The Essential Maurice Leblanc Collection. Морис Леблан
empty windows of the uninhabited house.
"That's true," he thought. "There has been no tenant since the baron's death.... Ah, if I could just get in and make a preliminary visit!"
The idea no sooner passed through his mind than he wanted to put it into execution. But how to manage? The height of the gate made it impossible for him to climb it. He took an electric lantern from his pocket, as well as a skeleton key which he always carried. To his great surprise, he found that one of the doors of the gate was standing ajar. He, therefore, slipped into the garden, taking care not to close the gate behind him. He had not gone three steps, when he stopped. A glimmer of light had passed along one of the windows on the second floor.
And the glimmer passed along a second window and a third, while he was able to see nothing but a shadow outlined against the walls of the rooms. And the glimmer descended from the second floor to the first and, for a long time, wandered from room to room.
"Who on earth can be walking about, at one in the morning, in the house where Baron d'Hautrec was murdered?" thought Shears, feeling immensely interested.
There was only one way of finding out, which was to enter the house himself. He did not hesitate. But the man must have seen him as he crossed the belt of light cast by the gas-jet and made his way to the steps, for the glimmer suddenly went out and Shears did not see it again.
He softly tried the door at the top of the steps. It was open also. Hearing no sound, he ventured to penetrate the darkness, felt for the knob of the baluster, found it and went up one floor. The same silence, the same darkness continued to reign.
On reaching the landing, he entered one of the rooms and went to the window, which showed white in the dim light of the night outside. Through the window, he caught sight of the man, who had doubtless gone down by another staircase and out by another door and was now slipping along the shrubs, on the left, that lined the wall separating the two gardens:
"Dash it!" exclaimed Shears. "He'll escape me!"
He rushed downstairs and leapt into the garden, with a view to cutting off the man's retreat. At first, he saw no one; and it was some seconds before he distinguished, among the confused heap of shrubs, a darker form which was not quite stationary.
The Englishman paused to reflect. Why had the fellow not tried to run away when he could easily have done so? Was he staying there to spy, in his turn, upon the intruder who had disturbed him in his mysterious errand?
"In any case," thought Shears, "it is not Lupin. Lupin would be cleverer. It must be one of his gang."
Long minutes passed. Shears stood motionless, with his eyes fixed upon the adversary who was watching him. But, as the adversary was motionless too and as the Englishman was not the man to hang about doing nothing, he felt to see if the cylinder of his revolver worked, loosened his dagger in its sheath and walked straight up to the enemy, with the cool daring and the contempt of danger which make him so formidable.
A sharp sound: the man was cocking his revolver. Shears rushed into the shrubbery. The other had no time to turn: the Englishman was upon him. There was a violent and desperate struggle, amid which Shears was aware that the man was making every effort to draw his knife. But Shears, stimulated by the thought of his coming victory and by the fierce longing to lay hold at once of this accomplice of Arsne Lupin's, felt an irresistible strength welling up within himself. He threw his adversary, bore upon him with all his weight and, holding him down with his five fingers clutching at his throat like so many claws, he felt for his electric lantern with the hand that was free, pressed the button and threw the light upon his prisoner's face:
"Wilson!" he shouted, in terror.
"Holmlock Shears!" gasped a hollow, stifled voice.
* * * * *
They remained long staring at each other, without exchanging a word, dumbfounded, stupefied. The air was torn by the horn of a motor-car. A breath of wind rustled through the leaves. And Shears did not stir, his fingers still fixed in Wilson's throat, which continued to emit an ever fainter rattle.
And, suddenly, Shears, overcome with rage, let go his friend, but only to seize him by the shoulders and shake him frantically:
"What are you doing here? Answer me!... What are you here for?... Who told you to hide in the shrubbery and watch me?"
"Watch you?" groaned Wilson. "But I didn't know it was you."
"Then what? Why are you here? I told you to go to bed."
"I did go to bed."
"I told you to go to sleep."
"I did."
"You had no business to wake up."
"Your letter...."
"What letter?"
"The letter from you which a commissionaire brought me at the hotel."
"A letter from me? You're mad!"
"I assure you."
"Where is the letter?"
Wilson produced a sheet of note-paper and, by the light of his lantern, Shears read, in amazement:
"Get up at once, Wilson, and go to the Avenue Henri-Martin as fast as you can. The house is empty. Go in, inspect it, make out an exact plan and go back to bed.
"HOLMLOCK SHEARS."
"I was busy measuring the rooms," said Wilson, "when I saw a shadow in the garden. I had only one idea...."
"To catch the shadow.... The idea was excellent.... Only, look here, Wilson," said Shears, helping his friend up and leading him away, "next time you get a letter from me, make sure first that it's not a forgery."
"Then the letter was not from you?" asked Wilson, who began to have a glimmering of the truth.
"No, worse luck!"
"Who wrote it, then?"
"Arsne Lupin."
"But with what object?"
"I don't know, and that's just what bothers me. Why the deuce should he take the trouble to disturb your night's rest? If it were myself, I could understand, but you.... I can't see what interest...."
"I am anxious to get back to the hotel."
"So am I, Wilson."
They reached the gate. Wilson, who was in front, took hold of one of the bars and pulled it:
"Hullo!" he said. "Did you shut it?"
"Certainly not: I left the gate ajar."
"But ..."
Shears pulled in his turn and then frantically flung himself upon the lock. An oath escaped him:
"Damn it all! It's locked!... The gate's locked!"
He shook the gate with all his might, but, soon realizing the hopelessness of his exertions, let his arms fall to his sides in discouragement and jerked out:
"I understand the whole thing now: it's his doing! He foresaw that I should get out at Creil and he laid a pretty little trap for me, in case I should come to start my inquiry to-night. In addition, he had the kindness to send you to keep me company in my captivity. All this to make me lose a day and also, no doubt, to show me that I would do much better to mind my own business...."
"That is to say that we are his prisoners."
"You speak like a book. Holmlock Shears and Wilson are the prisoners of Arsne Lupin. The adventure is beginning splendidly.... But no, no, I refuse to believe...."
A