“But Dr. Delattre declares—”
“Ah, that’s just it!” cried Beautrelet, in a tone of conviction. “It is just because Dr. Delattre declares that we mustn’t believe him. Why, Dr. Delattre refused to give any but the vaguest details concerning his adventure! He refused to say anything that might compromise his patient’s safety!—And suddenly he calls attention to an inn!—You may be sure that he talked about that inn because he was told to. You may be sure that the whole story which he dished up to us was dictated to him under the threat of terrible reprisals. The doctor has a wife. The doctor has a daughter. He is too fond of them to disobey people of whose formidable power he has seen proofs. And that is why he has assisted your efforts by supplying the most precise clues.”
“So precise that the inn is nowhere to be found.”
“So precise that you have never ceased looking for it, in the face of all probability, and that your eyes have been turned away from the only spot where the man can be, the mysterious spot which he has not left, which he has been unable to leave ever since the moment when, wounded by Mlle. de Saint-Véran, he succeeded in dragging himself to it, like a beast to its lair.”
“But where, confound it all?—In what corner of Hades—?”
“In the ruins of the old abbey.”
“But there are no ruins left!—A few bits of wall!—A few broken columns!”
“That’s where he’s gone to earth. Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction!” shouted Beautrelet. “That’s where you will have to look for him! It’s there and nowhere else that you will find Arsène Lupin!”
“Arsène Lupin!” yelled M. Filleul, springing to his feet.
There was a rather solemn pause, amid which the syllables of the famous name seemed to prolong their sound. Was it possible that the vanquished and yet invisible adversary, whom they had been hunting in vain for several days, could really be Arsène Lupin? Arsène Lupin, caught in a trap, arrested, meant immediate promotion, fortune, glory to any examining magistrate!
Ganimard had not moved a limb. Isidore said to him:
“You agree with me, do you not, M. Inspector?”
“Of course I do!”
“You have not doubted either, for a moment have you, that he managed this business?”
“Not for a second! The thing bears his signature. A move of Arsène Lupin’s is as different from a move made by another man as one face is from another. You have only to open your eyes.”
“Do you think so? Do you think so?” said M. Filleul.
“Think so!” cried the young man. “Look, here’s one little fact: what are the initials under which those men correspond among themselves? ‘A. L. N.,’ that is to say, the first letter of the name Arsène and the first and last letters of the name Lupin.”
“Ah,” said Ganimard, “nothing escapes you! Upon my word, you’re a fine fellow and old Ganimard lays down his arms before you!”
Beautrelet flushed with pleasure and pressed the hand which the chief-inspector held out to him. The three men had drawn near the balcony and their eyes now took in the extent of the ruins. M. Filleul muttered:
“So he ought to be there.”
“He is there,” said Beautrelet, in a hollow voice. “He has been there ever since the moment when he fell. Logically and practically, he could not escape without being seen by Mlle. de Saint-Véran and the two servants.”
“What proof have you?”
“His accomplices have furnished the proof. On the very morning, one of them disguised himself as a flyman and drove you here—”
“To recover the cap, which would serve to identify him.”
“Very well, but also and more particularly to examine the spot, find out and see for himself what had become of the ‘governor.’ ”
“And did he find out?”
“I presume so, as he knew the hiding-place. And I presume that he became aware of the desperate condition of his chief, because, under the impulse of his alarm, he committed the imprudence to write that threat: ‘Woe betide the young lady, if she has killed the governor!’ ”
“But his friends were able to take him away afterward?”
“When? Your men have never left the ruins. And where could they have moved him to? At most, a few hundred yards away, for one doesn’t let a dying man travel—and then you would have found him. No, I tell you, he is there. His friends would never have removed him from the safest of hiding-places. It was there that they brought the doctor, while the gendarmes were running to the fire like children.”
“But how is he living? How will he keep alive? To keep alive you need food and drink.”
“I can’t say. I don’t know. But he is there, I will swear it. He is there, because he can’t help being there. I am as sure of it as if I saw as if I touched him. He is there.”
With his finger outstretched toward the ruins, he traced in the air a little circle which became smaller and smaller until it was only a point. And that point his two companions sought desperately, both leaning into space, both moved by the same faith in Beautrelet and quivering with the ardent conviction which he had forced upon them. Yes, Arsène Lupin was there. In theory and in fact, he was there: neither of them was now able to doubt it.
And there was something impressive and tragic in knowing that the famous adventurer was lying in some dark shelter, below the ground, helpless, feverish and exhausted.
“And if he dies?” asked M. Filleul, in a low voice.
“If he dies,” said Beautrelet, “and if his accomplices are sure of it, then see to the safety of Mlle. de Saint-Véran. Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, for the vengeance will be terrible.”
A few minutes later and in spite of the entreaties of M. Filleul, who would gladly have made further use of this fascinating auxiliary, Isidore Beautrelet, whose holidays ended that day, went off by the Dieppe Road. He stepped from the train in Paris at five o’clock
