VIII. THE BLACK PEARL
A violent ringing of the bell awakened the concierge of numbernine, avenue Hoche. She pulled the doorstring, grumbling:
"I thought everybody was in. It must be three o'clock!"
"Perhaps it is some one for the doctor," muttered her husband.
"Third floor, left. But the doctor won't go out at night."
"He must go to-night."
The visitor entered the vestibule, ascended to the first floor, thesecond, the third, and, without stopping at the doctor's door, hecontinued to the fifth floor. There, he tried two keys. One ofthem fitted the lock.
"Ah! good!" he murmured, "that simplifies the business wonderfully.But before I commence work I had better arrange for my retreat.Let me see....have I had sufficient time to rouse the doctorand be dismissed by him? Not yet....a few minutes more."
At the end of ten minutes, he descended the stairs, grumblingnoisily about the doctor. The concierge opened the door for himand heard it click behind him. But the door did not lock, as theman had quickly inserted a piece of iron in the lock in such amanner that the bolt could not enter. Then, quietly, he enteredthe house again, unknown to the concierge. In case of alarm, hisretreat was assured. Noiselessly, he ascended to the fifth flooronce more. In the antechamber, by the light of his electriclantern, he placed his hat and overcoat on one of the chairs, tooka seat on another, and covered his heavy shoes with felt slippers.
"Ouf! Here I am--and how simple it was! I wonder why more people donot adopt the profitable and pleasant occupation of burglar. Witha little care and reflection, it becomes a most delightfulprofession. Not too quiet and monotonous, of course, as it wouldthen become wearisome."
He unfolded a detailed plan of the apartment.
"Let me commence by locating myself. Here, I see the vestibule inwhich I am sitting. On the street front, the drawing-room, theboudoir and dining-room. Useless to waste any time there, as itappears that the countess has a deplorable taste....not abibelot of any value!...Now, let's get down to business!...Ah! here is a corridor; it must lead to the bed chambers. At adistance of three metres, I should come to the door of thewardrobe-closet which connects with the chamber of the countess."He folded his plan, extinguished his lantern, and proceeded downthe corridor, counting his distance, thus:
"One metre....two metres....three metres....Here isthe door....Mon Dieu, how easy it is! Only a small, simple boltnow separates me from the chamber, and I know that the bolt islocated exactly one metre, forty-three centimeters, from the floor.So that, thanks to a small incision I am about to make, I can soonget rid of the bolt."
He drew from his pocket the necessary instruments. Then thefollowing idea occurred to him:
"Suppose, by chance, the door is not bolted. I will try it first."
He turned the knob, and the door opened.
"My brave Lupin, surely fortune favors you....What's to bedone now? You know the situation of the rooms; you know the placein which the countess hides the black pearl. Therefore, in orderto secure the black pearl, you have simply to be more silent thansilence, more invisible than darkness itself."
Arsene Lupin was employed fully a half-hour in opening the seconddoor--a glass door that led to the countess' bedchamber. But heaccomplished it with so much skill and precaution, that even hadhad the countess been awake, she would not have heard the slightestsound. According to the plan of the rooms, that he holds, he hasmerely to pass around a reclining chair and, beyond that, a smalltable close to the bed. On the table, there was a box of letter-paper,and the black pearl was concealed in that box. He stoopedand crept cautiously over the carpet, following the outlines of thereclining-chair. When he reached the extremity of it, he stoppedin order to repress the throbbing of his heart. Although he wasnot moved by any sense of fear, he found it impossible to overcomethe nervous anxiety that one usually feels in the midst of profoundsilence. That circumstance astonished him, because he had passedthrough many more solemn moments without the slightest trace ofemotion. No danger threatened him. Then why did his heart throblike an alarm-bell? Was it that sleeping woman who affected him?Was it the proximity of another pulsating heart?
He listened, and thought he could discern the rhythmical breathingof a person asleep. It gave him confidence, like the presence of afriend. He sought and found the armchair; then, by slow, cautiousmovements, advanced toward the table, feeling ahead of him withoutstretched arm. His right had touched one of the feet of thetable. Ah! now, he had simply to rise, take the pearl, and escape.That was fortunate, as his heart was leaping in his breast like awild beast, and made so much noise that he feared it would wakenthe countess. By a powerful effort of the will, he subdued thewild throbbing of his heart, and was about to rise from the floorwhen his left hand encountered, lying on the floor, an object whichhe recognized as a candlestick--an overturned candlestick. A momentlater, his hand encountered another object: a clock--one of thosesmall traveling clocks, covered with leather.
-------
Well! What had happened? He could not understand. Thatcandlestick, that clock; why were those articles not in theiraccustomed places? Ah! what had happened in the dread silence ofthe night?
Suddenly a cry escaped him. He had touched--oh! some strange,unutterable thing! "No! no!" he thought, "it cannot be. It issome fantasy of my excited brain." For twenty seconds, thirtyseconds, he remained motionless, terrified, his forehead bathedwith perspiration, and his fingers still retained the sensation ofthat dreadful contact.
Making a desperate effort, he ventured to extend his arm again.Once more, his hand encountered that strange, unutterable thing.He felt it. He must feel it and find out what it is. He foundthat it was hair, human hair, and a human face; and that face wascold, almost icy.
However frightful the circumstances may be, a man like Arsene Lupincontrols himself and commands the situation as soon as he learnswhat it is. So, Arsene Lupin quickly brought his lantern into use.A woman was lying before him, covered with blood. Her neck andshoulders were covered with gaping wounds. He leaned over her andmade a closer examination. She was dead.
"Dead! Dead!" he repeated, with a bewildered air.
He stared at those fixed eyes, that grim mouth, that livid flesh,and that blood--all that blood which had flowed over the carpet andcongealed there in thick, black spots. He arose and turned on theelectric lights. Then he beheld all the marks of a desperatestruggle. The bed was in a state of great disorder. On thefloor, the candlestick, and the clock, with the hands pointing totwenty minutes after eleven; then, further away, an overturnedchair; and, everywhere, there was blood, spots of blood and poolsof blood.
"And the black pearl?" he murmured.
The box of letter-paper was in its place. He opened it, eagerly.The jewel-case was there, but it was empty.
"Fichtre!" he muttered. "You boasted of your good fortune much toosoon, my friend Lupin. With the countess lying cold and dead, andthe black pearl vanished, the situation is anything but pleasant.Get out of here as soon as you can, or you may get into serioustrouble."
Yet, he did not move.
"Get out of here? Yes, of course. Any person would, except ArseneLupin. He has something better to do. Now, to proceed in anorderly way. At all events, you have a clear conscience. Let ussuppose that you are the commissary of police and that you areproceeding to make an inquiry concerning this affair----Yes, butin order to do that, I require a clearer brain. Mine is muddledlike a ragout."
He tumbled into an armchair, with his clenched hands pressedagainst his burning forehead.
* * * * *
The murder of the avenue Hoche is one of those which have recentlysurprised and puzzled the Parisian public, and, certainly, I shouldnever have mentioned the affair if the veil of mystery had not beenremoved by Arsene Lupin himself. No one knew the exact truth ofthe case.
Who did not know--from having met her in the Bois--the fair LeotineZalti, the once-famous c
antatrice, wife and widow of the Countd'Andillot; the Zalti, whose luxury dazzled all Paris some twentyyears ago; the Zalti who acquired an European reputation for themagnificence of her diamonds and pearls? It was said that she woreupon her shoulders the capital of several banking houses and thegold mines of numerous Australian companies. Skilful jewelersworked for Zalti as they had formerly wrought for kings and queens.And who does not remember the catastrophe in which all that wealthwas swallowed up? Of all that marvelous collection, nothingremained except the famous black pearl. The black pearl! That isto say a fortune, if she had wished to part with it.
But she preferred to keep it, to live in a commonplace apartmentwith her companion, her cook, and a man-servant, rather than sellthat inestimable jewel. There was a reason for it; a reason shewas not afraid to disclose: the black pearl was the gift of anemperor! Almost ruined, and reduced to the most mediocreexistence, she remained faithful to the companion of her happy andbrilliant youth. The black pearl never left her possession. Shewore it during the day, and, at night, concealed it in a placeknown to her alone.
All these facts, being republished in the columns of the publicpress, served to stimulate curiosity; and, strange to say, butquite obvious to those who have the key to the mystery, the arrestof the presumed assassin only complicated the question andprolonged the excitement. Two days later, the newspapers publishedthe following item:
"Information has reached us of the arrest of Victor Danegre, theservant of the Countess d'Andillot. The evidence against him isclear and convincing. On the silken sleeve of his liveriedwaistcoat, which chief detective Dudouis found in his garretbetween the mattresses of his bed, several spots of blood werediscovered. In addition, a cloth-covered button was missing fromthat garment, and this button was found beneath the bed of thevictim.
"It is supposed that, after dinner, in place of going to his ownroom, Danegre slipped into the wardrobe-closet, and, through theglass door, had seen the countess hide the precious black pearl.This is simply a theory, as yet unverified by any evidence. Thereis, also, another obscure point. At seven o'clock in the morning,Danegre went to the tobacco-shop on the Boulevard de Courcelles;the concierge and the shop-keeper both affirm this fact. On theother hand, the countess' companion and cook, who sleep at the endof the hall, both declare that, when they arose at eight o'clock,the door of the antechamber and the door of the kitchen werelocked. These two persons have been in the service of the countessfor twenty years, and are above suspicion. The question is: Howdid Danegre leave the apartment? Did he have another key? Theseare matters that the police will investigate."
As a matter of fact, the police investigation threw no light on themystery. It was learned that Victor Danegre was a dangerouscriminal, a drunkard and a debauchee. But, as they proceeded withthe investigation, the mystery deepened and new complicationsarose. In the first place, a young woman, Mlle. De Sincleves, thecousin and sole heiress of the countess, declared that thecountess, a month before her death, had written a letter to her andin it described the manner in which the black pearl was concealed.The letter disappeared the day after she received it. Who hadstolen it?
Again, the concierge related how she had opened the door for aperson who had inquired for Doctor Harel. On being questioned, thedoctor testified that no one had rung his bell. Then who was thatperson? And accomplice?
The theory of an accomplice was thereupon adopted by the press andpublic, and also by Ganimard, the famous detective.
"Lupin is at the bottom of this affair," he said to the judge.
"Bah!" exclaimed the judge, "you have Lupin on the brain. You seehim everywhere."
"I see him everywhere, because he is everywhere."
"Say rather that you see him every time you encounter something youcannot explain. Besides, you overlook the fact that the crime wascommitted at twenty minutes past eleven in the evening, as is shownby the clock, while the nocturnal visit, mentioned by theconcierge, occurred at three o'clock in the morning."
Officers of the law frequently form a hasty conviction as to theguilt of a suspected person, and then distort all subsequentdiscoveries to conform to their established theory. The deplorableantecedents of Victor Danegre, habitual criminal, drunkard andrake, influenced the judge, and despite the fact that nothing newwas discovered in corroboration of the early clues, his officialopinion remained firm and unshaken. He closed his investigation,and, a few weeks later, the trial commenced. It proved to be slowand tedious. The judge was listless, and the public prosecutorpresented the case in a careless manner. Under those circumstances,Danegre's counsel had an easy task. He pointed out the defects andinconsistencies of the case for the prosecution, and argued that theevidence was quite insufficient to convict the accused. Who had madethe key, the indispensable key without which Danegre, on leaving theapartment, could not have locked the door behind him? Who had everseen such a key, and what had become of it? Who had seen theassassin's knife, and where is it now?
"In any event," argued the prisoner's counsel, "the prosecutionmust prove, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the prisonercommitted the murder. The prosecution must show that themysterious individual who entered the house at three o'clock in themorning is not the guilty party. To be sure, the clock indicatedeleven o'clock. But what of that? I contend, that proves nothing.The assassin could turn the hands of the clock to any hour hepleased, and thus deceive us in regard to the exact hour of thecrime."
Victor Danegre was acquitted.
He left the prison on Friday about dusk in the evening, weak anddepressed by his six months' imprisonment. The inquisition, thesolitude, the trial, the deliberations of the jury, combined tofill him with a nervous fear. At night, he had been afflicted withterrible nightmares and haunted by weird visions of the scaffold.He was a mental and physical wreck.
Under the assumed name of Anatole Dufour, he rented a small room onthe heights of Montmartre, and lived by doing odd jobs wherever hecould find them. He led a pitiful existence. Three times, heobtained regular employment, only to be recognized and thendischarged. Sometimes, he had an idea that men were followinghim--detectives, no doubt, who were seeking to trap and denounce him.He could almost feel the strong hand of the law clutching him bythe collar.
One evening, as he was eating his dinner at a neighboringrestaurant, a man entered and took a seat at the same table. Hewas a person about forty years of age, and wore a frock-coat ofdoubtful cleanliness. He ordered soup, vegetables, and a bottle ofwine. After he had finished his soup, he turned his eyes onDanegre, and gazed at him intently. Danegre winced. He wascertain that this was one of the men who had been following him forseveral weeks. What did he want? Danegre tried to rise, butfailed. His limbs refused to support him. The man poured himselfa glass of wine, and then filled Danegre's glass. The man raisedhis glass, and said:
"To your health, Victor Danegre."
Victor started in alarm, and stammered:
"I!....I!....no, no....I swear to you...."
"You will swear what? That you are not yourself? The servant ofthe countess?"
"What servant? My name is Dufour. Ask the proprietor."
"Yes, Anatole Dufour to the proprietor of this restaurant, butVictor Danegre to the officers of the law."
"That's not true! Some one has lied to you."
The new-comer took a card from his pocket and handed it to Victor,who read on it: "Grimaudan, ex-inspector of the detective force.Private business transacted." Victor shuddered as he said:
"You are connected with the police?"
"No, not now, but I have a liking for the business and I continueto work at it in a manner more--profitable. From time to time Istrike upon a golden opportunity--such as your case presents."
"My case?"
"Yes, yours. I assure you it is a most promising affair, providedyou are inclined to be reasonable."
"But if I am not reasonable?"
"Oh! my good fellow, you are not in a position to refuse
meanything I may ask."
"What is it....you want?" stammered Victor, fearfully.
"Well, I will inform you in a few words. I am sent by Mademoisellede Sincleves, the heiress of the Countess d'Andillot."
"What for?"
"To recover the black pearl."
"Black pearl?"
"That you stole."
"But I haven't got it."
"You have it."
"If I had, then I would be the assassin."
"You are the assassin."
Danegre showed a forced smile.
"Fortunately for me, monsieur, the Assizecourt was not of youropinion. The jury returned an unanimous verdict of acquittal. Andwhen a man has a clear conscience and twelve good men in his favor--"
The ex-inspector seized him by the arm and said:
"No fine phrases, my boy. Now, listen to me and weigh my wordscarefully. You will find they are worthy of your consideration.Now, Danegre, three weeks before the murder, you abstracted thecook's key to the servants' door, and had a duplicate key made by alocksmith named Outard, 244 rue Oberkampf."
"It's a lie--it's a lie!" growled Victor. "No person has seen thatkey. There is no such key."
"Here it is."
After a silence, Grimaudan continued:
"You killed the countess with a knife purchased by you at the Bazarde la Republique on the same day as you ordered the duplicate key.It has a triangular blade with a groove running from end to end."
"That is all nonsense. You are simply guessing at something youdon't know. No one ever saw the knife."
"Here it is."
Victor Danegre recoiled. The ex-inspector continued:
"There are some spots of rust upon it. Shall I tell you how theycame there?"
"Well!....you have a key and a knife. Who can prove that theybelong to me?"
"The locksmith, and the clerk from whom you bought the knife. Ihave already refreshed their memories, and, when you confront them,they cannot fail to recognize you."
His speech was dry and hard, with a tone of firmness and precision.Danegre was trembling with fear, and yet he struggled desperatelyto maintain an air of indifference.
"Is that all the evidence you have?"
"Oh! no, not at all. I have plenty more. For instance, after thecrime, you went out the same way you had entered. But, in thecentre of the wardrobe-room, being seized by some sudden fear, youleaned against the wall for support."
"How do you know that? No one could know such a thing," argued thedesperate man.
"The police know nothing about it, of course. They never think oflighting a candle and examining the walls. But if they had doneso, they would have found on the white plaster a faint red spot,quite distinct, however, to trace in it the imprint of your thumbwhich you had pressed against the wall while it was wet with blood.Now, as you are well aware, under the Bertillon system, thumb-marksare one of the principal means of identification."
Victor Danegre was livid; great drops of perspiration rolled downhis face and fell upon the table. He gazed, with a wild look, atthe strange man who had narrated the story of his crime asfaithfully as if he had been an invisible witness to it. Overcomeand powerless, Victor bowed his head. He felt that it was uselessto struggle against this marvelous man. So he said:
"How much will you give me, if I give you the pearl?"
"Nothing."
"Oh! you are joking! Or do you mean that I should give you anarticle worth thousands and hundreds of thousands and get nothingin return?"
"You will get your life. Is that nothing?"
The unfortunate man shuddered. Then Grimaudan added, in a mildertone:
"Come, Danegre, that pearl has no value in your hands. It is quiteimpossible for you to sell it; so what is the use of your keepingit?"
"There are pawnbrokers....and, some day, I will be able to getsomething for it."
"But that day may be too late."
"Why?"
"Because by that time you may be in the hands of the police, and,with the evidence that I can furnish--the knife, the key, thethumb-mark--what will become of you?"
Victor rested his head on his hands and reflected. He felt that hewas lost, irremediably lost, and, at the same time, a sense ofweariness and depression overcame him. He murmured, faintly:
"When must I give it to you?"
"To-night---within an hour."
"If I refuse?"
"If you refuse, I shall post this letter to the Procureur of theRepublic; in which letter Mademoiselle de Sincleves denounces youas the assassin."
Danegre poured out two glasses of wine which he drank in rapidsuccession, then, rising, said:
"Pay the bill, and let us go. I have had enough of the cursedaffair."
Night had fallen. The two men walked down the rue Lepic andfollowed the exterior boulevards in the direction of the Place del'Etoile. They pursued their way in silence; Victor had a stoopingcarriage and a dejected face. When they reached the Parc Monceau,he said:
"We are near the house."
"Parbleu! You only left the house once, before your arrest, andthat was to go to the tobacco-shop."
"Here it is," said Danegre, in a dull voice.
They passed along the garden wall of the countess' house, andcrossed a street on a corner of which stood the tobacco-shop. Afew steps further on, Danegre stopped; his limbs shook beneath him,and he sank to a bench.
"Well! what now?" demanded his companion.
"It is there."
"Where? Come, now, no nonsense!"
"There--in front of us."
"Where?"
"Between two paving-stones."
"Which?"
"Look for it."
"Which stones?"
Victor made no reply.
"Ah; I see!" exclaimed Grimaudan, "you want me to pay for theinformation."
"No....but....I am afraid I will starve to death."
"So! that is why you hesitate. Well, I'll not be hard on you. Howmuch do you want?"
"Enough to buy a steerage pass to America."
"All right."
"And a hundred francs to keep me until I get work there."
"You shall have two hundred. Now, speak."
"Count the paving-stones to the right from the sewer-hole. Thepearl is between the twelfth and thirteenth."
"In the gutter?"
"Yes, close to the sidewalk."
Grimaudan glanced around to see if anyone were looking. Some tram-carsand pedestrians were passing. But, bah, they will not suspectanything. He opened his pocketknife and thrust it between thetwelfth and thirteenth stones.
"And if it is not there?" he said to Victor.
"It must be there, unless someone saw me stoop down and hide it."
Could it be possible that the back pearl had been cast into the mudand filth of the gutter to be picked up by the first comer? Theblack pearl--a fortune!
"How far down?" he asked.
"About ten centimetres."
He dug up the wet earth. The point of his knife struck something.He enlarged the hole with his finger. Then he abstracted the blackpearl from its filthy hiding-place.
"Good! Here are your two hundred francs. I will send you theticket for America."
On the following day, this article was published in the `Echo deFrance,' and was copied by the leading newspapers throughout theworld:
"Yesterday, the famous black pearl came into the possession of Arsene Lupin, who recovered it from the murderer of the Countess d'Andillot. In a short time, fac-similes of that precious jewel will be exhibited in London, St. Petersburg, Calcutta, Buenos Ayres and New York.
"Arsene Lupin will be pleased to consider all propositions submitted to him through his agents."
* * * * *
"And that is how crime is always punished and virtue rewarded,"said Arsene Lupin, after he had told me the foregoing history ofthe black pearl.
"And that is how you, under the assumed
name of Grimaudan,ex-inspector of detectives, were chosen by fate to deprive thecriminal of the benefit of his crime."
"Exactly. And I confess that the affair gives me infinitesatisfaction and pride. The forty minutes that I passed in theapartment of the Countess d'Andillot, after learning of her death,were the most thrilling and absorbing moments of my life. In thoseforty minutes, involved as I was in a most dangerous plight, Icalmly studied the scene of the murder and reached the conclusionthat the crime must have been committed by one of the houseservants. I also decided that, in order to get the pearl, thatservant must be arrested, and so I left the wainscoat button; itwas necessary, also, for me to hold some convincing evidence of hisguilt, so I carried away the knife which I found upon the floor,and the key which I found in the lock. I closed and locked thedoor, and erased the finger-marks from the plaster in thewardrobe-closet. In my opinion, that was one of those flashes--"
"Of genius," I said, interrupting.
"Of genius, if you wish. But, I flatter myself, it would not haveoccurred to the average mortal. To frame, instantly, the twoelements of the problem--an arrest and an acquittal; to make use ofthe formidable machinery of the law to crush and humble my victim,and reduce him to a condition in which, when free, he would becertain to fall into the trap I was laying for him!"
"Poor devil--"
"Poor devil, do you say? Victor Danegre, the assassin! He mighthave descended to the lowest depths of vice and crime, if he hadretained the black pearl. Now, he lives! Think of that: VictorDanegre is alive!"
"And you have the black pearl."
He took it out of one of the secret pockets of his wallet, examinedit, gazed at it tenderly, and caressed it with loving fingers, andsighed, as he said:
"What cold Russian prince, what vain and foolish rajah may some daypossess this priceless treasure! Or, perhaps, some Americanmillionaire is destined to become the owner of this morsel ofexquisite beauty that once adorned the fair bosom of LeontineZalti, the Countess d'Andillot."