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

the door. Beautrelet, mad with curiosity, stood in front of Lupin and awaited events, without understanding what Lupin was doing or contemplating. To give up the Needle was all very well; but why was he giving up himself? What was his plan? Did he hope to escape from Ganimard? And, on the other hand, where was Raymonde?

Lupin, meantime, was murmuring, dreamily:

“An honest man.⁠—Arsène Lupin an honest man⁠—no more robbery⁠—leading the life of everybody else.⁠—And why not? There is no reason why I should not meet with the same success.⁠—But do stop that now, Ganimard! Don’t you know, you ass, that I’m uttering historic words and that Beautrelet is taking them in for the benefit of posterity?” He laughed. “I am wasting my time. Ganimard will never grasp the use of my historic words.”

He took a piece of red chalk, put a pair of steps to the wall and wrote, in large letters:

Arsène Lupin gives and bequeaths to France all the treasures contained in the Hollow Needle, on the sole condition that these treasures be housed at the Musée du Louvre in rooms which shall be known as the Arsène Lupin Rooms.

“Now,” he said, “my conscience is at ease. France and I are quits.”

The attackers were striking with all their might. One of the panels burst in two. A hand was put through and fumbled for the lock.

“Thunder!” said Lupin. “That idiot of a Ganimard is capable of effecting his purpose for once in his life.”

He rushed to the lock and removed the key.

“Sold, old chap!⁠—The door’s tough.⁠—I have plenty of time⁠—Beautrelet, I must say goodbye. And thank you!⁠—For really you could have complicated the attack⁠—but you’re so tactful!”

While speaking, he moved toward a large triptych by Van der Weyden, representing the Wise Men of the East. He shut the right-hand panel and, in so doing, exposed a little door concealed behind it and seized the handle.

“Good luck to your hunting, Ganimard! And kind regards at home!”

A pistol-shot resounded. Lupin jumped back: “Ah, you rascal, full in the heart! Have you been taking lessons? You’ve done for the Wise Man! Full in the heart! Smashed to smithereens, like a pipe at the fair!⁠—”

“Lupin, surrender!” roared Ganimard, with his eyes glittering and his revolver showing through the broken panel of the door. “Surrender, I say!”

“Did the old guard surrender?”

“If you stir a limb, I’ll blow your brains out!”

“Nonsense! You can’t get me here!”

As a matter of fact, Lupin had moved away; and, though Ganimard was able to fire straight in front of him through the breach in the door, he could not fire, still less take aim, on the side where Lupin stood. Lupin’s position was a terrible one for all that, because the outlet on which he was relying, the little door behind the triptych, opened right in front of Ganimard. To try to escape meant to expose himself to the detective’s fire; and there were five bullets left in the revolver.

“By Jove,” he said, laughing, “there’s a slump in my shares this afternoon! You’ve done a nice thing. Lupin, old fellow: you wanted a last sensation and you’ve gone a bit too far. You shouldn’t have talked so much.”

He flattened himself against the wall. A further portion of the panel had given way under the men’s pressure and Ganimard was less hampered in his movements. Three yards, no more, separated the two antagonists. But Lupin was protected by a glass case with a gilt-wood framework.

“Why don’t you help, Beautrelet?” cried the old detective, gnashing his teeth with rage. “Why don’t you shoot him, instead of staring at him like that?”

Isidore, in fact, had not budged, had remained, till that moment, an eager, but passive spectator. He would have liked to fling himself into the contest with all his strength and to bring down the prey which he held at his mercy. He was prevented by some inexplicable sentiment.

But Ganimard’s appeal for assistance shook him. His hand closed on the butt of his revolver:

“If I take part in it,” he thought, “Lupin is lost. And I have the right⁠—it’s my duty.”

Their eyes met. Lupin’s were calm, watchful, almost inquisitive, as though, in the awful danger that threatened him, he were interested only in the moral problem that held the young man in its clutches. Would Isidore decide to give the finishing stroke to the defeated enemy?

The door cracked from top to bottom.

“Help, Beautrelet, we’ve got him!” Ganimard bellowed.

Isidore raised his revolver.

What happened was so quick that he knew of it, so to speak, only by the result. He saw Lupin bob down and run along the wall, skimming the door right under the weapon which Ganimard was vainly brandishing; and he felt himself suddenly flung to the ground, picked up the next moment and lifted by an invincible force.

Lupin held him in the air, like a living shield, behind which he hid himself.

“Ten to one that I escape, Ganimard! Lupin, you see, has never quite exhausted his resources⁠—”

He had taken a couple of brisk steps backward to the triptych. Holding Beautrelet with one hand flat against his chest, with the other he cleared the passage and closed the little door behind them.

A steep staircase appeared before their eyes.

“Come along,” said Lupin, pushing Beautrelet before him. “The land forces are beaten⁠—let us turn our attention to the French fleet.⁠—After Waterloo, Trafalgar.⁠—You’re having some fun for your money, eh, my lad?⁠—Oh, how good: listen to them knocking at the triptych now!⁠—It’s too late, my children.⁠—But hurry along, Beautrelet!”

The staircase, dug out in the wall of the Needle, dug in its very crust, turned round and round the pyramid, encircling it like the spiral of a tobogganslide. Each hurrying the other, they clattered down the treads, taking two or three at a bound. Here and there, a ray of light trickled through a fissure; and Beautrelet carried away the vision of the fishing-smacks hovering a few dozen fathoms off, and of the black torpedo-boat.

They went down and down, Isidore in silence, Lupin