Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine #097v018 (1951-12)

The red silk scarf by Maurice Leblanc[5]

It is curious how often history repeats itself almost exactly — yes, even literary history... You will recall the story we told you in Queen’s Quorum how Gaston Leroux first named his famous detective Joseph Boitabille: how the journalist-sleuth appeared under that name for two installments of LE MYSTÈRE DE LA CHAMBRE JAUNE (THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW ROOM) when that ’tec tour de force was first published as a serial in “L’Illustration”; how between the second and third installments a real-life journalist named Garmont threatened to sue Gaston Leroux because he, Garmont, claimed exclusive rights to the pseudonym of Boitabille, based on his use of that pen-name for fifteen years; and how, to avoid all controversy and confusion, Leroux began to designate his hero, starting in the third installment, by his other name — Rouletabille!

We have just learned that this entire incident is merely a classic example of “history repeating itself.” The Boitabille-Rouletabille contretemps occurred in Paris lute in 1907. In the previous year, also in Paris, the identical situation took place — also involving a detective’s name and also involving his first appearance in print. In 1906 Maurice Leblanc wrote the first Arsène Lupin story. It appeared in a then-new magazine called “Je Sais Tout.” The great Arsène’s name was originally Arsène Lopin. (It seems impossible to believe, doesn’t it? After nearly half a century of familiarity with the name Lupin, our minds cannot accept any other spelling — no more than we could suddenly accept such famous detectives as Sherlock Holmes, Father Brawn, or Dr. Thornpyke — no more than your Editors could ever get used to a character named Ellery Quinn.) But to set back to our story: it seems there was a man whose true name was Arsène Lopin, and this actual person threatened to sue Leblanc. So, to avoid all controversy and confusion — setting the precedent for Leroux’s action the following year — Leblanc simply designated his hero by his other name — Lupin!

This was not the end of Leblanc’s nomenclatural difficulties. When he wrote ARSÈNE LUPIN VERSUS SHERLOCK HOLMES, Conan Doyle refused to let Leblanc publish the book under that title. It appeared in France as ARSÈNE LUPIN CONTRE SHERLOCK SHOLMÈS. And when the same book was issued in England, it had a whole flock of titles: first, THE FAIR-HAIRED LADY; then, ARSÈNE LUPIN VERSUS HOLMLOCK SHEARS; then, THE ARREST OF ARSÈNE LUPIN. And when the same book appeared in the United States, the name-nemesis persisted: the blonde lady, ARSÈNE LUPIN VERSUS HERLOCK SHOLMES, and finally, THE CASE OF THE GOLDEN BLONDE. But note that the name of Lupin’s adversary was never quite the same.

Did all this titular trouble inspire Leblanc to give Lupin a host of different names? Did Lupin become The Man of the Forty Names because Leblanc came to realize that there was safety in numbers? Who knows? — but it is an established fact that by the end of his career Lupin could boast more names than all his colleagues and competitors. For, among many others, Lupin was also known as Prince Rénine, Luis Perenna, Monsieur Lenormand, Jim Barnett, Paul Semitic, Horace Velmont, Cavaliere Floriani, Victor Hautin, Bernard d’Andrézy, Désiré Baudru, Jean d’Enneris, le Duc de Charmerace, etc., etc.

Now, meet the original, the one and only Arsène Lupin, in the eighteenth story of THE GOLDEN TWENTY — the twenty best detective-crime short stories, by twenty different authors, as selected by a Blue Ribbon Panel of critics, connoisseurs, and constant readers. “The Red Silk Scarf” is the almost unanimous choice of aficionados as Lupin’s greatest exploit, combining bloodhound business with pilfering pleasure, in the short-story medium.

On leaving his house one morning at his usual early hour for going to the Law Courts, Chief Inspector Ganimard noticed the curious behavior of an individual who was walking along the Rue Pergolèse in front of him. Shabbily dressed and wearing a straw hat, though the day was the first of December, the man stooped at every thirty or forty yards to fasten his bootlace, or pick up his stick, or for some other reason. And, each time, he took a little piece of orange peel from his pocket and laid it stealthily on the curb of the pavement. It was probably a mere display of eccentricity, a childish amusement to which no one else would have paid attention; but Ganimard was one of those shrewd observers who are indifferent to nothing that strikes their eyes and who are never satisfied until they know the secret causes of things. He therefore began to follow the man.

Now, at the moment when the fellow was turning to the right, into the Avenue de la Grande-Armée, the inspector caught him exchanging signals with a boy of twelve or thirteen, who was walking along the houses on the left hand side. Twenty yards farther, the man stooped and turned up the bottom of his trousers legs. A bit of orange peel marked the place. At the same moment, the boy stopped and, with a piece of chalk, drew a white cross, surrounded by a circle, on the wall of the house next to him.

The two continued on their way. A minute later, a fresh halt. The strange individual picked up a pin and dropped a piece of orange peel; and the boy at once made a second cross on the wall and again drew a white circle round it.

“By Jove!” thought the chief inspector, with a grunt of satisfaction. “This is rather promising... What on earth can those two merchants be plotting?”

The two “merchants” went down the Avenue Friedland and the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, but nothing occurred chat was worthy of special mention. The double performance was repeated at almost regular intervals and, so to speak, mechanically. Nevertheless, it was obvious, on the one hand, that the man with the orange peel did not do his part of the business until after he had picked out with a glance the house that was to be marked and, on the other hand, that the boy did not mark that particular house until after he had observed his companion’s signal. It was certain, therefore, that there was an agreement between the two; and the proceedings presented no small interest in the chief inspector’s eyes.

At the Place Beauveau the man hesitated. Then, apparently making up his mind, he twice turned up and twice turned down the bottom of his trousers legs. Hereupon, the boy sat down on the curb, opposite the sentry who was mounting guard outside the Ministry of the Interior, and marked the flagstone with two little crosses contained within two circles. The same ceremony was gone through a little farther on, when they reached the Elysée. Only, on the pavement where the President’s sentry was marching up and down, there were three signs instead of two.

“Hang it all!” muttered Ganimard, pale with excitement and thinking, in spite of himself, of his inveterate enemy, Lupin, whose name came to his mind whenever a mysterious circumstance presented itself. “Hang it all, what does it mean?”

He was nearly collaring and questioning the two “merchants.” But he was too clever to commit so gross a blunder. The man with the orange peel had now lit a cigarette; and the boy, also placing a cigarette end between his lips, had gone up to him, apparently with the object of asking for a light.

They exchanged a few words. Quick as thought, the boy handed his companion an object which looked — at least, so the inspector believed — like a revolver. They both bent over this object; and the man, standing with his face to the wall, put his hand six times in his pocket and made a movement as though he were loading a weapon.

As soon as this was done, they walked briskly to the Rue de Surène; and the inspector, who followed them as closely as he was able to, saw them enter the gateway of an old house of which all the shutters were closed, with the exception of those on the third or top floor.

He hurried in after them. At the end of the carriage entrance he saw a large courtyard, with a house painter’s sign at the back and a staircase on the left.

He went up the stairs and, as soon as he reached the first floor, ran still faster, because he heard, right up at the top, a din as of a free fight.

When he came to the last landing he found the door open. He entered, listened for a second, caught the sound of a struggle, rushed to the room from which the sound appeared to proceed and remained standing on the threshold, very much out of breath and greatly surprised to see the man of the orange peel and the boy banging the floor with chairs.

At that moment a third person walked out of an adjoining room. It was a young man of twenty-eight or thirty, wearing a pair of short whiskers in addition to his moustache, spectacles, and a smoking jacket with an astrakhan collar and looking like a foreigner, a Russian.

“Good morning, Ganimard,” he said. And turning to the two companions, “Thank you, my friends, and all my congratulations on the successful result.”

He gave them a hundred-franc note, pushed them outside and shut both doors.

“I am sorry, old chap,” he said to Ganimard. “I wanted to talk to you... wanted to talk to you badly.”

He offered him his hand and, seeing that the inspector remained flabbergasted and that his face was still distorted with anger, he exclaimed:

“Why, you don’t seem to understand!... And yet it’s clear enough... I wanted to see you particularly... So what could I do?” And, pretending to reply to an objection, “No, no, old chap,” he continued. “You’re quite wrong. If I had written or telephoned, you would not have come... or else you would have come with a regiment. Now I wanted to see you all alone; and I thought the best thing was to send those two decent fellows to meet you, with orders to scatter bits of orange peel and draw crosses and circles, in short, to mark out your road to this place... Why, you look quite bewildered! What is it? Perhaps you don’t recognize me? Lupin... Arsène Lupin... Ransack your memory... Doesn’t the name remind you of anything?”

“You dirty scoundrel!” Ganimard snarled between his teeth.

Lupin seemed greatly distressed and, in an affectionate voice:

“Are you vexed? Yes, I can see it in your eyes... The Dugrival business, I suppose. I ought to have waited for you to come and take me in charge?... There now, the thought never occurred to me! I promise you, next time...”

“You scum of the earth!” growled Ganimard.

“And I thinking I was giving you a treat! Upon my word, I did. I said to myself, ‘That dear old Ganimard! We haven’t met for an age. He’ll simply rush at me when he sees me after so long!’ ”

Ganimard, who had not yet stirred a limb, seemed to be waking from his stupor. He looked all around him, looked at Lupin, visibly asked himself whether he would not do well to rush at him in reality and then, controlling himself, took hold of a chair and settled himself in it, as though he had suddenly made up his mind to listen to his enemy:

“Speak,” he said. “And don’t waste my time with any nonsense. I’m in a hurry.”

“That’s it,” said Lupin, “let’s talk. You can’t imagine a quieter place than this. It’s an old manor house, which once stood in the open country, and it belongs to the Due de Rochelaure. The duke, who has never lived in it, lets this floor to me and the outhouses to a painter and decorator. I always keep up a few establishments of this kind: it’s a sound, practical plan. Here, in spite of my looking like a Russian nobleman, I am M. Daubreuil, an ex-cabinet-minister...You understand, I had to select a rather overstocked profession, so as not to attract attention...”

“Do you think I care a hang about all this?” said Ganimard, interrupting him.

“Quite right, I’m wasting words and you’re in a hurry. Forgive me. I shan’t be long now... Five minutes, that’s all... I’ll start at once... Have a cigar? No? Very well, no more will I.”

He sat down also, drummed his fingers on the table, while thinking, and began in this fashion:

“On the 17th of October, 1599, on a warm and sunny autumn day... Do you follow me?... But, now that I come to think of it, is it really necessary to go back to the reign of Henry IV, and tell you all about the building of the Pont-Neuf? No, I don’t suppose you are very well up in French history; and I should only end by muddling you. Suffice it, then, for you to know that, last night, at one o’clock in the morning, a boatman passing under the last arch of the Pont-Neuf aforesaid, along the left bank of the river, heard something drop into the front part of his barge. The thing had been flung from the bridge and its evident destination was the bottom of the Seine. The bargee’s dog rushed forward, barking, and, when the man reached the end of his craft, he saw the animal worrying a piece of newspaper that had served, to wrap up a number of objects. He look from the dog such of the contents as had not fallen into the water, went to his cabin and examined them carefully. The result struck him as interesting; and, as the man is connected with one of my friends, he very thoughtfully sent to let me know. This morning I was waked up and placed in possession of the facts and of the objects which the man had collected. Here they are.”

He pointed to them, spread out on a table. There were, first of all, the torn pieces of a newspaper. Next came a large cut-glass inkstand, with a long piece of string fastened to the lid. There was a bit of broken glass and a sort of flexible cardboard, reduced to shreds. Lastly, there was a piece of bright scarlet silk, ending in a tassel of the same material and color.

“You see our exhibits, friend of my youth,” said Lupin. “No doubt, the problem would be more easily solved if we had the other objects which went overboard owing to the stupidity of the dog. But it seems to me, all the same, that we ought to be able to manage, with a little reflection and intelligence. And those are just your great qualities. How does the business strike you?”

Ganimard did not move a muscle. He was willing to stand Lupin’s chaff, but his dignity commanded him not to speak a single word in answer nor even to give a nod or shake of the head that might have been taken to express approval or criticism.

“I see that we are entirely of one mind,” continued Lupin, without appearing to remark the chief inspector’s silence. “And I can sum up the matter briefly, as told us by these exhibits. Yesterday evening, between nine and twelve o’clock, a showily dressed young woman was wounded with a knife and then caught round the throat and choked to death by a well-dressed gentleman, wearing a single eyeglass and interested in racing, with whom the aforesaid showily dressed young lady had been eating three meringues and a coffee éclair.”

Lupin lit a cigarette and, taking Ganimard by the sleeve:

“Aha, that’s up against you, Chief Inspector! You thought that, in the domain of police deductions, such feats as those were prohibited to outsiders! Wrong, sir! Lupin juggles with inferences and deductions for all the world like a detective in a novel. My proofs are dazzling and absolutely simple.”

And, pointing to the objects one by one, as he demonstrated his statement, he resumed:

“I said, after nine o’clock yesterday evening. This scrap of newspaper bears yesterday’s date, with the words, ‘Evening edition.’ Also, you will see here, pasted to the paper, a bit of one of those yellow wrappers in which the subscribers’ copies are sent out. These copies are always delivered by the nine-o’clock post. Therefore, it was after nine o’clock. I said, a well-dressed man. Please observe that this tiny piece of glass has the round hole of a single eyeglass at one of the edges and that the single eyeglass is an essentially aristocratic article of wear. This well-dressed man walked into a pastry cook’s shop. Here is the very thin cardboard, shaped like a box, and still showing a little of the cream of the meringues and éclairs which were packed in it in the usual way. Having got his parcel the gentleman with the eyeglass joined a young person whose eccentricity in the matter of dress is pretty clearly indicated by this bright red silk scarf. Having joined her, for some reason as yet unknown he first stabbed her with a knife and then strangled her with the help of this same scarf. Take your magnifying glass, Chief Inspector, and you will see, on the silk, stains of a darker red which arc, here, the marks of a knife wiped on the scarf and, there, the marks of a hand, covered with blood, clutching the material. Having committed the murder, his next business is to leave no trace behind him. So he takes from his pocket, first, the newspaper to which he subscribes — a racing-paper, as you will see by glancing at the contents of this scrap; and you will have no difficulty in discovering the title — and, secondly, a cord, which, on inspection, turns out to be a length of whipcord. These two details prove — do they not? — that our man is interested in racing and that he himself rides. Next, he picks up the fragments of his eyeglass, the cord of which has been broken in the struggle. He takes a pair of scissors — observe the hacking of the scissors — and cuts off the staked part of the scarf, leaving the other end, no doubt, in his victim’s clenched hands. He makes a ball of the confectioner’s cardboard box. He also puts in certain things that would have betrayed him, such as the knife, which must have slipped into the Seine. He wraps everything in the newspaper, ties ii with the cord and fastens this cut-glass inkstand to it, as a makeweight. Then he makes himself scarce. A little later, the parcel falls into the waterman’s barge. And there you are. Oof, it’s hot work!... What do you say to the story?”

He looked at Ganimard to see what impression his speech had produced on the inspector. Ganimard did not depart from his attitude of silence.

Lupin began to laugh:

“As a matter of fact, you’re annoyed and surprised. But you’re suspicious as well: ‘Why should that confounded Lupin hand the business over to me,’ say you, ‘instead of keeping it for himself, hunting down the murderer and rifling his pockets, if there was a robbery?’ The question is quite logical, of course. But — there is a ‘but’ — I have no time, you see. I am full up with work at the present moment: a burglary in London, another at Lausanne, an exchange of children at Marseilles, to say nothing of having to save a young girl who is at this moment shadowed by death. That’s always the way: it never rains but it pours. So I said to myself, ‘Suppose I handed the business over to my dear old Ganimard? Now that it is half solved for him, he is quite capable of succeeding. And what a service I shall be doing him! How magnificently he will be able to distinguish himself!’ No sooner said than done. At eight o’clock in the morning, I sent the joker with the orange peel to meet you. You swallowed the bait; and you were here by nine, all on edge and eager for the fray.”

Lupin rose from his chair. He went over to the inspector and, with his eyes on Ganimard’s, said:

“That’s all. You now know the whole story. Presently, you will know the victim: some ballet dancer, probably, some singer at a music hall. On the other hand, the chances are that the criminal lives near the Pont-Neuf, most likely on the left bank. Lastly, here are all the exhibits. I make you a present of them. Set to work. I shall only keep this end of the scarf. If ever you want to piece the scarf together, bring me the other end, the one which the police will find round the victim’s neck. Bring it to me in four weeks from now to the day, that is to say, on the 29th of December, at ten o’clock in the morning. You can be sure of finding me here. And don’t be afraid: this is all perfectly serious, friend of my youth, I sweat it is. No humbug, honor bright. You can go straight ahead. Oh, by the way, when you arrest the fellow with the eyeglass, be a bit careful: he is left-handed! Good-by, old dear, and good luck to you!”

Lupin spun round on his heel, went to the door, opened it and disappeared before Ganimard had even thought of taking a decision. The inspector rushed after him, but at once found that the handle of the door, by some trick of mechanism which he did not know, refused to turn. It took him ten minutes to unscrew the lock and ten minutes more to unscrew the lock of the hall door. By the time that he had scrambled down the three flights of stairs, Ganimard had given up all hope of catching Arsène Lupin.

Besides, he was not thinking of it. Lupin inspired him with a queer, complex feeling, made up of fear, hatred, involuntary admiration and also the vague instinct that he, Ganimard, in spite of all his efforts, in spite of the persistency of his endeavors, would never get the better of this particular adversary. He pursued him from a sense of duty and pride, but with the continual dread of being taken in by that formidable hoaxer and flouted and fooled in the face of a public that was always only too willing to laugh at the chief inspector’s mishaps.

This business of the red scarf, in particular, struck him as most suspicious. It was interesting, certainly, in more ways than one, but so very improbable! And Lupin’s explanation, apparently so logical, would never stand the test of a severe examination!

“No,” said Ganimard, “this is all swank: a parcel of suppositions and guesswork based upon nothing at all. I’m not to be caught with chaff.”

When he reached the headquarters of police, at 36 Quai des Orfèvres, he had quite made up his mind to treat the incident as though it had never happened.

He went up to the Criminal Investigation Department. Here, one of his fellow inspectors said:

“Seen the chief?”

“No.”

“He was asking for you just now.”

“Oh, was he?”

“Yes, you had better go after him.”

“Where?”

“To the Rue de Berne... there was a murder there last night.”

“Oh! Who’s the victim?”

“I don’t know exactly... a music-hall singer, I believe.”

Ganimard simply muttered:

“By Jove!”

Twenty minutes later he stepped out of the underground railway station and made for the Rue de Berne.

The victim, who was known in the theatrical world by her stage name of Jenny Saphir, occupied a small flat on the second floor of one of the houses. A policeman took the chief inspector upstairs and showed him the way, through two sitting rooms, to a bedroom, where he found the magistrates in charge of the inquiry, together with the divisional surgeon and M. Dudouis, the head of the detective service.

Ganimard started at the first glance which he gave into the room. He saw, lying on a sofa, the corpse of a young woman whose hands clutched a strip of red silk! One of the shoulders, which appeared above the low-cut bodice, bore the marks of two wounds surrounded with clotted blood. The distorted and almost blackened features still bore an expression of frenzied terror.

The divisional surgeon, who had just finished his examination, said:

“My first conclusions are very clear. The victim was twice stabbed with a dagger and afterward strangled. The immediate cause of death was asphyxia.”

“By Jove!” thought Ganimard again, remembering Lupin’s words and the picture which he had drawn of the crime.

The examining magistrate objected:

“But the neck shows no discoloration.”

“She may have been strangled with a napkin or a handkerchief,” said the doctor.

“Most probably,” said the chief detective, “with this silk scarf, which the victim was wearing and a piece of which remains, as though she had clung to it with her two hands to protect herself.”

“But why does only that piece remain?” asked the magistrate. “What has become of the other?”

“The other may have been stained with blood and carried off by the murderer. You can plainly distinguish the hurried slashing of the scissors.”

“By Jove!” said Ganimard, between his teeth, for the third time. “That brute of a Lupin saw everything without seeing a thing!”

“And what about the motive of the murder?” asked the magistrate. “The locks have been forced, the cupboards turned upside down. Have you anything to tell me, M. Dudouis?”

The chief of the detective service replied:

“I can at least suggest a supposition, derived from the statements made by the servant. The victim, who enjoyed a greater reputation on account of her looks than through her talent as a singer, went to Russia, two years ago, and brought back with her a magnificent sapphire, which she appears to have received from some person of importance at the court. Since then, she went by the name of Jenny Saphir and seems generally to have been very proud of that present, although, for prudence’s sake, she never wore it. I daresay that we shall not be far out if we presume the theft of the sapphire to have been the cause of the crime.”

“But did the maid know where the stone was?”

“No, nobody did. And the disorder of the room would lend to prove that the murderer did not know either.”

“We will question the maid,” said the examining magistrate.

M. Dudouis took the chief inspector aside and said:

“You’re looking very old-fashioned, Ganimard. What’s the matter? Do you suspect anything?”

“Nothing at all, chief.”

“That’s a pity. We could do with a bit of showy work in the department. This is one of a number of crimes, all of the same class, of which we have failed to discover the perpetrator. This time we want the criminal... and quickly!”

“A difficult job, chief.”

“It’s got to be done. Listen to me, Ganimard. According to what the maid says, Jenny Saphir led a very regular life. For a month past she was in the habit of frequently receiving visits, on her return from the music hall, that is to say, at about half past ten, from a man who would stay until midnight or so. ‘He’s a society man,’ Jenny Saphir used to say, ‘and he wants to marry me.’ This society man took every precaution to avoid being seen, such as turning up his coat collar and lowering the brim of his hat when he passed the porter’s box. And Jenny Saphir always made a point of sending away her maid, even before he came. This is the man whom we have to find.”

“Has he left no traces?”

“None at all. It is obvious that we have to deal with a very clever scoundrel, who prepared his crime beforehand and committed it with every possible chance of escaping unpunished. His arrest would be a great feather in our cap. I rely on you, Ganimard.”

“Ah, you rely on me, chief?” replied the inspector. “Well, we shall see... we shall see... I don’t say no... Only...”

He seemed in a very nervous condition, and his agitation struck M. Dudouis.

“Only,” continued Ganimard, “only I swear... do you hear, chief? I swear...”

“What do you swear?”

“Nothing... We shall see, chief... we shall see...”

Ganimard did not finish his sentence until he was outside, alone. And he finished it aloud, stamping his foot, in a tone of the most violent anger:

“Only, I swear to Heaven that the arrest shall be effected by my own means, without my employing a single one of the clues with which that villain has supplied inc. Ah, no! Ah, no!...”

Railing against Lupin, furious at being mixed up in this business and resolved, nevertheless, to get to the bottom of it, he wandered aimlessly about the streets. His brain was seething with irritation; and he tried to adjust his ideas a little and to discover, among the chaotic facts, some trifling detail, unperceived by all, unsuspected by Lupin himself, that might lead him to Success.

He lunched hurriedly at a bar, resumed his stroll and suddenly stopped, petrified, astounded and contused. He was walking under the gateway of the very house in the Rue de Surène to which Lupin had enticed him a few hours earlier! A force stronger than his own will was drawing him there once more. The solution of the problem lay there. There and there alone were all the elements of the truth. Do and say what he would, Lupin’s assertions were so precise, his calculations so accurate, that, worried to the innermost recesses of his being by so prodigious a display of perspicacity, he could not do other than take up the work at the point where his enemy had left it.

Abandoning all further resistance, lie climbed the three flights of stairs. The door of the flat was open. No one had touched the exhibits. He put them in his pocket and walked away.

From that moment, he reasoned and acted, so to speak, mechanically, under the influence of the master whom he could not choose but obey.

Admitting that the unknown person whom he was seeking lived in the neighborhood of the Pont-Neuf, it became necessary to discover, somewhere between that bridge and the Rue de Berne, the first-class confectioner’s shop, open in the evenings, at which the cakes were bought. This did not take long to find. A pastry cook near the Gare Saint-Lazare showed him some little cardboard boxes, identical in material and shape with the one in Ganimard’s possession. Moreover, one of the shopgirls remembered having served, on the previous evening, a gentleman whose face was almost concealed in the collar of his fur coat, but whose eyeglass she had happened to notice.

“That’s one clue checked,” thought the inspector. “Our man wears an eyeglass.”

He next collected the pieces of the racing paper and showed them to a news vender, who easily recognized the Turf Illustré. Ganimard at once went to the offices of the Turf and asked to see the list of subscribers. Going through the list, he jotted down the names and addresses of all those who lived anywhere near the Pont-Neuf and principally — because Lupin had said so — those on the left bank of the river.

He then went back to the Criminal Investigation Department, took half a dozen men and packed them off with the necessary instructions.

At seven o’clock in the evening, the last of these men returned and brought good news with him. A certain M. Prévailles, a subscriber to the Turf, occupied an entresol flat on the Quai des Augustins. On the previous evening, he left his place, wearing a fur coat, took his letters and his paper, the Turf Illustré, from the porter’s wife, walked away and returned home at midnight. This M. Prévailles wore a single eyeglass. He was a regular race-goer and himself owned several hacks which he either rode himself or jobbed out.

The inquiry had taken so short a time and the results obtained were so exactly in accordance with Lupin’s predictions that Ganimard felt quite overcome on hearing the detective’s report. Once more he was measuring the prodigious extent of the resources at Lupin’s disposal. Never in the course of his life — and Ganimard was already well advanced in years — had he come across such perspicacity, such a quick and far-seeing mind.

He went in search of M. Dudouis.

“Everything’s ready, chief. Have you a warrant?”

“Eh?”

“I said, everything is ready for the arrest, chief.”

“You know the name of Jenny Saphir’s murderer?”

“Yes.”

“But how? Explain yourself.”

Ganimard had a sort of scruple of conscience, blushed a little and nevertheless replied:

“An accident, chief. The murderer threw everything that was likely to compromise him into the Seine. Part of the parcel was picked up and handed to me.”

“By whom?”

“A boatman who refused to give his name, for fear of getting into trouble. But I had all the clues I wanted. It was not so difficult as I expected.” And the inspector described how he had gone to work.

“And you call that an accident!” cried M. Dudouis. “And you say that it was not difficult! Why, it’s one of your finest performances! Finish it yourself, Ganimard, and be prudent.”

Ganimard was eager to got the business done. He went to the Quai des Augustins with his men and distributed them around the house. He questioned the portress, who said that her tenant took his meals out of doors, but made a point of looking in after dinner.

A little before nine o’clock, in fact, leaning out of her window, she warned Ganimard, who at once gave a low whistle. A gentleman in a tall hat and a fur coat was coming along the pavement beside the Seine. He crossed the road and walked up to the house.

Ganimard stepped forward:

“M. Prévailles, I believe?”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“I have a commission to...”

He had nut lime to finish his sentence. At the sight of the men appearing out of the shadow, Prévailles quickly retreated to the wall and faced his adversaries, with his back to the door of a shop on the ground floor, the shutters of which were closed. “Stand back!” he cried.

His right hand brandished a heavy stick, while his left was slipped behind him and seemed to be trying to open the door.

Ganimard had an impression that the man might escape through this way and through some secret outlet:

“None of this nonsense,” he said, moving closer to him. “You’re caught... You had better come quietly.”

But, just as he was laying hold of Prévailles’s stick, Ganimard remembered the warning which Lupin gave him: Prévailles was left-handed; and it was his revolver for which he was feeling behind his back.

The inspector ducked his head. He had noticed the man’s sudden movement. Two reports rang out.

A second later, Prévailles received a blow under the chin from the butt end of a revolver, which brought him down where he stood. He was entered at the Dépôt soon after nine o’clock.

Ganimard enjoyed a great reputation even at that time. But this capture, so quickly effected, by such very simple means, and at once made public by the police, won him a sudden celebrity. Prévailles was forthwith saddled with all the murders that had remained unpunished; and the newspapers vied with one another in extolling Ganimard’s prowess.

The case was conducted briskly at the start. It was first of all ascertained that Prévailles, whose real name was Thomas Derocq, had already been in trouble. Moreover, the search instituted in his rooms, while not supplying any fresh proofs, at least led to the discovery of a ball of whipcord similar to the cord used for doing up the parcel and also to the discovery of daggers which would have produced a wound similar to the wounds on the victim.

But, on the eighth day, everything was changed. Until then Prévailles had refused to reply to the questions put to him; but now, assisted by his counsel, he pleaded a circumstantial alibi and maintained that he was at the Folies-Bergère on the night of the murder.

As a matter of fact, the pockets of his dinner jacket contained the counterfoil of a stall ticket and a program of the performance, both bearing the date of that evening.

“An alibi prepared in advance,” objected the examining magistrate.

“Prove it,” said Prévailles.

The prisoner was confronted with the witnesses for the prosecution. The young lady from the confectioner’s “thought she knew” the gentleman with the eyeglass. The hall porter in the Rue de Berne “thought he knew” the gentleman who used to come to see Jenny Saphir. But nobody dared to make a more definite statement.

The examination, therefore, led to nothing of a precise character, provided no solid basis whereon to found a serious accusation.

The judge sent for Ganimard and told him of his difficulty.

“I can’t possibly persist, at this rate. There is no evidence to support the charge.”

“But surely you are convinced in your own mind, monsieur le juge d’instruction! Prévailles would never have resisted his arrest unless he was guilty.”

“He says that he thought he was being assaulted. He also says that he never set eyes on Jenny Saphir; and, as a matter of fact, we can find no one to contradict his assertion. Then again, admitting that the sapphire has been stolen, we have not been able to find it at his flat.”

“Nor anywhere else,” suggested Ganimard.

“Quite true, but that is no evidence against him. I’ll tell you what we shall want, M. Ganimard, and that very soon: the other end of this red scarf.”

“The other end?”

“Yes, for it is obvious that, if the murderer took it away with him, the reason was that the stuff is stained with the marks of the blood on his fingers.”

Ganimard made no reply. For several days he had felt that the whole business was tending to this conclusion. There was no other proof possible. Given the silk scarf — and in no other circumstances — Prévailles’s guilt was certain. Now Ganimard’s position required that Prévailles’s guilt should be established. He was responsible for the arrest, it had cast a glamor around him, he had been praised to the skies as the most formidable adversary of criminals; and he would look absolutely ridiculous if Prévailles were released.

Unfortunately, the one and only indispensable proof was in Lupin’s pocket. How was he to get hold of it?

Ganimard cast about, exhausted himself with fresh investigations, went over the inquiry from start to finish, spent sleepless nights in turning over the mystery of the Rue de Berne, studied the records of Prévailles’s life, sent ten men hunting after the sapphire; Everything was useless.

On the 28th of December, the examining magistrate stopped him in one of the passages of the Law Courts:

“Well, M. Ganimard, any news?”

“No, monsieur le juge d’instruction.”

“Then I shall dismiss the case.”

“Wait one day longer.”

“What’s the use? We want the other end of the scarf; have you got it?”

“I shall have it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Yes, but please lend me the piece in your possession.”

“What if I do?”

“If you do. I promise to let you have the whole scarf complete.”

“Very well, that’s understood.”

Ganimard followed the examining magistrate to his room and came out with the piece of silk:

“Hang it all!” he growled. “Yes, I will go and fetch the proof and I shall have it too... always presuming that Master Lupin has the courage to keep the appointment.”

In point of fact, he did not doubt for a moment that Master Lupin would have this courage, and that was just what exasperated him. Why had Lupin insisted on this meeting? What was his object, in the circumstances?

Anxious, furious and full of hatred, he resolved to take every precaution necessary not only to prevent his falling into a trap himself, but to make his enemy fall into one, now that the opportunity offered. And, on the next day, which was the 29th of December, the date fixed by Lupin, after spending the night in studying the old manor house in the Rue de Surène and convincing himself that there was no other outlet than the front door, he warned his men that he was going on a dangerous expedition and arrived with them on the field of battle.

He posted them in a café and gave them formal instructions: if he showed himself at one of the third-floor windows, or if he failed to return within an hour, the detectives were to enter the house and arrest anyone who tried to leave it.

The chief inspector made sure that his revolver was in working order and that he could take it from his pocket easily. Then he went upstairs.

He was surprised to find things as he had left them, the doors open and the locks broken. After ascertaining that the windows of the principal room looked out on the street, he visited the three other rooms that made up the flat. There was no one there.

“Master Lupin was afraid,” he muttered, not without a certain satisfaction.

“Don’t be silly,” said a voice behind him.

Turning round, he saw an old workman, wearing a housepainter’s long smock, standing in the doorway.

“You needn’t bother your head,” said the man. “It’s I, Lupin. I have been working in the painter’s shop since early morning. This is when we knock off for breakfast. So I came upstairs.”

He looked at Ganimard with a quizzing smile and cried:

“’Pon my word, this is a gorgeous moment I owe you, old chap! I wouldn’t sell it for ten years of your life; and yet you know how I love you! What do you think of it, artist? Wasn’t it well thought out and well foreseen? Foreseen from alpha to omega? Did I understand the business? Did I penetrate the mystery of the scarf? I’m not saying that there were no holes in my argument, no links missing in the chain... But what a masterpiece of intelligence! Ganimard, what a reconstruction of events! What an intuition of everything that had taken place and of everything that was going to take place, from the discovery of the crime to your arrival here in search of a proof! What really marvelous divination! Have you the scarf?”

“Yes, half of it. Have you the other?”

“Here it is. Let’s compare.”

They spread the two pieces of silk on the table. The cuts made by the scissors corresponded exactly. Moreover, the colors were identical.

“But I presume,” said Lupin, “that this was not the only thing you came for. What you are interested in seeing is the marks of the blood. Come with me, Ganimard: it’s rather dark in here.”

They moved into the next room, which, though it overlooked the courtyard, was lighter; and Lupin held his piece of silk against the windowpane:

“Look,” he said, making room for Ganimard.

The inspector gave a start of delight. The marks of the five fingers and the print of the palm were distinctly visible. The evidence was undeniable. The murderer had seized the stuff in his bloodstained hand, in the same hand that had stabbed Jenny Saphir, and tied the scarf round her neck.

“And it is the print of a left hand,” observed Lupin. “Hence my warning, which had nothing miraculous about it, you see. For, though I admit, friend of my youth, that you may look upon me as a superior intelligence, I won’t have you treat me as a wizard.”

Ganimard had quickly pocketed the piece of silk. Lupin nodded his head in approval:

“Quite right, old boy, it’s for you. I’m so glad you’re glad! And, you see, there was no trap about all this... only the wish to oblige... a service between friends, between pals... And also, I confess, a little curiosity... Yes, I wanted to examine this other piece of silk, the one the police had... Don’t be afraid: I’ll give it back to you... Just a second...”

Lupin, with a careless movement, played with the tassel at the end of his half of the scarf, while Ganimard listened to him in spite of himself:

“How ingenious these little bits of women’s work are! Did you notice one detail in the maid’s evidence? Jenny Saphir was very handy with her needle and used to make all her own hats and frocks. It is obvious that she made this scarf herself... I noticed that from the first. Besides, I am naturally curious, as I have already told you, and I made a thorough examination of the piece of silk which you have just put in your pocket. Inside the tassel, I found a little sacred medal, which the poor girl had stitched into it to bring her luck. Touching, isn’t it, Ganimard? A little medal of Our Lady of Good Succor.”

The inspector felt greatly puzzled and did not take his eyes off the other. And Lupin continued:

“Then I said to myself, ‘How interesting it would be to explore the other half of the scarf, the one which the police will find round the victim’s neck!’ For this other half, which I hold in my hands at last, is finished off in the same way... so I shall be able to see if it has a hiding place too and what’s inside it... But look, my friend, isn’t it cleverly made? And so simple! All you have to do is to take a skein of red cord and braid it round a wooden cup, leaving a little recess, a little empty space in the middle, very small, of course, but large enough to hold a medal of a saint... or anything... A precious stone, for instance... Such as a sapphire...”

At that moment he finished pushing back the silk cord and, from the hollow of a cup he took between his thumb and forefinger a wonderful blue stone, perfect in respect of size and purity.

“Ha! What did I tell you, friend of my youth?”

He raised his head. The inspector had turned livid and was staring wild-eyed, as though fascinated by the stone that sparkled before him. He at last realized the whole plot:

“You dirty scoundrel!” he muttered, repeating the insults which he had used at the first interview. “You scum of the earth!”

The two men were standing one against the other.

“Give me back that,” said the inspector.

Lupin held out the piece of silk.

“And the sapphire,” said Ganimard, in a peremptory tone.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Give it back, or...”

“Or what, you idiot!” cried Lupin. “Look here, do you think I put you on to this soft thing for nothing?”

“Give it back!”

“You haven’t noticed what I’ve been about, that’s plain! What! For four weeks I’ve kept you on the move like a deer; and you want to!... Come, Ganimard, old chap, pull yourself together!... Don’t you see that you’ve been playing the good dog for four weeks on end?... Fetch it, Rover!... There’s a nice blue pebble over there, which master can’t get at. Hunt it, Ganimard, fetch it... bring it to master... Ah, he’s his master’s own good little dog!... Sit up! Beg!... Does’ms want a bit of sugar, then?...”

Ganimard, containing the anger that seethed within him, thought only of one thing, summoning his detectives. And, as the room in which he now was looked out on the courtyard, he tried gradually to work his way round to the communicating door. He would then run to the window and break one of the panes.

“All the same,” continued Lupin, “what a pack of dunderheads you and the rest must be! You’ve had the silk all this time and not one of you ever thought of feeling it, not one of you ever asked himself the reason why the poor girl hung on to her scarf. Not one of you! You just acted at haphazard, without reflecting, without foreseeing anything...”

The inspector had attained his object. Taking advantage of a second when Lupin had turned away from him, he suddenly wheeled round and grasped the door handle. But an oath escaped him: the handle did not budge.

Lupin burst into a fit of laughing:

“Not even that! You did not even foresee that! You lay a trap for me and you won’t admit that I may perhaps smell the thing out beforehand... And you allow yourself to be brought into this room without asking whether I am not bringing you here for a particular reason and without remembering that the locks are fitted with a special mechanism. Come now, speaking frankly, what do you think of it yourself?”

“What do I think of it?” roared Ganimard, beside himself with rage.

He had drawn his revolver and was pointing it straight at Lupin’s face.

“Hands up!” he cried. “That’s what I think of it!”

Lupin placed himself in front of him and shrugged his shoulders:

“Sold again!” he said.

“Hands up, I say, once more!”

“And sold again, say I. Your deadly weapon won’t go off.”

“What?”

“Old Catherine, your housekeeper, is in my service. She damped the charges this morning while- you were having your breakfast coffee.”

Ganimard made a furious gesture, pocketed the revolver and rushed at Lupin.

“Well?” said Lupin, stopping him short with a well aimed kick on the shin.

Their clothes were almost touching. They exchanged defiant glances, the glances of two adversaries who mean to come to blows. Nevertheless, there was no fight. The recollection of the earlier struggles made any present struggle useless. And Ganimard, who remembered all his past failures, his vain attacks, Lupin’s crushing reprisals, did not lift a limb. There was nothing to be done. He felt it. Lupin had forces at his command against which any individual force simply broke to pieces. So what was the good?

“I agree,” said Lupin, in a friendly voice, as though answering Ganimard’s unspoken thought, “you would do better to let things be as they are. Besides, friend of my youth, think of all that this incident has brought you: fame, the certainty of quick promotion and, thanks to that, the prospect of a happy and comfortable old age! Surely, you don’t want the discovery of the sapphire and the head of poor Arsène Lupin in addition! It wouldn’t be fair. To say nothing of the fact that poor Arsène Lupin saved your life... Yes, sir! Who warned you, at this very spot, that Prévailles was left-handed?... And is this the way you thank me? It’s not pretty of you, Ganimard. Upon my word, you make me blush for you!”

While chattering, Lupin had gone through the same performance as Ganimard and was now near the door. Ganimard saw that his foe was about to escape him. Forgetting all prudence, he tried to block his way and received a tremendous butt in the stomach, which sent him rolling.

Lupin dexterously touched a spring, turned the handle, opened the door and slipped away, roaring with laughter as he went.

Twenty minutes later, when Ganimard at last succeeded in joining his men, one of them said to him:

“A house painter left the house, as his mates were coming back from breakfast, and put a letter in my hand. ‘Give that to your governor,’ he said. ‘Which governor?’ I asked; but he was gone. I suppose it’s meant for you.”

“Let’s have it.”

Ganimard opened the letter. It was hurriedly scribbled in pencil and contained these words: