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

that she should have rings, of no great value in themselves perhaps, but of extraordinary historical interest, hidden in her house.”

Bridget was alarmed and cried: “I’m quite ready to give them up!”

“There’s no point in that. Take care of the stones. I’m going to demand, in your name the restitution of the rings. Where does this gentleman live?”

“Rue de Vangirard.”

“What’s his name?”

“Beaumagnan.”

“Good. And one last word of advice,” said Ralph. “Leave this house. It is too isolated. And for some time⁠—say for a month⁠—go and live with your maid at an hotel. And don’t receive strange visitors. Is it agreed?”

“Yes.”

He left her, shutting the door behind him; and they went downstairs. Josephine waited for him in the street while he released Valentine.

When he came out, Josephine slipped her arm through his. She seemed greatly disturbed and to have forgotten her anger and desire for revenge.

“Do I rightly understand that you’re going to his house?” she said anxiously.

“Beaumagnan’s? Yes.”

“But it’s madness!”

“Why?”

“Go to Beaumagnan’s at a time when you know that the other two are with him?” she cried.

“Two and one are three,” he said cheerfully.

“For goodness’ sake, don’t go!”

“Why ever not? Do you suppose they’ll eat me?” he said scornfully.

“Beaumagnan will stick at nothing,” she protested.

“Is he a cannibal?”

“There’s nothing to laugh at, dear.”

“Don’t cry, my Josine.”

He felt that her fear for him was genuine, and that in a fresh access of tenderness, she was forgetting their disagreement.

“Don’t go, dear,” she repeated. “I know Beaumagnan’s flat. Those ruffians will attack you; and there’s no chance of anyone being able to help you.”

“All the better, for in that case no one will be able to help them either,” he said calmly.

“You will make a joke of it, Ralph. Nevertheless⁠—”

He squeezed her arm; and said in a reassuring tone:

“Now, listen to me, Josine. I come into a colossal affair long after everyone else and find yourself confronted by two powerful organizations, yours and Beaumagnan’s. Both of them, very naturally, refuse to welcome me, the third person to share the loot, so that either I’ve got to play a big game or remain negligible. Let me then deal with our enemy Beaumagnan as I’ve dealt with my little friend Josine. You must admit that I managed her fairly well and that I have more than one string to my bow.”

Once more he offended her. She drew her arm out of his; walked on side by side in silence.

In his heart of hearts he asked himself whether his most relentless foe was not this gentle, pretty lady, whom he so passionately loved and by whom he was loved so passionately.

IX The Tarpeian Rock

“Does Monsieur Beaumagnan live here?”

The shutter of the peephole in the door had been drawn back; and the face of an old servant was pressed against the bars across it.

“He lives here. But he is not seeing anyone,” that servant said grumpily.

“Go and tell him that a gentleman has come from Mademoiselle Bridget Rousselin,” said Ralph imperiously.

The rooms of Beaumagnan were on the ground floor of a two-storied house. There was no janitor, no bell. There was an iron knocker to knock at the massive door, which was pierced by this peephole like a prison cell.

The servant went. Ralph waited more than five minutes. That a man should call, when they expected the young actress in person, was puzzling the three confederates.

The servant came back and said, still grumpily: “My master would be obliged if you would send in your card, sir.”

Ralph gave him his card.

There was another wait, then the noise of bolts being drawn back and the unhooking of a chain, and Ralph was led across a hall with a polished floor, like a convent parlor, the walls of which looked uncommonly damp.

They passed two or three doors and came to a room with double doors. The outer of these was padded with leather so that no sound could come through it. The old servant opened it, ushered Ralph into the room and shut the two doors, leaving him face to face with his three enemies. He could hardly regard them as anything else, for two of the three watched him enter with the air of boxers on guard and ready to lead.

“It is him! It is indeed!” cried Godfrey d’Etigues flushing with anger. “It’s our man of the Château de Gueures! The young fellow who stole the branch of the candlestick! Of all the infernal impudence! What have you come for today? If it’s the hand of my daughter⁠—”

Ralph laughed softly and said: “Upon my soul you don’t seem able to think of anything else, sir. My feelings for Mademoiselle Clarice are the same as ever; and in my heart I still cherish the same respectful hope. But the object of my visit today is no more matrimonial than it was at Gueures.”

“Then what the devil is your object?” stormed the Baron.

“That day at Gueures it was to lock you up in a cellar. Today⁠—”

Beaumagnan had to step forward hastily to prevent the Baron from throwing himself on this intruder.

“Stay where you are, Godfrey! Sit down!” he cried. “Let the young gentleman tell us what he has come for.”

He himself sat down at his desk. Ralph dropped on to a chair.

Before speaking he studied leisurely the faces of his opponents. He perceived that they had changed since their meeting at La Haie d’Etigues. The Baron in particular had aged. His cheeks had grown hollow and at moments his eyes had a hunted expression which impressed Ralph painfully. The fixed idea, the pangs of remorse can alone produce that feverish, restless air which he observed both in the Baron and in Beaumagnan. They could not keep their hands still.

Beaumagnan however kept control of himself. If he was haunted by the memory of Josephine’s death, it was at rarer intervals than the Baron. It had worn him less, had less thrown him off his balance. It was only by fits and starts and at critical moments