The Blonde Lady

  CHAPTER II

  THE BLUE DIAMOND

  In the evening of the twenty-seventh of March, old General Barond'Hautrec, who had been French Ambassador in Berlin under the SecondEmpire, was sleeping comfortably in an easy-chair in the house which hisbrother had left him six months before, at 134, Avenue Henri-Martin. Hislady companion continued to read aloud to him, while Soeur Augustewarmed the bed and prepared the night-light.

  As an exceptional case, the sister was returning to her convent thatevening, to spend the night with the Mother Superior, and, at eleveno'clock, she said:

  "I'm finished now, Mlle. Antoinette, and I'm going."

  "Very well, sister."

  "And don't forget that the cook is sleeping out to-night and that youare alone in the house with the man-servant."

  "You need have no fear for monsieur le baron: I shall sleep in the nextroom, as arranged, and leave the door open."

  The nun went away. A minute later, Charles, the man-servant, came in forhis orders. The baron had woke up. He replied himself:

  "Just the same as usual, Charles. Try the electric bell, to see if itrings in your bedroom properly, and, if you hear it during the night,run down at once and go straight to the doctor."

  "Are you still anxious, general?"

  "I don't feel well.... I don't feel at all well. Come, Mlle. Antoinette,where were we in your book?"

  "Aren't you going to bed, monsieur le baron?"

  "No, no, I don't care to go to bed till very late; besides, I can dowithout help."

  Twenty minutes later, the old man dozed off again and Antoinette movedaway on tip-toe.

  At that moment, Charles was carefully closing the shutters on the groundfloor, as usual. In the kitchen, he pushed the bolt of the door that ledto the garden and, in the front hall, he not only locked the doubledoor, but put up the chain fastening the two leaves. Then he went up tohis attic on the third floor, got into bed and fell asleep.

  Perhaps an hour had elapsed when, suddenly, he jumped out of bed: thebell was ringing. It went on for quite a long time, seven or eightseconds, perhaps, and in a steady, uninterrupted way.

  "That's all right," said Charles, recovering his wits. "Some fresh whimof the baron's, I suppose."

  He huddled on his clothes, ran down the stairs, stopped before the doorand, from habit, knocked. No answer. He entered the room:

  "Hullo!" he muttered. "No light.... What on earth have they put thelight out for?" And he called, in a whisper, "Mademoiselle!..."

  No reply.

  "Are you there, mademoiselle?... What's the matter? Is monsieur le baronill?"

  The same silence continued around him, a heavy silence that ended byimpressing him. He took two steps forward: his foot knocked against achair and, on touching it, he perceived that it was overturned. Andthereupon his hand came upon other objects on the floor: a small table,a fire-screen. Greatly alarmed, he went back to the wall and felt forthe electric switch. He found it and turned on the light.

  In the middle of the room, between the table and the looking-glasswardrobe, lay the body of his master, the Baron d'Hautrec.

  "What!" he stammered. "Is it possible?"

  He did not know what to do and, without moving, with his eyes startingfrom his head, he stood gazing at the general disorder of the room: thechairs upset, a great crystal candlestick smashed into a thousandpieces, the clock lying on the marble hearth-stone, all signs of afierce and hideous struggle. The handle of a little steel dagger gleamednear the body. The blade was dripping with blood. A handkerchief stainedwith red marks hung down from the mattress.

  Charles gave a yell of horror: the body had suddenly stretched itself inone last effort and then shrunk up again.... Two or three convulsions;and that was all.

  He stooped forward. Blood was trickling from a tiny wound in the neckand spotting the carpet with dark stains. The face still wore anexpression of mad terror.

  "They've killed him," he stammered, "they've killed him!"

  And he shuddered at the thought of another probable crime: was not thecompanion sleeping in the next room? And would not the baron's murdererhave killed her too?

  He pushed open the door: the room was empty. He concluded that eitherAntoinette had been carried off or that she had gone before the crime.

  He returned to the baron's room and, his eyes falling upon thewriting-desk, he observed that it had not been broken open. Moreremarkable still, he saw a handful of louis d'or on the table, besidethe bunch of keys and the pocketbook which the baron placed there everyevening. Charles took up the pocketbook and went through it. One of thecompartments contained bank-notes. He counted them: there were thirteennotes of a hundred francs each.

  Then the temptation became too strong for him: instinctively,mechanically, while his thoughts did not even take part in the movementof his hand, he took the thirteen notes, hid them in his jacket, rusheddown the stairs, drew the bolt, unhooked the chain, closed the doorafter him and fled through the garden.

  * * * * *

  Charles was an honest man at heart. He had no sooner pushed back thegate than, under the influence of the fresh air, with his face cooled bythe rain, he stopped. The deed of which he had been guilty appeared tohim in its true light and struck him with sudden horror.

  A cab passed. He hailed the driver:

  "Hi, mate! Go to the police-station and bring back the commissary....Gallop! There's murder been done!"

  The driver whipped up his horse. But, when Charles tried to go in again,he could not: he had closed the gate himself and the gate could not beopened from the outside.

  On the other hand, it was of no use ringing, for there was no one in thehouse. He therefore walked up and down along the gardens which, at theLa Muette end, line the avenue with a pleasant border of trim greenshrubs. And it was not until he had waited for nearly an hour that hewas at last able to tell the commissary the details of the crime andhand him the thirteen bank-notes.

  During this time, a locksmith was sent for who, with great difficulty,succeeded in forcing the gate of the garden and the front door. Thecommissary went upstairs and, at once, at the first glance, said to theservant:

  "Why, you told me that the room was in the greatest disorder!"

  He turned round. Charles seemed pinned to the threshold, hypnotized: allthe furniture had resumed its usual place! The little table was standingbetween the two windows, the chairs were on their legs and the clock inthe middle of the mantel-piece. The shivers of the smashed candlestickhad disappeared.

  Gaping with stupor, he articulated:

  "The body.... Monsieur le baron...."

  "Yes," cried the commissary, "where is the victim?"

  He walked up to the bed. Under a large sheet, which he drew aside, layGeneral the Baron d'Hautrec, late French Ambassador in Berlin. His bodywas covered with his general's cloak, decorated with the cross of theLegion of Honour. The face was calm. The eyes were closed.

  The servant stammered:

  "Someone must have come."

  "Which way?"

  "I can't say, but someone has been here during my absence.... Look,there was a very thin steel dagger there, on the floor.... And then, onthe table, a blood-stained handkerchief.... That's all gone.... They'vetaken everything away.... They've arranged everything...."

  "But who?"

  "The murderer!"

  "We found all the doors closed."

  "He must have remained in the house."

  "Then he would be here still, as you never left the pavement."

  The man reflected and said, slowly:

  "That's so ... that's so ... and I did not go far from the gateeither.... Still ..."

  "Let us see, who was the last person you saw with the baron?"

  "Mlle. Antoinette, the companion."

  "What has become of her?"

  "I should say that, as her bed was not even touched, she must have takenadvantage of Soeur Auguste's absence to go out also. It would onlyhalf surprise me if she
had: she is young ... and pretty...."

  "But how could she have got out?"

  "Through the door."

  "You pushed the bolt and fastened the chain!"

  "A good deal later! By that time, she must have left the house."

  "And the crime was committed, you think, after she went?"

  "Of course."

  They searched the house from top to bottom, from the garrets to thecellars; but the murderer had fled. How? When? Was it he or anaccomplice who had thought proper to return to the scene of the crimeand do away with anything that might have betrayed him? Those were thequestions that suggested themselves to the police.

  * * * * *

  The divisional surgeon came upon the scene at seven o'clock, the head ofthe detective-service at eight. Next came the turn of the publicprosecutor and the examining magistrate. In addition, the house wasfilled with policemen, inspectors, journalists, Baron d'Hautrec's nephewand other members of the family.

  They rummaged about, they studied the position of the body, according toCharles's recollection, they questioned Soeur Auguste the moment shearrived. They discovered nothing. At most, Soeur Auguste was surprisedat the disappearance of Antoinette Brehat. She had engaged the girltwelve days before, on the strength of excellent references, and refusedto believe that she could have abandoned the sick man confided to hercare, to go running about at night alone.

  "All the more so," the examining magistrate insisted, "as, in that case,she would have been in before now. We therefore come back to the samepoint: what has become of her?"

  "If you ask me," said Charles, "she has been carried off by themurderer."

  The suggestion was plausible enough and fitted in with certain details.The head of the detective service said:

  "Carried off? Upon my word, it's quite likely."

  "It's not only unlikely," said a voice, "but absolutely opposed to thefacts, to the results of the investigation, in short, to the evidenceitself."

  The voice was harsh, the accent gruff and no one was surprised torecognize Ganimard. He alone, besides, would be forgiven that ratherfree and easy way of expressing himself.

  "Hullo, is that you, Ganimard?" cried M. Dudouis. "I hadn't seen you."

  "I have been here for two hours."

  "So you do take an interest in something besides number 514, series 23,the Rue Clapeyron mystery, the blonde lady and Arsene Lupin?"

  "Hee, hee!" grinned the old inspector. "I won't go so far as to declarethat Lupin has nothing to do with the case we're engaged on.... But letus dismiss the story of the lottery-ticket from our minds, untilfurther orders, and look into this matter."

  * * * * *

  Ganimard is not one of those mighty detectives whose proceedings form aschool, as it were, and whose names will always remain inscribed on thejudicial annals of Europe. He lacks the flashes of genius that illuminea Dupin, a Lecoq or a Holmlock Shears. But he possesses first-rateaverage qualities: perspicacity, sagacity, perseverance and even acertain amount of intuition. His greatest merit lies in the fact that heis absolutely independent of outside influences. Short of a kind offascination which Arsene Lupin wields over him, he works withoutallowing himself to be biased or disturbed.

  At any rate, the part which he played that morning did not lackbrilliancy and his assistance was of the sort which a magistrate is ableto appreciate.

  "To start with," he began, "I will ask Charles here to be very definiteon one point: were all the objects which, on the first occasion, he sawupset or disturbed put back, on the second, exactly in their usualplaces?"

  "Exactly."

  "It is obvious, therefore, that they can only have been put back by aperson to whom the place of each of those objects was familiar."

  The remark impressed the bystanders. Ganimard resumed:

  "Another question, Mr. Charles.... You were woke by a ring.... Who wasit, according to you, that called you?"

  "Monsieur le baron, of course."

  "Very well. But at what moment do you take it that he rang?"

  "After the struggle ... at the moment of dying."

  "Impossible, because you found him lying, lifeless, at a spot more thanfour yards removed from the bell-push."

  "Then he rang during the struggle."

  "Impossible, because the bell, you told us, rang steadily, withoutinterruption, and went on for seven or eight seconds. Do you think thathis assailant would have given him time to ring like that?"

  "Then it was before, at the moment when he was attacked."

  "Impossible. You told us that, between the ring of the bell and theinstant when you entered the room, three minutes elapsed, at most. If,therefore, the baron had rung before, it would be necessary for thestruggle, the murder, the dying agony and the flight to have taken placewithin that short space of three minutes. I repeat, it is impossible."

  "And yet," said the examining magistrate, "some one rang. If it was notthe baron, who was it?"

  "The murderer."

  "With what object?"

  "I can't tell his object. But at least the fact that he rang proves thathe must have known that the bell communicated with a servant's bedroom.Now who could have known this detail except a person belonging to thehouse?"

  The circle of suppositions was becoming narrower. In a few quick, clear,logical sentences, Ganimard placed the question in its true light; and,as the old inspector allowed his thoughts to appear quite plainly, itseemed only natural that the examining magistrate should conclude:

  "In short, in two words, you suspect Antoinette Brehat."

  "I don't suspect her; I accuse her."

  "You accuse her of being the accomplice?"

  "I accuse her of killing General Baron d'Hautrec."

  "Come, come! And what proof...?"

  "This handful of hair, which I found in the victim's right hand, duginto his flesh by the points of his nails."

  He showed the hair; it was hair of a brilliant fairness, gleaming likeso many threads of gold; and Charles muttered:

  "That is certainly Mlle. Antoinette's hair. There is no mistaking it."And he added, "Besides ... there's something more.... I believe theknife ... the one I didn't see the second time ... belonged to her....She used it to cut the pages of the books."

  The silence that followed was long and painful, as though the crimeincreased in horror through having been committed by a woman. Theexamining magistrate argued:

  "Let us admit, until further information is obtained, that the baron wasmurdered by Antoinette Brehat. We should still have to explain what wayshe can have taken to go out after committing the crime, to return afterCharles's departure and to go out again before the arrival of thecommissary. Have you any opinion on this subject, M. Ganimard?"

  "No."

  "Then...?"

  Ganimard wore an air of embarrassment. At last, he spoke, not without avisible effort:

  "All that I can say is that I find in this the same way of setting towork as in the ticket 514-23 case, the same phenomenon which one mightcall the faculty of disappearance. Antoinette Brehat appears anddisappears in this house as mysteriously as Arsene Lupin made his wayinto Maitre Detinan's and escaped from there in the company of theblonde lady."

  "Which means...?"

  "Which means that I cannot help thinking of these two coincidences,which, to say the least, are very odd: first, Antoinette Brehat wasengaged by Soeur Auguste twelve days ago, that is to say, on the dayafter that on which the blonde lady slipped through my fingers. In thesecond place, the hair of the blonde lady has precisely the same violentcolouring, the metallic brilliancy with a golden sheen, which we find inthis."

  "So that, according to you, Antoinette Brehat ..."

  "Is none other than the blonde lady."

  "And Lupin, consequently, plotted both cases?"

  "I think so."

  There was a loud burst of laughter. It was the chief of thedetective-service indulging his merriment:

 
"Lupin! Always Lupin! Lupin is in everything; Lupin is everywhere!"

  "He is just where he is," said Ganimard, angrily.

  "And then he must have his reasons for being in any particular place,"remarked M. Dudouis, "and, in this case, his reasons seem to me obscure.The writing-desk has not been broken open nor the pocketbook stolen.There is even gold left lying on the table."

  "Yes," cried Ganimard, "but what about the famous diamond?"

  "What diamond?"

  "The blue diamond! The celebrated diamond which formed part of the royalcrown of France and which was presented by the Duc d'Alais to LeonideLatouche and, on her death, was bought by Baron d'Hautrec in memory ofthe brilliant actress whom he had passionately loved. This is one ofthose recollections which an old Parisian like myself never forgets."

  "It is obvious," said the examining magistrate, "that, if the bluediamond is not found, the thing explains itself. But where are we tolook?"

  "On monsieur le baron's finger," replied Charles. "The blue diamond wasnever off his left hand."

  "I have looked at that hand," declared Ganimard, going up to the corpse,"and, as you can see for yourselves, there is only a plain gold ring."

  "Look inside the palm," said the servant.

  Ganimard unfolded the clenched fingers. The bezel was turned inward and,contained within the bezel, glittered the blue diamond.

  "The devil!" muttered Ganimard, absolutely nonplussed. "This is beyondme!"

  "And I hope that you will now give up suspecting that unfortunate ArseneLupin?" said M. Dudouis, with a grin.

  Ganimard took his time, reflected and retorted, in a sententious tone:

  "It is just when a thing gets beyond me that I suspect Arsene Lupinmost."

  These were the first discoveries effected by the police on the dayfollowing upon that strange murder, vague, inconsistent discoveries towhich the subsequent inquiry imparted neither consistency nor certainty.The movements of Antoinette Brehat remained as absolutely inexplicableas those of the blonde lady, nor was any light thrown upon the identityof that mysterious creature with the golden hair who had killed Barond'Hautrec without taking from his finger the fabulous diamond from theroyal crown of France.

  Moreover and especially, the curiosity which it inspired raised themurder above the level of a sordid crime to that of a mighty, if heinoustrespass, the mystery of which irritated the public mind.

  * * * * *

  Baron d'Hautrec's heirs were obliged to benefit by this greatadvertisement. They arranged an exhibition of the furniture and personaleffects in the Avenue Henri-Martin, in the house itself, on the scene ofthe crime, prior to the sale at the Salle Drouot. The furniture wasmodern and in indifferent taste, the knicknacks had no artistic value... but, in the middle of the bedroom, on a stand covered with rubyvelvet, the ring with the blue diamond sparkled under a glass shade,closely watched by two detectives.

  It was a magnificent diamond of enormous size and incomparable purityand of that undefined blue which clear water takes from the sky which itreflects, the blue which we can just suspect in newly-washed linen.People admired it, went into raptures over it ... and cast terrifiedglances round the victim's room, at the spot where the corpse had lain,at the floor stripped of its blood-stained carpet and especially at thewalls, those solid walls through which the criminal had passed. Theyfelt to make sure that the marble chimney-piece did not swing on apivot, that there was no secret spring in the mouldings of the mirrors.They pictured yawning cavities, tunnels communicating with the sewers,with the catacombs....

  * * * * *

  The blue diamond was sold at the Hotel Drouot on the thirtieth ofJanuary. The auction-room was crammed and the bidding proceeded madly.

  All Paris, the Paris of the first nights and great public functions, wasthere, all those who buy and all those who like others to think thatthey are in a position to buy: stockbrokers, artists, ladies in everyclass of society, two members of the Government, an Italian tenor, aking in exile who, in order to reestablish his credit, with greatself-possession and in a resounding voice, permitted himself the luxuryof running up the price to a hundred thousand francs. A hundred thousandfrancs! His Majesty was quite safe in making the bid. The Italian tenorwas soon offering a hundred and fifty thousand, an actress at theFrancais a hundred and seventy-five.

  At two hundred thousand francs, however, the competition became lessbrisk. At two hundred and fifty thousand, only two bidders remained:Herschmann, the financial magnate, known as the Gold-mine King; and awealthy American lady, the Comtesse de Crozon, whose collection ofdiamonds and other precious stones enjoys a world-wide fame.

  "Two hundred and sixty thousand ... two hundred and seventy thousand ...seventy-five ... eighty," said the auctioneer, with a questioning glanceat either competitor in turn. "Two hundred and eighty thousand formadame.... No advance on two hundred and eighty thousand...?"

  "Three hundred thousand," muttered Herschmann.

  A pause followed. All eyes were turned on the Comtesse de Crozon.Smiling, but with a pallor that betrayed her excitement, she stoodleaning over the back of the chair before her. In reality, she knew andeverybody present knew that there was no doubt about the finish of theduel: it was logically and fatally bound to end in favour of thefinancier, whose whims were served by a fortune of over five hundredmillions. Nevertheless, she said:

  "Three hundred and five thousand."

  There was a further pause. Every glance was now turned on the Gold-mineKing, in expectation of the inevitable advance. It was sure to come, inall its brutal and crushing strength.

  It did not come. Herschmann remained impassive, with his eyes fixed on asheet of paper which he held in his right hand, while the other crumpledup the pieces of a torn envelope.

  "Three hundred and five thousand," repeated the auctioneer. "Going ...going.... No further bid...?"

  No one spoke.

  "Once more: going ... going...."

  Herschmann did not move. A last pause. The hammer fell.

  "Four hundred thousand!" shouted Herschmann, starting up, as though thetap of the hammer had roused him from his torpor.

  Too late. The diamond was sold.

  Herschmann's acquaintances crowded round him. What had happened? Why hadhe not spoken sooner?

  He gave a laugh:

  "What happened? Upon my word, I don't know. My thoughts wandered for asecond."

  "You don't mean that!"

  "Yes, some one brought me a letter."

  "And was that enough...?"

  "To put me off? Yes, for the moment."

  Ganimard was there. He had watched the sale of the ring. He went up toone of the porters:

  "Did you hand M. Herschmann a letter?"

  "Yes."

  "Who gave it you?"

  "A lady."

  "Where is she?"

  "Where is she?... Why, sir, there she is ... the lady over there, in athick veil."

  "Just going out?"

  "Yes."

  Ganimard rushed to the door and saw the lady going down the staircase.He ran after her. A stream of people stopped him at the entrance. Whenhe came outside, he had lost sight of her.

  He went back to the room, spoke to Herschmann, introduced himself andasked him about the letter. Herschmann gave it to him. It contained thefollowing simple words, scribbled in pencil and in a handwritingunknown to the financier:

  "The blue diamond brings ill-luck. Remember Baron d'Hautrec."

  * * * * *

  The tribulations of the blue diamond were not over. Already famousthrough the murder of Baron d'Hautrec and the incidents at the HotelDrouot, it attained the height of its celebrity six months later. In thesummer, the precious jewel which the Comtesse de Crozon had been at suchpains to acquire was stolen.

  Let me sum up this curious case, marked by so many stirring, dramaticand exciting episodes, upon which I am at last permitted to throw somelight.


  On the evening of the tenth of August, M. and Madame de Crozon's guestswere gathered in the drawing-room of the magnificent chateau overlookingthe Bay of Somme. There was a request for some music. The countess satdown to the piano, took off her rings, which included Baron d'Hautrec's,and laid them on a little table that stood beside the piano.

  An hour later, the count went to bed, as did his two cousins, thed'Andelles, and Madame de Real, an intimate friend of the Comtesse deCrozon, who remained behind with Herr Bleichen, the Austrian consul, andhis wife.

  They sat and talked and then the countess turned down the big lamp whichstood on the drawing-room table. At the same moment, Herr Bleichen putout the two lamps on the piano. There was a second's darkness andgroping; then the consul lit a candle and they all three went to theirrooms. But, the instant the countess reached hers, she remembered herjewels and told her maid to go and fetch them. The woman returned andplaced them on the mantel-piece. Madame de Crozon did not examine them;but, the next morning, she noticed that one of the rings was missing,the ring with the blue diamond.

  She told her husband. Both immediately came to the same conclusion: themaid being above suspicion, the thief could be none but Herr Bleichen.

  The count informed the central commissary of police at Amiens, whoopened an inquiry and arranged discreetly for the house to be constantlywatched, so as to prevent the Austrian consul from selling or sendingaway the ring. The chateau was surrounded by detectives night and day.

  A fortnight elapsed without the least incident. Then Herr Bleichenannounced his intention of leaving. On the same day, a formal accusationwas laid against him. The commissary made an official visit and orderedthe luggage to be examined. In a small bag of which the consul alwayscarried the key, they found a flask containing tooth-powder; and, insidethe flask, the ring!

  Mrs. Bleichen fainted. Her husband was arrested.

  My readers will remember the defense set up by the accused. He wasunable, he said, to explain the presence of the ring, unless it wasthere as the result of an act of revenge on the part of M. de Crozon:

  "The count ill-treats his wife," he declared, "and makes her life amisery. I had a long conversation with her and warmly urged her to suefor a divorce. The count must have heard of this and revenged himself bytaking the ring and slipping it into my dressing-bag when I was about toleave."

  The count and countess persisted in their charge. It was an even choicebetween their explanation and the consul's: both were equally probable.No new fact came to weigh down either scale. A month of gossip, ofguess-work and investigations, failed to produce a single element ofcertainty.

  Annoyed by all this worry and unable to bring forward a definite proofof guilt to justify their accusation, M. and Madame de Crozon wrote toParis for a detective capable of unravelling the threads of the skein.The police sent Ganimard.

  For four days the old inspector rummaged and hunted about, strolled inthe park, had long talks with the maids, the chauffeur, the gardeners,the people of the nearest post-offices, and examined the rooms occupiedby the Bleichen couple, the d'Andelle cousins and Madame de Real. Then,one morning, he disappeared without taking leave of his hosts.

  But, a week later, they received this telegram:

  "Please meet me five o'clock to-morrow, Friday afternoon at The Japonais, Rue Boissy-d'Anglas.

  "GANIMARD."

  * * * * *

  At five o'clock to the minute, on the Friday, their motor-car drew up infront of 9, Rue Boissy-d'Anglas. The old inspector was waiting for themon the pavement and, without a word of explanation, led them up to thefirst-floor of the The Japonais.

  In one of the rooms they found two persons, whom Ganimard introduced tothem.

  "M. Gerbois, professor at Versailles College, whom, you will remember,Arsene Lupin robbed of half a million.... M. Leonce d'Hautrec, nephewand residuary legatee of the late Baron d'Hautrec."

  The four sat down. A few minutes later, a fifth arrived. It was thechief of the detective-service.

  M. Dudouis appeared to be in a rather bad temper. He bowed and said:

  "Well, what is it, Ganimard? They gave me your telephone message atheadquarters. Is it serious?"

  "Very serious, chief. In less than an hour, the last adventures in whichI have assisted will come to an issue here. I considered that yourpresence was indispensable."

  "And does this apply also to the presence of Dieuzy and Folenfant, whomI see below, hanging round the door?"

  "Yes, chief."

  "And what for? Is somebody to be arrested? What a melodramatic display!Well, Ganimard, say what you have to say."

  Ganimard hesitated for a few moments and then, with the evidentintention of impressing his hearers, said:

  "First of all, I wish to state that Herr Bleichen had nothing to do withthe theft of the ring."

  "Oh," said M. Dudouis, "that's a mere statement ... and a serious one!"

  And the count asked:

  "Is this ... discovery the only thing that has come of your exertions?"

  "No, sir. Two days after the theft, three of your guests happened to beat Crecy, in the course of a motor-trip. Two of them went on to visitthe famous battlefield, while the third hurried to the post-office andsent off a little parcel, packed up and sealed according to theregulations and insured to the value of one hundred francs."

  M. de Crozon objected:

  "There is nothing out of the way in that."

  "Perhaps you will think it less natural when I tell you that, instead ofthe real name, the sender gave the name of Rousseau and that theaddressee, a M. Beloux, residing in Paris, changed his lodgings on thevery evening of the day on which he received the parcel, that is to say,the ring."

  "Was it one of my d'Andelle cousins, by any chance?" asked the count.

  "No, it was neither of those gentlemen."

  "Then it was Mme. de Real?"

  "Yes."

  The countess, in amazement, exclaimed:

  "Do you accuse my friend Mme. de Real?"

  "A simple question, madame," replied Ganimard. "Was Mme. de Real presentat the sale of the blue diamond?"

  "Yes, but in a different part of the room. We were not together."

  "Did she advise you to buy the ring?"

  The countess collected her memory:

  "Yes ... as a matter of fact ... I think she was the first to mention itto me."

  "I note your answer, madame," said Ganimard. "So it is quite certainthat it was Mme. de Real who first spoke to you of the ring and advisedyou to buy it."

  "Still ... my friend is incapable...."

  "I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, Mme. de Real is only your chanceacquaintance and not an intimate friend, as the newspapers stated, thusdiverting suspicion from her. You have only known her since last winter.Now I can undertake to prove to you that all that she has told you aboutherself, her past, her connections is absolutely false; that Mme.Blanche de Real did not exist before she met you; and that she hasceased to exist at this present moment."

  "Well?" said M. Dudouis, "what next?"

  "What next?" echoed Ganimard.

  "Yes, what next?... This is all very interesting; but what has it to dowith the case? If Mme. de Real took the ring, why was it found in HerrBleichen's tooth-powder? Come, Ganimard! A person who takes the troubleto steal the blue diamond keeps it. What have you to answer to that?"

  "I, nothing. But Mme. de Real will answer."

  "Then she exists?"

  "She exists ... without existing. In a few words, here it is: three daysago, reading the paper which I read every day, I saw at the head of thelist of arrivals at Trouville, 'Hotel Beaurivage, Mme. de Real,' and soon.... You can imagine that I was at Trouville that same evening,questioning the manager of the Beaurivage. According to the descriptionand certain clues which I gathered, this Mme. de Real was indeed theperson whom I was looking for, but she had gone from the hotel, leavingher address in Paris, 3, Rue du Colisee. On Wednesday, I called a
t thataddress and learnt that there was no Madame de Real, but just a womancalled Real, who lived on the second floor, followed the occupation of adiamond-broker and was often away. Only the day before, she had comeback from a journey. Yesterday, I rang at her door and, under a falsename, offered my services to Mme. de Real as an intermediary tointroduce her to people who were in a position to buy valuable stones.We made an appointment to meet here to-day for a first transaction."

  "Oh, so you expect her?"

  "At half-past five."

  "And are you sure?..."

  "That it is Mme. de Real of the Chateau de Crozon? I have indisputableproofs. But ... hark!... Folenfant's signal!..."

  A whistle had sounded. Ganimard rose briskly:

  "We have not a moment to lose. M. and Madame de Crozon, go into the nextroom, please. You too, M. d'Hautrec ... and you also, M. Gerbois.... Thedoor will remain open and, at the first sign, I will ask you tointervene. Do you stay, chief, please."

  "And, if anyone else comes in?" asked M. Dudouis.

  "No one will. This is a new establishment and the proprietor, who is afriend of mine, will not let a living soul come up the stairs ... exceptthe blonde lady."

  "The blonde lady? What do you mean?"

  "The blonde lady herself, chief, the friend and accomplice of ArseneLupin, the mysterious blonde lady, against whom I have positive proofs,but against whom I want, over and above those and in your presence, tocollect the evidence of all the people whom she has robbed."

  He leant out of the window:

  "She is coming.... She has gone in.... She can't escape now: Folenfantand Dieuzy are guarding the door.... The blonde lady is ours, chief;we've got her!"

  * * * * *

  Almost at that moment, a woman appeared upon the threshold, a tall, thinwoman, with a very pale face and violent golden hair.

  Ganimard was stifled by such emotion that he stood dumb, incapable ofarticulating the least word. She was there, in front of him, at hisdisposal! What a victory over Arsene Lupin! And what a revenge! And, atthe same time, that victory seemed to him to have been won with suchease that he wondered whether the blonde lady was not going to slipthrough his fingers, thanks to one of those miracles which Lupin was inthe habit of performing.

  She stood waiting, meanwhile, surprised at the silence, and lookedaround her without disguising her uneasiness.

  "She will go! She will disappear!" thought Ganimard, in dismay.

  Suddenly, he placed himself between her and the door. She turned andtried to go out.

  "No, no," he said. "Why go?"

  "But, monsieur, I don't understand your ways. Let me pass...."

  "There is no reason for you to go, madame, and every reason, on thecontrary, why you should stay."

  "But ..."

  "It's no use, you are not going."

  Turning very pale, she sank into a chair and stammered:

  "What do you want?"

  Ganimard triumphed. He had got the blonde lady. Mastering himself, hesaid:

  "Let me introduce the friend of whom I spoke to you, the one who wouldlike to buy some jewels ... especially diamonds. Did you obtain the oneyou promised me?"

  "No ... no.... I don't know.... I forget...."

  "Oh, yes.... Just try.... Someone you knew was to bring you a coloureddiamond.... 'Something like the blue diamond,' I said, laughing, and youanswered, 'Exactly. I may have what you want.' Do you remember?"

  She was silent. A little wristbag which she was holding in her hand fellto the ground. She picked it up quickly and pressed it to her. Herfingers trembled a little.

  "Come," said Ganimard. "I see that you do not trust us, Madame de Real.I will set you a good example and let you see what I have got to show."

  He took a piece of paper from his pocketbook and unfolded it:

  "Here, first of all, is some of the hair of Antoinette Brehat, torn outby the baron and found clutched in the dead man's hand. I have seenMlle. de Gerbois: she has most positively recognized the colour of thehair of the blonde lady ... the same colour as yours, for that matter... exactly the same colour."

  Mme. de Real watched him with a stupid expression, as though she reallydid not grasp the sense of his words. He continued:

  "And now here are two bottles of scent. They are empty, it is true, andhave no labels; but enough of the scent still clings to them to haveenabled Mlle. Gerbois, this very morning, to recognize the perfume ofthe blonde lady who accompanied her on her fortnight's excursion. Now,one of these bottles comes from the room which Mme. de Real occupied atthe Chateau de Crozon and the other from the room which you occupied atthe Hotel Beaurivage."

  "What are you talking about?... The blonde lady ... the Chateau deCrozon...."

  The inspector, without replying, spread four sheets of paper on thetable.

  "Lastly," he said, "here, on these four sheets, we have a specimen ofthe handwriting of Antoinette Brehat, another of the lady who sent anote to Baron Herschmann during the sale of the blue diamond, another ofMme. de Real, at the time of her stay at Crozon, and the fourth ... yourown, madame ... your name and address given by yourself to thehall-porter of the Hotel Beaurivage at Trouville. Now, please comparethese four handwritings. They are one and the same."

  "But you are mad, sir, you are mad! What does all this mean?"

  "It means, madame," cried Ganimard, with a great outburst, "that theblonde lady, the friend and accomplice of Arsene Lupin, is none otherthan yourself."

  He pushed open the door of the next room, rushed at M. Gerbois, shovedhim along by the shoulders and, planting him in front of Mme. Real:

  "M. Gerbois, do you recognize the person who took away your daughter andwhom you saw at Maitre Detinan's?"

  "No."

  There was a commotion of which every one felt the shock. Ganimardstaggered back:

  "No?... Is it possible?... Come, just think...."

  "I have thought.... Madame is fair, like the blonde lady ... and pale,like her ... but she doesn't resemble her in the least."

  "I can't believe it ... a mistake like that is inconceivable....M. d'Hautrec, do you recognize Antoinette Brehat?"

  "I have seen Antoinette Brehat at my uncle's ... this is not she."

  "And madame is not Mme. de Real, either," declared the Comte de Crozon.

  This was the finishing stroke. It stunned Ganimard, who stoodmotionless, with hanging head and shifting eyes. Of all hiscontrivances, nothing remained. The whole edifice was tumbling about hisshoulders.

  M. Dudouis rose:

  "I must beg you to forgive us, madame. There has been a regrettableconfusion of identities, which I will ask you to forget. But what Icannot well understand is your agitation ... the strangeness of yourmanner since you arrived...."

  "Why, monsieur, I was frightened ... there is over a hundred thousandfrancs' worth of jewels in my bag ... and your friend's attitude was notvery reassuring."

  "But your continual absences?..."

  "Surely my occupation demands them?"

  M. Dudouis had no reply to make. He turned to his subordinate:

  "You have made your inquiries with a deplorable want of thoroughness,Ganimard, and your behaviour toward madame just now was uncouth. Youshall give me an explanation in my office."

  The interview was over and the chief of the detective service was aboutto take his leave, when a really disconcerting thing happened. Mme. Realwent up to the inspector and said:

  "Do I understand your name to be M. Ganimard?... Did I catch the nameright?"

  "Yes."

  "In that case, this letter must be for you. I received it this morning,addressed as you see: 'M. Justin Ganimard, care of Mme. Real.' I thoughtit was a joke, as I did not know you under that name, but I have nodoubt the writer, whoever he is, knew of your appointment."

  By a singular intuition, Justin Ganimard was very nearly seizing theletter and destroying it. He dared not do so, however, before hissuperior and he tore open the envelope. The letter contained the
following words, which he uttered in a hardly intelligible voice:

  "There was once a Blonde Lady, a Lupin and a Ganimard. Now the naughty Ganimard wanted to harm the pretty Blonde Lady and the good Lupin did not wish it. So the good Lupin, who was anxious for the Blonde Lady to become friends with the Comtesse de Crozon, made her take the name of Mme. de Real, which is the same--or nearly--as that of an honest tradeswoman whose hair is golden and her features pale. And the good Lupin said to himself, 'If ever the naughty Ganimard is on the track of the Blonde Lady, how useful it will be for me to shunt him on to the track of the honest tradeswoman!' A wise precaution, which has borne fruit. A little note sent to the naughty Ganimard's newspaper, a bottle of scent forgotten on purpose at the Hotel Beaurivage by the real Blonde Lady, Mme. Real's name and address written by the real Blonde Lady in the visitors' book at the hotel, and the trick is done. What do you say to it, Ganimard? I wanted to tell you the story in detail, knowing that, with your sense of humour, you would be the first to laugh at it. It is, indeed, a pretty story and I confess that, for my part, it has diverted me vastly.

  "My best thanks to you, then, my dear friend, and kind regards to that capital M. Dudouis.

  "ARSENE LUPIN."

  "But he knows everything!" moaned Ganimard, who did not think oflaughing. "He knows things that I have not told to a soul! How could heknow that I would ask you to come, chief? How could he know that I haddiscovered the first scent-bottle?... How could he know?..."

  He stamped about, tore his hair, a prey to the most tragic distress.

  M. Dudouis took pity on him:

  "Come, Ganimard, console yourself. We must try to do better next time."

  And the chief detective went away, accompanied by Mme. Real.

  * * * * *

  Ten minutes elapsed, while Ganimard read Lupin's letter over and overagain and M. and Mme. de Crozon, M. d'Hautrec and M. Gerbois sustainedan animated conversation in a corner. At last, the count crossed over tothe inspector and said:

  "The upshot of all this, my dear sir, is that we are no further than wewere."

  "Pardon me. My inquiry has established the fact that the blonde lady isthe undoubted heroine of these adventures and that Lupin is directingher. That is a huge step forward."

  "And not the smallest use to us. If anything, it makes the mysterydarker still. The blonde lady commits murder to steal the blue diamondand does not steal it. She steals it and does so to get rid of it foranother's benefit."

  "What can I do?"

  "Nothing, but some one else might...."

  "What do you mean?"

  The count hesitated, but the countess said, point blank:

  "There is one man, one man only, in my opinion, besides yourself, whowould be capable of fighting Lupin and reducing him to cry for mercy.M. Ganimard, would you very much mind if we called in the assistanceof Holmlock Shears?"

  He was taken aback:

  "No ... no ... only ... I don't exactly understand...."

  "Well, it's like this: all this mystery is making me quite ill. I wantto know where I am. M. Gerbois and M. d'Hautrec have the same wish andwe have come to an agreement to apply to the famous English detective."

  "You are right, madame," said the inspector, with a loyalty that did himcredit; "you are right. Old Ganimard is not clever enough to fightagainst Arsene Lupin. The question is, will Holmlock Shears be moresuccessful? I hope so, for I have the greatest admiration for him....Still ... it's hardly likely...."

  "It's hardly likely that he will succeed?"

  "That's what I think. I consider that a duel between Holmlock Shears andArsene Lupin can only end in one way. The Englishman will be beaten."

  "In any case, can he rely on you?"

  "Certainly, madame. I will assist him to the very best of my power."

  "Do you know his address?"

  "Yes; 219, Parker Street."

  * * * * *

  That evening, the Comte and Comtesse de Crozon withdrew the chargeagainst Herr Bleichen and a collective letter was addressed to HolmlockShears.