arsène Lupin returned to the spot from which he started. It was perfectly clear to him that there was no breach in the walls; and the only way of entering the extensive grounds of the Château de Maupertuis was through a little low door, firmly bolted on the inside, or through the principal gate, which was overlooked by the lodge.
“Very well,” he said. “We must employ heroic methods.”
Pushing his way into the copsewood where he had hidden his motor-bicycle, he unwound a length of twine from under the saddle and went to a place which he had noticed in the course of his exploration. At this place, which was situated far from the road, on the edge of a wood, a number of large trees, standing inside the park, overlapped the wall.
Lupin fastened a stone to the end of the string, threw it up and caught a thick branch, which he drew down to him and bestraddled. The branch, in recovering its position, raised him from the ground. He climbed over the wall, slipped down the tree, and sprang lightly on the grass.
It was winter; and, through the leafless boughs, across the undulating lawns, he could see the little Château de Maupertuis in the distance. Fearing lest he should be perceived, he concealed himself behind a clump of fir-trees. From there, with the aid of a field-glass, he studied the dark and melancholy front of the manor-house. All the windows were closed and, as it were, barricaded with solid shutters. The house might easily have been uninhabited.
“By Jove!” muttered Lupin. “It’s not the liveliest of residences. I shall certainly not come here to end my days!”
But the clock struck three; one of the doors on the ground-floor opened; and the figure of a woman appeared, a very slender figure wrapped in a brown cloak.
The woman walked up and down for a few minutes and was at once surrounded by birds, to which she scattered crumbs of bread. Then she went down the stone steps that led to the middle lawn and skirted it, taking the path on the right.
With his field-glass, Lupin could distinctly see her coming in his direction. She was tall, fair-haired, graceful in appearance, and seemed to be quite a young girl. She
