Without even taking the trouble to lock them in, he left the room, went down the street and walked until he came to his taxi. He sent the driver in search of another and brought both cabs back to Mrs. Kesselbach’s house.
A good tip, paid in advance, avoided all tedious explanations. With the help of the two men, he carried the seven prisoners down and plumped them anyhow, on one another’s knees, into the cabs. The wounded men yelled and moaned. He shut the doors, shouting:
“Mind your hands!”
He got up beside the driver of the front cab.
“Where to?” asked the man.
“36, Quai des Orfevers: the detective-office.”
The motors throbbed, the drivers started the gear and the strange procession went scooting down the slopes of the Trocadero.
In the streets, they passed a few vegetable-carts. Men carrying long poles were turning out the street-lamps.
There were stars in the sky. A cool breeze was wafted through the air.
Lupin sang aloud:
The Place de la Concorde, the Louvre. … In the distance, the dark bulk of Notre Dame. …
He turned round and half opened the door:
“Having a good time, mates? So am I, thank you. It’s a grand night for a drive and the air’s delicious! …”
They were now bumping over the ill-paved quays. And soon they arrived at the Palais de Justice and the door of the detective-office.
“Wait here,” said Lupin to the two drivers, “and be sure you look after your seven fares.”
He crossed the outer yard and went down the passage on the right leading to the rooms of the central office. He found the night inspectors on duty.
“A bag, gentlemen,” he said, as he entered, “a fine bag too. Is M. Weber here? I am the new commissary of police for Auteuil.”
“M. Weber is in his flat. Do you want him sent for?”
“Just one second. I’m in a hurry. I’ll leave a line for him.”
He sat down at a table and wrote:
“My dear Weber,
“I am bringing you the seven scoundrels composing Altenheim’s gang, the men who killed Gourel (and plenty of others) and who killed me as well, under the name of M. Lenormand.
“That only leaves their leader unaccounted for. I am going to effect his arrest this minute. Come and join me. He lives in the Rue Delaizement, at Neuilly and goes by the name of Leon Massier.
He sealed the letter:
“Give that to M. Weber. It’s urgent. Now I want seven men to receive the goods. I left them on the quay.”
On going back to the taxis, he was met by a chief inspector:
“Ah, it’s you M. Lebœuf!” he said. “I’ve made a fine haul. … The whole of Altenheim’s gang. … They’re there in the taxicabs.”
“Where did you find them?”
“Hard at work kidnapping Mrs. Kesselbach and robbing her house. But I’ll tell you all about it when the time comes.”
The chief inspector took him aside and, with the air of surprise:
“I beg your pardon, monsieur, but I was sent for to see the commissary of police for Auteuil. And I don’t seem to … Whom have I the honor of addressing?”
“Somebody who is making you a handsome present of seven hooligans of the finest quality.”
“Still, I should like to know. …”
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“Arsène Lupin.”
He nimbly tripped the chief inspector up, ran to the Rue de Rivoli, jumped into a passing taxicab and drove to the Porte des Ternes.
The Route de la Revolte was close by. He went to No. 3.
For all his coolness and self-command, Arsène Lupin was unable to control his excitement. Would he find Dolores Kesselbach? Had Louis de Malreich taken her either to his own place or to the Broker’s shed?
Lupin had taken the key of the shed from the Broker, so that it was easy for him, after ringing and walking across the different yards, to open the door and enter the lumber-shop.
He switched on his lantern and took his bearings. A little to the right was the free space in which he had seen the accomplices hold their last confabulation. On the sofa mentioned by the Broker he saw a black figure, Dolores lay wrapped in blankets and gagged.
He helped her up.
“Ah, it’s you, it’s you!” she stammered. “They haven’t touched you!”
And, rising and pointing to the back of the shop:
“There … he went out that side … I heard him. … I am sure. … You must go … please!”
“I must get you away first,” he said.
“No, never mind me … go after him. … I entreat you. … Strike him!”
Fear, this time, instead of dejecting her, seemed to be giving her unwonted strength; and she repeated, with an immense longing to place her terrible enemy in his power:
“Go after him first. … I can’t go on living like this. … You must save me from him. … I can’t go on living. …”
He unfastened her bonds, laid her carefully on the sofa and said:
“You are right. … Besides, you have nothing to fear here. … Wait for me, I shall come back.”
As he was going away, she caught hold of his hand:
“But you yourself?”
“Well?”
“If that man …”
It was as though she dreaded for Lupin the great, final contest to which she was exposing him and as though, at the last moment, she would have been glad to hold him back.
He said:
“Thank you, have no fear. What have I to be afraid of? He is alone.”
And, leaving her, he went to the back of the shed. As he
