Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes (8 page)

“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’
 to-day?”

“No.”

“Herlock Sholmes 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 Sholmes 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?”

“Sholmes? 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 Herlock Sholmes. 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 Herlock Sholmes … 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 enquired. “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?”

“Herlock Sholmes.”

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 him. … ”

“You will not speak to him?”

“Why not? It will be to my advantage to do so, and find out what he knows, and, perhaps, what he thinks. At present I have the feeling that his gaze is on my neck and shoulders, and that he is trying to remember where he has seen them before.”

He reflected a moment. I observed a malicious smile at the corner of his mouth; then, obedient, I think, to a whim of his impulsive nature, and not to the necessities of the situation, he arose, turned around, and, with a bow and a joyous air, he said:

“By what lucky chance? Ah! I am delighted to see you. Permit me to introduce a friend of mine.”

For a moment the Englishman was disconcerted; then he made a movement as if he would seize Arsène Lupin. The latter shook his head, and said:

“That would not be fair; besides, the movement would be an awkward one and … quite useless.”

The Englishman looked about him, as if in search of assistance.

“No use,” said Lupin. “Besides, are you quite sure you can place your hand on me? Come, now, show me that you are a real Englishman and, therefore, a good sport.”

This advice seemed to commend itself to the detective, for he partially rose and said, very formally:

“Monsieur Wilson, my friend and assistant—Monsieur Arsène Lupin.”

Wilson’s amazement evoked a laugh. With bulging eyes and gaping mouth, he looked from one to the other, as if unable to comprehend the situation. Herlock Sholmes laughed and said:

“Wilson, you should conceal your astonishment at an incident which is one of the most natural in the world.”

“Why do you not arrest him?” stammered Wilson.

“Have you not observed, Wilson, that the gentleman is between me and the door, and only a few steps from the door. By the time I could move my little finger he would be outside.”

“Don’t let that make any difference,” said Lupin, who now walked around the table and seated himself so that the Englishman was between him and the door—thus placing himself at the mercy of the foreigner.

Wilson looked at Sholmes to find out if he had the right to admire this act of wanton courage. The Englishman’s face was impenetrable; but, a moment later, he called:

“Waiter!”

When the waiter came he ordered soda, beer and whisky. The treaty of peace was signed—until further orders. In a few moments the four men were conversing in an apparently friendly manner.

Herlock Sholmes is a man such as you might meet every day in the business world. He is about fifty years of age, and looks as if he might have passed his life in an office, adding up columns of dull figures or writing out formal statements of business accounts. There was nothing to distinguish him from the average citizen of London, except the appearance of his eyes, his terribly keen and penetrating eyes.

But then he is Herlock Sholmes—which means that he is a wonderful combination of intuition, observation, clairvoyance and ingenuity. One could readily believe that nature had been pleased to take the two most extraordinary detectives that the imagination of man has hitherto conceived, the Dupin of Edgar Allen Poe and the Lecoq of Emile Gaboriau, and, out of that material, constructed a new detective, more extraordinary and supernatural than either of them. And when a person reads the history of his exploits, which have made him famous throughout the entire world, he asks himself whether Herlock Sholmes is not a mythical personage, a fictitious hero born in the brain of a great novelist—Conan Doyle, for instance.

When Arsène Lupin questioned him in regard to the length of his sojourn in France he turned the conversation into its proper channel by saying:

“That depends on you, monsieur.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Lupin, laughing, “if it depends on me you can return to England to-night.”

“That is a little too soon, but I expect to return in the course of eight or nine days—ten at the outside.”

“Are you in such a hurry?”

“I have many cases to attend to; such as the robbery of the Anglo-Chinese Bank, the abduction of Lady Eccleston … But, don’t you think, Monsieur Lupin, that I can finish my business in Paris within a week?”

“Certainly, if you confine your efforts to the case of the blue diamond. It is, moreover, the length of time that I require to make preparations for my safety in case the solution of that affair should give you certain dangerous advantages over me.”

“And yet,” said the Englishman, “I expect to close the business in eight or ten days.”

“And arrest me on the eleventh, perhaps?”

“No, the tenth is my limit.”

Lupin shook his head thoughtfully, as he said:

“That will be difficult—very difficult.”

“Difficult, perhaps, but possible, therefore certain—”

“Absolutely certain,” said Wilson, as if he had clearly worked out the long series of operations which would conduct his collaborator to the desired result.

“Of course,” said Herlock Sholmes, “I do not hold all the trump cards, as these cases are already several months old, and I lack certain information and clues upon which I am accustomed to base my investigations.”

“Such as spots of mud and cigarette ashes,” said Wilson, with an air of importance.

“In addition to the remarkable conclusions formed by Monsieur Ganimard, I have obtained all the articles written on the subject, and have formed a few deductions of my own.”

“Some ideas which were suggested to us by analysis or hypothesis,” added Wilson, sententiously.

“I wish to enquire,” said Arsène Lupin, in that deferential tone which he employed in speaking to Sholmes, “would I be indiscreet if I were to ask you what opinion you have formed about the case?”

Really, it was a most exciting situation to see those two men facing each other across the table, engaged in an earnest discussion as if they were obliged to solve some abstruse problem or come to an agreement upon some controverted fact. Wilson was in the seventh heaven of delight. Herlock Sholmes filled his pipe slowly, lighted it, and said:

“This affair is much simpler than it appeared to be at first sight.”

“Much simpler,” said Wilson, as a faithful echo.

“I say ‘this affair,’ for, in my opinion, there is only one,” said Sholmes. “The death of the Baron d’Hautrec, the story of the ring, and, let us not forget, the mystery of lottery ticket number 514, are only different phases of what one might call the mystery of the Blonde Lady. Now, according to my view, it is simply a question of discovering the bond that unites those three episodes in the same story—the fact which proves the unity of the three events. Ganimard, whose judgment is rather superficial, finds that unity in the faculty of disappearance; that is, in the power of coming and going unseen and unheard. That theory does not satisfy me.”

“Well, what is your idea?” asked Lupin.

“In my opinion,” said Sholmes, “the characteristic feature of the three episodes is your design and purpose of leading the affair into a certain channel previously chosen by you. It is, on your part, more than a plan; it is a necessity, an indispensable condition of success.”

“Can you furnish any details of your theory?”

“Certainly. For example, from the beginning of your conflict with Monsieur Gerbois, is it not evident that the apartment of Monsieur Detinan is the place selected by you, the inevitable spot where all the parties must meet? In your opinion, it was the only safe place, and you arranged a rendezvous there, publicly, one might say, for the Blonde Lady and Mademoiselle Gerbois.”

“The professor’s daughter,” added Wilson. “Now, let us consider the case of the blue diamond. Did you try to appropriate it while the Baron d’Hautrec possessed it? No. But the baron takes his brother’s house. Six months later we have the intervention of Antoinette Bréhat and the first attempt. The diamond escapes you, and the sale is widely advertised to take place at the Drouot auction-rooms. Will it be a free and open sale? Is the richest amateur sure to carry off the jewel? No. Just as the banker Herschmann is on the point of buying the ring, a lady sends him a letter of warning, and it is the Countess de Crozon, prepared and influenced by the same lady, who becomes the purchaser of the diamond. Will the ring disappear at once? No; you lack the opportunity. Therefore, you must wait. At last the Countess goes to her château. That is what you were waiting for. The ring disappears.”

“To reappear again in the tooth-powder of Herr Bleichen,” remarked Lupin.

“Oh! Such nonsense!” exclaimed Sholmes, striking the table with his fist, “don’t tell me such a fairy tale. I am too old a fox to be led away by a false scent.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” said Sholmes, then paused a moment as if he wished to arrange his effect. At last he said: