is, or, at least, here is the truth as far as I know it. On Tuesday, the 16th of April, a man—Lupin—broke into Mr. Kesselbach’s room at about two o’clock in the afternoon …”
M. Lenormand was interrupted by a burst of laughter. It came from the prefect of police.
“Let me tell you, M. Lenormand, that you are in rather too great a hurry to state your precise facts. It has been shown that, at three o’clock on that day, Mr. Kesselbach walked into the Crédit Lyonnais and went down to the safe deposit. His signature in the register proves it.”
M. Lenormand waited respectfully until his superior had finished speaking. Then, without even troubling to reply directly to the attack, he continued:
“At about two o’clock in the afternoon, Lupin, assisted by an accomplice, a man named Marco, bound Mr. Kesselbach hand and foot, robbed him of all the loose cash which he had upon him and compelled him to reveal the cypher of his safe at the Crédit Lyonnais. As soon as the secret was told, Marco left. He joined another accomplice, who, profiting by a certain resemblance to Mr. Kesselbach—a resemblance which he accentuated that day by wearing clothes similar to Mr. Kesselbach’s and putting on a pair of gold spectacles—entered the Crédit Lyonnais, imitated Mr. Kesselbach’s signature, emptied the safe of its contents and walked off, accompanied by Marco. Marco at once telephoned to Lupin. Lupin, as soon as he was sure that Mr. Kesselbach had not deceived him and that the object of his expedition was attained, went away.”
Valenglay seemed to waver in his mind:
“Yes, yes … we’ll admit that … But what surprises me is that a man like Lupin should have risked so much for such a paltry profit: a few bank-notes and the hypothetical contents of a safe.”
“Lupin was after more than that. He wanted either the morocco envelope which was in the traveling-bag, or else the ebony box which was in the safe. He had the ebony box, because he has sent it back empty. Therefore, by this time, he knows, or is in a fair way for knowing, the famous scheme which Mr. Kesselbach was planning, and which he was discussing with his secretary a few minutes before his death.”
“What was the scheme?”
“I don’t exactly know. The manager of Barbareux’s agency, to whom he had opened his mind about it, has told me that Mr. Kesselbach was looking for a man who went by the name of Pierre Leduc, a man who had lost caste, it appears. Why and how the discovery of this person was connected with the success of his scheme, I am unable to say.”
“Very well,” said Valenglay. “So much for Arsène Lupin. His part is played. Mr. Kesselbach is bound hand and foot, robbed, but alive! … What happens up to the time when he is found dead?”
“Nothing, for several hours, nothing until night. But, during the night, some one made his way in.”
“How?”
“Through room 420, one of the rooms reserved by Mr. Kesselbach. The person in question evidently possessed a false key.”
“But,” exclaimed the prefect of police, “all the doors between that room and Mr. Kesselbach’s flat were bolted; and there were five of them!”
“There was always the balcony.”
“The balcony!”
“Yes; the balcony runs along the whole floor, on the Rue de Judée side.”
“And what about the spaces in between?”
“An active man can step across them. Our man did. I have found marks.”
“But all the windows of the suite were shut; and it was ascertained, after the crime, that they were still shut.”
“All except one, the secretary’s window, Chapman’s, which was only pushed to. I tried it myself.”
This time the prime minister seemed a little shaken, so logical did M. Lenormand’s version seem, so precise and supported by such sound facts. He asked, with growing interest:
“But what was the man’s object in coming?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ah, you don’t know!”
“Any more than I know his name.”
“But why
M. Lenormand was interrupted by a burst of laughter. It came from the prefect of police.
“Let me tell you, M. Lenormand, that you are in rather too great a hurry to state your precise facts. It has been shown that, at three o’clock on that day, Mr. Kesselbach walked into the Crédit Lyonnais and went down to the safe deposit. His signature in the register proves it.”
M. Lenormand waited respectfully until his superior had finished speaking. Then, without even troubling to reply directly to the attack, he continued:
“At about two o’clock in the afternoon, Lupin, assisted by an accomplice, a man named Marco, bound Mr. Kesselbach hand and foot, robbed him of all the loose cash which he had upon him and compelled him to reveal the cypher of his safe at the Crédit Lyonnais. As soon as the secret was told, Marco left. He joined another accomplice, who, profiting by a certain resemblance to Mr. Kesselbach—a resemblance which he accentuated that day by wearing clothes similar to Mr. Kesselbach’s and putting on a pair of gold spectacles—entered the Crédit Lyonnais, imitated Mr. Kesselbach’s signature, emptied the safe of its contents and walked off, accompanied by Marco. Marco at once telephoned to Lupin. Lupin, as soon as he was sure that Mr. Kesselbach had not deceived him and that the object of his expedition was attained, went away.”
Valenglay seemed to waver in his mind:
“Yes, yes … we’ll admit that … But what surprises me is that a man like Lupin should have risked so much for such a paltry profit: a few bank-notes and the hypothetical contents of a safe.”
“Lupin was after more than that. He wanted either the morocco envelope which was in the traveling-bag, or else the ebony box which was in the safe. He had the ebony box, because he has sent it back empty. Therefore, by this time, he knows, or is in a fair way for knowing, the famous scheme which Mr. Kesselbach was planning, and which he was discussing with his secretary a few minutes before his death.”
“What was the scheme?”
“I don’t exactly know. The manager of Barbareux’s agency, to whom he had opened his mind about it, has told me that Mr. Kesselbach was looking for a man who went by the name of Pierre Leduc, a man who had lost caste, it appears. Why and how the discovery of this person was connected with the success of his scheme, I am unable to say.”
“Very well,” said Valenglay. “So much for Arsène Lupin. His part is played. Mr. Kesselbach is bound hand and foot, robbed, but alive! … What happens up to the time when he is found dead?”
“Nothing, for several hours, nothing until night. But, during the night, some one made his way in.”
“How?”
“Through room 420, one of the rooms reserved by Mr. Kesselbach. The person in question evidently possessed a false key.”
“But,” exclaimed the prefect of police, “all the doors between that room and Mr. Kesselbach’s flat were bolted; and there were five of them!”
“There was always the balcony.”
“The balcony!”
“Yes; the balcony runs along the whole floor, on the Rue de Judée side.”
“And what about the spaces in between?”
“An active man can step across them. Our man did. I have found marks.”
“But all the windows of the suite were shut; and it was ascertained, after the crime, that they were still shut.”
“All except one, the secretary’s window, Chapman’s, which was only pushed to. I tried it myself.”
This time the prime minister seemed a little shaken, so logical did M. Lenormand’s version seem, so precise and supported by such sound facts. He asked, with growing interest:
“But what was the man’s object in coming?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ah, you don’t know!”
“Any more than I know his name.”
“But why
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