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To confide in his servants was a proceeding repugnant to his nature; but now, for the first time in many years, he experienced the necessity of seeking counsel with some one. Abandoned by the legal official of his own district, and feeling unable to defend himself with his own resources, he was on the point of going to Paris to engage the services of a detective.
Two days passed; on the third day, he was filled with hope and joy as he read the following item in the `Reveil de Caudebec’, a newspaper published in a neighboring town:
“We have the pleasure of entertaining in our city, at the present time, the veteran detective Mon. Ganimard who acquired a world-wide reputation by his clever capture of Arsène Lupin. He has come here for rest and recreation, and, being an enthusiastic fisherman, he threatens to capture all the fish in our river.”
Ganimard! Ah, here is the assistance desired by Baron Cahorn! Who could baffle the schemes of Arsène Lupin better than Ganimard, the patient and astute detective? He was the man for the place.
The baron did not hesitate. The town of Caudebec was only six kilometers from the castle, a short distance to a man whose step was accelerated by the hope of safety.
After several fruitless attempts to ascertain the detective’s address, the baron visited the office of the `Reveil,’ situated on the quai. There he found the writer of the article who, approaching the window, exclaimed:
“Ganimard? Why, you are sure to see him somewhere on the quai with his fishing-pole. I met him there and chanced to read his name engraved on his rod. Ah, there he is now, under the trees.”
“That little man, wearing a straw hat?”
“Exactly. He is a gruff fellow, with little to say.”
Five minutes later, the baron approached the celebrated Ganimard, introduced himself, and sought to commence a conversation, but that was a failure. Then he broached the real object of his interview, and briefly stated his case. The other listened, motionless, with his attention riveted on his fishing-rod. When the baron had finished his story, the fisherman turned, with an air of profound pity, and said:
“Monsieur, it is not customary for thieves to warn people they are about to rob. Arsène Lupin, especially, would not commit such a folly.”
“But—”
“Monsieur, if I had the least doubt, believe me, the pleasure of again capturing Arsène Lupin would place me at your disposal. But, unfortunately, that young man is already under lock and key.”
“He may have escaped.”
“No one ever escaped from the Santé.”
“But, he—”
“He, no more than any other.”
“Yet—”
“Well, if he escapes, so much the better. I will catch him again. Meanwhile, you go home and sleep soundly. That will do for the present. You frighten the fish.”
The conversation was ended. The baron returned to the castle, reassured to some extent by Ganimard’s indifference. He examined the bolts, watched the servants, and, during the next forty-eight hours, he became almost persuaded that his fears were groundless. Certainly, as Ganimard had said, thieves do not warn people they are about to rob.
The fateful day was close at hand. It was now the twenty-sixth of September and nothing had happened. But at three o’clock the bell rang. A boy brought this telegram:
“No goods at Batignolles station. Prepare everything for tomorrow night. Arsène.”
This telegram threw the baron into such a state of excitement that he even considered the advisability of yielding to Lupin’s demands.
However, he hastened to Caudebec. Ganimard was fishing at the same place, seated on a campstool. Without a word, he handed him the telegram.
“Well, what of it?” said the detective.
“What of it? But it is tomorrow.”
“What is tomorrow?”
“The robbery! The pillage of my collections!”
Ganimard laid down his fishing-rod, turned to the baron, and exclaimed, in a tone of impatience:
“Ah! Do you think I am going to bother myself about such a silly story as that!”
“How much do you ask to pass tomorrow night in the castle?”
“Not a sou. Now, leave me alone.”
“Name your own price. I am rich and can pay it.”
This offer disconcerted Ganimard, who replied, calmly:
“I am here on a vacation. I have no right to undertake such work.”
“No one will know. I promise to keep it secret.”
“Oh! nothing will happen.”
“Come! three thousand francs. Will that be enough?”
The detective, after a moment’s reflection, said:
“Very well. But I must warn you that you are throwing your money out of the window.”
“I do not care.”
“In that case…but, after all, what do we know about this devil Lupin! He may have quite a numerous band of robbers with him. Are you sure of your servants?”
“My faith—”
“Better not count on them. I will telegraph for two of my men to help me. And now, go! It is better for us not to be seen together. Tomorrow evening about nine o’clock.”
* * * *
The following day—the date fixed by Arsène Lupin—Baron Cahorn arranged all his panoply of war, furbished his weapons, and, like a sentinel, paced to and fro in front of the castle. He saw nothing, heard nothing. At half-past eight o’clock in the evening, he dismissed his servants. They occupied rooms in a wing of the building, in a retired spot, well removed from the main portion of the castle. Shortly thereafter, the baron heard the sound of approaching footsteps. It was Ganimard and his two assistants—great, powerful fellows with immense hands, and necks like bulls. After asking a few questions relating to the location of the various entrances and rooms, Ganimard carefully closed and barricaded all the doors and windows through which one could gain access to the threatened rooms. He inspected the walls, raised the tapestries, and finally installed his assistants in the central gallery which was located between the two salons.
“No nonsense! We are not here to sleep. At the slightest sound, open the windows of the court and call me. Pay attention also to the water-side. Ten metres of perpendicular rock is no obstacle to those devils.”
Ganimard locked his assistants in the gallery, carried away the keys, and said to the baron:
“And now, to our post.”
He had chosen for himself a small room located in the thick outer wall, between the two principal doors, and which, in former years, had been the watchman’s quarters. A peep-hole opened upon the bridge; another on the court. In one corner, there was an opening to a tunnel.
“I believe you told me, Monsieur le Baron, that this tunnel is the only subterranean entrance to the castle and that it has been closed up for time immemorial?”
“Yes.”
“Then, unless there is some other entrance, known only to Arsène Lupin, we are quite safe.”
He placed three chairs together, stretched himself upon them, lighted his pipe