“I expect so.”
“But … you have seen him?”
“I? No, not yet. He made the appointment by letter, saying both of you would be here, and asking me to dismiss my servants before three o’clock and admit no one while you were here. If I would not consent to that arrangement, I was to notify him by a few words in the Echo de France. But I am only too happy to oblige Mon. Lupin, and so I consented.”
“Ah! how will this end?” moaned Mon. Gerbois.
He took the banknotes from his pocket, placed them on the table and divided them into two equal parts. Then the two men sat there in silence. From time to time, Mon. Gerbois would listen. Did someone ring? … His nervousness increased every minute, and Monsieur Detinan also displayed considerable anxiety. At last, the lawyer lost his patience. He rose abruptly, and said:
“He will not come. … We shouldn’t expect it. It would be folly on his part. He would run too great a risk.”
And Mon. Gerbois, despondent, his hands resting on the banknotes, stammered:
“Oh! Mon Dieu! I hope he will come. I would give the whole of that money to see my daughter again.”
The door opened.
“Half of it will be sufficient, Monsieur Gerbois.”
These words were spoken by a well-dressed young man who now entered the room and was immediately recognized by Mon. Gerbois as the person who had wished to buy the desk from him at Versailles. He rushed toward him.
“Where is my daughter—my Suzanne?”
Arsène Lupin carefully closed the door, and, while slowly removing his gloves, said to the lawyer:
“My dear maître, I am indebted to you very much for your kindness in consenting to defend my interests. I shall not forget it.”
Mon. Detinan murmured:
“But you did not ring. I did not hear the door—”
“Doors and bells are things that should work without being heard. I am here, and that is the important point.”
“My daughter! Suzanne! Where is she!” repeated the professor.
“Mon Dieu, monsieur,” said Lupin, “what’s your hurry? Your daughter will be here in a moment.”
Lupin walked to and fro for a minute, then, with the pompous air of an orator, he said:
“Monsieur Gerbois, I congratulate you on the clever way in which you made the journey to this place.”
Then, perceiving the two piles of banknotes, he exclaimed:
“Ah! I see! the million is here. We will not lose any time. Permit me.”
“One moment,” said the lawyer, placing himself before the table. “Mlle. Gerbois has not yet arrived.”
“Well?”
“Is not her presence indispensable?”
“I understand! I understand! Arsène Lupin inspires only a limited confidence. He might pocket the half-million and not restore the hostage. Ah! monsieur, people do not understand me. Because I have been obliged, by force of circumstances, to commit certain actions a little … out of the ordinary, my good faith is impugned … I, who have always observed the utmost scrupulosity and delicacy in business affairs. Besides, my dear monsieur if you have any fear, open the window and call. There are at least a dozen detectives in the street.”
“Do you think so?”
Arsène Lupin raised the curtain.
“I think that Monsieur Gerbois could not throw Ganimard off the scent. … What did I tell you? There he is now.”
“Is it possible!” exclaimed the professor. “But I swear to you—”
“That you have not betrayed me? … I do not doubt you, but those fellows are clever—sometimes. Ah! I can see Folenfant, and Greaume, and Dieuzy—all good friends of mine!”
Mon. Detinan looked at Lupin in amazement. What assurance! He laughed as merrily as if engaged in some childish sport, as if no danger threatened him. This unconcern reassured the lawyer more than the presence of the detectives. He left the table on which the banknotes were lying. Arsène Lupin picked up one pile of bills after the other, took from each of them twenty-five banknotes which he offered to Mon. Detinan, saying:
“The reward of your services to Monsieur Gerbois and Arsène Lupin. You well deserve it.”
“You owe me nothing,” replied the lawyer.
“What! After all the trouble we have caused you!”
“And all the pleasure you have given me!”
“That means, my dear monsieur, that you do not wish to accept anything from Arsène Lupin. See what it is to have a bad reputation.”
He then offered the fifty thousand francs to Mon. Gerbois, saying:
“Monsieur, in memory of our pleasant interview, permit me to return you this as a wedding-gift to Mlle. Gerbois.”
Mon. Gerbois took the money, but said:
“My daughter will not marry.”
“She will not marry if you refuse your consent; but she wishes to marry.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know that young girls often dream of such things unknown to their parents. Fortunately, there are sometimes good genii like Arsène Lupin who discover their little secrets in the drawers of their writing desks.”
“Did you find anything else?” asked the lawyer. “I confess I am curious to know why you took so much trouble to get possession of that desk.”
“On account of its historic interest, my friend. Although despite the opinion of Monsieur Gerbois, the desk contained no treasure except the lottery ticket—and that was unknown to me—I had been seeking it for a long time. That writing-desk of yew and mahogany was discovered in the little house in which Marie Walêwska once lived in Boulogne, and, on one of the drawers there is this inscription: ‘Dedicated to Napoleon I, Emperor of the French, by his very faithful servant, Mancion.’ And above it, these words, engraved with the point of a knife: ‘To you, Marie.’ Afterwards, Napoleon had a similar desk made for the Empress Josephine; so that the secretary that was so much admired at the Malmaison was only an imperfect copy of the one that will henceforth form part of my collection.”
“Ah! if I had known, when in the shop, I would gladly have given it up to you,” said the professor.
Arsène Lupin smiled, as he replied:
“And you would have had the advantage of keeping for your own use lottery ticket number 514.”
“And you would not have found it necessary to abduct my daughter.”
“Abduct your
