“You have failed in your fight with the baron. Give up interesting yourself in the case, and I will not oppose your escape.
Once more, Lupin had that sense of repulsion and terror with which this nameless and fabulous being always inspired him, a sense of disgust which one feels at touching a venomous animal, a reptile:
“He again,” he said. “Even here!”
That also scared him, the sudden vision which he at times received of this hostile power, a power as great as his own and disposing of formidable means, the extent of which he himself was unable to realize.
He at once suspected his warder. But how had it been possible to corrupt that hard-featured, stern-eyed man?
“Well, so much the better, after all!” he cried. “I have never had to do except with dullards. … In order to fight myself, I had to chuck myself into the command of the detective-service. … This time, I have someone to deal with! … Here’s a man who puts me in his pocket … by sleight of hand, one might say. … If I succeed, from my prison cell, in avoiding his blows and smashing him, in seeing old Steinweg and dragging his confession from him, in setting the Kesselbach case on its legs and turning the whole of it into cash, in defending Mrs. Kesselbach and winning fortune and happiness for Geneviève … well, then Lupin will be Lupin still! …”
Eleven days passed. On the twelfth day, Lupin woke very early and exclaimed:
“Let me see, if my calculations are correct and if the gods are on my side, there will be some news today. I have had four interviews with Formerie. The fellow must be worked up to the right point now. And the Doudevilles, on their side, must have been busy. … We shall have some fun!”
He flung out his fists to right and left, brought them back to his chest, then flung them out again and brought them back again.
This movement, which executed thirty times in succession, was followed by a bending of his body backwards and forwards. Next came an alternate lifting of the legs and then an alternate swinging of the arms.
The whole performance occupied a quarter of an hour, the quarter of an hour which he devoted every morning to Swedish exercises to keep his muscles in condition.
Then he sat down to his table, took up some sheets of white paper, which were arranged in numbered packets, and, folding one of them, made it into an envelope, a work which he continued to do with a series of successive sheets. It was the task which he had accepted and which he forced himself to do daily, the prisoners having the right to choose the labor which they preferred: sticking envelopes, making paper fans, metal purses, and so on. …
And, in this way, while occupying his hands with an automatic exercise and keeping his muscles supple with mechanical bendings, Lupin was able to have his thoughts constantly fixed on his affairs. …
And his affairs were complicated enough, in all conscience!
There was one, for instance, which surpassed all the others in importance, and for which he had to employ all the resources of his genius. How was he to have a long, quiet conversation with old Steinweg? The necessity was immediate. In a few days, Steinweg would have recovered from his imprisonment, would receive interviews, might blab … to say nothing of the inevitable interference of the enemy, “the other one.” And it was essential that Steinweg’s secret, Pierre Leduc’s secret, should be revealed to no one but Lupin. Once published, the secret lost all its value. …
The bolts grated, the key turned noisily in the lock.
“Ah, it’s you, most excellent of jailers! Has the moment come for the last toilet? The haircut that precedes the great final cut of all?”
“Magistrate’s examination,” said the man, laconically.
Lupin walked through the corridors of the prison and was received by the municipal guards, who locked him into the prison-van.
He reached the Palais de Justice twenty minutes later. One of the Doudevilles was waiting near the stairs. As they went up, he said to Lupin:
“You’ll be confronted today.”
“Everything settled?”
“Yes.”
“Weber?”
“Busy elsewhere.”
Lupin walked into M. Formerie’s room and at once recognized old Steinweg, sitting on a chair, looking ill and wretched. A municipal guard was standing behind him.
M. Formerie scrutinized the prisoner attentively, as though he hoped to draw important conclusions from his contemplation of him, and said:
“You know who this gentleman is?”
“Why, Steinweg, of course! …”
“Yes, thanks to the active inquiries of M. Weber and of his two officers, the brothers Doudeville, we have found Mr. Steinweg, who, according to you, knows the ins and outs of the Kesselbach case, the name of the murderer and all the rest of it.”
“I congratulate you, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. Your examination will go swimmingly.”
“I think so. There is only one ‘but’: Mr. Steinweg refuses to reveal anything, except in your presence.”
“Well, I never! How odd of him! Does Arsène Lupin inspire him with so much affection and esteem?”
“Not Arsène Lupin, but Prince Sernine, who, he says, saved his life, and M. Lenormand, with whom, he says, he began a conversation. …”
“At the time when I was chief of the detective-service,” Lupin broke in. “So you consent to admit.”
“Mr. Steinweg,” said the magistrate, “do you recognize M. Lenormand?”
“No, but I know that Arsène Lupin and he are one.”
“So you consent to speak?”
“Yes … but … we are not alone.”
“How do you mean? There is only my clerk here … and the guard …”
“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, the secret which I am about to reveal is so important that you yourself would be sorry …”
“Guard, go outside, please,” said M. Formerie. “Come back at once, if I call. Do you object to my clerk, Steinweg?”
“No, no … it might be better …
