LITMIR.BIZ

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Lupin gave a hasty glance at the initials engraved on the watch.

      “J.B.… Who the devil can that be?… Ah! yes, I remember. Jules Bouvier, the judge who conducted my examination. A charming fellow!…”

      CHAPTER III

      The Escape of Arsène Lupin

      Arsène Lupin had just finished his repast and taken from his pocket an excellent cigar, with a gold band, which he was examining with unusual care, when the door of his cell was opened. He had barely time to throw the cigar into the drawer and move away from the table. The guard entered. It was the hour for exercise.

      “I was waiting for you, my dear boy,” exclaimed Lupin, in his accustomed good humor.

      They went out together. As soon as they had disappeared at a turn in the corridor, two men entered the cell and commenced a minute examination of it. One was Inspector Dieuzy; the other was Inspector Folenfant. They wished to verify their suspicion that Arsène Lupin was in communication with his accomplices outside of the prison. On the preceding evening, the `Grand Journal’ had published these lines addressed to its court reporter:

      “Monsieur:

      “In a recent article you referred to me in most unjustifiable terms. Some days before the opening of my trial I will call you to account. Arsène Lupin.”

      The handwriting was certainly that of Arsène Lupin. Consequently, he sent letters; and, no doubt, received letters. It was certain that he was preparing for that escape thus arrogantly announced by him.

      The situation had become intolerable. Acting in conjunction with the examining judge, the chief of the Sûreté, Mon. Dudouis, had visited the prison and instructed the gaoler in regard to the precautions necessary to insure Lupin’s safety. At the same time, he sent the two men to examine the prisoner’s cell. They raised every stone, ransacked the bed, did everything customary in such a case, but they discovered nothing, and were about to abandon their investigation when the guard entered hastily and said:

      “The drawer…look in the table-drawer. When I entered just now he was closing it.”

      They opened the drawer, and Dieuzy exclaimed:

      “Ah! we have him this time.”

      Folenfant stopped him.

      “Wait a moment. The chief will want to make an inventory.”

      “This is a very choice cigar.”

      “Leave it there, and notify the chief.”

      Two minutes later Mon. Dudouis examined the contents of the drawer. First he discovered a bundle of newspaper clippings relating to Arsène Lupin taken from the `Argus de la Presse,’ then a tobacco-box, a pipe, some paper called “onion-peel,” and two books. He read the titles of the books. One was an English edition of Carlyle’s “Hero-worship”; the other was a charming elzevir, in modern binding, the “Manual of Epictetus,” a German translation published at Leyden in 1634. On examining the books, he found that all the pages were underlined and annotated. Were they prepared as a code for correspondence, or did they simply express the studious character of the reader? Then he examined the tobacco-box and the pipe. Finally, he took up the famous cigar with its gold band.

      “Fichtre!” he exclaimed. “Our friend smokes a good cigar. It’s a Henry Clay.”

      With the mechanical action of an habitual smoker, he placed the cigar close to his ear and squeezed it to make it crack. Immediately he uttered a cry of surprise. The cigar had yielded under the pressure of his fingers. He examined it more closely, and quickly discovered something white between the leaves of tobacco. Delicately, with the aid of a pin, he withdrew a roll of very thin paper, scarcely larger than a toothpick. It was a letter. He unrolled it, and found these words, written in a feminine handwriting:

      “The basket has taken the place of the others. Eight out of ten are ready. On pressing the outer foot the plate goes downward. From twelve to sixteen every day, H-P will wait. But where? Reply at once. Rest easy; your friend is watching over you.”

      Mon. Dudouis reflected a moment, then said:

      “It is quite clear…the basket…the eight compartments.… From twelve to sixteen means from twelve to four o’clock.”

      “But this H-P, that will wait?”

      “H-P must mean automobile. H-P, horsepower, is the way they indicate strength of the motor. A twenty-four H-P is an automobile of twenty-four horsepower.”

      Then he rose, and asked:

      “Had the prisoner finished his breakfast?”

      “Yes.”

      “And as he has not yet read the message, which is proved by the condition of the cigar, it is probable that he had just received it.”

      “How?”

      “In his food. Concealed in his bread or in a potato, perhaps.”

      “Impossible. His food was allowed to be brought in simply to trap him, but we have never found anything in it.”

      “We will look for Lupin’s reply this evening. Detain him outside for a few minutes. I shall take this to the examining judge, and, if he agrees with me, we will have the letter photographed at once, and in an hour you can replace the letter in the drawer in a cigar similar to this. The prisoner must have no cause for suspicion.”

      It was not without a certain curiosity that Mon. Dudouis returned to the prison in the evening, accompanied by Inspector Dieuzy. Three empty plates were sitting on the stove in the corner.

      “He has eaten?”

      “Yes,” replied the guard.

      “Dieuzy, please cut that macaroni into very small pieces, and open that bread-roll.… Nothing?”

      “No, chief.”

      Mon. Dudouis examined the plates, the fork, the spoon, and the knife—an ordinary knife with a rounded blade. He turned the handle to the left; then to the right. It yielded and unscrewed. The knife was hollow, and served as a hiding-place for a sheet of paper.

      “Peuh!” he said, “that is not very clever for a man like Arsène. But we mustn’t lose any time. You, Dieuzy, go and search the restaurant.”

      Then he read the note:

      “I trust to you, H-P will follow at a distance every day. I will go ahead. Au revoir, dear friend.”

      “At last,” cried Mon. Dudouis, rubbing his hands gleefully, “I think we have the affair in our own hands. A little strategy on our part, and the escape will be a success in so far as the arrest of his confederates are concerned.”

      “But if Arsène Lupin slips through your fingers?” suggested the guard.

      “We will have a sufficient number of men to prevent that. If, however, he displays too much cleverness, ma foi, so much the worse for him! As to his band of robbers, since the chief refuses to speak, the others must.”

      * * * *

      And, as a matter of fact, Arsène Lupin had very little to say. For several months, Mon. Jules Bouvier, the examining judge, had exerted himself in vain. The investigation had been reduced to a few uninteresting arguments between the judge and the advocate, Maître Danval, one of the leaders of the bar. From time to time, through courtesy, Arsène Lupin would speak. One day he said:

      “Yes, monsieur, le judge, I quite agree with you: the robbery of the Crédit Lyonnais, the theft in the rue de Babylone, the issue of the counterfeit bank-notes, the burglaries at the various châteaux, Armesnil, Gouret, Imblevain, Groseillers, Malaquis, all my work, monsieur, I did it all.”

      “Then will you explain to me—”

      “It is useless. I confess everything in a lump, everything and even ten times more than you know nothing about.”

      Wearied by

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