could manage an affair like this? No, it required the skill and cunning of Arsène Lupin. And now that you have my name, go and prepare your revenge. Arsène Lupin will wait for you.”
Then he pushed the bewildered Varin through the door.
“Daspry! Daspry!” I cried, pushing aside the curtain. He ran to me.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Madame Andermatt is ill.”
He hastened to her, caused her to inhale some salts, and, while caring for her, questioned me:
“Well, what did it?”
“The letters of Louis Lacombe that you gave to her husband.”
He struck his forehead and said:
“Did she think that I could do such a thing!… But, of course she would. Imbecile that I am!”
Madame Andermatt was now revived. Daspry took from his pocket a small package exactly similar to the one that Mon. Andermatt had carried away.
“Here are your letters, Madame. These are the genuine letters.”
“But…the others?”
“The others are the same, rewritten by me and carefully worded. Your husband will not find anything objectionable in them, and will never suspect the substitution since they were taken from the safe in his presence.”
“But the handwriting—”
“There is no handwriting that cannot be imitated.”
She thanked him in the same words she might have used to a man in her own social circle, so I concluded that she had not witnessed the final scene between Varin and Arsène Lupin. But the surprising revelation caused me considerable embarrassment. Lupin! My club companion was none other than Arsène Lupin. I could not realize it. But he said, quite at his ease:
“You can say farewell to Jean Daspry.”
“Ah!”
“Yes, Jean Daspry is going on a long journey. I shall send him to Morocco. There, he may find a death worthy of him. I may say that that is his expectation.”
“But Arsène Lupin will remain?”
“Oh! Decidedly. Arsène Lupin is simply at the threshold of his career, and he expects—”
I was impelled by curiosity to interrupt him, and, leading him away from the hearing of Madame Andermatt, I asked:
“Did you discover the smaller safe yourself—the one that held the letters?”
“Yes, after a great deal of trouble. I found it yesterday afternoon while you were asleep. And yet, God knows it was simple enough! But the simplest things are the ones that usually escape our notice.” Then, showing me the seven-of-hearts, he added: “Of course I had guessed that, in order to open the larger safe, this card must be placed on the sword of the mosaic king.”
“How did you guess that?”
“Quite easily. Through private information, I knew that fact when I came here on the evening of 22 June—”
“After you left me—”
“Yes, after turning the subject of our conversation to stories of crime and robbery which were sure to reduce you to such a nervous condition that you would not leave your bed, but would allow me to complete my search uninterrupted.”
“The scheme worked perfectly.”
“Well, I knew when I came here that there was a casket concealed in a safe with a secret lock, and that the seven-of-hearts was the key to that lock. I had merely to place the card upon the spot that was obviously intended for it. An hour’s examination showed me where the spot was.”
“One hour!”
“Observe the fellow in mosaic.”
“The old emperor?”
“That old emperor is an exact representation of the king of hearts on all playing cards.”
“That’s right. But how does the seven of hearts open the larger safe at one time and the smaller safe at another time? And why did you open only the larger safe in the first instance? I mean on the night of 22 June.”
“Why? Because I always placed the seven of hearts in the same way. I never changed the position. But, yesterday, I observed that by reversing the card, by turning it upside down, the arrangement of the seven spots on the mosaic was changed.”
“Parbleu!”
“Of course, parbleu! But a person has to think of those things.”
“There is something else: you did not know the history of those letters until Madame Andermatt—”
“Spoke of them before me? No. Because I found in the safe, besides the casket, nothing but the correspondence of the two brothers which disclosed their treachery in regard to the plans.”
“Then it was by chance that you were led, first, to investigate the history of the two brothers, and then to search for the plans and documents relating to the sub-marine?”
“Simply by chance.”
“For what purpose did you make the search?”
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Daspry, laughing, “how deeply interested you are!”
“The subject fascinates me.”
“Very well, presently, after I have escorted Madame Andermatt to a carriage, and dispatched a short story to the `Echo de France,’ I will return and tell you all about it.”
He sat down and wrote one of those short, clear-cut articles which served to amuse and mystify the public. Who does not recall the sensation that followed that article produced throughout the entire world?
“Arsène Lupin has solved the problem recently submitted by Salvator. Having acquired possession of all the documents and original plans of the engineer Louis Lacombe, he has placed them in the hands of the Minister of Marine, and he has headed a subscription list for the purpose of presenting to the nation the first submarine constructed from those plans. His subscription is twenty thousand francs.”
“Twenty thousand francs! The checks of Mon. Andermatt?” I exclaimed, when he had given me the paper to read.
“Exactly. It was quite right that Varin should redeem his treachery.”
* * * *
And that is how I made the acquaintance of Arsène Lupin. That is how I learned that Jean Daspry, a member of my club, was none other than Arsène Lupin, gentleman-thief. That is how I formed very agreeable ties of friendship with that famous man, and, thanks to the confidence with which he honored me, how I became his very humble and faithful historiographer.
CHAPTER VII
Madame Imbert’s Safe
At three o’clock in the morning, there were still half a dozen carriages in front of one of those small houses which form only the side of the boulevard Berthier. The door of that house opened, and a number of guests, male and female, emerged. The majority of them entered their carriages and were quickly driven away, leaving behind only two men who walked down Courcelles, where they parted, as one of them lived in that street. The other decided to return on foot as far as the Porte-Maillot. It was a beautiful winter’s night, clear and cold; a night on which a brisk walk is agreeable and refreshing.
But, at the end of a few minutes, he had the disagreeable impression that he was being followed. Turning around, he saw a man sulking amongst the trees. He was not a coward; yet he felt it advisable to increase his speed. Then his pursuer commenced to run; and he deemed it prudent to draw his revolver and face him. But he had no time. The man rushed at him and attacked him violently. Immediately, they were engaged in a desperate struggle, wherein he felt that his unknown assailant had the advantage. He called