The Hollow Needle, Maurice Leblanc [fiction novels to read .TXT] 📗

the Château de l’Aiguille! Valméras, the very man to whom he had applied for assistance against Arsène Lupin! Valméras, his companion on the expedition to Crozant! Valméras, the plucky friend who had made Raymonde’s escape possible by felling one of Lupin’s accomplices, or pretending to fell him, in the dusk of the great hall! And Valméras was Lupin!

“You⁠—you⁠—So it’s you!” he stammered.

“Why not?” exclaimed Lupin. “Did you think that you knew me for good and all because you had seen me in the guise of a clergyman or under the features of M. Massiban? Alas, when a man selects the position in society which I occupy, he must needs make use of his little social gifts! If Lupin were not able to change himself, at will, into a minister of the Church of England or a member of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres, it would be a bad lookout for Lupin! Now Lupin, the real Lupin, is here before you, Beautrelet! Take a good look at him.”

“But then⁠—if it’s you⁠—then⁠—Mademoiselle⁠—”

“Yes, Beautrelet, as you say⁠—”

He again drew back the hanging, beckoned and announced:

“Mme. Arsène Lupin.”

“Ah,” murmured the lad, confounded in spite of everything, “Mlle. de Saint-Véran!”

“No, no,” protested Lupin. “Mme. Arsène Lupin, or rather, if you prefer, Mme. Louis Valméras, my wedded wife, married to me in accordance with the strictest forms of law; and all thanks to you, my dear Beautrelet.”

He held out his hand to him.

“All my acknowledgements⁠—and no ill will on your side, I trust?”

Strange to say, Beautrelet felt no ill will at all, no sense of humiliation, no bitterness. He realized so strongly the immense superiority of his adversary that he did not blush at being beaten by him. He pressed the offered hand.

“Luncheon is served, ma’am.”

A butler had placed a tray of dishes on the table.

“You must excuse us, Beautrelet: my chef is away and we can only give you a cold lunch.”

Beautrelet felt very little inclined to eat. He sat down, however, and was enormously interested in Lupin’s attitude. How much exactly did he know? Was he aware of the danger he was running? Was he ignorant of the presence of Ganimard and his men?

And Lupin continued:

“Yes, thanks to you, my dear friend. Certainly, Raymonde and I loved each other from the first. Just so, my boy⁠—Raymonde’s abduction, her imprisonment, were mere humbug: we loved each other. But neither she nor I, when we were free to love, would allow a casual bond at the mercy of chance, to be formed between us. The position, therefore, was hopeless for Lupin. Fortunately, it ceased to be so if I resumed my identity as the Louis Valméras that I had been from a child. It was then that I conceived the idea, as you refused to relinquish your quest and had found the Château de l’Aiguille, of profiting by your obstinacy.”

“And my silliness.”

“Pooh! Anyone would have been caught as you were!”

“So you were really able to succeed because I screened you and assisted you?”

“Of course! How could anyone suspect Valméras of being Lupin, when Valméras was Beautrelet’s friend and after Valméras had snatched from Lupin’s clutches the girl whom Lupin loved? And how charming it was! Such delightful memories! The expedition to Crozant! The bouquets we found! My pretended love letter to Raymonde! And, later, the precautions which I, Valméras, had to take against myself, Lupin, before my marriage! And the night of your great banquet, Beautrelet, when you fainted in my arms! Oh, what memories!”

There was a pause. Beautrelet watched Raymonde. She had listened to Lupin without saying a word and looked at him with eyes in which he read love, passion and something else besides, something which the lad could not define, a sort of anxious embarrassment and a vague sadness. But Lupin turned his eyes upon her and she gave him an affectionate smile. Their hands met over the table.

“What do you say to the way I have arranged my little home, Beautrelet?” cried Lupin. “There’s a style about it, isn’t there? I don’t pretend that it’s as comfortable as it might be. And yet, some have been quite satisfied with it; and not the least of mankind, either!⁠—Look at the list of distinguished people who have owned the Needle in their time and who thought it an honor to leave a mark of their sojourn.”

On the walls, one below the other, were carved the following names:

Julius Caesar

Charlemagne

Rollo

William the Conqueror

Richard Cœur-de-Leon

Louis XI

Francis I

Henry IV

Louis XIV

Arsène Lupin

“Whose name will figure after ours?” he continued. “Alas, the list is closed! From Caesar to Lupin⁠—and there it ends. Soon the nameless mob will come to visit the strange citadel. And to think that, but for Lupin, all this would have remained forever unknown to men! Ah Beautrelet, what a feeling of pride was mine on the day when I first set foot on this abandoned soil. To have found the lost secret and become its master, its sole master! To inherit such an inheritance! To live in the Needle, after all those kings!⁠—”

He was interrupted by a gesture of his wife’s. She seemed greatly agitated.

“There is a noise,” she said. “Underneath us.⁠—You can hear it.”

“It’s the lapping of the water,” said Lupin.

“No, indeed it’s not. I know the sound of the waves. This is something different.”

“What would you have it be, darling?” said Lupin, smiling. “I invited no one to lunch except Beautrelet.” And, addressing the servant, “Charolais, did you lock the staircase doors behind the gentleman?”

“Yes, sir, and fastened the bolts.”

Lupin rose:

“Come, Raymonde, don’t shake like that. Why, you’re quite pale!”

He spoke a few words to her in an undertone, as also to the servant, drew back the curtain and sent them both out of the room.

The noise below grew more distinct. It was a series of dull blows, repeated at intervals. Beautrelet thought:

“Ganimard has lost patience and is breaking down the doors.”

Lupin resumed the thread of his conversation, speaking very calmly and as though he had