The Crystal Stopper, Maurice Leblanc [best free e reader txt] 📗

everything now depended on Stanislas Vorenglade. Vorenglade possessed the letters: who would end by having them? Daubrecq? Lupin? Or he, Prasville?

Lupin was not there and could not be there. Daubrecq was not in a position to fight. There could be no doubt, therefore, about the result: Prasville would reenter into possession of his letters and, through this very fact, would escape Daubrecq’s threats and Lupin’s threats and recover all his freedom of action against them.

The train arrived.

In accordance with orders, the stationmaster had issued instructions that no one was to be admitted to the platform. Prasville, therefore, walked on alone, in front of a number of his men, with Chief-inspector Blanchon at their head.

The train drew up.

Prasville almost at once saw Stanislas Vorenglade at the window of a first-class compartment, in the middle of the train.

The ex-deputy alighted and then held out his hand to assist an old gentleman who was travelling with him.

Prasville ran up to him and said, eagerly:

“Vorenglade... I want to speak to you...”

At the same moment, Daubrecq, who had managed to pass the barrier, appeared and exclaimed:

“M. Vorenglade, I have had your letter. I am at your disposal.”

Vorenglade looked at the two men, recognized Prasville, recognized Daubrecq, and smiled:

“Oho, it seems that my return was awaited with some impatience! What’s it all about? Certain letters, I expect?”

“Yes... yes...” replied the two men, fussing around him.

“You’re too late,” he declared.

“Eh? What? What do you mean?”

“I mean that the letters are sold.”

“Sold! To whom?”

“To this gentleman,” said Vorenglade, pointing to his travelling-companion, “to this gentleman, who thought that the business was worth going out of his way for and who came to Amiens to meet me.”

The old gentleman, a very old man wrapped in furs and leaning on his stick, took off his hat and bowed.

“It’s Lupin,” thought Prasville, “it’s Lupin, beyond a doubt.”

And he glanced toward the detectives, was nearly calling them, but the old gentleman explained:

“Yes, I thought the letters were good enough to warrant a few hours’ railway journey and the cost of two return tickets.”

“Two tickets?”

“One for me and the other for one of my friends.”

“One of your friends?”

“Yes, he left us a few minutes ago and reached the front part of the train through the corridor. He was in a great hurry.”

Prasville understood: Lupin had taken the precaution to bring an accomplice, and the accomplice was carrying off the letters. The game was lost, to a certainty. Lupin had a firm grip on his victim. There was nothing to do but submit and accept the conqueror’s conditions.

“Very well, sir,” said Prasville. “We shall see each other when the time comes. Good-bye for the present, Daubrecq: you shall hear from me.” And, drawing Vorenglade aside, “As for you, Vorenglade, you are playing a dangerous game.”

“Dear me!” said the ex-deputy. “And why?”

The two men moved away.

Daubrecq had not uttered a word and stood motionless, as though rooted to the ground.

The old gentleman went up to him and whispered:

“I say, Daubrecq, wake up, old chap... It’s the chloroform, I expect...”

Daubrecq clenched his fists and gave a muttered growl.

“Ah, I see you know me!” said the old gentleman. “Then you will remember our interview, some months ago, when I came to see you in the Square Lamartine and asked you to intercede in Gilbert’s favour. I said to you that day, ‘Lay down your arms, save Gilbert and I will leave you in peace. If not, I shall take the list of the Twenty-seven from you; and then you’re done for.’ Well, I have a strong suspicion that done for is what you are. That comes of not making terms with kind M. Lupin. Sooner or later, you’re bound to lose your boots by it. However, let it be a lesson to you.

“By the way, here’s your pocketbook which I forgot to give you. Excuse me if you find it lightened of its contents. There were not only a decent number of bank-notes in it, but also the receipt from the warehouse where you stored the Enghien things which you took back from me. I thought I might as well save you the trouble of taking them out yourself. It ought to be done by now. No, don’t thank me: it’s not worth mentioning. Good-bye, Daubrecq. And, if you should want a louis or two, to buy yourself a new decanter-stopper, drop me a line. Good-bye, Daubrecq.”

He walked away.

He had not gone fifty steps when he heard the sound of a shot.

He turned round.

Daubrecq had blown his brains out.

“De profundis,” murmured Lupin, taking off his hat.

Two months later, Gilbert, whose sentence had been commuted to one of penal servitude for life, made his escape from the Ile de Re, on the day before that on which he was to have been transported to New Caledonia.

It was a strange escape. Its least details remained difficult to understand; and, like the two shots on the Boulevard Arago, it greatly enhanced Arsene Lupin’s prestige.

“Taken all round,” said Lupin to me, one day, after telling me the different episodes of the story, “taken all around, no enterprise has ever given me more trouble or cost me greater exertions than that confounded adventure which, if you don’t mind, we will call, The Crystal Stopper; or, Never Say Die. In twelve hours, between six o’clock in the morning and six o’clock in the evening, I made up for six months of bad luck, blunders, gropings in the dark and reverses. I certainly count those twelve hours among the finest and the most glorious of my life.”

“And Gilbert?” I asked. “What became of him?”

“He is farming his own land, way down in Algeria, under his real name, his only name of Antoine Mergy. He is married to an Englishwoman, and they have a son whom he insisted on calling Arsene. I often receive a bright, chatty, warm-hearted letter from him.”

“And Mme. Mergy?”

“She and her little Jacques are living with them.”

“Did you see her again?”

“I did not.”