The Arsene Lupin MEGAPACK ®. Морис Леблан

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      “Yes.”

      “No telegram during the night?”

      “No.”

      “Do they suspect you in the house?”

      “No; I do some little things for Madame Ganimard, and she tells me everything her husband does. I have been with her all morning.”

      “Very well. Until further orders come here every day at eleven o’clock.”

      He rose and walked away in the direction of the Dauphine gate, stopping at the Chinese pavilion, where he partook of a frugal repast consisting of two eggs, with some fruit and vegetables. Then he returned to the rue Crevaux and said to the concierge:

      “I will just glance through the rooms and then give you the keys.”

      He finished his inspection of the room that he had used as a library; then he seized the end of a gas-pipe, which hung down the side of the chimney. The pipe was bent and a hole made in the elbow. To this hole he fitted a small instrument in the form of an ear-trumpet and blew into it. A slight whistling sound came by way of reply. Placing the trumpet to his mouth, he said:

      “Anyone around, Dubreuil?”

      “No.”

      “May I come up!”

      “Yes.”

      He returned the pipe to its place, saying to himself:

      “How progressive we are! Our century abounds with little inventions which render life really charming and picturesque. And so amusing!…especially when a person knows how to enjoy life as I do.”

      He turned one of the marble mouldings of the mantel, and the entire half of the mantel moved, and the mirror above it glided in invisible grooves, disclosing an opening and the lower steps of a stairs built in the very body of the chimney; all very clean and complete—the stairs were constructed of polished metal and the walls of white tiles. He ascended the steps, and at the fifth floor there was the same opening in the chimney. Mon. Dubreuil was waiting for him.

      “Have you finished in your rooms?”

      “Yes.”

      “Everything cleared out?”

      “Yes.”

      “And the people?”

      “Only the three men on guard.”

      “Very well; come on.”

      They ascended to the upper floor by the same means, one after the other, and there found three men, one of whom was looking through the window.

      “Anything new?”

      “Nothing, governor.”

      “All quiet in the street?”

      “Yes.”

      “In ten minutes I will be ready to leave. You will go also. But in the meantime if you see the least suspicious movement in the street, warn me.”

      “I have my finger on the alarm-bell all the time.”

      “Dubreuil, did you tell the moving men not to touch the wire of that bell?”

      “Certainly; it is working all right.”

      “That is all I want to know.”

      The two gentlemen then descended to the apartment of Felix Davey and the latter, after adjusting the marble mantel, exclaimed, joyfully:

      “Dubreuil, I should like to see the man who is able to discover all the ingenious devices, warning bells, net-works of electric wires and acoustic tubes, invisible passages, moving floors and hidden stairways. A real fairy-land!”

      “What fame for Arsène Lupin!”

      “Fame I could well dispense with. It’s a pity to be compelled to leave a place so well equipped, and commence all over again, Dubreuil…and on a new model, of course, for it would never do to duplicate this. Curse Sherlock Holmes!”

      “Has he returned to Paris?”

      “How could he? There has been only one boat come from Southampton and it left there at midnight; only one train from Havre, leaving there at eight o’clock this morning and due in Paris at eleven fifteen. As he could not catch the midnight boat at Southampton—and the instructions to the captain on that point were explicit—he cannot reach France until this evening via Newhaven and Dieppe.”

      “Do you think he will come back?”

      “Yes; he never gives up. He will return to Paris; but it will be too late. We will be far away.”

      “And Mademoiselle Destange?”

      “I am to see her in an hour.”

      “At her house?”

      “Oh! no; she will not return there for several days. But you, Dubreuil, you must hurry. The loading of our goods will take a long time and you should be there to look after them.”

      “Are you sure that we are not being watched?”

      “By whom? I am not afraid of anyone but Holmes.”

      Dubreuil retired. Felix Davey made a last tour of the apartment, picked up two or three torn letters, then, noticing a piece of chalk, he took it and, on the dark paper of the drawing-room, drew a large frame and wrote within it the following:

      “Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar, lived here for five years at the beginning of the twentieth century.”

      This little pleasantry seemed to please him very much. He looked at it for a moment, whistling a lively air, then said to himself:

      “Now that I have placed myself in touch with the historians of future generations, I can go. You must hurry, Sherlock Holmes, as I shall leave my present abode in three minutes, and your defeat will be an accomplished fact.… Two minutes more! you are keeping me waiting, Monsieur Holmes.… One minute more! Are you not coming? Well, then, I proclaim your downfall and my apotheosis. And now I make my escape. Farewell, kingdom of Arsène Lupin! I shall never see you again. Farewell to the fifty-five rooms of the six apartments over which I reigned! Farewell, my own royal bed chamber!”

      His outburst of joy was interrupted by the sharp ringing of a bell, which stopped twice, started again and then ceased. It was the alarm bell.

      What was wrong? What unforeseen danger? Ganimard? No; that wasn’t possible!

      He was on the point of returning to his library and making his escape. But, first, he went to the window. There was no one in the street. Was the enemy already in the house? He listened and thought he could discern certain confused sounds. He hesitated no longer. He ran to his library, and as he crossed the threshold he heard the noise of a key being inserted in the lock of the vestibule door.

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