had appointed a legal representative in the person of a well-known member of the Parisian bar!
Mon. Detinan had never enjoyed the pleasure of meeting Arsène Lupin—a fact he deeply regretted—but he had actually been retained by that mysterious gentleman and felt greatly honored by the choice. He was prepared to defend the interests of his client to the best of his ability. He was pleased, even proud, to exhibit the letter of Mon. Bessy, but, although it proved the transfer of the ticket, it did not mention the name of the purchaser. It was simply addressed to "My Dear Friend."
"My Dear Friend! that is I," added Arsène Lupin, in a note attached to Mon. Bessy's letter. "And the best proof of that fact is that I hold the letter."
The swarm of reporters immediately rushed to see Mon. Gerbois, who could only repeat:
"My Dear Friend! that is I. … Arsène Lupin stole the letter with the lottery ticket."
"Let him prove it!" retorted Lupin to the reporters.
"He must have done it, because he stole the writing-desk!" exclaimed Mon. Gerbois before the same reporters.
"Let him prove it!" replied Lupin.
Such was the entertaining comedy enacted by the two claimants of ticket No. 514; and the calm demeanor of Arsène Lupin contrasted strangely with the nervous perturbation of poor Mon. Gerbois. The newspapers were filled with the lamentations of that unhappy man. He announced his misfortune with pathetic candor.
"Understand, gentlemen, it was Suzanne's dowry that the rascal stole! Personally, I don't care a straw for it, … but for Suzanne! Just think of it, a whole million! Ten times one hundred thousand francs! Ah! I knew very well that the desk contained a treasure!"
It was in vain to tell him that his adversary, when stealing the desk, was unaware that the lottery ticket was in it, and that, in any event, he could not foresee that the ticket would draw the grand prize. He would reply;
"Nonsense! of course, he knew it … else why would he take the trouble to steal a poor, miserable desk?"
"For some unknown reason; but certainly not for a small scrap of paper which was then worth only twenty francs."
"A million francs! He knew it; … he knows everything! Ah! you do not know him—the scoundrel! … He hasn't robbed you of a million francs!"
The controversy would have lasted for a much longer time, but, on the twelfth day, Mon. Gerbois received from Arsène Lupin a letter, marked "confidential," which read as follows:
"Monsieur, the gallery is being amused at our expense. Do you not think it is time for us to be serious? The situation is this: I possess a ticket to which I have no legal right, and you have the legal right to a ticket you do not possess. Neither of us can do anything. You will not relinquish your rights to me; I will not deliver the ticket to you. Now, what is to be done?
"I see only one way out of the difficulty: Let us divide the spoils. A half-million for you; a half-million for me. Is not that a fair division? In my opinion, it is an equitable solution, and an immediate one. I will give you three days' time to consider the proposition. On Thursday morning I shall expect to read in the personal column of the Echo de France a discreet message addressed to M. Ars. Lup, expressing in veiled terms your consent to my offer. By so doing you will recover immediate possession of the ticket; then you can collect the money and send me half a million in a manner that I will describe to you later.
"In case of your refusal, I shall resort to other measures to accomplish the same result. But, apart from the very serious annoyances that such obstinacy on your part will cause you, it will cost you twenty-five thousand francs for supplementary expenses.
"Believe me, monsieur, I remain your devoted servant, ARSÈNE LUPIN."
In a fit of exasperation Mon. Gerbois committed the grave mistake of showing that letter and allowing a copy of it to be taken. His indignation overcame his discretion.
"Nothing! He shall have nothing!" he exclaimed, before a crowd of reporters. "To divide my property with him? Never! Let him tear up the ticket if he wishes!"
"Yet five hundred thousand francs is better than nothing."
"That is not the question. It is a question of my just right, and that right I will establish before the courts."
"What! attack Arsène Lupin? That would be amusing."
"No; but the Crédit Foncier. They must pay me the million francs."
"Without producing the ticket, or, at least, without proving that you bought it?"
"That proof exists, since Arsène Lupin admits that he stole the writing-desk."
"But would the word of Arsène Lupin carry any weight with the court?"
"No matter; I will fight it out."
The gallery shouted with glee; and wagers were freely made upon the result with the odds in favor of Lupin. On the following Thursday the personal column in the Echo de France was eagerly perused by the expectant public, but it contained nothing addressed to M. Ars. Lup. Mon. Gerbois had not replied to Arsène Lupin's letter. That was the declaration of war.
That evening the newspapers announced the abduction of Mlle. Suzanne Gerbois.
The most entertaining feature in what might be called the Arsène Lupin dramas is the comic attitude displayed by the Parisian police. Arsène Lupin talks, plans, writes, commands, threatens and executes as if the police did not exist. They never figure in his calculations.
And yet the police do their utmost. But what can they do against such a foe—a foe that scorns and ignores them?
Suzanne had left the house at twenty minutes to ten; such was the testimony of the servant. On leaving the college, at five minutes past ten, her father did not find her at the place she was accustomed to wait for him. Consequently, whatever had happened must have occurred during the course of Suzanne's walk from the house to the college. Two neighbors had met her about three hundred yards from the house. A lady had seen, on the avenue, a young girl corresponding to Suzanne's description. No one else had seen her.
Inquiries were made in all directions; the employees of the railways and street-car lines were questioned, but none of them had seen anything of the missing girl. However, at Ville-d'Avray, they found a shopkeeper who had furnished gasoline to an automobile that had come from Paris on the day of the abduction. It was occupied by a blonde woman—extremely blonde, said the witness. An hour later, the automobile again passed through Ville-d'Avray on its way from Versailles to Paris. The shopkeeper declared that the automobile now contained a second woman who was heavily veiled. No doubt, it was Suzanne Gerbois.
The abduction must have taken place in broad daylight, on a frequented street, in the very heart of the town. How? And at what spot? Not a cry was heard; not a suspicious action had been seen. The shopkeeper described the automobile as a royal-blue limousine of twenty-four horse-power made by the firm of Peugeon & Co. Inquiries were then made at the Grand-Garage, managed by Madame Bob-Walthour, who made a specialty of abductions by automobile. It was learned that she had rented a Peugeon limousine on that day to a blonde woman whom she had never seen before nor since.
"Who was the chauffeur?"
"A young man named Ernest, whom I had engaged only the day before. He came well recommended."
"Is he here now?"
"No. He brought back the machine, but I haven't seen him since," said Madame Bob-Walthour.
"Do you know where we can find him?"
"You might see the people who recommended him to me. Here are the names."
Upon inquiry, it was learned that none of these people knew the man called Ernest. The recommendations were forged.
Such was the fate of every clue followed by the police. It ended nowhere. The mystery remained unsolved.
Mon. Gerbois