Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (literature books to read .txt) 📕

They stood round the millionaire observing his anguish, with eyes in which shone various degrees of sympathy. As if no longer able to bear the sight of such woe, Sonia slipped out of the room.

The millionaire lamented his loss and abused the thieves by turns, but always at the top of his magnificent voice.

Suddenly a fresh idea struck him. He clapped his hand to his brow and cried: “That eight hundred pounds! Charolais will never buy the Mercrac now! He was not a bona fide purchaser!”

The Duke’s lips parted slightly and his eyes opened a trifle wider than their wont. He turned sharply on his heel, and almost sprang into the other drawing-room. There he laughed at his ease.

M. Formery kept saying to the millionaire: “Be calm, M. Gournay-Martin. Be calm! We shall recover your masterpieces. I pledge you my word. All we need is time. Have patience. Be calm!”

His soothing remonstrances at last had their effect. The millionaire grew calm:

“Guerchard?” he said. “Where is Guerchard?”

M. Formery presented Guerchard to him.

“Are you on their track? Have you a clue?” said the millionaire.

“I think,” said M. Formery in an impressive tone, “that we may now proceed with the inquiry in the ordinary way.”

He was a little piqued by the millionaire’s so readily turning from him to the detective. He went to a writing-table, set some sheets of paper before him, and prepared to make notes on the answers to his questions. The Duke came back into the drawing-room; the inspector was summoned. M. Gournay-Martin sat down on a couch with his hands on his knees and gazed gloomily at M. Formery. Germaine, who was sitting on a couch near the door, waiting with an air of resignation for her father to cease his lamentations, rose and moved to a chair nearer the writing-table. Guerchard kept moving restlessly about the room, but noiselessly. At last he came to a standstill, leaning against the wall behind M. Formery.

M. Formery went over all the matters about which he had already questioned the Duke. He questioned the millionaire and his daughter about the Charolais, the theft of the motor-cars, and the attempted theft of the pendant. He questioned them at less length about the composition of their household—the servants and their characters. He elicited no new fact.

He paused, and then he said, carelessly as a mere matter of routine: “I should like to know, M. Gournay-Martin, if there has ever been any other robbery committed at your house?”

“Three years ago this scoundrel Lupin—” the millionaire began violently.

“Yes, yes; I know all about that earlier burglary. But have you been robbed since?” said M. Formery, interrupting him.

“No, I haven’t been robbed since that burglary; but my daughter has,” said the millionaire.

“Your daughter?” said M. Formery.

“Yes; I have been robbed two or three times during the last three years,” said Germaine.

“Dear me! But you ought to have told us about this before. This is extremely interesting, and most important,” said M. Formery, rubbing his hands, “I suppose you suspect Victoire?”

“No, I don’t,” said Germaine quickly. “It couldn’t have been Victoire. The last two thefts were committed at the chateau when Victoire was in Paris in charge of this house.”

M. Formery seemed taken aback, and he hesitated, consulting his notes. Then he said: “Good—good. That confirms my hypothesis.”

“What hypothesis?” said M. Gournay-Martin quickly.

“Never mind—never mind,” said M. Formery solemnly. And, turning to Germaine, he went on: “You say, Mademoiselle, that these thefts began about three years ago?”

“Yes, I think they began about three years ago in August.”

“Let me see. It was in the month of August, three years ago, that your father, after receiving a threatening letter like the one he received last night, was the victim of a burglary?” said M. Formery.

“Yes, it was—the scoundrels!” cried the millionaire fiercely.

“Well, it would be interesting to know which of your servants entered your service three years ago,” said M. Formery.

“Victoire has only been with us a year at the outside,” said Germaine.

“Only a year?” said M. Formery quickly, with an air of some vexation. He paused and added, “Exactly—exactly. And what was the nature of the last theft of which you were the victim?”

“It was a pearl brooch—not unlike the pendant which his Grace gave me yesterday,” said Germaine.

“Would you mind showing me that pendant? I should like to see it,” said M. Formery.

“Certainly—show it to him, Jacques. You have it, haven’t you?” said Germaine, turning to the Duke.

“Me? No. How should I have it?” said the Duke in some surprise. “Haven’t you got it?”

“I’ve only got the case—the empty case,” said Germaine, with a startled air.

“The empty case?” said the Duke, with growing surprise.

“Yes,” said Germaine. “It was after we came back from our useless journey to the station. I remembered suddenly that I had started without the pendant. I went to the bureau and picked up the case; and it was empty.”

“One moment—one moment,” said M. Formery. “Didn’t you catch this young Bernard Charolais with this case in his hands, your Grace?”

“Yes,” said the Duke. “I caught him with it in his pocket.”

“Then you may depend upon it that the young rascal had slipped the pendant out of its case and you only recovered the empty case from him,” said M. Formery triumphantly.

“No,” said the Duke. “That is not so. Nor could the thief have been the burglar who broke open the bureau to get at the keys. For long after both of them were out of the house I took a cigarette from the box which stood on the bureau beside the case which held the pendant. And it occurred to me that the young rascal might have played that very trick on me. I opened the case and the pendant was there.”

“It has been stolen!” cried the millionaire; “of course it has been stolen.”

“Oh, no, no,” said the Duke. “It hasn’t been stolen. Irma, or perhaps Mademoiselle Kritchnoff, has brought it to Paris for Germaine.”

“Sonia certainly hasn’t brought it. It was she who suggested to me that you had seen it lying on the bureau, and slipped it into your pocket,” said Germaine quickly.

“Then it must be Irma,” said the Duke.

“We had better send for her and make sure,” said M. Formery. “Inspector, go and fetch her.”

The inspector went out of the room and the Duke questioned Germaine and her father about the journey, whether it had been very uncomfortable, and if they were very tired by it. He learned that they had been so fortunate as to find sleeping compartments on the train, so that they had suffered as little as might be from their night of travel.

M. Formery looked through his notes; Guerchard seemed to be going to sleep where he stood against the wall.

The inspector came back with Irma. She wore the frightened, half-defensive, half-defiant air which people of her class wear when confronted by the authorities. Her big, cow’s eyes rolled uneasily.

“Oh, Irma—” Germaine began.

M. Formery cut her short, somewhat brusquely. “Excuse me, excuse me. I am conducting this inquiry,” he said. And then, turning to Irma, he added, “Now, don’t be frightened, Mademoiselle Irma; I want to ask you a question or two. Have you brought up to Paris the pendant which the Duke of Charmerace gave your mistress yesterday?”

“Me, sir? No, sir. I haven’t brought the pendant,” said Irma.

“You’re quite sure?” said M. Formery.

“Yes, sir; I haven’t seen the pendant. Didn’t Mademoiselle Germaine leave it on the bureau?” said Irma.

“How do you know that?” said M. Formery.

“I heard Mademoiselle Germaine say that it had been on the bureau. I thought that perhaps Mademoiselle Kritchnoff had put it in her bag.”

“Why should Mademoiselle Kritchnoff put it in her bag?” said the Duke quickly.

“To bring it up to Paris for Mademoiselle Germaine,” said Irma.

“But what made you think that?” said Guerchard, suddenly intervening.

“Oh, I thought Mademoiselle Kritchnoff might have put it in her bag because I saw her standing by the bureau,” said Irma.

“Ah, and the pendant was on the bureau?” said M. Formery.

“Yes, sir,” said Irma.

There was a silence. Suddenly the atmosphere of the room seemed to have become charged with an oppression—a vague menace. Guerchard seemed to have become wide awake again. Germaine and the Duke looked at one another uneasily.

“Have you been long in the service of Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin?” said M. Formery.

“Six months, sir,” said Irma.

“Very good, thank you. You can go,” said M. Formery. “I may want you again presently.”

Irma went quickly out of the room with an air of relief.

M. Formery scribbled a few words on the paper before him and then said: “Well, I will