“That woman—where is she? And Lupin?”
“He was here … he is here.”
Ganimard uttered a cry of triumph.
“We have him. The house is surrounded.”
“But the servant’s stairway?” suggested Mon. Detinan.
“It leads to the court,” said Ganimard. “There is only one exit—the street-door. Ten men are guarding it.”
“But he didn’t come in by the street-door, and he will not go out that way.”
“What way, then?” asked Ganimard. “Through the air?”
He drew aside a curtain and exposed a long corridor leading to the kitchen. Ganimard ran along it and tried the door of the servants’ stairway. It was locked. From the window he called to one of his assistants:
“Seen anyone?”
“No.”
“Then they are still in the house!” he exclaimed. “They are hiding in one of the rooms! They cannot have escaped. Ah! Lupin, you fooled me before, but, this time, I get my revenge.”
At seven o’clock in the evening, Mon. Dudonis, chief of the detective service, astonished at not receiving any news, visited the rue Clapeyron. He questioned the detectives who were guarding the house, then ascended to Mon. Detinan’s apartment. The lawyer led him into his room. There, Mon. Dudonis beheld a man, or rather two legs kicking in the air, while the body to which they belonged was hidden in the depths of the chimney.
“Ohé! … Ohé!” gasped a stifled voice. And a more distant voice, from on high, replied:
“Ohé! … Ohé!”
Mon. Dudonis laughed, and exclaimed:
“Here! Ganimard, have you turned chimney-sweep?”
The detective crawled out of the chimney. With his blackened face, his sooty clothes, and his feverish eyes, he was quite unrecognizable.
“I am looking for him,” he growled.
“Who?”
“Arsène Lupin … and his friend.”
“Well, do you suppose they are hiding in the chimney?”
Ganimard arose, laid his sooty hand on the sleeve of his superior officer’s coat, and exclaimed, angrily:
“Where do you think they are, chief? They must be somewhere! They are flesh and blood like you and me, and can’t fade away like smoke.”
“No, but they have faded away just the same.”
“But how? How? The house is surrounded by our men—even on the roof.”
“What about the adjoining house?”
“There’s no communication with it.”
“And the apartments on the other floors?”
“I know all the tenants. They have not seen anyone.”
“Are you sure you know all of them?”
“Yes. The concierge answers for them. Besides, as an extra precaution, I have placed a man in each apartment. They can’t escape. If I don’t get them tonight, I will get them tomorrow. I shall sleep here.”
He slept there that night and the two following nights. Three days and nights passed away without the discovery of the irrepressible Lupin or his female companion; more than that, Ganimard did not unearth the slightest clue on which to base a theory to explain their escape. For that reason, he adhered to his first opinion.
“There is no trace of their escape; therefore, they are here.”
It may be that, at the bottom of his heart, his conviction was less firmly established, but he would not confess it. No, a thousand times, no! A man and a woman could not vanish like the evil spirits in a fairy tale. And, without losing his courage, he continued his searches, as if he expected to find the fugitives concealed in some impenetrable retreat, or embodied in the stone walls of the house.
II
The Blue Diamonds
On the evening of March 27, at number 134 avenue Henri-Martin, in the house that he had inherited from his brother six months before, the old general Baron d’Hautrec, ambassador at Berlin under the second Empire, was asleep in a comfortable armchair, while his secretary was reading to him, and the Sister Auguste was warming his bed and preparing the night-lamp. At eleven o’clock, the Sister, who was obliged to return to the convent of her order at that hour, said to the secretary:
“Mademoiselle Antoinette, my work is finished; I am going.”
“Very well, Sister.”
“Do not forget that the cook is away, and that you are alone in the house with the servant.”
“Have no fear for the Baron. I sleep in the adjoining room and always leave the door open.”
The Sister left the house. A few moments later, Charles, the servant, came to receive his orders. The Baron was now awake, and spoke for himself.
“The usual orders, Charles: see that the electric bell rings in your room, and, at the first alarm, run for the doctor. Now, Mademoiselle Antoinette, how far did we get in our reading?”
“Is Monsieur not going to bed now?”
“No, no, I will go later. Besides, I don’t need anyone.”
Twenty minutes later, he was sleeping again, and Antoinette crept away on tiptoe. At that moment, Charles was closing the shutters on the lower floor. In the kitchen, he bolted the door leading to the garden, and, in the vestibule, he not only locked the door but hooked the chain as well. Then he ascended to his room on the third floor, went to bed, and was soon asleep.
Probably an hour had passed, when he leaped from his bed in alarm. The bell was ringing. It rang for some time, seven or eight seconds perhaps, without intermission.
“Well!” muttered Charles, recovering his wits, “another of the Baron’s whims.”
He dressed himself quickly, descended the stairs, stopped in front of the door, and rapped, according to his custom. He received no reply. He opened the door and entered.
“Ah! no light,” he murmured. “What is that for?”
Then, in a low voice, he called:
“Mademoiselle?”
No reply.
“Are you there, mademoiselle? What’s the matter? Is Monsieur le Baron ill?”
No reply. Nothing but a profound silence that soon became depressing. He took two steps forward; his foot struck a chair, and, having touched it, he noticed that it was overturned. Then, with his hand, he discovered other objects on the floor—a small table and a screen. Anxiously, he approached the wall, felt for the electric button, and turned on the light.
In the centre of the room, between the table and dressing-case, lay the body of his master, the Baron d’Hautrec.
“What! … It
