Arsène Lupin Versus Herlock Sholmes by Maurice Leblanc (best fiction novels to read .txt) 📕

“I thought you were asleep, Mademoiselle Alice.”

“No, Monsieur Sholmes, I am not sleepy. I was thinking.”

“Of what? If I may be so bold as to inquire?”

“I was thinking of Madame d’Imblevalle. She must be very unhappy. Her life is ruined.”

“Oh! no, no,” he replied quickly. “Her mistake was not a serious one. Monsieur d’Imblevalle will forgive and forget it. Why, even before we left, his manner toward her had softened.”

“Perhaps⁠ ⁠… but he will remember it for a long time⁠ ⁠… and she will suffer a great deal.”

“You love her?”

“Very much. It was my love for her that gave me strength to smile when I was trembling from fear, that gave me courage to look in your face when I desired to hide from your sight.”

“And you are sorry to leave her?”

“Yes, very sorry. I have no relatives, no friends⁠—but her.”

“You will have friends,” said the Englishman, who was affected by her sorrow. “I have promised that. I have relatives⁠ ⁠… and some influence. I assure you that you will have no cause to regret coming to England.”

“That may be, monsieur, but Madame d’Imblevalle will not be there.”

Herlock Sholmes resumed his promenade upon the deck. After a few minutes, he took a seat near his travelling companion, filled his pipe, and struck four matches in a vain effort to light it. Then, as he had no more matches, he arose and said to a gentleman who was sitting near him:

“May I trouble you for a match?”

The gentleman opened a box of matches and struck one. The flame lighted up his face. Sholmes recognized him⁠—it was Arsène Lupin.

If the Englishman had not given an almost imperceptible movement of surprise, Lupin would have supposed that his presence on board had been known to Sholmes, so well did he control his feelings and so natural was the easy manner in which he extended his hand to his adversary.

“How’s the good health, Monsieur Lupin?”

“Bravo!” exclaimed Lupin, who could not repress a cry of admiration at the Englishman’s sangfroid.

“Bravo? and why?”

“Why? Because I appear before you like a ghost, only a few hours after you saw me drowned in the Seine; and through pride⁠—a quality that is essentially English⁠—you evince not the slightest surprise. You greet me as a matter of course. Ah! I repeat: Bravo! Admirable!”

“There is nothing remarkable about it. From the manner in which you fell from the boat, I knew very well that you fell voluntarily, and that the bullet had not touched you.”

“And you went away without knowing what had become of me?”

“What had become of you? Why, I knew that. There were at least five hundred people on the two banks of the river within a space of half-a-mile. If you escaped death, your capture was certain.”

“And yet I am here.”

“Monsieur Lupin, there are two men in the world at whom I am never astonished: in the first place, myself⁠—and then, Arsène Lupin.”

The treaty of peace was concluded.

If Sholmes had not been successful in his contests with Arsène Lupin; if Lupin remained the only enemy whose capture he must never hope to accomplish; if, in the course of their struggles, he had not always displayed a superiority, the Englishman had, none the less, by means of his extraordinary intuition and tenacity, succeeded in recovering the Jewish lamp as well as the blue diamond.

This time, perhaps, the finish had not been so brilliant, especially from the standpoint of the public spectators, since Sholmes was obliged to maintain a discreet silence in regard to the circumstances in which the Jewish lamp had been recovered, and to announce that he did not know the name of the thief. But as man to man, Arsène Lupin against Herlock Sholmes, detective against burglar, there was neither victor nor vanquished. Each of them had won corresponding victories.

Therefore they could now converse as courteous adversaries who had lain down their arms and held each other in high regard.

At Sholmes’ request, Arsène Lupin related the strange story of his escape.

“If I may dignify it by calling it an escape,” he said. “It was so simple! My friends were watching for me, as I had asked them to meet me there to recover the Jewish lamp. So, after remaining a good half-hour under the overturned boat, I took advantage of an occasion when Folenfant and his men were searching for my dead body along the bank of the river, to climb on top of the boat. Then my friends simply picked me up as they passed by in their motorboat, and we sailed away under the staring eyes of an astonished multitude, including Ganimard and Folenfant.”

“Very good,” exclaimed Sholmes, “very neatly played. And now you have some business in England?”

“Yes, some accounts to square up.⁠ ⁠… But I forgot⁠ ⁠… what about Monsieur d’Imblevalle?”

“He knows everything.”

“All! my dear Sholmes, what did I tell you? The wrong is now irreparable. Would it not have been better to have allowed me to carry out the affair in my own way? In a day or two more, I should have recovered the stolen goods from Bresson, restored them to Monsieur d’Imblevalle, and those two honest citizens would have lived together in peace and happiness ever after. Instead of that⁠—”

“Instead of that,” said Sholmes, sneeringly, “I have mixed the cards and sown the seeds of discord in the bosom of a family that was under your protection.”

“Mon Dieu! of course, I was protecting them. Must a person steal, cheat and wrong all the time?”

“Then you do good, also?”

“When I have the time. Besides, I find it amusing. Now, for instance, in our last adventure, I found it extremely diverting that I should be the good genius seeking to help and save unfortunate mortals, while you were the evil genius who dispensed only despair and tears.”

“Tears! Tears!” protested Sholmes.

“Certainly! The d’Imblevalle household is demolished, and Alice Demun weeps.”

“She could not remain any longer. Ganimard would have discovered her some day, and, through her, reached Madame d’Imblevalle.”

“Quite right, monsieur; but whose fault is it?”

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