Memoirs of Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕

“I hold him in the hollow of my hand all right,” Ralph thought to himself. “In the matter of the crime and remorse he’s as firm as a rock. But he is still being tortured by his passion for Josephine, and through that I shall do what I like with him.”

For a good minute no one said anything. Beaumagnan mopped his brow. Then, making up his mind that this enemy, for all his delicate appearance, was not one to be rid of easily, he went on: “We’re getting away from the point. Your personal feelings for the Countess of Cagliostro have nothing whatever to do with the matter in hand. I return therefore to my original question: what is it you want from us?”

“It’s perfectly simple,” said Ralph. “I can tell you in a few words. With regard to this religious treasure of the middle ages, which you personally want to recover for the treasury of the Society of Jesus, this is how we stand. These offerings flowed through channels in all the provinces into the seven principal abbeys of the Caux country, and constituted a common fund, managed by seven chosen administrators, of whom one only knew the hiding-place of the treasure. Each abbey possessed an episcopal or pastoral ring, which it handed down from generation to generation to its own delegate. As a symbol of its mission, the Council of Seven was represented by a candlestick with seven branches, each branch of which was set, a relic of the Hebraic liturgy and the temple of Moses, with a stone of the same kind and color as the stone in the ring to which it corresponded. For example, the branch I found at Gueures is set with a red stone, an imitation garnet, which was the representative stone of one of the abbeys; and we also know that Brother Nicolas, last administrator in chief of the abbeys of the Caus country, was a monk of Fécamp abbey. Are we in agreement so far?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is enough to know the names of the seven abbeys to know the seven places in which a search has a prospect of success. Now seven names are inscribed on the inside of the rings which Bridget Rousselin handed over to you at the theater last night, and it is those seven rings I ask to examine.”

“What?” cried Beaumagnan. “After we’ve been searching all these years, you come along and claim to reach at the first shot the same stage as we have?”

“Exactly,” said Ralph with a cheerful grin.

“And if I refuse?”

“Excuse me, but do you refuse? I shall only tell you, in the event of your definite refusal.”

“Of course I refuse!” cried Beaumagnan. “Your demand is absolutely senseless! I refuse categorically!”

“Then I shall denounce you.”

Beaumagnan was astounded. He looked at Ralph as if he were dealing with a madman.

“You’ll denounce me? What’s this new game?”

“I shall denounce all three of you.”

“All three of us?” said Beaumagnan with a chuckle. “And what are you going to accuse us of, my young friend?”

“The murder of Josephine Balsamo, Countess of Cagliostro!”

There was no word of protest, no gesture of revolt. Godfrey d’Etigues and Oscar de Bennetot seemed to sink into paralyzed heaps on their chairs. Beaumagnan turned livid and his chuckle ended in a horrible grimace.

He rose, dashed to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. It had the effect of putting a little life into his associates. They sat upright again.

Ralph had the audacity to make a joke of it: “My dear sir,” he said, “when a conscript joins his regiment they put him on a horse without stirrups till he learns to stick on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have sworn never to carry a revolver till I find myself confronted by a situation which I can not handle just with the help of my brain,” said Ralph. “So you are warned. I haven’t any stirrups; that is to say I haven’t any revolver. You are three, all armed; and I am alone. Therefore⁠—”

“Therefore, we’ve had enough of talk,” said Beaumagnan in a threatening tone. “It’s time for facts. You accuse us of having murdered the Countess of Cagliostro?”

“I do.”

“And you have proofs to support this monstrous accusation?”

“I have.”

“What are they?”

“A few weeks ago I was wandering about the estate of La Haie d’Etigues, hoping to have the good fortune of meeting Mademoiselle d’Etigues, when I saw a carriage driven by one of your friends. This carriage went into the park. I slipped in after it. A woman, Josephine Balsamo, was carried into the chamber in the old tower, in which you were all gathered together; and you formed yourselves into a tribunal of sorts. Her trial was conducted as dishonorably and unfairly as it could be. You acted as public prosecutor, monsieur, and you carried your treachery and vanity to the point of letting it be believed that this woman had been your mistress. As for these two gentlemen, they played the part of executioners.”

“The proof! The proof!” snarled Beaumagnan, whose face had become unrecognizable.

“I was present, lying in the embrasure of the window, just above your head.”

“It’s impossible!” stammered Beaumagnan. “If it was true, you would have made some attempt to intervene and save her!”

“Save her from what?” asked Ralph who naturally did not wish to reveal anything about the rescue of Josephine. “I believed, as did the rest of your confederates, that you had condemned her to confinement in an English madhouse. So I went away when they did. I hurried to Etretat. I hired a boat and rowed about waiting for the English yacht of which you had spoken, intending to frighten the captain into releasing the unfortunate woman. It was a vain attempt and cost her her life. The English yacht never came. It was only later that I understood the dastardly trick you had played and was able to reconstitute the actual crime, in all