The Crystal Stopper by Maurice Leblanc (classic books for 10 year olds txt) 📕

“Did he stay long?”

“Twenty seconds, perhaps.”

“What! Twenty seconds? No longer?”

“No longer.”

“What time was it?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“Could he have known of the Marquis d’Albufex’ suicide by then?”

“Yes. I saw the special edition of the Paris-Midi in his pocket.”

“That’s it, that’s it,” said Lupin. And he asked, “Did M. Prasville give you no special instructions in case Daubrecq should return?”

“No. So, in M. Prasville’s absence, I telephoned to the police-office and I am waiting. The disappearance of Daubrecq the deputy caused a great stir, as you know, and our presence here has a reason, in the eyes of the public, as long as that disappearance continues. But, now that Daubrecq has returned, now that we have proofs that he is neither under restraint nor dead, how can we stay in the house?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Lupin, absently. “It doesn’t matter whether the house is guarded or not. Daubrecq has been; therefore the crystal stopper is no longer here.”

He had not finished the sentence, when a question quite naturally forced itself upon his mind. If the crystal stopper was no longer there, would this not be obvious from some material sign? Had the removal of that object, doubtless contained within another object, left no trace, no void?

It was easy to ascertain. Lupin had simply to examine the writing-desk, for he knew, from Sebastiani’s chaff, that this was the spot of the hiding-place. And the hiding-place could not be a complicated one, seeing that Daubrecq had not remained in the study for more than twenty seconds, just long enough, so to speak, to walk in and walk out again.

Lupin looked. And the result was immediate. His memory had so faithfully recorded the picture of the desk, with all the articles lying on it, that the absence of one of them struck him instantaneously, as though that article and that alone were the characteristic sign which distinguished this particular writing-table from every other table in the world.

“Oh,” he thought, quivering with delight, “everything fits in! Everything! ... Down to that half-word which the torture drew from Daubrecq in the tower at Mortepierre! The riddle is solved. There need be no more hesitation, no more groping in the dark. The end is in sight.”

And, without answering the inspector’s questions, he thought of the simplicity of the hiding-place and remembered Edgar Allan Poe’s wonderful story in which the stolen letter, so eagerly sought for, is, in a manner of speaking, displayed to all eyes. People do not suspect what does not appear to be hidden.

“Well, well,” said Lupin, as he went out, greatly excited by his discovery, “I seem doomed, in this confounded adventure, to knock up against disappointments to the finish. Everything that I build crumbles to pieces at once. Every victory ends in disaster.”

Nevertheless, he did not allow himself to be cast down. On the one hand, he now knew where Daubrecq the deputy hid the crystal stopper. On the other hand, he would soon learn from Clarisse Mergy where Daubrecq himself was lurking. The rest, to him, would be child’s play.

The Growler and the Masher were waiting for him in the drawing-room of the Hotel Franklin, a small family-hotel near the Trocadero. Mme. Mergy had not yet written to him.

“Oh,” he said, “I can trust her! She will hang on to Daubrecq until she is certain.”

However, toward the end of the afternoon, he began to grow impatient and anxious. He was fighting one of those battles—the last, he hoped—in which the least delay might jeopardize everything. If Daubrecq threw Mme. Mergy off the scent, how was he to be caught again? They no longer had weeks or days, but only a few hours, a terribly limited number of hours, in which to repair any mistakes that they might commit.

He saw the proprietor of the hotel and asked him:

“Are you sure that there is no express letter for my two friends?”

“Quite sure, sir.”

“Nor for me, M. Nicole?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s curious,” said Lupin. “We were certain that we should hear from Mme. Audran.”

Audran was the name under which Clarisse was staying at the hotel.

“But the lady has been,” said the proprietor.

“What’s that?”

“She came some time ago and, as the gentlemen were not there, left a letter in her room. Didn’t the porter tell you?”

Lupin and his friends hurried upstairs. There was a letter on the table.

“Hullo!” said Lupin. “It’s been opened! How is that? And why has it been cut about with scissors?”

The letter contained the following lines:

“Daubrecq has spent the week at the Hotel Central. This morning he had his luggage taken to the Gare de —- and telephoned to reserve a berth in the sleeping-car —- for —- “I do not know when the train starts. But I shall be at the station all the afternoon. Come as soon as you can, all three of you. We will arrange to kidnap him.”

“What next?” said the Masher. “At which station? And where’s the sleeping-car for? She has cut out just the words we wanted!”

“Yes,” said the Growler. “Two snips with the scissors in each place; and the words which we most want are gone. Who ever saw such a thing? Has Mme. Mergy lost her head?”

Lupin did not move. A rush of blood was beating at his temples with such violence that he glued his fists to them and pressed with all his might. His fever returned, burning and riotous, and his will, incensed to the verge of physical suffering, concentrated itself upon that stealthy enemy, which must be controlled then and there, if he himself did not wish to be irretrievably beaten.

He muttered, very calmly:

“Daubrecq has been here.”

“Daubrecq!”

“We can’t suppose that Mme. Mergy has been amusing herself by cutting out those two words. Daubrecq has been here. Mme. Mergy thought that she was watching him. He was watching her instead.”

“How?”

“Doubtless through that hall-porter who did not tell us that Mme. Mergy had been to the hotel, but who must have told Daubrecq. He came. He read the letter. And, by way of getting at us, he contented himself with cutting out the essential words.”

“We can find out... we can ask...”

“What’s the good? What’s the use of finding out how he came, when we know that he did come?”

He examined the letter for some time, turned it over and