The Essential Maurice Leblanc Collection. Морис Леблан
smashed."
The rider was struggling with his horse. The Englishman drew his revolver and took aim. But Wilson seized his arm smartly:
"You're mad, Holmlock! Why ... look here ... you'll kill that gentleman!"
"Let go, Wilson ... do let go!"
A wrestle ensued, during which the horseman got his mount under control and galloped away.
"Now you can fire!" exclaimed Wilson, triumphantly, when the man was at some distance.
"But, you confounded fool, don't you understand that that was a confederate of Arsne Lupin's?"
Shears was trembling with rage. Wilson stammered, piteously:
"What do you mean? That gentleman...?"
"Was a confederate of Lupin's, like the workmen who flung that bag at our heads."
"It's not credible!"
"Credible or not, there was a means handy of obtaining a proof."
"By killing that gentleman?"
"By simply bringing down his horse. But for you, I should have got one of Lupin's pals. Do you see now what a fool you've been?"
The afternoon was passed in a very sullen fashion. Shears and Wilson did not exchange a word. At five o'clock, as they were pacing up and down the Rue Clapeyron, taking care, however, to keep away from the houses, three young workingmen came along the pavement singing, arm-in-arm, knocked up against them and tried to continue their road without separating. Shears, who was in a bad temper, pushed them back. There was a short scuffle. Shears put up his fists, struck one of the men in the chest and gave another a blow in the face, whereupon the men desisted and walked away with the third.
"Ah," cried Shears, "I feel all the better for that!... My nerves were a bit strained.... Good business!..."
But he saw Wilson leaning against the wall:
"Hullo, old chap," he said, "what's up? You look quite pale."
Old chap pointed to his arm, which was hanging lifeless by his side, and stammered:
"I don't know ... my arm's hurting me...."
"Your arm?... Badly?"
"Yes ... rather ... it's my right arm...."
He tried to lift it, but could not. Shears felt it, gently at first and then more roughly, "to see exactly," he said, "how much it hurts." It hurt exactly so much that Wilson, on being led to a neighbouring chemist's shop, experienced an immediate need to fall into a dead faint.
The chemist and his assistant did what they could. They discovered that the arm was broken and that it was a case for a surgeon, an operation and a hospital. Meanwhile, the patient was undressed and began to relieve his sufferings by roaring with pain.
"That's all right, that's all right," said Shears, who was holding Wilson's arm. "Just a little patience, old chap ... in five or six weeks, you won't know that you've been hurt.... But I'll make them pay for it, the scoundrels!... You understand.... I mean him especially ... for it's that wretched Lupin who's responsible for this.... Oh, I swear to you that if ever...."
He interrupted himself suddenly, dropped the arm, which gave Wilson such a shock of pain that the poor wretch fainted once more, and, striking his forehead, shouted:
"Wilson, I have an idea.... Could it possibly...?"
He stood motionless, with his eyes fixed before him, and muttered in short sentences:
"Yes, that's it.... It's all clear now ... the explanation staring us in the face.... Why, of course, I knew it only needed a little thought!... Ah, my dear Wilson, this will rejoice your heart!"
And, leaving old chap where he was, he rushed into the street and ran to No. 25.
One of the stones above the door, on the right, bore the inscription: "_Destange, architect_, 1875."
The same inscription appeared on No. 23. So far, this was quite natural. But what would he find down there, in the Avenue Henri-Martin?
He hailed a passing cab:
"Drive to 134, Avenue Henri-Martin. Go as fast as you can."
Standing up in the cab, he urged on the horse, promising the driver tip after tip:
"Faster!... Faster still!"
He was in an agony as he turned the corner of the Rue de la Pompe. Had he caught a glimpse of the truth?
On one of the stones of the house, he read the words: "_Destange, architect_, 1874." And he found the same inscription--"_Destange, architect_, 1874"--on each of the adjoining blocks of flats.
* * * * *
The reaction after this excitement was so great that he sank back into the cab for a few minutes, all trembling with delight. At last a tiny glimmer flickered in the darkness! Amid the thousand intersecting paths in the great, gloomy forest, he had found the first sign of a trail followed by the enemy!
He entered a telephone-office and asked to be put on to the Chteau de Crozon. The countess herself answered.
"Hullo!... Is that you, madame?"
"Is that Mr. Shears? How are things going?"
"Very well. But tell me, quickly.... Hullo! Are you there?..."
"Yes...."
"When was the Chteau de Crozon built?"
"It was burnt down thirty years ago and rebuilt."
"By whom? And in what year?"
"There's an inscription over the front door: _'Lucien Destange, architect_, 1877.'"
"Thank you, madame. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
He went away, muttering:
"Destange.... Lucien Destange.... I seem to know the name...."
He found a public library, consulted a modern biographical dictionary and copied out the reference to "Lucien Destange, born 1840, Grand-Prix de Rome, officer of the Legion of Honour, author of several valuable works on architecture," etc.
He next went to the chemist's and, from there, to the hospital to which Wilson had been moved. Old chap was lying on his bed of pain, with his arm in splints, shivering with fever and slightly delirious.
"Victory! Victory!" cried Shears. "I have one end of the clue."
"What clue?"
"The clue that will lead me to success. I am now treading firm soil, where I shall find marks and indications...."
"Cigarette-ashes?" asked Wilson, whom the interest of the situation was reviving.
"And plenty of other things! Just think, Wilson, I have discovered the mysterious link that connects the three adventures of the blonde lady. Why were the three houses in which the three adventures took place selected by Arsne Lupin?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because those three houses, Wilson, were built by the same architect. It was easy to guess that, you say? Certainly it was.... And that's why nobody thought of it."
"Nobody except yourself."
"Just so! And I now understand how the same architect, by contriving similar plans, enabled three actions to be performed which appeared to be miraculous, though they were really quite easy and simple."
"What