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

Ralph thought to himself: “If I’m going to bring this off, I must produce such a critical moment. One or other of us has got to give ground.”

“What is it you want, young man?” said Beaumagnan. “The name of Mademoiselle Rousselin has procured you admittance into my flat. With what intention⁠—”

“With the intention of continuing the conversation you had with her at the theater last night,” Ralph replied boldly.

The attack was indeed direct; but Beaumagnan did not flinch.

“I’m of the opinion that that conversation can only be continued with her, and I was expecting no one but her,” he said drily.

“Mademoiselle Rousselin has a good reason for not coming,” said Ralph.

“A very good reason?” asked Beaumagnan in a politely sceptical tone.

“Yes. She has been the victim of a murderous assault.”

“Eh, what? Someone has tried to murder her? What for?” cried Beaumagnan.

“To take the seven stones from her as you gentlemen took the seven rings,” said Ralph coldly. The Baron and Oscar de Bennetot jumped from their chairs. Beaumagnan showed better control of himself; but he stared with astonished eyes at this quiet young man whose inexplicable intervention assumed an air of arrogant defiance. But after all this adversary looked to be of no great importance; and he let that thought appear in the careless tone in which he countered.

“This is the second time you have interfered in matters which are no business of yours, young man. And you have interfered in a manner which will undoubtedly compel us to give you a well-merited lesson. The first time, at Gueures, after leading my friends into a trap, you took possession of an object which belonged to us; and that in ordinary language is known as larceny. Today your aggression is even more impudent, since you come and insult us to our faces, without the least excuse, knowing perfectly well that we did not steal those rings, but that they were handed over to us. Do you mind telling us what you mean by it?”

“You know quite well that there has been no larceny, nor aggression on my part,” said Ralph firmly. “I have only acted in a manner entirely natural in one who is aiming at the same goal as you yourselves.”

“Indeed, you are aiming at the same goal as we are, are you?” said Beaumagnan in a slightly sneering tone. “And what may that goal be?”

“The discovery of the ten thousand precious stones hidden in the block of granite.”

Beaumagnan was indeed taken aback; and clumsily enough he showed it plainly by his air of astonished consternation and his gaping silence.

Thereupon Ralph drove his attack home, saying: “Doesn’t it follow that since the four of us are seeking the incalculable treasure of the old monasteries, when our paths cross we come into collision? That’s what must happen.”

The treasure of the monasteries! The block of granite! The ten thousand precious stones! To Beaumagnan each phrase was the stroke of a hammer. Here was another rival to be dealt with! The Countess of Cagliostro out of the way, at once another competitor enters the race for the millions!

Godfrey d’Etigues and de Bennetot exchanged ferocious glances and expanded their chests in the manner of athletes about to plunge into a contest. Beaumagnan stiffened in his chair in his effort to recover his coolness. He felt that he would need it all.

“Legends!” he cried scornfully, striving to keep his voice steady and pick up the dropped thread of his ideas. “Old women’s gossip! Nursery tales! Is that what you waste your time on?”

“No more than you,” said Ralph in a pleasant tone, not wishing Beaumagnan to recover his balance but rather to upset him get more thoroughly. “Everything you do has some connection or other with this treasure. And not more than the Cardinal de Bonnechose did. I suppose his memorandum was old women’s gossip. Not more than the dozen friends, of whom you are the leader and inspirer, do.”

“Goodness, how well informed you are!” said Beaumagnan ironically.

“Better informed a great deal than you imagine,” said Ralph quietly.

“And from whom did you get this precious information?” said Beaumagnan with a sneer.

“From a woman.”

“A woman?” Beaumagnan repeated: and there was a sudden note of anxiety in his voice.

“From Josephine Balsamo, Countess of Cagliostro.”

There came a groan from the Baron, a muttered oath from de Bennetot; and Beaumagnan cried in a tone of amazed dismay:

“Josephine Balsamo! Then you knew her!”

Ralph saw his way clearly. Just to drop the name of Josephine in the discussion had been enough to throw his enemies into the worst confusion, and in that confusion he was resolved to keep them. Indeed, so great was that confusion that Beaumagnan had committed the irremediable error of speaking of her as if she were no longer alive. Ralph smiled at him, a disquieting smile.

“D-D-Did you know her? When did you know her? Where? What did she tell you?” stammered Beaumagnan.

“I knew her at the beginning of last winter, as you did, monsieur,” said Ralph, pressing his offensive. “And I enjoyed her acquaintance all through the winter till the very moment that I had the pleasure of meeting the daughter of the Baron d’Etigues. I saw her nearly every day.”

“You lie, sir!” cried Beaumagnan. “She couldn’t have seen you every day! She would have mentioned your name. I was a sufficiently close friend of hers for her not to have kept a secret of that kind from me.”

“She kept that one,” said Ralph drily.

“It’s a slander!” Beaumagnan almost shouted. “You are trying to make us believe that an impossible intimacy existed between you and her. One may bring many accusations against Josephine Balsamo perhaps: accusations of coquetry, trickery but not this one⁠—not of an act of debauchery.”

“Love is not an act of debauchery,” said Ralph calmly.

“What do you mean? Love! Josephine Balsamo loved you?”

“Yes,” said Ralph.

Beaumagnan was beside himself. He sprang up and shook his fist in Ralph’s face. In their turn his friends had to calm him; but he was still trembling