The Arsene Lupin MEGAPACK ®. Морис Леблан
in a tone of despair.
“Well, I’m worse off than you are; and I’m not making a fuss. If the police come they’ll arrest me,” said Victoire.
“Perhaps they’ve arrested him,” said Bernard, in his shaky voice.
“Don’t talk like that,” said Victoire fretfully. “Isn’t it bad enough to wait and wait, without your croaking like a scared crow?”
She started again her pacing up and down the room, twisting her hands, and now and again moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
Presently she said: “Are those two plain-clothes men still there watching?” And in her anxiety she came a step nearer the window.
“Keep away from the window!” snapped Charolais. “Do you want to be recognized, you great idiot?” Then he added, more quietly, “They’re still there all right, curse them, in front of the cafe.… Hullo!”
“What is it, now?” cried Victoire, starting.
“A copper and a detective running,” said Charolais. “They are running for all they’re worth.”
“Are they coming this way?” said Victoire; and she ran to the door and caught hold of the handle.
“No,” said Charolais.
“Thank goodness!” said Victoire.
“They’re running to the two men watching the house…they’re telling them something. Oh, hang it, they’re all running down the street.”
“This way?… Are they coming this way?” cried Victoire faintly; and she pressed her hand to her side.
“They are!” cried Charolais. “They are!” And he dropped the curtain with an oath.
“And he isn’t here! Suppose they come.… Suppose he comes to the front door! They’ll catch him!” cried Victoire.
There came a startling peal at the front-door bell. They stood frozen to stone, their eyes fixed on one another, staring.
The bell had hardly stopped ringing, when there was a slow, whirring noise. The doors of the lift flew open, and the Duke stepped out of it. But what a changed figure from the admirably dressed dandy who had walked through the startled detectives and out of the house of M. Gournay-Martin at midnight! He was pale, exhausted, almost fainting. His eyes were dim in a livid face; his lips were grey. He was panting heavily. He was splashed with mud from head to foot: one sleeve of his coat was torn along half its length. The sole of his left-hand pump was half off; and his cut foot showed white and red through the torn sock.
“The master! The master!” cried Charolais in a tone of extravagant relief; and he danced round the room snapping his fingers.
“You’re wounded?” cried Victoire.
“No,” said Arsène Lupin.
The front-door bell rang out again, startling, threatening, terrifying.
The note of danger seemed to brace Lupin, to spur him to a last effort.
He pulled himself together, and said in a hoarse but steady voice: “Your waistcoat, Charolais.… Go and open the door…not too quickly…fumble the bolts.… Bernard, shut the book-case. Victoire, get out of sight, do you want to ruin us all? Be smart now, all of you. Be smart!”
He staggered past them into his bedroom, and slammed the door. Victoire and Charolais hurried out of the room, through the anteroom, on to the landing. Victoire ran upstairs, Charolais went slowly down. Bernard pressed the button. The doors of the lift shut and there was a slow whirring as it went down. He pressed another button, and the book-case slid slowly across and hid the opening into the lift-well. Bernard ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Charolais went to the front door and fumbled with the bolts. He bawled through the door to the visitors not to be in such a hurry at that hour in the morning; and they bawled furiously at him to be quick, and knocked and rang again and again. He was fully three minutes fumbling with the bolts, which were already drawn. At last he opened the door an inch or two, and looked out.
On the instant the door was dashed open, flinging him back against the wall; and Bonavent and Dieusy rushed past him, up the stairs, as hard as they could pelt. A brown-faced, nervous, active policeman followed them in and stopped to guard the door.
On the landing the detectives paused, and looked at one another, hesitating.
“Which way did he go?” said Bonavent. “We were on his very heels.”
“I don’t know; but we’ve jolly well stopped his getting into his own house; and that’s the main thing,” said Dieusy triumphantly.
“But are you sure it was him?” said Bonavent, stepping into the anteroom.
“I can swear to it,” said Dieusy confidently; and he followed him.
Charolais came rushing up the stairs and caught them up as they were entering the smoking-room:
“Here! What’s all this?” he cried. “You mustn’t come in here! His Grace isn’t awake yet.”
“Awake? Awake? Your precious Duke has been galloping all night,” cried Dieusy. “And he runs devilish well, too.”
The door of the bedroom opened; and Lupin stood on the threshold in slippers and pyjamas.
“What’s all this?” he snapped, with the irritation of a man whose sleep has been disturbed; and his tousled hair and eyes dim with exhaustion gave him every appearance of being still heavy with sleep.
The eyes and mouths of Bonavent and Dieusy opened wide; and they stared at him blankly, in utter bewilderment and wonder.
“Is it you who are making all this noise?” said Lupin, frowning at them. “Why, I know you two; you’re in the service of M. Guerchard.”
“Yes, your Grace,” stammered Bonavent.
“Well, what are you doing here? What is it you want?” said Lupin.
“Oh, nothing, your Grace…nothing…there’s been a mistake,” stammered Bonavent.
“A mistake?” said Lupin haughtily. “I should think there had been a mistake. But I take it that this is Guerchard’s doing. I’d better deal with him directly. You two can go.” He turned to Charolais and added curtly, “Show them out.”
Charolais opened the door, and the two detectives went out of the room with the slinking air of whipped dogs. They went down the stairs in silence, slowly, reflectively; and Charolais let them out of the front door.
As they went down the steps Dieusy said: “What a howler! Guerchard risks getting the sack for this!”
“I told you so,” said Bonavent. “A duke’s a duke.”
When the door closed behind the two detectives Lupin tottered across the room, dropped on to the couch with a groan of exhaustion, and closed his eyes. Presently the door opened, Victoire came in, saw his attitude of exhaustion, and with a startled cry ran to his side.
“Oh, dearie! dearie!” she cried. “Pull yourself together! Oh, do try to pull yourself together.” She caught his cold hands and began to rub them, murmuring words of endearment like a mother over a young child. Lupin did not open his eyes; Charolais came in.
“Some breakfast!” she cried. “Bring his breakfast…he’s faint…he’s had nothing to eat this morning. Can you eat some breakfast, dearie?”
“Yes,” said Lupin faintly.
“Hurry up with it,” said Victoire in urgent, imperative tones; and Charolais left the room at a run.
“Oh, what a life you lead!” said Victoire, or, to be exact, she wailed it. “Are you never going to change? You’re as white as a sheet.… Can’t you speak, dearie?”
She