Memoirs of Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕
- Author: Maurice Leblanc
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“Then he gathered round him a dozen country gentlemen, more or less honorable and more or less in debt, to whom he revealed only a part of the affair and whom he has trained to be a band of conspirators ready for any task. Each of them has his sphere of action, each his sphere of investigation; and he holds them by the money he lavishes on them.
“Two years of careful and minute investigation have produced results by no means negligible. First of all they have learned that the priest who was guillotined was Brother Nicolas, treasurer of Fécamp Abbey. Then, by dint of ransacking secret archives and old records, they have discovered a curious correspondence formerly carried on between all the monasteries in France; and it appears to be established that since a very remote time there was throughout the country a current of money, which was in the nature of a tithe paid by all the religious institutions, that flowed only into the monasteries of the Caux country. This seems to have constituted a common treasure, an inexhaustible reserve in view of possible attacks to be repelled, or crusades to be undertaken. A treasury council, composed of seven members, handled this wealth, but only one of them knew its hiding-place.
“The Revolution destroyed all the monasteries. But the treasure existed. Brother Nicolas was its last guardian.”
A prolonged silence followed her narrative. Ralph’s curiosity had not been disappointed; and he was deeply moved. He murmured with restrained enthusiasm:
“But how splendid it is! What a magnificent adventure! I have always been perfectly certain that the past has bequeathed to the present fabulous treasures, the search for which inevitably takes the form of solving an almost insoluble problem. How could it be otherwise? Unlike us, our ancestors had not at their disposal the strongrooms and cellars of the Bank of France. They were obliged to choose natural hiding-places in which they heaped up their gold and jewels, and the secret of which they passed on by means of some mnemonical formula which was, so to speak, the key of the lock. Let a catastrophe occur, the secret was lost, and so was the treasure so painfully accumulated.”
His excitement was increasing, and he cried joyfully: “But this treasure shall not be lost, Josine; and it is one of the most fantastic of all of them. If Brother Nicolas spoke the truth—and everything goes to show that he did speak the truth—if the ten thousand precious stones were dropped into this strange strongbox, one can reckon this property left by the Middle Ages,3 this result of the efforts of millions of monks, this gigantic offering of a whole Christian people during the great epoch of fanaticism, everything that is in the bowels of a boundary stone in a meadow in Normandy at something like a thousand million francs! It’s wonderful!”
Abruptly he moved to the couch on which Josephine was sitting and sat down beside her as if he wished to cut short his declaiming and demanded in imperious accents:
“And what has your role been in this adventure, Josine? What is your contribution to it? Have you any special information from Cagliostro?”
“Only a few words,” she said. “On the list of the four enigmas which he left and which is in my possession, he has written against this one and against The Fortune of The Kings of France this note: ‘Between Rouen, le Havre, and Dieppe. (So Marie-Antoinette declared.).’ ”
“Yes—yes—the Caux country … the estuary of the ancient river on the banks of which the Kings of France and the monks so prospered,” Ralph murmured thoughtfully. “It is undoubtedly there that they have hidden the savings of ten centuries of rule and ten centuries of religion. … The two coffers are there—not far from one another naturally—and it is there that I shall find them.”
Then, turning towards Josine, he added: “So you were hunting for them, too?”
“Yes, but without any precise data.”
“And another woman was looking for them as well as you?” he said, looking into the depths of her eyes. “The woman who murdered Beaumagnan’s two confederates.”
“Yes. The Marquise de Belmonte, who is, I suppose, another descendant of Cagliostro,” she said.
“And you found nothing?”
“Nothing till the day on which I met Beaumagnan.”
“Who wished to avenge the murder of his two friends, what?”
“Yes.”
“And little by little Beaumagnan told you everything he knew?” he continued.
“Yes.”
“Of his own accord?”
“Of his own accord.”
“That is to say, you guessed he was aiming at the same goal as you, and you took advantage of the love with which you inspired him to lead him on to confide in you?”
“Yes,” she said frankly.
“It was a big game you were playing.”
“As it turned out, I was staking my life. In making up his mind to kill me he was undoubtedly actuated by the desire to rid himself of the love which was a torture to him, since I did not respond to it. And over and above that he was terrified at having revealed these secrets to me. I had suddenly become the enemy who might reach the goal before he did. The day he saw the mistake he had made I was doomed.”
“Yet his revelations were, after all, nothing but some historical data, and vague at that,” he objected.
“That’s all they were,” she admitted.
“And the branch of the candlestick which I got out of the little pillar was the first piece of definite evidence that came to light?”
“The very first.”
“At least I suppose it was. For there is nothing to show that, after your rupture, he did not advance a step or two himself,” suggested Ralph.
“A step or two?” she exclaimed in a tone of dismay.
“Certainly, one step,” he declared. “Last night Beaumagnan went to the theater. Why, if
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