Arsene Lupin The Collection. Морис Леблан

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СКАЧАТЬ Englishman of this morning?"

      "Yes—but in a different disguise."

      "Did he see you?"

      "No. He saw your mother. Mme. Valmeras caught him as he was just going away."

      "Well?"

      "He told her that he was looking for Louis Valmeras, that he was a friend of yours."

      "Then?"

      "The madame said that her son had gone abroad—for years."

      "And he went away?"

      "No, he made signs through the window that overlooks the plain—as if he were calling to some one."

      Lupin seemed to hesitate. A loud cry tore the air. Raymonde moaned:

      "It's your mother—I recognize—"

      He flung himself upon her and, dragging her away, in a burst of fierce passion:

      "Come—let us fly—you first."

      But, suddenly, he stopped, distraught, overcome:

      "No, I can't do it—it's too awful. Forgive me—Raymonde—that poor woman down there—Stay here. Beautrelet, don't leave her."

      He darted along the slope that surrounds the farm, turned and followed it, at a run, till he came to the gate that opens on the plain.

      Raymonde, whom Beautrelet had been unable to hold back, arrived almost as soon as he did; and Beautrelet, hiding behind the trees, saw, in the lonely walk that led from the farm to the gate, three men, of whom one, the tallest, went ahead, while the two others were holding by the arms a woman who tried to resist and who uttered moans of pain.

      The daylight was beginning to fade. Nevertheless, Beautrelet recognized Holmlock Shears. The woman seemed of a certain age. Her livid features were set in a frame of white hair.

      They all four came up.

      They reached the gate. Shears opened one of the folding leaves.

      Then Lupin strode forward and stood in front of him.

      The encounter appeared all the more terrible inasmuch as it was silent, almost solemn.

      For long moments, the two enemies took each other's measure with their eyes. An equal hatred distorted the features of both of them. Neither moved.

      Then Lupin spoke, in a voice of terrifying calmness:

      "Tell your men to leave that woman alone."

      "No."

      It was as though both of them feared to engage in the supreme struggle, as though both were collecting all their strength. And there were no words wasted this time, no insults, no bantering challenges. Silence, a deathlike silence.

      Mad with anguish, Raymonde awaited the issue of the duel. Beautrelet had caught her arms and was holding her motionless.

      After a second, Lupin repeated:

      "Order your men to leave that woman alone."

      "No."

      Lupin said:

      "Listen, Shears—"

      But he interrupted himself, realizing the silliness of the words. In the face of that colossus of pride and will-power which called itself Holmlock Shears, of what use were threats?

      Resolved upon the worst, suddenly he put his hand to his jacket pocket. The Englishman anticipated his movement and, leaping upon his prisoner, thrust the barrel of his revolver within two inches of her temple:

      "If you stir a limb, I fire!"

      At the same time his two satellites drew their weapons and aimed them at Lupin.

      Lupin drew himself up, stifled the rage within him and, coolly, with his hands in his pockets and his breast exposed to the enemy, began once more:

      "Shears, for the third time, let that woman be—"

      The Englishman sneered:

"I have no right to touch her, I suppose? Come, come, enough of this humbug! Your name isn't Valmeras any more than it's Lupin: you stole the name just as you stole the name of Charmerace. And the woman whom you pass off as your mother is Victoire, your old accomplice, the one who brought you up—"[8]

      Shears made a mistake. Carried away by his longing for revenge, he glanced across at Raymonde, whom these revelations filled with horror. Lupin took advantage of his imprudence. With a sudden movement, he fired.

      "Damnation!" bellowed Shears, whose arm, pierced by a bullet, fell to his side. And, addressing his men, "Shoot, you two! Shoot him down!"

      But already Lupin was upon them: and not two seconds had elapsed before the one on the right was sprawling on the ground, with his chest smashed, while the other, with his jaw broken, fell back against the gate.

      "Hurry up, Victoire. Tie them down. And now, Mr. Englishman, it's you and I."

      He ducked with an oath:

      "Ah, you scoundrel!"

      Shears had picked up his revolver with his left hand and was taking aim at him.

      A shot—a cry of distress—Raymonde had flung herself between the two men, facing the Englishman. She staggered back, brought her hand to her neck, drew herself up, spun round on her heels and fell at Lupin's feet.

      "Raymonde!—Raymonde!"

      He threw himself upon her, took her in his arms and pressed her to him.

      "Dead—" he said.

      There was a moment of stupefaction. Shears seemed confounded by his own act. Victoire stammered:

      "My poor boy—my poor boy—"

      Beautrelet went up to the young woman and stooped to examine her. Lupin repeated:

      "Dead—dead—"

      He said it in a reflective tone, as though he did not yet understand. But his face became hollow, suddenly transformed, ravaged by grief. And then he was seized with a sort of madness, made senseless gestures, wrung his hands, stamped his feet, like a child that suffers more than it is able to bear.

      "You villain!" he cried, suddenly, in an access of hatred.

      And, flinging Shears back with a formidable blow, he took him by the throat and dug his twitching fingers into his flesh.

      The Englishman gasped, without even struggling.

      "My boy-my boy—"said Victoire, in a voice of entreaty.

      Beautrelet ran up. But Lupin had already let go and stood sobbing beside his enemy stretched СКАЧАТЬ