He must have heard the noise which Marco made at the other end of the wire in breaking the glass, for he shouted, in triumph.
“Didn’t I tell you, Mr. Kesselbach, that we should find something? … Hullo! Have you done it? … Well? … A letter? Victory! All the diamonds in the Cape and old man Kesselbach’s secret into the bargain!”
He took down the second receiver, carefully put the two discs to his ears and continued:
“Read it to me, Marco, read it to me slowly. … The envelope first. … Good. … Now, repeat.” He himself repeated, “ ‘Copy of the letter contained in the black morocco case.’ And next? Tear the envelope, Marco. … Have I your permission, Mr. Kesselbach? It’s not very good form, but, however … Go on, Marco, Mr. Kesselbach gives you leave. … Done it? … Well, then, read it out.”
He listened and, with a chuckle:
“The deuce! That’s not quite as clear as a pikestaff! Listen. I’ll repeat: a plain sheet of paper folded in four, the folds apparently quite fresh. … Good. … At the top of the page, on the right, these words: ‘Five feet nine, left little finger cut.’ And so on. … Yes, that’s the description of Master Pierre Leduc. In Kesselbach’s handwriting, I suppose? … Good. … And, in the middle of the page, this word in printed capitals: ‘apoon.’ Marco, my lad, leave the paper as it is and don’t touch the box or the diamonds. I shall have done with our friend here in ten minutes and I shall be with you in twenty. … Oh, by the way, did you send back the motor for me? Capital! So long!”
He replaced the instrument, went into the lobby and into the bedroom, made sure that the secretary and the manservant had not unloosed their bonds and, on the other hand, that they were in no danger of being choked by their gags. Then he returned to his chief prisoner.
He wore a determined and relentless look:
“We’ve finished joking, Kesselbach. If you don’t speak, it will be the worse for you. Have you made up your mind?”
“What about?”
“No nonsense, please. Tell me what you know.”
“I know nothing.”
“You lie. What does this word ‘apoon’ mean?”
“If I knew, I should not have written it down.”
“Very well; but whom or what does it refer to? Where did you copy it? Where did you get it from?”
Mr. Kesselbach made no reply. Lupin, now speaking in nervous, jerky tones, resumed:
“Listen, Kesselbach, I have a proposal to make to you. Rich man, big man though you may be, there is not so much difference between us. The son of the Augsburg ironmonger and Arsène Lupin, prince of burglars, can come to an understanding without shame on either side. I do my thieving indoors; you do yours on the Stock Exchange. It’s all much of a muchness. So here we are, Kesselbach. Let’s be partners in this business. I have need of you, because I don’t know what it’s about. You have need of me, because you will never be able to manage it alone. Barbareux is an ass. I am Lupin. Is it a bargain?”
No answer. Lupin persisted, in a voice shaking with intensity:
“Answer, Kesselbach, is it a bargain? If so, I’ll find your Pierre Leduc for you in forty-eight hours. For he’s the man you’re after, eh? Isn’t that the business? Come along, answer! Who is the fellow? Why are you looking for him? What do you know about him?”
He calmed himself suddenly, laid his hand on Kesselbach’s shoulder and, harshly:
“One word only. Yes or no?”
“No!”
He drew a magnificent gold watch from Kesselbach’s fob and placed it on the prisoner’s knees. He unbuttoned Kesselbach’s waistcoat, opened his shirt, uncovered his chest and, taking a steel dagger, with a gold-crusted handle, that lay on the table beside him, he put the point of it against the place where the pulsations of the heart made the bare flesh throb:
“For the last time?”
“No!”
“Mr. Kesselbach, it is eight minutes to three. If you don’t answer within eight minutes from now, you are a dead man!”
The next morning, Sergeant Gourel walked into the Palace Hotel punctually at the appointed hour. Without stopping, scorning to take the lift, he went up the stairs. On the fourth floor he turned to the right, followed the passage and rang at the door of 415.
Hearing no sound, he rang again. After half-a-dozen fruitless attempts, he went to the floor office. He found a headwaiter there:
“Mr. Kesselbach did not sleep here last night. We have not seen him since yesterday afternoon.”
“But his servant? His secretary?”
“We have not seen them either.”
“Then they also did not sleep in the hotel?”
“I suppose not.”
“You suppose not? But you ought to be certain.”
“Why? Mr. Kesselbach is not staying in the hotel; he is at home here, in his private flat. He is not waited on by us, but by his own man; and we know nothing of what happens inside.”
“That’s true. … That’s true. …”
Gourel seemed greatly perplexed. He had come with positive orders, a precise mission, within the limits of which his mind was able to exert itself. Outside those limits he did not quite know how to act:
“If the chief were here,” he muttered, “if the
