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

“No. On same terms as myself.”

The offer was bona fide; Ralph felt that it was; he was flattered by the tribute. Perhaps he would have accepted it, if it had not been for Josephine. But any alliance between her and Beaumagnan was out of the question.

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “But for reasons into which I cannot enter, I must refuse.”

“You are an enemy then?”

“No, monsieur, a competitor.”

“No: an enemy,” Beaumagnan insisted. “And as such liable⁠—”

“Liable to be treated as was the Countess of Cagliostro,” Ralph interjected.

“You’ve said it, monsieur. You know that the greatness of our end excuses the means which we are sometimes compelled to employ. If we employ them in your case, you will have yourself to thank for it.”

“I shall,” said Ralph.

Beaumagnan opened the door and said to the servant: “Show this gentleman out.”

Ralph bowed to his three enemies and went across the hall. The servant opened the door with the peephole in it.

“Half a minute, my man,” said Ralph.

He went lightly back to the door of the study, opened it to find the three confederates conferring, and with his hand on the handle of the door, and the path of escape clear, said in the most amiable accents:

“With regard to that famous compromising letter, I think I ought to tell you that I did not really take a copy of it, and that consequently my friend does not hold the original. And do you really think that that story about his walking up and down in front of the Prefecture, ready to dash in, if I don’t turn up at a quarter to five, sounds probable? Goodbye, gentlemen. Sleep well. I’m looking forward to our next meeting.”

He slammed the door in Beaumagnan’s face and gained the street before he got it open.

He had won the second battle.

At the end of the street Josephine was waiting for him in a cab.

“Drive to Saint Lazare station, main line departure platform,” he said to the cabman.

He jumped into the cab, quivering with delight, and said in the accents of a conqueror: “Here you are, darling⁠—the seven indispensable names. Here’s the list of them. Take it.”

“And now?” she said.

“Well, there they are⁠—the second victory in one day and what a victory! Goodness how easy it is to get the better of people! A little audacity, a clear head, careful reasoning, and a firm resolve to go as straight as an arrow to your goal, and obstacles clear out of your way of themselves. Beaumagnan is a smart chap, isn’t he? Well, he crumpled up just as you did, my pretty Josine. Your pupil does you honor, doesn’t he? Two first-class masters, Beaumagnan and Cagliostro’s daughter smashed and pulverized in one day by a collegian! What do you think of that, Josine?”

He paused in his paean to say: “You’re not angry with me for rubbing it in like this?”

“No, no,” she said, smiling at him.

“And you’re not angry about that little business at Bridget Rousselin’s?”

“Don’t you ask too much of me,” she warned him. “It’s better not to wound my pride. I’ve plenty of it and I’m vindictive. But after all one can’t go on being angry with you for long. There’s something peculiar about you which disarms one.”

“Beaumagnan isn’t disarmed, I’ll be hanged if he is,” he said thoughtfully.

“Beaumagnan is a man,” she said.

“Well, I will make war on men; and I really believe that that’s what I’m cut out for, for conquest, for the extraordinary and the fabulous. I feel that there is no situation from which I cannot emerge with honor. And it is tempting to fight when one is sure of victory, isn’t it, Josine?”

Along the narrow streets on the left bank of the Seine the cab made its way at a good pace. They crossed the river.

“And from today I shall be victorious, Josine! I have all the trumps in my hand. In a few hours I reach Lillebonne. I unearth the Widow Rousselin, and, whether she like it or not, I examine the sandalwood casket on which the keyword is carved; and there we are. With that word and with the names of the seven abbeys, it will indeed be odd if I don’t carry off the cup!”

Josephine laughed at his enthusiasm. He was exultant. He told her about his duel with Beaumagnan, kissed her, cocked snooks at the people they passed, opened the window and jeered at the cabman because his horse trotted like a snail.

“Make him gallop, old idiot! What? You have the honor of driving in your chariot the god of Fortune and the queen of beauty and your steed doesn’t gallop!”

The cab went along the Avenue de l’Opera. It took the shortcut through the Rue des Petit-Champs and the Rue des Capucines. In the Rue Caumartin the horse did break into a gallop.

“Splendid!” cried Ralph. “Twelve to five; and we’re nearly there. Of course it’s understood that you come with me to Lillebonne?”

“Whatever for? There’s no point in it. It’s sufficient for one of us to go,” she replied.

“As you like,” said Ralph. “You trust me and you know that I shall not betray that trust and that we are allies⁠—the victory of the one is the victory of the other.”

But just as they came to the corner of the Rue Auber, the door of a courtyard on their left was thrown open, and without slowing up the cab ran through it.

Three men appeared at either door, Ralph was gripped and roughly dragged away before he could even make a show of resistance.

He heard Josephine, who had remained in the cab, say: “Saint Lazare Station! And be quick about it!”

The six men rushed him into the house, shoved him into a badly lighted room, and locked its massive door on him.

The exaltation which Ralph had been enjoying did not immediately abate. He went on laughing and joking, but in a growing fury and in tones that changed as it grew.

“Bravo, Josephine!⁠ ⁠… But what a masterstroke!⁠ ⁠… What a shot! Right