The Hollow Needle by Maurice Leblanc (best book clubs .txt) 📕

It was an impressive sight to see them thus, grave and silent. But who could the newcomer be?

I was on the point of guessing the truth, through his resemblance to a photograph which had recently appeared in the papers, when Lupin turned to me:

“My dear chap, let me introduce M. Isidore Beautrelet.” And, addressing the young man, he continued, “I have to thank you, M. Beautrelet, first, for being good enough, on receipt of a letter from me, to postpone your revelations until after this interview and, secondly, for granting me this interview with so good a grace.”

Beautrelet smiled:

“Allow me to remark that my good grace consists, above all, in obeying your orders. The threat which you made to me in the letter in question was the more peremptory in being aimed not at me, but at my father.”

“My word,” said Lupin laughing, “we must do the best we can and make use of the means of action vouchsafed to us. I knew by experience that your own safety was indifferent to you, seeing that you resisted the arguments of Master Brédoux. There remained your father⁠—your father for whom you have a great affection⁠—I played on that string.”

“And here I am,” said Beautrelet, approvingly.

I motioned them to be seated. They consented and Lupin resumed, in that tone of imperceptible banter which is all his own:

“In any case, M. Beautrelet, if you will not accept my thanks, you will at least not refuse my apologies.”

“Apologies! Bless my soul, what for?”

“For the brutality which Master Brédoux showed you.”

“I confess that the act surprised me. It was not Lupin’s usual way of behaving. A stab⁠—”

“I assure you I had no hand in it. Brédoux is a new recruit. My friends, during the time that they had the management of our affairs, thought that it might be useful to win over to our cause the clerk of the magistrate himself who was conducting the inquiry.”

“Your friends were right.”

“Brédoux, who was specially attached to your person, was, in fact, most valuable to us. But, with the ardor peculiar to any neophyte who wishes to distinguish himself, he pushed his zeal too far and thwarted my plans by permitting himself, on his own initiative, to strike you a blow.”

“Oh, it was a little accident!”

“Not at all, not at all! And I have reprimanded him severely! I am bound, however, to say in his favor that he was taken unawares by the really unexpected rapidity of your investigation. If you had only left us a few hours longer, you would have escaped that unpardonable attempt.”

“And I should doubtless have enjoyed the enormous advantage of undergoing the same fate as M. Ganimard and Mr. Holmlock Shears?”

“Exactly,” said Lupin, laughing heartily. “And I should not have known the cruel terrors which your wound caused me. I have had an atrocious time because of it, believe me, and, at this moment, your pallor fills me with all the stings of remorse. Can you ever forgive me?”

“The proof of confidence which you have shown me in delivering yourself unconditionally into my hands⁠—it would have been so easy for me to bring a few of Ganimard’s friends with me⁠—that proof of confidence wipes out everything.”

Was he speaking seriously? I confess frankly that I was greatly perplexed. The struggle between the two men was beginning in a manner which I was simply unable to understand. I had been present at the first meeting between Lupin and Holmlock Shears, in the café near the Gare Montparnesse,2 and I could not help recalling the haughty carriage of the two combatants, the terrific clash of their pride under the politeness of their manners, the hard blows which they dealt each other, their feints, their arrogance.

Here, it was quite different. Lupin, it is true, had not changed; he exhibited the same tactics, the same crafty affability. But what a strange adversary he had come upon! Was it even an adversary? Really, he had neither the tone of one nor the appearance. Very calm, but with a real calmness, not one assumed to cloak the passion of a man endeavoring to restrain himself; very polite, but without exaggeration; smiling, but without chaff, he presented the most perfect contrast to Arsène Lupin, a contrast so perfect even that, to my mind, Lupin appeared as much perplexed as myself.

No, there was no doubt about it: in the presence of that frail stripling, with cheeks smooth as a girl’s and candid and charming eyes, Lupin was losing his ordinary self-assurance. Several times over, I observed traces of embarrassment in him. He hesitated, did not attack frankly, wasted time in mawkish and affected phrases.

It also looked as though he wanted something. He seemed to be seeking, waiting. What for? Some aid?

There was a fresh ring of the bell. He himself ran and opened the door. He returned with a letter:

“Will you allow me, gentlemen?” he asked.

He opened the letter. It contained a telegram. He read it⁠—and became as though transformed. His face lit up, his figure righted itself and I saw the veins on his forehead swell. It was the athlete who once more stood before me, the ruler, sure of himself, master of events and master of persons. He spread the telegram on the table and, striking it with his fist, exclaimed:

“Now, M. Beautrelet, it’s you and I!”

Beautrelet adopted a listening attitude and Lupin began, in measured, but harsh and masterful tones:

“Let us throw off the mask⁠—what say you?⁠—and have done with hypocritical compliments. We are two enemies, who know exactly what to think of each other; we act toward each other as enemies; and therefore we ought to treat with each other as enemies.”

“To treat?” echoed Beautrelet, in a voice of surprise.

“Yes, to treat. I did not use that word at random and I repeat it, in spite of the effort, the great effort, which it costs me. This is the first time I have