“Accept my best wishes, dear friend, and give my kind regards to the worthy Mon. Dudouis.
“Arsène Lupin.”
“He knows everything,” muttered Ganimard, but he did not see the humor of the situation as Lupin had predicted. “He knows some things I have never mentioned to anyone. How could he find out that I was going to invite you here, chief? How could he know that I had found the first perfume bottle? How could he find out those things?”
He stamped his feet and tore his hair—a prey to the most tragic despair. Mon. Dudouis felt sorry for him, and said:
“Come, Ganimard, never mind; try to do better next time.”
And Mon. Dudouis left the room, accompanied by Madame Réal.
During the next ten minutes, Ganimard read and reread the letter of Arsène Lupin. Monsieur and Madame de Crozon, Monsieur d’Hautrec and Monsieur Gerbois were holding an animated discussion in a corner of the room. At last, the count approached the detective, and said:
“My dear monsieur, after your investigation, we are no nearer the truth than we were before.”
“Pardon me, but my investigation has established these facts: that the blonde Lady is the mysterious heroine of these exploits, and that Arsène Lupin directed them.”
“Those facts do not solve the mystery; in fact, they render it more obscure. The blonde Lady commits a murder in order to steal the blue diamond, and yet she does not steal it. Afterward she steals it and gets rid of it by secretly giving it to another person. How do you explain her strange conduct?”
“I cannot explain it.”
“Of course; but, perhaps, someone else can.”
“Who?”
The Count hesitated, so the Countess replied, frankly:
“There is only one man besides yourself who is competent to enter the arena with Arsène Lupin and overcome him. Have you any objection to our engaging the services of Herlock Sholmes in this case?”
Ganimard was vexed at the question, but stammered a reply:
“No … but … I do not understand what—”
“Let me explain. All this mystery annoys me. I wish to have it cleared up. Monsieur Gerbois and Monsieur d’Hautrec have the same desire, and we have agreed to send for the celebrated English detective.”
“You are right, madame,” replied the detective, with a loyalty that did him credit, “you are right. Old Ganimard is not able to overcome Arsène Lupin. But will Herlock Sholmes succeed? I hope so, as I have the greatest admiration for him. But … it is improbable.”
“Do you mean to say that he will not succeed?”
“That is my opinion. I can foresee the result of a duel between Herlock Sholmes and Arsène Lupin. The Englishman will be defeated.”
“But, in any event, can we count on your assistance?”
“Quite so, madame. I shall be pleased to render Monsieur Sholmes all possible assistance.”
“Do you know his address?”
“Yes; 219 Parker street.”
That evening Monsieur and Madame de Crozon withdrew the charge they had made against Herr Bleichen, and a joint letter was addressed to Herlock Sholmes.
III
Herlock Sholmes Opens Hostilities
“What does monsieur wish?”
“Anything,” replied Arsène Lupin, like a man who never worries over the details of a meal; “anything you like, but no meat or alcohol.”
The waiter walked away, disdainfully.
“What! still a vegetarian?” I exclaimed.
“More so than ever,” replied Lupin.
“Through taste, faith, or habit?”
“Hygiene.”
“And do you never fall from grace?”
“Oh! yes … when I am dining out … and wish to avoid being considered eccentric.”
We were dining near the Northern Railway station, in a little restaurant to which Arsène Lupin had invited me. Frequently he would send me a telegram asking me to meet him in some obscure restaurant, where we could enjoy a quiet dinner, well served, and which was always made interesting to me by his recital of some startling adventure theretofore unknown to me.
On that particular evening he appeared to be in a more lively mood than usual. He laughed and joked with careless animation, and with that delicate sarcasm that was habitual with him—a light and spontaneous sarcasm that was quite free from any tinge of malice. It was a pleasure to find him in that jovial mood, and I could not resist the desire to tell him so.
“Ah! yes,” he exclaimed, “there are days in which I find life as bright and gay as a spring morning; then life seems to be an infinite treasure which I can never exhaust. And yet God knows I lead a careless existence!”
“Too much so, perhaps.”
“Ah! but I tell you, the treasure is infinite. I can spend it with a lavish hand. I can cast my youth and strength to the four winds of Heaven, and it is replaced by a still younger and greater force. Besides, my life is so pleasant! … If I wished to do so, I might become—what shall I say? … An orator, a manufacturer, a politician. … But, I assure you, I shall never have such a desire. Arsène Lupin, I am; Arsène Lupin, I shall remain. I have made a vain search
