Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 9, No. 42, May 1947

A Gentleman by Maurice Leblanc

Most serious students of the detective story agree that the three outstanding French masters were Emile Gaboriau, Gaston Leroux, and Maurice Leblanc (Georges Simenon is not French, he is Belgian). The great Gallic triumvirate flourished in times when the detective story tended to be over-long rather than undershort. It comes as a stunning surprise, therefore, to discover that nearly forty years ago Maurice Leblanc wrote what we now call a short-short story, and that this curious little anecdote, this vignette of villainy, is not only unknown to American fans but was never, so far as we can check, included in any of Leblanc s published books.

Maurice Leblanc, as every schoolboy knows, created Arsène Lupin, the world’s champion detective-rogue and one of the real imperishables of the genre. Among his many brilliant accomplishments, Lupin is famous for having assumed more aliases and disguises than all his colleagues in crime put together. At various times in his career Lupin has called himself Prince Rénine, Paul Sernine, Luis Perenna, Monsieur Lenormand, Jim Barnett, Paul Daubreuil, Captain Jeanniot, Horace Velmont, Bernard d’Andrézy, Desiré Baudru, Cavaliere Floriani, Jean Daspry, Ralph de Limézy, Jean d’Enneris, Victor Hautin, and le Duc de Charmerace.

Now read Leblanc’s only short-short story and decide for yourself if a certain gentleman and sportsman, Prince Metcherski, is not really the great Arsène himself in one of his more obscure and more playful moments, but still up to his old tricks. “A Gentleman,” like its title, is admittedly old-fashioned, unsophisticated, and even somewhat juvenile — but it has a vintage charm.

I have never met a more distinguished man, one of more charming manners, or one who inspired me with more sympathy and involuntary deference.

It was in the train from Paris to Havre that we made acquaintance and fell into conversation. A delightful interview of which I shall retain a lasting memory, of which I have every reason to retain a lasting memory.

His foreign accent lent to his voice a peculiar fascination. A gentleman in every sense of the word, a sportsman as I have rarely had the opportunity to encounter, he had upon things which were nearest to my heart ideas, precise, just, enthusiastic, and reasonable.

What was my surprise when, having said to him incidentally that I was trying to sell my twenty-four horsepower machine in order to purchase a speedier one, I heard him answer that he had never been in an automobile.

“It is not the desire which is lacking,” he added. “I will even confess that I have been on the point of purchasing one in Paris, but it is so hard to understand. It seems to me so complicated.”

“No, indeed, not at all,” I hastened to say. “Come and see mine one of these days. I will explain the mechanism in a few words and you will see how simple it is. That will decide you, perhaps.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know.”

At Havre his servant, who had traveled in the same train with us, hastened to the door of our compartment. He was a very gentlemanly-appearing person, this valet — well-dressed, freshly gloved, and with highly polished shoes. He treated his master with the utmost deference, and offered his arm to aid him to alight.

My traveling companion drew from his pocket book a visiting card, which he extended to me, saying:

“Well, it is understood, in two days I will go to see you at Montivilliers, Villa des Ifs, is it not? And you shall try to persuade me.”

Having parted from him, I glanced at his card. Prince Metcherski.

“Well, well!” I thought. “My machine is sold!”

And I rubbed my hands in glee, for really if things had not turned out in this way, I don’t know what I should have done. Tremendous expenses, losses at the races and at baccarat, youthful follies — I was, as they say, down and out. So Prince Metcherski appeared to me like a savior.

As for devoting the sum which the sale of my twenty-four horse-power would bring me to the purchase of a forty horse-power, as I had allowed him to understand, it is needless to say that I did not even dream of it.

So I waited. One day passed, then two, then three. I was beginning to be uneasy. But on the fifth day a carriage stopped before the Villa des Ifs. The prince alighted, accompanied by his valet.

He was extremely courteous, and after a turn in the garden, whose ill-kept condition he did not appear to notice, he expressed his admiration of my home, which embarrassed me, for the place had lost much in my eyes since it had been mortgaged. Finally the prince exclaimed:

“Shall we go to see her?”

We went to see her.

A nod of the head and a little click of the tongue proved to me that if the prince did not understand the mechanical part of an automobile, he knew at least how to appreciate at their just value the outward beauty and the harmonious proportions of one.

“And now,” he said, after a moment, “let me understand—”

I began the explanation in terms as clear as possible. But immediately I received the impression that he did not understand and that he never would understand. I made use of words still more simple, and I spoke only of the essential parts. Pains lost! His questioning look revealed to me a mind absolutely blank to the most elementary notions of mechanics.

In despair, he summoned his valet.

“Come here, Jean. Perhaps you will prove less stupid than I.”

Jean was as stupid as his master. The prince burst out laughing.

“No, you will surely be of no assistance. After all, is it absolutely necessary to understand? If I have a good chauffeur, everything will be all right.”

But at least the convenience and comfort of the car appealed to him.

He jumped into it and seated himself in the driver’s place. He seemed to enjoy being there.

“Perfect! Perfect!” he said. “Nothing could be more comfortable. But the canopy; there is a canopy?”

Of course there was.

Jean and I put up the canopy, not without difficulty.

Then all the accessories were necessary, the hampers, the umbrella stand, the lamps.

“And there’s plenty of room for two. Come up here beside me, Jean. Why, there’s a lot of elbowroom.”

He examined the steering wheel, the brakes, the various controlling parts, and asked me:

“Then to start, you say that you must do this — and that?”

“This first, then that,” I answered.

He did this first, then that. The machine trembled, took a rapid turn that evinced the skill of an experienced chauffeur, and flew away at full speed, leaving me standing there, petrified.

From that day to this I have never seen Prince Metcherski — nor my twenty-four horse-power, either.