here now.”
“Here now?”
“Yes, she came about ten minutes ago. Her carriage is standing in the Place Saint-Ferdinand, as usual. I met her at the door.”
“Who is the occupant of the second floor?”
“There are two: a modiste, Mademoiselle Langeais, and a gentleman who rented two furnished rooms a month ago under the name of Bresson.”
“Why do you say ‘under the name’?”
“Because I have an idea that it is an assumed name. My wife takes care of his rooms, and…well, there are not two shirts there with the same initials.”
“Is he there much of the time?”
“No; he is nearly always out. He has not been here for three days.”
“Was he here on Saturday night?”
“Saturday night?… Let me think.… Yes, Saturday night, he came in and stayed all night.”
“What sort of a man is he?”
“Well, I can scarcely answer that. He is so changeable. He is, by turns, big, little, fat, thin…dark and light. I do not always recognize him.”
Ganimard and Holmes exchanged looks.
“That is he, all right,” said Ganimard.
“Ah!” said the concierge, “there is the girl now.”
Mademoiselle had just emerged from the house and was walking toward her carriage in the Place Saint-Ferdinand.
“And there is Monsieur Bresson.”
“Monsieur Bresson? Which is he?”
“The man with the parcel under his arm.”
“But he is not looking after the girl. She is going to her carriage alone.”
“Yes, I have never seen them together.”
The two detectives had arisen. By the light of the street-lamps they recognized the form of Arsène Lupin, who had started off in a direction opposite to that taken by the girl.
“Which will you follow?” asked Ganimard.
“I will follow him, of course. He’s the biggest game.”
“Then I will follow the girl,” proposed Ganimard.
“No, no,” said Holmes, quickly, who did not wish to disclose the girl’s identity to Ganimard, “I know where to find her. Come with me.”
They followed Lupin at a safe distance, taking care to conceal themselves as well as possible amongst the moving throng and behind the newspaper kiosks. They found the pursuit an easy one, as he walked steadily forward without turning to the right or left, but with a slight limp in the right leg, so slight as to require the keen eye of a professional observer to detect it. Ganimard observed it, and said:
“He is pretending to be lame. Ah! if we could only collect two or three policemen and pounce on our man! We run a chance to lose him.”
But they did not meet any policemen before they reached the Porte des Ternes, and, having passed the fortifications, there was no prospect of receiving any assistance.
“We had better separate,” said Holmes, “as there are so few people on the street.”
They were now on the Boulevard Victor-Hugo. They walked one on each side of the street, and kept well in the shadow of the trees. They continued thus for twenty minutes, when Lupin turned to the left and followed the Seine. Very soon they saw him descend to the edge of the river. He remained there only a few seconds, but they could not observe his movements. Then Lupin retraced his steps. His pursuers concealed themselves in the shadow of a gateway. Lupin passed in front of them. His parcel had disappeared. And as he walked away another man emerged from the shelter of a house and glided amongst the trees.
“He seems to be following him also,” said Holmes, in a low voice.
The pursuit continued, but was now embarrassed by the presence of the third man. Lupin returned the same way, passed through the Porte des Ternes, and re-entered the house in the avenue des Ternes.
The concierge was closing the house for the night when Ganimard presented himself.
“Did you see him?”
“Yes,” replied the concierge, “I was putting out the gas on the landing when he closed and bolted his door.”
“Is there any person with him?”
“No; he has no servant. He never eats here.”
“Is there a servants’ stairway?”
“No.”
Ganimard said to Holmes:
“I had better stand at the door of his room while you go for the commissary of police in the rue Demours.”
“And if he should escape during that time?” said Holmes.
“While I am here! He can’t escape.”
“One to one, with Lupin, is not an even chance for you.”
“Well, I can’t force the door. I have no right to do that, especially at night.”
Holmes shrugged his shoulders and said:
“When you arrest Lupin no one will question the methods by which you made the arrest. However, let us go up and ring, and see what happens then.”
They ascended to the second floor. There was a double door at the left of the landing. Ganimard rang the bell. No reply. He rang again. Still no reply.
“Let us go in,” said Holmes.
“All right, come on,” replied Ganimard.
Yet, they stood still, irresolute. Like people who hesitate when they ought to accomplish a decisive action they feared to move, and it seemed to them impossible that Arsène Lupin was there, so close to them, on the other side of that fragile door that could be broken down by one blow of the fist. But they knew Lupin too well to suppose that he would allow himself to be trapped in that stupid manner. No, no—a thousand times, no—Lupin was no longer there. Through the adjoining houses, over the roofs, by some conveniently prepared exit, he must have already made his escape, and, once more, it would only be Lupin’s shadow that they would seize.
They shuddered as a slight noise, coming from the other side of the door, reached their ears. Then they had the impression, amounting almost to a certainty, that he was there, separated from them by that frail wooden door, and that he was listening to them, that he could hear them.
What was to be done? The situation was a serious one. In spite of their vast experience as detectives, they were so nervous and excited that they thought they could hear the beating of their own hearts. Ganimard questioned Holmes by a look. Then he struck the door a violent blow with his fist. Immediately they heard the sound of footsteps, concerning which there was no attempt at concealment.
Ganimard shook the door. Then he and Holmes, uniting their efforts, rushed at the door, and burst it open with their shoulders. Then they stood still, in surprise. A shot had been fired in the adjoining room. Another shot, and the sound of a falling body.
When they entered they saw the man lying on the floor with his face toward the marble mantel. His revolver had fallen from his hand. Ganimard stooped and turned the man’s head. The face was covered with blood, which was flowing from two wounds, one in the cheek, the other in the temple.
“You can’t recognize him for blood.”
“No matter!” said Holmes. “It is not Lupin.”
“How do you know? You haven’t even looked at him.”
“Do you think that Arsène Lupin is the kind of a man that would kill himself?” asked Holmes,