Chapter 3

oh!”

Arsène Lupin repeated, positively:

“I shall not be present at my trial.”

“Really!”

“Ah! my dear monsieur, do you suppose I am going to rot upon the wet
straw? You insult me. Arsène Lupin remains in prison just as long as it
pleases him, and not one minute more.”

“Perhaps it would have been more prudent if you had avoided getting
there,” said the detective, ironically.

“Ah! monsieur jests? Monsieur must remember that he had the honor to
effect my arrest. Know then, my worthy friend, that no one, not even
you, could have placed a hand upon me if a much more important event had
not occupied my attention at that critical moment.”

“You astonish me.”

“A woman was looking at me, Ganimard, and I loved her. Do you fully
understand what that means: to be under the eyes of a woman that one
loves? I cared for nothing in the world but that. And that is why I am
here.”

“Permit me to say: you have been here a long time.”

“In the first place, I wished to forget. Do not laugh; it was a
delightful adventure and it is still a tender memory. Besides, I have
been suffering from neurasthenia. Life is so feverish these days that it
is necessary to take the ‘rest cure’ occasionally, and I find this spot
a sovereign remedy for my tired nerves.”

“Arsène Lupin, you are not a bad fellow, after all.”

“Thank you,” said Lupin. “Ganimard, this is Friday. On Wednesday next,
at four o’clock in the afternoon, I will smoke my cigar at your house in
the rue Pergolese.”

“Arsène Lupin, I will expect you.”

They shook hands like two old friends who valued each other at their
true worth; then the detective stepped to the door.

“Ganimard!”

“What is it?” asked Ganimard, as he turned back.

“You have forgotten your watch.”

“My watch?”

“Yes, it strayed into my pocket.”

He returned the watch, excusing himself.

“Pardon me.... a bad habit. Because they have taken mine is no reason why
I should take yours. Besides, I have a chronometer here that satisfies
me fairly well.”

He took from the drawer a large gold watch and heavy chain.

“From whose pocket did that come?” asked Ganimard.

Arsène 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!....”

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 his fruitless task, the judge had suspended his examinations,
but he resumed them after the two intercepted messages were brought to
his attention; and regularly, at mid-day, Arsène Lupin was taken from
the prison to the Dépôt in the prison-van with a certain number of other
prisoners. They returned about three or four o’clock.

Now, one afternoon, this return trip was made under unusual conditions.
The other prisoners not having been examined, it was decided to take
back Arsène Lupin first, thus he found himself alone in the vehicle.

These prison-vans, vulgarly called “panniers à salade”--or
salad-baskets--are divided lengthwise by a central corridor from which
open ten compartments, five on either side. Each compartment is so
arranged that the occupant must assume and retain a sitting posture,
and, consequently, the five prisoners are seated one upon the other,
and yet separated one from the other by partitions. A municipal guard,
standing at one end, watches over the corridor.

Arsène was placed in the third cell on the right, and the heavy vehicle
started. He carefully calculated when they left the quai de l’Horloge,
and when they passed the Palais de Justice. Then, about the centre of
the bridge Saint Michel, with his outer foot, that is to say, his right
foot, he pressed upon the metal plate that closed his cell. Immediately
something clicked, and the metal plate moved. He was able to ascertain
that he was located between the two wheels.

He waited, keeping a sharp look-out. The vehicle was proceeding slowly
along the boulevard Saint Michel. At the corner of Saint Germain it
stopped. A truck horse had fallen. The traffic having been interrupted,
a vast throng of fiacres and omnibuses had gathered there. Arsène Lupin
looked out. Another prison-van had stopped close to the one he occupied.
He moved the plate still farther, put his foot on one of the spokes
of the wheel and leaped to the ground. A coachman saw him, roared with
laughter, then tried to raise an outcry, but his voice was lost in the
noise of the traffic that had commenced to move again. Moreover, Arsène
Lupin was already far away.

He had run for a few steps; but, once upon the sidewalk, he turned
and looked around; he seemed to scent the wind like a person who is
uncertain which direction to take. Then, having decided, he put his
hands in his pockets, and, with the careless air of an idle stroller,
he proceeded up the boulevard. It was a warm, bright autumn day, and
the cafés were full. He took a seat on the terrace of one of them. He
ordered a bock and a package of cigarettes. He emptied his glass slowly,
smoked one cigarette and lighted a second. Then he asked the waiter to
send the proprietor to him. When the proprietor came, Arsène spoke to
him in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone:

“I regret to say, monsieur, I have forgotten my pocketbook. Perhaps, on
the strength of my name, you will be pleased to give me credit for a few
days. I am Arsène Lupin.”

The proprietor looked at him, thinking he was joking. But Arsène
repeated:

“Lupin, prisoner at the Santé, but now a fugitive. I venture to assume
that the name inspires you with perfect confidence in me.”

And he walked away, amidst shouts of laughter, whilst the proprietor
stood amazed.

Lupin strolled along the rue Soufflot, and turned into the rue Saint
Jacques. He pursued his way slowly, smoking his cigarettes and looking
into the shop-windows. At the Boulevard de Port Royal he took his
bearings, discovered where he was, and then walked in the direction of
the rue de la Santé. The high forbidding walls of the prison were
now before him. He pulled his hat forward to shade his face; then,
approaching the sentinel, he asked:

“Is this the prison de la Santé?”

“Yes.”

“I wish to regain my cell. The van left me on the way, and I would not
abuse--”

“Now, young man, move along--quick!” growled the sentinel.

“Pardon me, but I must pass through that gate. And if you prevent Arsène
Lupin from entering the prison it will cost you dear, my friend.”

“Arsène Lupin! What are you talking about!”

“I am sorry I haven’t a card with me,” said Arsène, fumbling in his
pockets.

The sentinel eyed him from head to foot, in astonishment. Then, without
a word, he rang a bell. The iron gate was partly opened, and Arsène
stepped inside. Almost immediately he encountered the keeper of the
prison, gesticulating and feigning a violent anger. Arsène smiled and
said:

“Come, monsieur, don’t play that game with me. What! they take
the precaution to carry me alone in the van, prepare a nice little
obstruction, and imagine I am going to take to my heels and rejoin
my friends. Well, and what about the twenty agents of the Sûreté who
accompanied us on foot, in fiacres and on bicycles? No, the arrangement
did not please me. I should not have got away alive. Tell me, monsieur,
did they count on that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, and added:

“I beg of you, monsieur, not to worry about me. When I wish to escape I
shall not require any assistance.”

On the second day thereafter, the _Echo de France_, which had apparently
become the official reporter of the exploits of Arsène Lupin,--it was
said that he was one of its principal shareholders--published a most
complete account of this attempted escape. The exact wording of the
messages exchanged between the prisoner and his mysterious friend, the
means by which correspondence was constructed, the complicity of the
police, the promenade on the Boulevard Saint Michel, the incident at the
café Soufflot, everything was disclosed. It was known that the search of
the restaurant and its waiters by Inspector Dieuzy had been fruitless.
And the public also learned an extraordinary thing which demonstrated
the infinite variety of resources that Lupin possessed: the prison-van,
in which he was being carried, was prepared for the occasion and
substituted by his accomplices for one of the six vans which did service
at the prison.

The next escape of Arsène Lupin was not doubted by anyone. He announced
it himself, in categorical terms, in a reply to Mon. Bouvier on the day
following his attempted escape. The judge having made a jest about
the affair, Arsène was annoyed, and, firmly eyeing the judge, he said,
emphatically:

“Listen to me, monsieur! I give you my word of honor that this attempted
flight was simply preliminary to my general plan of escape.”

“I do not understand,” said the judge.

“It is not necessary that you should understand.”

And when the judge, in the course of that examination which was reported
at length in the columns of the _Echo de France_, when the judge sought
to resume his investigation, Arsène Lupin exclaimed, with an assumed air
of lassitude:

“Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, what’s the use! All these questions are of no
importance!”

“What! No importance?” cried the judge.

“No; because I shall not be present at the trial.”

“You will not be present?”

“No; I have fully decided on that, and nothing will change my mind.”

Such assurance combined with the inexplicable indiscretions that Arsène
committed every day served to annoy and mystify the officers of the law.
There were secrets known only to Arsène Lupin; secrets that he alone
could divulge. But for what purpose did he reveal them? And how?

Arsène Lupin was changed to another cell. The judge closed his
preliminary investigation. No further proceedings were taken in his case
for a period of two months, during which time Arsène was seen almost
constantly lying on his bed with his face turned toward the wall. The
changing of his cell seemed to discourage him. He refused to see his
advocate. He exchanged only a few necessary words with his keepers.

During the fortnight preceding his trial, he resumed his vigorous life.
He complained of want of air. Consequently, early every morning he was
allowed to exercise in the courtyard, guarded by two men.

Public curiosity had not died out; every day it expected to be regaled
with news of his escape; and, it is true, he had gained a considerable
amount of public sympathy by reason of his verve, his gayety, his
diversity, his inventive genius and the mystery of his life. Arsène
Lupin must escape. It was his inevitable fate. The public expected it,
and was surprised that the event had been delayed so long. Every morning
the Préfect of Police asked his secretary:

“Well, has he escaped yet?”

“No, Monsieur le Préfect.”

“To-morrow, probably.”

And, on the day before the trial, a gentleman called at the office of
the ‘Grand Journal,’ asked to see the court reporter, threw his card in
the reporter’s face, and walked rapidly away. These words were written
on the card: “Arsène Lupin always keeps his promises.”

* * * * *

It was under these conditions that the trial commenced. An enormous
crowd gathered at the court. Everybody wished to see the famous Arsène
Lupin. They had a gleeful anticipation that the prisoner would play some
audacious pranks upon the judge. Advocates and magistrates, reporters
and men of the world, actresses and society women were crowded together
on the benches provided for the public.

It was a dark, sombre day, with a steady downpour of rain. Only a
dim light pervaded the courtroom, and the spectators caught a very
indistinct view of the prisoner when the guards brought him in. But his
heavy, shambling walk, the manner in which he dropped into his seat, and
his passive, stupid appearance were not at all prepossessing. Several
times his advocate--one of Mon. Danval’s assistants--spoke to him, but
he simply shook his head and said nothing.

The clerk read the indictment, then the judge spoke:

“Prisoner at the bar, stand up. Your name, age, and occupation?”

Not receiving any reply, the judge repeated:

“Your name? I ask you your name?”

A thick, slow voice muttered:

“Baudru, Désiré.”

A murmur of surprise pervaded the courtroom. But the judge proceeded:

“Baudru, Désiré? Ah! a new alias! Well, as you have already assumed a
dozen different names and this one is, no doubt, as imaginary as the
others, we will adhere to the name of Arsène Lupin, by which you are
more generally known.”

The judge referred to his notes, and continued:

“For, despite the most diligent search, your past history remains
unknown. Your case is unique in the annals of crime. We know not whom
you are, whence you came, your birth and breeding--all is a mystery
to us. Three years ago you appeared in our midst as Arsène Lupin,
presenting to us a strange combination of intelligence and perversion,
immorality and generosity. Our knowledge of your life prior to that date
is vague and problematical. It may be that the man called Rostat who,
eight years ago, worked with Dickson, the prestidigitator, was none
other than Arsène Lupin. It is probable that the Russian student who,
six years ago, attended the laboratory of Doctor Altier at the Saint
Louis Hospital, and who often astonished the doctor by the ingenuity
of his hypotheses on subjects of bacteriology and the boldness of his
experiments in diseases of the skin, was none other than Arsène Lupin.
It is probable, also, that Arsène Lupin was the professor who introduced
the Japanese art of jiu-jitsu to the Parisian public. We have some
reason to believe that Arsène Lupin was the bicyclist who won the Grand
Prix de l’Exposition, received his ten thousand francs, and was never
heard of again. Arsène Lupin may have been, also, the person who saved
so many lives through the little dormer-window at the Charity Bazaar;
and, at the same time, picked their pockets.”

The judge paused for a moment, then continued:

“Such is that epoch which seems to have been utilized by you in a
thorough preparation for the warfare you have since waged against
society; a methodical apprenticeship in which you developed your
strength, energy and skill to the highest point possible. Do you
acknowledge the accuracy of these facts?”

During this discourse the prisoner had stood balancing himself, first
on one foot, then on the other, with shoulders stooped and arms inert.
Under the strongest light one could observe his extreme thinness, his
hollow cheeks, his projecting cheek-bones, his earthen-colored face
dotted with small red spots and framed in a rough, straggling beard.
Prison life had caused him to age and wither. He had lost the
youthful face and elegant figure we had seen portrayed so often in the
newspapers.

It appeared as if he had not heard the question propounded by the
judge. Twice it was repeated to him. Then he raised his eyes, seemed to
reflect, then, making a desperate effort, he murmured:

“Baudru, Désiré.”

The judge smiled, as he said:

“I do not understand the theory of your defense, Arsène Lupin. If you
are seeking to avoid responsibility for your crimes on the ground of
imbecility, such a line of defense is open to you. But I shall proceed
with the trial and pay no heed to your vagaries.”

He then narrated at length the various thefts, swindles and forgeries
charged against Lupin. Sometimes he questioned the prisoner, but the
latter simply grunted or remained silent. The examination of witnesses
commenced. Some of the evidence given was immaterial; other portions
of it seemed more important, but through all of it there ran a vein of
contradictions and inconsistencies. A wearisome obscurity enveloped
the proceedings, until Detective Ganimard was called as a witness; then
interest was revived.

From the beginning the actions of the veteran detective appeared strange
and unaccountable. He was nervous and ill at ease. Several times he
looked at the prisoner, with obvious doubt and anxiety. Then, with his
hands resting on the rail in front of him, he recounted the events in
which he had participated, including his pursuit of the prisoner
across Europe and his arrival in America. He was listened to with great
avidity, as his capture of Arsène Lupin was well known to everyone
through the medium of the press. Toward the close of his testimony,
after referring to his conversations with Arsène Lupin, he stopped,
twice, embarrassed and undecided. It was apparent that he was possessed
of some thought which he feared to utter. The judge said to him,
sympathetically:

“If you are ill, you may retire for the present.”

“No, no, but---”

He stopped, looked sharply at the prisoner, and said:

“I ask permission to scrutinize the prisoner at closer range. There is
some mystery about him that I must solve.”

He approached the accused man, examined him attentively for several
minutes, then returned to the witness-stand, and, in an almost solemn
voice, he said:

“I declare, on oath, that the prisoner now before me is not Arsène
Lupin.”

A profound silence followed the statement. The judge, nonplused for a
moment, exclaimed:

“Ah! What do you mean? That is absurd!”

The detective continued:

“At first sight there is a certain resemblance, but if you carefully
consider the nose, the mouth, the hair, the color of skin, you will
see that it is not Arsène Lupin. And the eyes! Did he ever have those
alcoholic eyes!”

“Come, come, witness! What do you mean? Do you pretend to say that we
are trying the wrong man?”

“In my opinion, yes. Arsène Lupin has, in some manner, contrived to put
this poor devil in his place, unless this man is a willing accomplice.”

This dramatic dénouement caused much laughter and excitement amongst the
spectators. The judge adjourned the trial, and sent for Mon. Bouvier,
the gaoler, and guards employed in the prison.

When the trial was resumed, Mon. Bouvier and the gaoler examined the
accused and declared that there was only a very slight resemblance
between the prisoner and Arsène Lupin.

“Well, then!” exclaimed the judge, “who is this man? Where does he come
from? What is he in prison for?”

Two of the prison-guards were called and both of them declared that the
prisoner was Arsène Lupin. The judged breathed once more.

But one of the guards then said:

“Yes, yes, I think it is he.”

“What!” cried the judge, impatiently, “you *think* it is he! What do you
mean by that?”

“Well, I saw very little of the prisoner. He was placed in my charge in
the evening and, for two months, he seldom stirred, but laid on his bed
with his face to the wall.”

“What about the time prior to those two months?”

“Before that he occupied a cell in another part of the prison. He was
not in cell 24.”

Here the head gaoler interrupted, and said:

“We changed him to another cell after his attempted escape.”

“But you, monsieur, you have seen him during those two months?”

“I had no occasion to see him. He was always quiet and orderly.”

“And this prisoner is not Arsène Lupin?”

“No.”

“Then who is he?” demanded the judge.

“I do not know.”

“Then we have before us a man who was substituted for Arsène Lupin, two
months ago. How do you explain that?”

“I cannot.”

In absolute despair, the judge turned to the accused and addressed him
in a conciliatory tone:

“Prisoner, can you tell me how, and since when, you became an inmate of
the Prison de la Santé?”

The engaging manner of the judge was calculated to disarm the mistrust
and awaken the understanding of the accused man. He tried to reply.
Finally, under clever and gentle questioning, he succeeded in framing a
few phrases from which the following story was gleaned: Two months ago
he had been taken to the Dépôt, examined and released. As he was leaving
the building, a free man, he was seized by two guards and placed in the
prison-van. Since then he had occupied cell 24. He was contented there,
plenty to eat, and he slept well--so he did not complain.

All that seemed probable; and, amidst the mirth and excitement of the
spectators, the judge adjourned the trial until the story could be
investigated and verified.

* * * * *

The following facts were at once established by an examination of the
prison records: Eight weeks before a man named Baudru Désiré had slept
at the Dépôt. He was released the next day, and left the Dépôt at two
o’clock in the afternoon. On the same day at two o’clock, having been
examined for the last time, Arsène Lupin left the Dépôt in a prison-van.

Had the guards made a mistake? Had they been deceived by the resemblance
and carelessly substituted this man for their prisoner?

Another question suggested itself: Had the substitution been arranged in
advance? In that event Baudru must have been an accomplice and must have
caused his own arrest for the express purpose of taking Lupin’s
place. But then, by what miracle had such a plan, based on a series of
improbable chances, been carried to success?

Baudru Désiré was turned over to the anthropological service; they
had never seen anything like him. However, they easily traced his past
history. He was known at Courbevois, at Asnières and at Levallois.
He lived on alms and slept in one of those rag-picker’s huts near the
barrier de Ternes. He had disappeared from there a year ago.

Had he been enticed away by Arsène Lupin? There was no evidence to that
effect. And even if that was so, it did not explain the flight of the
prisoner.