LITMIR.BIZ

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in turn, relates the story in his book, “Royales Economies d’Etat,” without making any comment upon it, but linking with it this incomprehensible sentence: `Turn one eye on the bee that shakes, the other eye will lead to God!’”

      After a brief silence, Velmont laughed and said:

      “Certainly, it doesn’t throw a dazzling light upon the subject.”

      “No; but Father Gélis claims that Sully concealed the key to the mystery in this strange sentence in order to keep the secret from the secretaries to whom he dictated his memoirs.”

      “That is an ingenious theory,” said Velmont.

      “Yes, and it may be nothing more; I cannot see that it throws any light on the mysterious riddle.”

      “And was it also to receive the visit of a lady that Louis the Sixteenth caused the passage to be opened?”

      “I don’t know,” said Mon. Devanne. “All I can say is that the king stopped here one night in 1784, and that the famous Iron Casket found in the Louvre contained a paper bearing these words in the king’s own writing: `Thibermesnil 3-4-11.’”

      Horace Velmont laughed heartily, and exclaimed:

      “At last! And now that we have the magic key, where is the man who can fit it to the invisible lock?”

      “Laugh as much as you please, monsieur,” said Father Gèlis, “but I am confident the solution is contained in those two sentences, and some day we will find a man able to interpret them.”

      “Sherlock Holmes is the man,” said Mon. Devanne, “unless Arsène Lupin gets ahead of him. What is your opinion, Velmont?”

      Velmont arose, placed his hand on Devanne’s shoulder, and declared:

      “I think that the information furnished by your book and the book of the National Library was deficient in a very important detail which you have now supplied. I thank you for it.”

      “What is it?”

      “The missing key. Now that I have it, I can go to work at once,” said Velmont.

      “Of course; without losing a minute,” said Devanne, smiling.

      “Not even a second!” replied Velmont. “Tonight, before the arrival of Sherlock Holmes, I must plunder your castle.”

      “You have no time to lose. Oh! by the way, I can drive you over this evening.”

      “To Dieppe?”

      “Yes. I am going to meet Monsieur and Madame d’Androl and a young lady of their acquaintance who are to arrive by the midnight train.”

      Then addressing the officers, Devanne added:

      “Gentlemen, I shall expect to see all of you at breakfast tomorrow.”

      The invitation was accepted. The company dispersed, and a few moments later Devanne and Velmont were speeding toward Dieppe in an automobile. Devanne dropped the artist in front of the Casino, and proceeded to the railway station. At twelve o’clock his friends alighted from the train. A half hour later the automobile was at the entrance to the castle. At one o’clock, after a light supper, they retired. The lights were extinguished, and the castle was enveloped in the darkness and silence of the night.

      * * * *

      The moon appeared through a rift in the clouds, and filled the drawing-room with its bright white light. But only for a moment. Then the moon again retired behind its ethereal draperies, and darkness and silence reigned supreme. No sound could be heard, save the monotonous ticking of the clock. It struck two, and then continued its endless repetitions of the seconds. Then, three o’clock.

      Suddenly, something clicked, like the opening and closing of a signal-disc that warns the passing train. A thin stream of light flashed to every corner of the room, like an arrow that leaves behind it a trail of light. It shot forth from the central fluting of a column that supported the pediment of the bookcase. It rested for a moment on the panel opposite like a glittering circle of burnished silver, then flashed in all directions like a guilty eye that scrutinizes every shadow. It disappeared for a short time, but burst forth again as a whole section of the bookcase revolved on a picot and disclosed a large opening like a vault.

      A man entered, carrying an electric lantern. He was followed by a second man, who carried a coil of rope and various tools. The leader inspected the room, listened a moment, and said:

      “Call the others.”

      Then eight men, stout fellows with resolute faces, entered the room, and immediately commenced to remove the furnishings. Arsène Lupin passed quickly from one piece of furniture to another, examined each, and, according to its size or artistic value, he directed his men to take it or leave it. If ordered to be taken, it was carried to the gaping mouth of the tunnel, and ruthlessly thrust into the bowels of the earth. Such was the fate of six armchairs, six small Louis XV chairs, a quantity of Aubusson tapestries, some candelabra, paintings by Fragonard and Nattier, a bust by Houdon, and some statuettes. Sometimes, Lupin would linger before a beautiful chest or a superb picture, and sigh:

      “That is too heavy…too large…what a pity!”

      In forty minutes the room was dismantled; and it had been accomplished in such an orderly manner and with as little noise as if the various articles had been packed and wadded for the occasion.

      Lupin said to the last man who departed by way of the tunnel:

      “You need not come back. You understand, that as soon as the auto-van is loaded, you are to proceed to the grange at Roquefort.”

      “But you, patron?”

      “Leave me the motor-cycle.”

      When the man had disappeared, Arsène Lupin pushed the section of the bookcase back into its place, carefully effaced the traces of the men’s footsteps, raised a portiere, and entered a gallery, which was the only means of communication between the tower and the castle. In the center of this gallery there was a glass cabinet which had attracted Lupin’s attentions. It contained a valuable collection of watches, snuff-boxes, rings, chatelaines and miniatures of rare and beautiful workmanship. He forced the lock with a small jimmy, and experienced a great pleasure in handling those gold and silver ornaments, those exquisite and delicate works of art.

      He carried a large linen bag, specially prepared for the removal of such knick-knacks. He filled it. Then he filled the pockets of his coat, waistcoat and trousers. And he was just placing over his left arm a number of pearl reticules when he heard a slight sound. He listened. No, he was not deceived. The noise continued. Then he remembered that, at one end of the gallery, there was a stairway leading to an unoccupied apartment, but which was probably occupied that night by the young lady whom Mon. Devanne had brought from Dieppe with his other visitors.

      Immediately he extinguished his lantern, and had scarcely gained the friendly shelter of a window-embrasure, when the door at the top of the stairway was opened and a feeble light illuminated the gallery. He could feel—for, concealed by a curtain, he could not see—that a woman was cautiously descending the upper steps of the stairs. He hoped she would come no closer. Yet, she continued to descend, and even advanced some distance into the room. Then she uttered a faint cry. No doubt she had discovered the broken and dismantled cabinet.

      She advanced again. Now he could smell the perfume, and hear the throbbing of her heart as she drew closer to the window where he was concealed. She passed so close that her skirt brushed against the window-curtain, and Lupin felt that she suspected the presence of another, behind her, in the shadow, within reach of her hand. He thought: “She is afraid. She will go away.” But she did not go. The candle, that she carried in her trembling hand, grew brighter. She turned, hesitated a moment, appeared to listen, then suddenly drew aside the curtain.

      They stood face to face. Arsène was astounded. He murmured, involuntarily:

      “You—you—mademoiselle.”

      It was Miss Nelly. Miss Nelly!

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