idea of a war-vessel is an excellent one. I commend you to your superiors, Brigadier Folenfant.… Do you wish a medal? You shall have it. And your comrade Dieuzy, where is he?… Ah! yes, I think I see him on the left bank of the river at the head of a hundred natives. So that, if I escape shipwreck, I shall be captured on the left by Dieuzy and his natives, or, on the right, by Ganimard and the populace of Neuilly. An embarrassing dilemma!”
The boat entered an eddy; it swung around and Holmes caught hold of the oarlocks. Lupin said to him:
“Monsieur, you should remove your coat. You will find it easier to swim without a coat. No? You refuse? Then I shall put on my own.”
He donned his coat, buttoned it closely, the same as Holmes, and said:
“What a discourteous man you are! And what a pity that you should be so stubborn in this affair, in which, of course, you display your strength, but, oh! so vainly! really, you mar your genius—”
“Monsieur Lupin,” interrupted Holmes, emerging from his silence, “you talk too much, and you frequently err through excess of confidence and through your frivolity.”
“That is a severe reproach.”
“Thus, without knowing it, you furnished me, only a moment ago, with the information I required.”
“What! you required some information and you didn’t tell me?”
“I had no occasion to ask you for it—you volunteered it. Within three hours I can deliver the key of the mystery to Monsieur d’Imblevalle. That is the only reply—”
He did not finish the sentence. The boat suddenly sank, taking both of the men down with it. It emerged immediately, with its keel in the air. Shouts were heard on either bank, succeeded by an anxious moment of silence. Then the shouts were renewed: one of the shipwrecked party had come to the surface.
It was Sherlock Holmes. He was an excellent swimmer, and struck out, with powerful strokes, for Folenfant’s boat.
“Courage, Monsieur Holmes,” shouted Folenfant; “we are here. Keep it up…we will get you…a little more, Monsieur Holmes…catch the rope.”
The Englishman seized the rope they had thrown to him. But, while they were hauling him into the boat, he heard a voice behind him, saying:
“The key of the mystery, monsieur, yes, you shall have it. I am astonished that you haven’t got it already. What then? What good will it do you? By that time you will have lost the battle.…”
Now comfortably installed astride the keel of the boat, Lupin continued his speech with solemn gestures, as if he hoped to convince his adversary.
“You must understand, my dear Holmes, there is nothing to be done, absolutely nothing. You find yourself in the deplorable position of a gentleman—”
“Surrender, Lupin!” shouted Folenfant.
“You are an ill-bred fellow, Folenfant, to interrupt me in the middle of a sentence. I was saying—”
“Surrender, Lupin!”
“Oh! parbleu! Brigadier Folenfant, a man surrenders only when he is in danger. Surely, you do not pretend to say that I am in any danger.”
“For the last time, Lupin, I call on you to surrender.”
“Brigadier Folenfant, you have no intention of killing me; you may wish to wound me since you are afraid I may escape. But if by chance the wound prove mortal! Just think of your remorse! It would embitter your old age.”
The shot was fired.
Lupin staggered, clutched at the keel of the boat for a moment, then let go and disappeared.
* * * *
It was exactly three o’clock when the foregoing events transpired. Precisely at six o’clock, as he had foretold, Sherlock Holmes, dressed in trousers that were too short and a coat that was too small, which he had borrowed from an innkeeper at Neuilly, wearing a cap and a flannel shirt, entered the boudoir in the Rue Murillo, after having sent word to Monsieur and Madame d’Imblevalle that he desired an interview.
They found him walking up and down the room. And he looked so ludicrous in his strange costume that they could scarcely suppress their mirth. With pensive air and stooped shoulders, he walked like an automaton from the window to the door and from the door to the window, taking each time the same number of steps, and turning each time in the same manner.
He stopped, picked up a small ornament, examined it mechanically, and resumed his walk. At last, planting himself before them, he asked:
“Is Mademoiselle here?”
“Yes, she is in the garden with the children.”’
“I wish Mademoiselle to be present at this interview.”
“Is it necessary—”
“Have a little patience, monsieur. From the facts I am going to present to you, you will see the necessity for her presence here.”
“Very well. Suzanne, will you call her?”
Madame d’Imblevalle arose, went out, and returned almost immediately, accompanied by Alice Demun. Mademoiselle, who was a trifle paler than usual, remained standing, leaning against a table, and without even asking why she had been called. Holmes did not look at her, but, suddenly turning toward Monsieur d’Imblevalle, he said, in a tone which did not admit of a reply:
“After several days’ investigation, monsieur, I must repeat what I told you when I first came here: the Jewish lamp was stolen by some one living in the house.”
“The name of the guilty party?”
“I know it.”
“Your proof?”
“I have sufficient to establish that fact.”
“But we require more than that. We desire the restoration of the stolen goods.”
“The Jewish lamp? It is in my possession.”
“The opal necklace? The snuff-box?”
“The opal necklace, the snuff-box, and all the goods stolen on the second occasion are in my possession.”
Holmes delighted in these dramatic dialogues, and it pleased him to announce his victories in that curt manner. The baron and his wife were amazed, and looked at Holmes with a silent curiosity, which was the highest praise.
He related to them, very minutely, what he had done during those three days. He told of his discovery of the alphabet book, wrote upon a sheet of paper the sentence formed by the missing letters, then related the journey of Bresson to the bank of the river and the suicide of the adventurer, and, finally, his struggle with Lupin, the shipwreck, and the disappearance of Lupin. When he had finished, the baron said, in a low voice:
“Now, you have told us everything except the name of the guilty party. Whom do you accuse?”
“I accuse the person who cut the letters from the alphabet book, and communicated with Arsène Lupin by means of those letters.”
“How do you know that such correspondence was carried on with Arsène Lupin?”
“My information comes from Lupin himself.”
He produced a piece of paper that was wet and crumpled. It was the page which Lupin had torn from his memorandum-book, and upon which he had written the phrase.
“And you will notice,” said Holmes, with satisfaction, “that he was not obliged to give me that sheet of paper, and, in that way, disclose his identity. Simple childishness on his part, and yet it gave me exactly the information I desired.”
“What was it?” asked the baron. “I don’t understand.”
Holmes took a pencil and made a fresh copy of the letters and figures.
“CDEHNOPRZEO—237.”