Maurice Leblanc

“ Nothing is lost. On the contrary! Dolores was the stumbling-block, since Pierre Leduc loved her. Dolores is dead. Therefore Pierre Leduc belongs to me. And he shall marry Geneviève, as I have arranged! And he shall reign! And I shall be the master! And Europe, Europe is mine!"
He worked himself up, reassured, full of sudden confidence, and made feverish gestures as he walked along the road, whirling an imaginary sword, the sword of the leader whose will is law, who commands and triumphs:
"Lupin, you shall be king! You shall be king, Arsène Lupin!" ”

“ There was at that moment only one person in the world who refused to believe in Prince Sernine's double personality; and that was M. Formerie! . . .
Lupin turned to the deputy-chief, who stood listening open-mouthed:
"My dear Weber, I fear your promotion is not so certain as I thought. For, you see, if M. Lenormand is not myself, then he exists . . . and, if he exists, I have no doubt that M. Formerie, with all his acumen, will end by discovering him . . . in which case . . ."
"We shall discover him all right, M. Lupin," cried the examining-magistrate. ”

“ True, the capture of Arsène Lupin made a big sensation; and the public did not grudge the police the praise which they deserved for this revenge so long hoped-for and now so fully obtained. The great adventurer was caught. That extraordinary, genial, invisible hero was shivering, like any ordinary criminal, between the four walls of a prison cell, crushed in his turn by that formidable power which is called the law and which, sooner or later, by inevitable necessity shatters the obstacles opposed to it and destroys the work of its adversaries. ”

“ And, taking a card from his pocket, he said: "Allow me. . . . Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar."
The name of the famous adventurer seemed to make the best of impressions upon Mr. Kesselbach. Lupin did not fail to observe the fact and exclaimed:
"Aha, my dear sir, you breathe again! Arsène Lupin is a delicate, squeamish burglar. He loathes bloodshed, he has never committed a more serious crime than that of annexing other people's property . . . a mere peccadillo, eh? And what you're saying to yourself is that he is not going to burden his conscience with a useless murder. ”

“ What are you saying? . . . Oh, no, no! . . . I entreat you! . . . Wake me, if I am asleep . . . or else let me die! . . . But I am dead, am I not? And this is the nightmare of a corpse! . . . Oh, I feel my brain going! . . . I entreat you. . . ."
Sernine placed his hand gently on the young man's head and, bending over him:
"Listen to me . . . listen to me carefully and understand what I say. You are alive. Your matter and your mind are as they were and live. But Gérard Baupré is dead. You understand me, do you not? That member of society who was known as Gérard Baupré has ceased to exist. ”

“ And a master that shall be I, Lupin! Do you understand, you numskull? Lift up your head, dash it! Higher than that! Look up at the sky, remember that a Zweibrucken was hanged for cattle-lifting before the Hohenzollerns were ever heard of. And you are a Zweibrucken, by Jove, no less; and I am here, I, I, Lupin! And you shall be grand-duke, I tell you! A paste-board grand-duke? Very well! But a grand-duke all the same, quickened with my breath and glowing with my ardor. A puppet? Very well. But a puppet that shall speak my words and make my movements and perform my wishes and realize my dreams . ”

“ He rose and faced the policemen, who fell back with instinctive dread.
"If you stir, Lupin," cried M. Weber, with his revolver leveled at him, "I'll blow out your brains."'
"Don't shoot." said Sernine, solemnly. "It's not necessary. I surrender."
"Humbug! This is another of your tricks!"
"No," replied Sernine, "the battle is lost. You have no right to shoot. I am not defending myself."
He took out two revolvers and threw them on the floor.
"Humbug!" M. Weber repeated, implacably. "Aim straight at his heart, lads! At the least movement, fire! At the least word, fire!" ”

“ Altenheim was beginning to move. Sernine asked:
"Well, baron, feeling better? You didn't know that blow, eh? It's what I call the direct blow in the solar plexus; that is to say, it snuffs out your vital sun like a candle. It's clean, quick, painless . . . and infallible. Whereas a blow with a dagger . . . ? Pooh! A man has only to wear a little steel-wove gorget, as I do, and he can set the whole world at defiance, especially your little pal in black, seeing that he always strikes at the throat, the silly monster! ”

“ Altenheim to do away with Sernine; and Sernine to hurl Altenheim into the pit which he was digging for him.
Each knew that the catastrophe could not be long delayed. One or other of them must meet with his doom; and it was a question of hours, or, at most, of days.
It was an exciting tragedy, and one of which a man like Sernine was bound to relish the strange and powerful zest. To know your adversary and to live by his side; to feel that death is waiting for you at the least false step, at the least act of thoughtlessness: what a joy, what a delight! ”

“ Altenheim had his hand in the pocket of his jacket; and Sernine saw that hand, through the cloth, clutch the handle of a dagger, hesitating, wavering, resolute and weak by turns.
O exquisite moment! Was he going to strike? Which would gain the day: the timid instinct that dare not, or the conscious will, intense upon the act of killing?
His chest flung out, his arms behind his back, Sernine waited, with alternate thrills of pleasure and of pain. The baron had ceased talking; and they now walked on in silence, side by side.
"Well, why don't you strike?" cried the prince, impatiently. ”

“ His head fell on his chest.
"But he's asleep; I really believe that he's asleep!"
Waldemar, beside himself with rage, shook him violently by the shoulder. Lupin fell from his chair, sank to the floor, gave two or three convulsive movements and then lay quite still.
"What's the matter with him?" exclaimed the Emperor. "He's not dead, I hope!"
He took a lamp and bent over him:
"How pale he is! A face like wax! . . . Look, Waldemar. . . . Feel his heart. . . . He's alive, is he not?"
"Yes, Sire," said the count, after a moment, "the heart is beating quite regularly." ”

“ The stranger strode to and fro with the air of a master accustomed to command and to be obeyed. Lupin stood motionless. He had abandoned his usual provocative attitude and his sarcastic smile. He waited, gravely and deferentially. But, down in the depths of his being, he revelled, eagerly, madly, in the marvellous situation in which he found himself placed: here, in his cell, he, a prisoner; he, the adventurer; he, the swindler, the burglar; he, Arsène Lupin . . . face to face with that demi-god of the modern world, that formidable entity, the heir of Cæsar and of Charlemagne. ”

“ He jumped into the car:
"Paris!"
The journey was a real race for life or death. Lupin, thinking that Octave was not driving fast enough, took the steering-wheel himself and drove at a furious, break-neck speed. On the road, through the villages, along the crowded streets of the towns they rushed at sixty miles an hour. People whom they nearly upset roared and yelled with rage: the meteor was far away, was out of sight.
"G—governor," stammered Octave, livid with dismay, "we shall be stuck!"
"You, perhaps, the motor, perhaps; but I shall arrive!" said Lupin. ”

“ I do not know Pierre Leduc, I do not know Geneviève, I do not know Dolores. . . . And I have treated them as so many jumping-jacks, whereas they are live persons. And to-day I am stumbling over obstacles."
He stamped his foot and cried:
"Over obstacles that do not exist! What do I care for the psychological state of Geneviève, of Pierre? . . . I will study that later, at Veldenz, when I have secured their happiness. But Dolores . . . she knew Malreich and said nothing! . . . Why? What relation united them? Was she afraid of him? ”

“ The eyes of the gods are upon you! Lift up your head! Pull in your stomach, hang it! Throw out your chest! . . . Everything is breaking up around you. What do you care? . . . It's the final disaster, I've played my last card, a kingdom in the gutter, I've lost Europe, the whole world ends in smoke. . . . Well . . . and what of it? Laugh, laugh! Be Lupin, or you're in the soup. . . . Come, laugh! Louder than that, louder, louder! That's right! . . . Lord, how funny it all is! Dolores, old girl, a cigarette! ”

“ Altenheim gave Sernine a chair, sat down himself and said, in a conciliatory tone:
"Well, no, I cannot allow that. It is impossible that two men like ourselves should fight and injure each other. We have only to come to an explanation, to seek the means: you and I were made to understand each other."
"I think, on the contrary, that two men like ourselves are not made to understand each other."
The baron suppressed a movement of impatience and continued:
"Listen to me, Lupin. . . . By the way, do you mind my calling you Lupin?"
"What shall I call you? Altenheim, Ribeira, or Parbury?" ”

“ He cast the bright light of the lantern through the aperture and saw a big shed, a coach-house larger than that of the villa and filled with old iron-work and objects of every kind.
"That's it," said Lupin to himself. "This window has been contrived in the Broker's lumber-room, right up at the top, and from here Louis de Malreich sees, hears and watches his accomplices, without being seen or heard by them. I now understand how it is that they do not know their leader." ”

“ Listen, Kesselbach, I have a proposal to make to you. Rich man, big man though you may be, there is not so much difference between us. The son of the Augsburg ironmonger and Arsène Lupin, prince of burglars, can come to an understanding without shame on either side. I do my thieving indoors; you do yours on the Stock Exchange. It's all much of a muchness. So here we are, Kesselbach. Let's be partners in this business. I have need of you, because I don't know what it's about. You have need of me, because you will never be able to manage it alone. Barbareux is an ass. I am Lupin. ”

“ Jean Doudeville, who was there, while his brother was watching the secret outlet, Jean Doudeville, Sernine's own accomplice, looked at him in dismay. M. Weber stood undecided.
"That takes your breath away, eh?" said Sernine. "I admit that it's rather droll. . . . Lord, how you used to make me laugh sometimes, when we were working together, you and I, the chief and the deputy-chief! . . . And the funniest thing is that you thought our worthy M. Lenormand dead . . . as well as poor Gourel. But no, no, old chap: there's life in the old dog yet!" He pointed to Altenheim's corpse. ”

“ One never knows, with him. He does not speak at all. Oh, he's a queer fish! There's only one person who has the gift of cheering him up, of making him talk and even laugh. That's a young girl from Garches, to whom Prince Sernine introduced him. Geneviève Ernemont her name is. She has been here three times already . . . she was here to-day." He added, jestingly, "I believe there's a little flirting going on. . . . It's like his highness Prince Sernine and Mrs. Kesselbach. . . . It seems he's making eyes at her! . . . That devil of a Lupin!"
M. Lenormand did not reply. ”

“ We have ten minutes left. Ah, a letter from Mrs. Kesselbach! Why didn't you tell me of it, Chapman? Didn't you recognize the handwriting?"
He made no attempt to conceal the emotion which he felt in touching and contemplating that paper which his wife had held in her fingers and to which she had added a look of her eyes, an atom of her scent, a suggestion of her secret thoughts. He inhaled its perfume and, unsealing it, read the letter slowly in an undertone, in fragments that reached Chapman's ears:
"Feeling a little tired. ”

“ As soon as the two brothers were in the room, he questioned them with his usual precision:
"I know what the newspapers have said about the disappearance of Lenormand and Gourel. Do you know any more?"
"No. The deputy-chief, M. Weber, has taken the case in hand. We have been searching the garden of the House of Retreat for the past week; and nobody is able to explain how they can have disappeared. The whole force is in a flutter. . . . No one has ever seen the like . . . a chief of the detective-service disappearing, without leaving a trace behind him!" ”

“ And Lupin, in the great silence, said:
"But strike! Why don't you strike?"
A yell of rage. . . . The arm fell as though moved by a spring.
Then came a moan.
Lupin had caught the arm in mid-air at the level of the wrist. . . . And, leaping out of bed, tremendous, irresistible, he clutched the man by the throat and threw him.
That was all. There was no struggle. There was no possibility even of a struggle. The man lay on the floor, nailed, pinned by two steel rivets, which were Lupin's hands. And there was not a man in the world strong enough to release himself from that grip. ”

“ However, we can't all be Byrons or Lamartines!"
"You! . . . You! . . ." stammered the young man, in dismay.
"Yes, I, poet, I myself, Arsène Lupin come to see his dear friend Pierre Leduc."
Pierre Leduc began to shake, as though shivering with fever. He asked, in a low voice:
"Has the hour come?"
"Yes, my dear Pierre Leduc: the hour has come for you to give up, or rather to interrupt the slack poet's life which you have been leading for months at the feet of Geneviève Ernemont and Mrs. Kesselbach and to perform the part which I have allotted to you in my play . . . ”