He therefore went upstairs. Mrs. Kesselbach’s bedroom was on the first landing. He walked in without knocking.
A night-light was burning in the room; and he saw Dolores, on a sofa, fainting. He ran up to her, lifted her and, in a voice of command, forcing her to answer:
“Listen. … Charolais? His son … Where are they?”
She stammered:
“Why, what do you mean? … They’re gone, of course! …”
“What, gone?”
“You sent me word … an hour ago … a telephone-message. …”
He picked up a piece of blue paper lying beside her and read:
“Send the two watchers away at once … and all my men. … Tell them to meet me at the Grand Hotel. Have no fear.”
“Thunder! And you believed it? … But your servants?”
“Gone.”
He went up to the window. Outside, three men were coming from the other end of the garden.
From the window in the next room, which looked out on the street, he saw two others, on the pavement.
And he thought of Dieudonne, of Chubby, of Louis de Malreich, above all, who must now be prowling around, invisible and formidable.
“Hang it!” he muttered. “I half believe they’ve done me this time!”
XIV
The Man in Black
At that moment, Arsène Lupin felt the impression, the certainty, that he had been drawn into an ambush, by means which he had not the time to perceive, but of which he guessed the prodigious skill and address. Everything had been calculated, everything ordained; the dismissal of his men, the disappearance or treachery of the servants, his own presence in Mrs. Kesselbach’s house.
Clearly, the whole thing had succeeded, exactly as the enemy wished, thanks to circumstances almost miraculously fortunate; for, after all, he might have arrived before the false message had sent his friends away. But then there would have been a battle between his own gang and the Altenheim gang. And Lupin, remembering Malreich’s conduct, the murder of Altenheim, the poisoning of the mad girl at Veldenz, Lupin asked himself whether the ambush was aimed at him alone or whether Malreich had not contemplated the possibility of a general scuffle, involving the killing of accomplices who had by this time become irksome to him.
It was an intuition, rather, a fleeting idea, that just passed through his mind. The hour was one for action. He must defend Dolores, the abduction of whom was, in all likelihood, the first and foremost reason of the attack.
He half-opened the casement window on the street and levelled his revolver. A shot, rousing and alarming the neighborhood, and the scoundrels would take to their heels.
“Well, no,” he muttered, “no! It shall not be said that I shirked the fight. The opportunity is too good. … And, then, who says that they would run away! … There are too many of them to care about the neighbors.”
He returned to Dolores’ room. There was a noise downstairs. He listened and, finding that it came from the staircase, he locked the door.
Dolores was crying and throwing herself about the sofa.
He implored her:
“Are you strong enough? We are on the first floor. I could help you down. We can lower the sheets from the window. …”
“No, no, don’t leave me. … I am frightened. … I haven’t the strength … they will kill me. … Oh, protect me!”
He took her in his arms and carried her to the next room. And, bending over her:
“Don’t move; and keep calm. I swear to you that not one of those men shall touch you, as long as I am alive.”
The door of the first room was tried. Dolores, clinging to him with all her might, cried:
“Oh, there they are! There they are! … They will kill you … you are alone! …”
Eagerly, he said:
“No, I am not alone. … You are here. … You are here beside me. …”
He tried to release himself. She took his head in her two hands, looked him deep in the eyes and whispered:
“Where are you going? What are you going to do? No … you must not die. … I won’t have it … you must live … you must.”
She stammered words which he did not catch and which she seemed to stifle between her lips lest he should hear them; and, having spent all her energy, exhausted, she fell back unconscious.
He leant over her and gazed at her for a moment. Softly, lightly, he pressed a kiss upon her hair.
Then he went back to the first room, carefully closed the door between the two and switched on the electric light.
“One second, my lads!” he cried. “You seem in a great hurry to get yourselves smashed to pieces! … Don’t you know that Lupin’s here? I’ll make you dance!”
While speaking, he unfolded a screen in such a way as to hide the sofa on which Mrs. Kesselbach had been lying; and he now spread dresses and coverings over it. The door was on the point of giving way under the blows of the men outside.
“Here I am! Coming! Are you ready? Now, gentlemen, one at a time! …”
He briskly turned the key and drew the bolt.
Shouts, threats, a roar of infuriated animals came through the open doorway.
Yet none of them dared come forward. Before rushing at Lupin, they hesitated, seized with alarm, with fear. …
This was what he had reckoned on.
Standing in the middle of the room, full in the light, with outstretched arm, he held between his fingers a sheaf of banknotes, which he divided, counting them one by one, into seven equal shares. And he calmly said:
“Three thousand francs’ reward for each of you, if Lupin is sent to his last account? That’s what you were promised, isn’t it? Here’s double the money!”
He laid the bundles on the table, within reach of the scoundrels.
The Broker roared:
“Humbug! He’s trying to gain time. Shoot him down!”
He raised his arm. His companions held him back.
And Lupin continued:
“Of course, this need not affect your plan of campaign. You came here, first, to kidnap Mrs. Kesselbach and, secondly, to lay hands on her
