“A thorough search was made of his house by Count von W⸺, at the head of twelve men. The result of this search was purely negative, but the grand-duke was nevertheless proved to be in possession of the papers.
“Where had he hidden them? This was a problem which probably nobody in the world would be able to solve at the present moment.
“I must ask for twenty-four hours in which to solve it.
And, twenty-four hours later, the promised note appeared:
“The famous letters are hidden in the feudal castle of Veldenz, the capital of the Grand-duchy of Zweibrucken. The castle was partly destroyed in the course of the nineteenth century.
“Where exactly are they hidden? And what are the letters precisely? These are the two problems which I am now engaged in unravelling; and I shall publish the solution in four days’ time.
On the day stated, men scrambled to obtain copies of the Grand Journal. To the general disappointment, the promised information was not given. The same silence followed on the next day and the day after.
What had happened?
It leaked out through an indiscretion at the Prefecture of Police. The governor of the Santé, it appeared, had been warned that Lupin was communicating with his accomplices by means of the packets of envelopes which he made. Nothing had been discovered; but it was thought best, in any case, to forbid all work to the insufferable prisoner.
To this the insufferable prisoner replied:
“As I have nothing to do now, I may as well attend to my trial. Please let my counsel, Maître Quimbel, know.”
It was true. Lupin, who, hitherto, had refused to hold any intercourse with Maître Quimbel, now consented to see him and to prepare his defence.
On the next day Maître Quimbel, in cheery tones, asked for Lupin to be brought to the barristers’ room. He was an elderly man, wearing a pair of very powerful spectacles, which made his eyes seem enormous. He put his hat on the table, spread out his briefcase and at once began to put a series of questions which he had carefully prepared.
Lupin replied with extreme readiness and even volunteered a host of particulars, which Maître Quimbel took down, as he spoke, on slips pinned one to the other.
“And so you say,” continued the barrister, with his head over his papers, “that, at that time …”
“I say that, at that time …” Lupin answered.
Little by little, with a series of natural and hardly perceptible movements, he leant elbows on the table. He gradually lowered his arms, slipped his hand under Maître Quimbel’s hat, put his finger into the leather band and took out one of those strips of paper, folded lengthwise, which the hatter inserts between the leather and the lining when the hat is a trifle too large.
He unfolded the paper. It was a message from Doudeville, written in a cipher agreed upon beforehand:
“I am engaged as indoor servant at Maître Quimbel’s. You can answer by the same means without fear.
“It was L. M., the murderer, who gave away the envelope trick. A good thing that you foresaw this move!”
Hereupon followed a minute report of all the facts and comments caused by Lupin’s revelations.
Lupin took from his pocket a similar strip of paper containing his instructions, quietly substituted it in the place of the other and drew his hand back again. The trick was played.
And Lupin’s correspondence with the Grand Journal was resumed without further delay.
“I apologize to the public for not keeping my promise. The postal arrangements at the Santé Palace are woefully inadequate.
“However, we are near the end. I have in hand all the documents that establish the truth upon an indisputable basis. I shall not publish them for the moment. Nevertheless, I will say this: among the letters are some that were addressed to the chancellor by one who, at that time, declared himself his disciple and his admirer and who was destined, several years after, to rid himself of that irksome tutor and to govern alone.
“I trust that I make myself sufficiently clear.”
And, on the next day:
“The letters were written during the late Emperor’s illness. I need hardly add more to prove their importance.”
Four days of silence, and then this final note, which caused a stir that has not yet been forgotten:
“My investigation is finished. I now know everything.
“By dint of reflection, I have guessed the secret of the hiding-place.
“My friends are going to Veldenz and, in spite of every obstacle, will enter the castle by a way which I am pointing out to them.
“The newspapers will then publish photographs of the letters, of which I already know the tenor; but I prefer to reproduce the whole text.
“This certain, inevitable publication will take place in a fortnight from today precisely, on the 22nd of August next.
“Between this and then I will keep silence … and wait.”
The communications to the Grand Journal did, in fact, stop for a time, but Lupin never ceased corresponding with his friends, “via the hat,” as they said among themselves. It was so simple! There was no danger. Who could ever suspect that Maître Quimbel’s hat served Lupin as a letter-box?
Every two or three mornings, whenever he called, in fact, the celebrated advocate faithfully brought his client’s letters: letters from Paris, letters from the country, letters from Germany; all reduced and condensed by Doudeville into a brief form and cipher language. And, an hour later, Maître Quimbel solemnly walked away, carrying Lupin’s orders.
Now, one day, the governor of the Santé received a telephone message, signed, “L. M.,” informing him that Maître Quimbel was, in all probability, serving Lupin as his unwitting postman and that it
