The Teeth of the Tiger, Maurice Leblanc [top 10 inspirational books TXT] 📗

He remembered a similar occasion when, some years before, he waited in the same way for the door of his cell to open and the German Emperor to appear. But how much greater was the solemnity of the present moment! Before, it was at the very most his liberty that was at stake. This time it was Florence’s life which fate was about to offer or refuse him.

“Florence! Florence!” he kept repeating, in his despair.

He no longer had a doubt of her innocence. Nor did he doubt that the other loved her and had carried her off not so much for the hostage of a coveted fortune as for a love spoil, which a man destroys if he cannot keep it.

“Florence! Florence!”

He was suffering from an extraordinary fit of depression. His defeat seemed irretrievable. There was no question of hastening after Florence, of catching the murderer. Don Luis was in prison under his own name of Arsène Lupin; and the whole problem lay in knowing how long he would remain there, for months or for years!

It was then that he fully realized what his love for Florence meant. He perceived that it took the place in his life of his former passions, his craving for luxury, his desire for mastery, his pleasure in fighting, his ambition, his revenge. For two months he had been struggling to win her and for nothing else. The search after the truth and the punishment of the criminal were to him no more than means of saving Florence from the dangers that threatened her.

If Florence had to die, if it was too late to snatch her from the enemy, in that case he might as well remain in prison. Arsène Lupin spending the rest of his days in a convict settlement was a fitting end to the spoilt life of a man who had not even been able to win the love of the only woman he had really loved.

It was a passing mood and, being totally opposed to Don Luis’s nature, finished abruptly in a state of utter confidence which no longer admitted the least particle of anxiety or doubt. The sun had risen. The cell gradually became filled with daylight. And Don Luis remembered that Valenglay reached his office on the Place Beauveau at seven o’clock in the morning.

From this moment he felt absolutely calm. Coming events presented an entirely different aspect to him, as though they had, so to speak, turned right round. The contest seemed to him easy, the facts free from complications. He understood as clearly as if the actions had been performed that his will could not but be obeyed. The deputy chief must inevitably have made a faithful report to the Prefect of Police. The Prefect of Police must inevitably that morning have transmitted Arsène Lupin’s request to Valenglay.

Valenglay would inevitably give himself the pleasure of an interview with Arsène Lupin. Arsène Lupin would inevitably, in the course of that interview, obtain Valenglay’s consent. These were not suppositions, but certainties; not problems awaiting solution, but problems already solved. Starting from A and continuing along B and C, you arrive, whether you wish it or not, at D.

Don Luis began to laugh:

“Come, come, Arsène, old chap, remember that you brought Mr. Hohenzollern all the way from his Brandenburg Marches. Valenglay does not live as far as that, by Jove! And, if necessary, you can put yourself out a little.⁠ ⁠… That’s it: I’ll consent to take the first step. I will go and call on M. de Beauveau. M. Valenglay, it is a pleasure to see you.”

He went gayly to the door, pretending that it was open and that he had only to walk through to be received when his turn came.

He repeated this child’s play three times, bowing low and long, as though holding a plumed hat in his hand, and murmuring:

“Open sesame!”

At the fourth time, the door opened, and a warder appeared.

Don Luis said, in a ceremonious tone:

“I hope I have not kept the Prime Minister waiting?”

There were four inspectors in the corridor.

“Are these gentlemen my escort?” he asked. “That’s right. Announce Arsène Lupin, grandee of Spain, his most Catholic Majesty’s cousin. My lords, I follow you. Turnkey, here are twenty crowns for your pains, my friend.”

He stopped in the corridor.

“By Jupiter, no gloves; and I haven’t shaved since yesterday!”

The inspectors had surrounded him and were pushing him a little roughly. He seized two of them by the arm. They groaned.

“That’ll teach you,” he said. “You’ve no orders to thrash me, have you? Nor even to handcuff me? That being so, young fellows, behave!”

The prison governor was standing in the hall.

“I’ve had a capital night, my dear governor,” said Don. “Your C.T.C. rooms are the very acme of comfort. I’ll see that the Lockup Arms receives a star in the Baedeker. Would you like me to write you a testimonial in your jail book? You wouldn’t? Perhaps you hope to see me again? Sorry, my dear governor, but it’s impossible. I have other things to do.”

A motor car was waiting in the yard. Don Luis stepped in with the four detectives:

“Place Beauveau,” he said to the driver.

“No, Rue Vineuse,” said one of the detectives, correcting him.

“Oho!” said Don Luis. “His Excellency’s private residence! His Excellency prefers that my visit should be kept secret. That’s a good sign. By the way, dear friends, what’s the time?”

His question remained unanswered. And as the detectives had drawn the blinds, he was unable to consult the clocks in the street.

It was not until he was at Valenglay’s, in the Prime Minister’s little ground-floor flat near the Trocadéro, that he saw a clock on the mantelpiece:

“A quarter to seven!” he exclaimed. “Good! There’s not been much time lost.”

Valenglay’s study opened on a flight of steps that ran down to a garden filled with aviaries. The room itself was crammed with books and pictures.

A bell rang, and the detectives went out, following the