“Have a cigar,” said Lupin.
“Thank you, no.”
“You’re wrong, Doudeville. These are worth smoking. I have them from a great connoisseur, who is good enough to call himself my friend.”
“Oh, may one ask … ?”
“The Kaiser! Come, don’t look so flabbergasted, the two of you! And tell me things: I haven’t seen the papers. What effect did my escape have on the public?”
“Tremendous, governor!”
“What was the police version?”
“Your flight took place at Garches, during an attempt to reenact the murder of Altenheim. Unfortunately, the journalists have proved that it was impossible.”
“After that?”
“After that, a general fluster. People wondering, laughing and enjoying themselves like mad.”
“Weber?”
“Weber is badly let in.”
“Apart from that, no news at the detective-office? Nothing discovered about the murderer? No clue to help us to establish Altenheim’s identity?”
“No.”
“What fools they are! And to think that we pay millions a year to keep those people. If this sort of thing goes on, I shall refuse to pay my rates. Take a seat and a pen. I will dictate a letter which you must hand in to the Grand Journal this evening. The world has been waiting for news of me long enough. It must be gasping with impatience. Write.”
He dictated:
“To the Editor of the Grand Journal:
“Sir,
“I must apologize to your readers for disappointing their legitimate impatience.
“I have escaped from prison and I cannot possibly reveal how I escaped. In the same way, since my escape, I have discovered the famous secret and I cannot possibly disclose what the secret is nor how I discovered it.
“All this will, some day or other, form the subject of a rather original story which my biographer-in-ordinary will publish from my notes. It will form a page of the history of France which our grandchildren will read with interest.
“For the moment, I have more important matters to attend to. Disgusted at seeing into what hands the functions which I once exercised have fallen, tired of finding the Kesselbach-Altenheim case still dragging along, I am discharging M. Weber and resuming the post of honor which I occupied with such distinction and to the general satisfaction under the name of M. Lenormand.
At eight o’clock in the evening, Arsène Lupin and Jean Doudeville walked into Caillard’s, the fashionable restaurant, Lupin in evening-clothes, but dressed like an artist, with rather wide trousers and a rather loose tie, and Doudeville in a frock-coat, with the serious air and appearance of a magistrate.
They sat down in that part of the restaurant which is set back and divided from the big room by two columns.
A headwaiter, perfectly dressed and supercilious in manner, came to take their orders, notebook in hand. Lupin selected the dinner with the nice thought of an accomplished epicure:
“Certainly,” he said, “the prison ordinary was quite acceptable; but, all the same, it is nice to have a carefully-ordered meal.”
He ate with a good appetite and silently, contenting himself with uttering, from time to time, a short sentence that marked his train of thought:
“Of course, I shall manage … but it will be a hard job. … Such an adversary! … What staggers me is that, after six months’ fighting, I don’t even know what he wants! … His chief accomplice is dead, we are near the end of the battle and yet, even now, I can’t understand his game. … What is the wretch after? … My own plan is quite clear: to lay hands on the grand-duchy, to shove a grand-duke of my own making on the throne, to give him Geneviève for a wife … and to reign. That is what I call lucid, honest and fair. But he, the low fellow, the ghost in the dark: what is he aiming at?”
He called:
“Waiter!”
The headwaiter came up:
“Yes, sir?”
“Cigars.”
The headwaiter stalked away, returned and opened a number of boxes.
“Which do you recommend?”
“These Upmanns are very good, sir.”
Lupin gave Doudeville an Upmann, took one for himself and cut it. The headwaiter struck a match and held if for him. With a sudden movement, Lupin caught him by the wrist:
“Not a word. … I know you. … Your real name is Dominique Lecas!”
The man, who was big and strong, tried to struggle away. He stifled a cry of pain: Lupin had twisted his wrist.
“Your name is Dominique … you live in the Rue de la Pompe, on the fourth floor, where you retired with a small fortune acquired in the service—listen to me, you fool, will you, or I’ll break every bone in your body!—acquired in the service of Baron Altenheim, at whose house you were butler.”
The other stood motionless, his face pallid with fear. Around them, the small room was empty. In the restaurant beside it, three gentlemen sat smoking and two couples were chatting over their liquors.
“You see, we are quiet … we can talk.”
“Who are you? Who are you?”
“Don’t you recollect me? Why, think of that famous luncheon in the Villa Dupont! … You yourself, you old flunkey, handed me the plate of cakes … and such cakes!”
“Prince. … Prince. …” stammered the other.
“Yes, yes, Prince Arsène, Prince Lupin in person. … Aha, you breathe again! … You’re saying to yourself that you have nothing to fear from Lupin, isn’t that it? Well, you’re wrong, old chap, you have everything to fear.” He took a card from his pocket and showed it to him. “There, look, I belong to the police now. Can’t be helped: that’s what we all come to in the end, all of us robber-kings and emperors of crime.”
“Well?” said the headwaiter, still greatly alarmed.
“Well, go to that customer over there, who’s calling you, get him what he wants and come back to me. And no nonsense, mind you: don’t go trying to get away. I have ten men outside, with orders to keep their eyes on you. Be off.”
The headwaiter obeyed. Five minutes
