“She will get away! She will disappear!” thought Ganimard.
Then he managed to get between her and the door. She turned to go out.
“No, no!” he said. “Why are you going away?”
“Really, monsieur, I do not understand what this means. Allow me—”
“There is no reason why you should go, madame, and very good reasons why you should remain.”
“But—”
“It is useless, madame. You cannot go.”
Trembling, she sat on a chair, and stammered:
“What is it you want?”
Ganimard had won the battle and captured the blonde Lady. He said to her:
“Allow me to present the friend I mentioned, who desires to purchase some diamonds. Have you procured the stones you promised to bring?”
“No—no—I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Come! Jog your memory! A person of your acquaintance intended to send you a tinted stone. … ‘Something like the blue diamond,’ I said, laughing; and you replied: ‘Exactly, I expect to have just what you want.’ Do you remember?”
She made no reply. A small satchel fell from her hand. She picked it up quickly, and held it securely. Her hands trembled slightly.
“Come!” said Ganimard, “I see you have no confidence in us, Madame de Réal. I shall set you a good example by showing you what I have.”
He took from his pocketbook a paper which he unfolded, and disclosed a lock of hair.
“These are a few hairs torn from the head of Antoinette Bréhat by the Baron d’Hautrec, which I found clasped in his dead hand. I have shown them to Mlle. Gerbois, who declares they are of the exact color of the hair of the blonde Lady. Besides, they are exactly the color of your hair—the identical color.”
Madame Réal looked at him in bewilderment, as if she did not understand his meaning. He continued:
“And here are two perfume bottles, without labels, it is true, and empty, but still sufficiently impregnated with their odor to enable Mlle. Gerbois to recognize in them the perfume used by that blonde Lady who was her traveling companion for two weeks. Now, one of these bottles was found in the room that Madame de Réal occupied at the Château de Crozon, and the other in the room that you occupied at the Hôtel Beaurivage.”
“What do you say? … The blonde Lady … the Château de Crozon. …”
The detective did not reply. He took from his pocket and placed on the table, side by side, four small sheets of paper. Then he said:
“I have, on these four pieces of paper, various specimens of handwriting; the first is the writing of Antoinette Bréhat; the second was written by the woman who sent the note to Baron Herschmann at the auction sale of the blue diamond; the third is that of Madame de Réal, written while she was stopping at the Château de Crozon; and the fourth is your handwriting, madame … it is your name and address, which you gave to the porter of the Hôtel Beaurivage at Trouville. Now, compare the four handwritings. They are identical.”
“What absurdity is this? really, monsieur, I do not understand. What does it mean?”
“It means, madame,” exclaimed Ganimard, “that the blonde Lady, the friend and accomplice of Arsène Lupin, is none other than you, Madame Réal.”
Ganimard went to the adjoining room and returned with Mon. Gerbois, whom he placed in front of Madame Réal, as he said:
“Monsieur Gerbois, is this the person who abducted your daughter, the woman you saw at the house of Monsieur Detinan?”
“No.”
Ganimard was so surprised that he could not speak for a moment; finally, he said: “No? … You must be mistaken. …”
“I am not mistaken. Madame is blonde, it is true, and in that respect resembles the blonde Lady; but, in all other respects, she is totally different.”
“I can’t believe it. You must be mistaken.”
Ganimard called in his other witnesses.
“Monsieur d’Hautrec,” he said, “do you recognize Antoinette Bréhat?”
“No, this is not the person I saw at my uncle’s house.”
“This woman is not Madame de Réal,” declared the Count de Crozon.
That was the finishing touch. Ganimard was crushed. He was buried beneath the ruins of the structure he had erected with so much care and assurance. His pride was humbled, his spirit was broken, by the force of this unexpected blow.
Mon. Dudouis arose, and said:
“We owe you an apology, madame, for this unfortunate mistake. But, since your arrival here, I have noticed your nervous agitation. Something troubles you; may I ask what it is?”
“Mon Dieu, monsieur, I was afraid. My satchel contains diamonds to the value of a hundred thousand francs, and the conduct of your friend was rather suspicious.”
“But you were frequently absent from Paris. How do you explain that?”
“I make frequent journeys to other cities in the course of my business. That is all.”
Mon. Dudouis had nothing more to ask. He turned to his subordinate, and said:
“Your investigation has been very superficial, Ganimard, and your conduct toward this lady is really deplorable. You will come to my office tomorrow and explain it.”
The interview was at an end, and Mon. Dudouis was about to leave the room when a most annoying incident occurred. Madame Réal turned to Ganimard, and said:
“I understand that you are Monsieur Ganimard. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Then, this letter must be for you. I received it this morning. It was addressed to ‘Mon. Justin Ganimard, care of Madame Réal.’ I thought it was a joke, because I did not know you under that name, but it appears that your unknown correspondent knew of our rendezvous.”
Ganimard was inclined to put the letter in his pocket unread, but he dared not do so in the presence of his superior, so he opened the envelope and read the letter aloud, in an almost inaudible tone:
“Once upon a time, there were a blonde Lady, a Lupin, and a Ganimard. Now, the wicked Ganimard had evil designs on the pretty blonde Lady, and the good Lupin was her friend and protector. When the good Lupin
