The Arsene Lupin MEGAPACK ®. Морис Леблан
unknown to me.
On that particular evening he appeared to be in a more lively mood than usual. He laughed and joked with careless animation, and with that delicate sarcasm that was habitual with him—a light and spontaneous sarcasm that was quite free from any tinge of malice. It was a pleasure to find him in that jovial mood, and I could not resist the desire to tell him so.
“Ah! yes,” he exclaimed, “there are days in which I find life as bright and gay as a spring morning; then life seems to be an infinite treasure which I can never exhaust. And yet God knows I lead a careless existence!”
“Too much so, perhaps.”
“Ah! but I tell you, the treasure is infinite. I can spend it with a lavish hand. I can cast my youth and strength to the four winds of Heaven, and it is replaced by a still younger and greater force. Besides, my life is so pleasant!… If I wished to do so, I might become—what shall I say?… An orator, a manufacturer, a politician.… But, I assure you, I shall never have such a desire. Arsène Lupin, I am; Arsène Lupin, I shall remain. I have made a vain search in history to find a career comparable to mine; a life better filled or more intense.… Napoleon? Yes, perhaps.… But Napoleon, toward the close of his career, when all Europe was trying to crush him, asked himself on the eve of each battle if it would not be his last.”
Was he serious? Or was he joking? He became more animated as he proceeded:
“That is everything, do you understand, the danger! The continuous feeling of danger! To breathe it as you breathe the air, to scent it in every breath of wind, to detect it in every unusual sound.… And, in the midst of the tempest, to remain calm…and not to stumble! Otherwise, you are lost. There is only one sensation equal to it: that of the chauffeur in an automobile race. But that race lasts only a few hours; my race continues until death!”
“What fantasy!” I exclaimed. “And you wish me to believe that you have no particular motive for your adoption of that exciting life?”
“Come,” he said, with a smile, “you are a clever psychologist. Work it out for yourself.”
He poured himself a glass of water, drank it, and said:
“Did you read ‘Le Temps’ today?”
“No.”
“Sherlock Holmes crossed the Channel this afternoon, and arrived in Paris about six o’clock.”
“The deuce! What is he coming for?”
“A little journey he has undertaken at the request of the Count and Countess of Crozon, Monsieur Gerbois, and the nephew of Baron d’Hautrec. They met him at the Northern Railway station, took him to meet Ganimard, and, at this moment, the six of them are holding a consultation.”
Despite a strong temptation to do so, I had never ventured to question Arsène Lupin concerning any action of his private life, unless he had first mentioned the subject to me. Up to that moment his name had not been mentioned, at least officially, in connection with the blue diamond. Consequently, I consumed my curiosity in patience. He continued:
“There is also in ‘Le Temps’ an interview with my old friend Ganimard, according to whom a certain blonde lady, who should be my friend, must have murdered the Baron d’Hautrec and tried to rob Madame de Crozon of her famous ring. And—what do you think?—he accuses me of being the instigator of those crimes.”
I could not suppress a slight shudder. Was this true? Must I believe that his career of theft, his mode of existence, the logical result of such a life, had drawn that man into more serious crimes, including murder? I looked at him. He was so calm, and his eyes had such a frank expression! I observed his hands: they had been formed from a model of exceeding delicacy, long and slender; inoffensive, truly; and the hands of an artist.…
“Ganimard has pipe-dreams,” I said.
“No, no!” protested Lupin. “Ganimard has some cleverness; and, at times, almost inspiration.”
“Inspiration!”
“Yes. For instance, that interview is a master-stroke. In the first place, he announces the coming of his English rival in order to put me on my guard, and make his task more difficult. In the second place, he indicates the exact point to which he has conducted the affair in order that Holmes will not get credit for the work already done by Ganimard. That is good warfare.”
“Whatever it may be, you have two adversaries to deal with, and such adversaries!”
“Oh! one of them doesn’t count.”
“And the other?”
“Holmes? Oh! I confess he is a worthy foe; and that explains my present good humor. In the first place, it is a question of self-esteem; I am pleased to know that they consider me a subject worthy the attention of the celebrated English detective. In the next place, just imagine the pleasure a man, such as I, must experience in the thought of a duel with Sherlock Holmes. But I shall be obliged to strain every muscle; he is a clever fellow, and will contest every inch of the ground.”
“Then you consider him a strong opponent?”
“I do. As a detective, I believe, he has never had an equal. But I have one advantage over him; he is making the attack and I am simply defending myself. My rôle is the easier one. Besides, I am familiar with his method of warfare, and he does not know mine. I am prepared to show him a few new tricks that will give him something to think about.”
He tapped the table with his fingers as he uttered the following sentences, with an air of keen delight:
“Arsène Lupin against Sherlock Holmes.… France against England.… Trafalgar will be revenged at last.… Ah! the rascal…he doesn’t suspect that I am prepared…and a Lupin warned—”
He stopped suddenly, seized with a fit of coughing, and hid his face in his napkin, as if something had stuck in his throat.
“A bit of bread?” I inquired. “Drink some water.”
“No, it isn’t that,” he replied, in a stifled voice.
“Then, what is it?”
“The want of air.”
“Do you wish a window opened?”
“No, I shall go out. Give me my hat and overcoat, quick! I must go.”
“What’s the matter?”
“The two gentlemen who came in just now.… Look at the taller one…now, when we go out, keep to my left, so he will not see me.”
“The one who is sitting behind you?”
“Yes. I will explain it to you, outside.”
“Who is it?”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
He made a desperate effort to control himself, as if he were ashamed of his emotion, replaced his napkin, drank a glass of water, and, quite recovered, said to me, smiling:
“It is strange, hein, that I should be affected so easily, but that unexpected sight—”
“What have you to fear, since no one can recognize you, on account of your many transformations? Every time I see you it seems to me your face is changed; it’s not at all familiar. I don’t know why.”
“But he would recognize me,” said Lupin. “He has seen me only once; but, at that time, he made a mental photograph of me—not of my external appearance but of my very soul—not what I appear to be but just what I am. Do you understand? And then…and then.… I did not expect to meet him here.… Such a strange encounter!…in this little restaurant.…”
“Well, shall we go out?”
“No, not now,” said Lupin.
“What are you going to do?”
“The better way is to act frankly…to have confidence in him—trust