style="font-size:15px;"> Lupin jumped when he saw it. It was addressed:
“Monsieur de Beaumont, Michel.”
“Oh,” he gasped, “a letter from Gilbert!”
It contained these few words:
“Help, governor!… I am frightened. I am frightened…”
Once again, Lupin spent a night alternating between sleeplessness and nightmares. Once again, he was tormented by atrocious and terrifying visions.
CHAPTER IV. THE CHIEF OF THE ENEMIES
“Poor boy!” murmured Lupin, when his eyes fell on Gilbert’s letter next morning. “How he must feel it!”
On the very first day when he saw him, he had taken a liking to that well-set-up youngster, so careless, gay and fond of life. Gilbert was devoted to him, would have accepted death at a sign from his master. And Lupin also loved his frankness, his good humour, his simplicity, his bright, open face.
“Gilbert,” he often used to say, “you are an honest man. Do you know, if I were you, I should chuck the business and become an honest man for good.”
“After you, governor,” Gilbert would reply, with a laugh.
“Won’t you, though?”
“No, governor. An honest man is a chap who works and grinds. It’s a taste which I may have had as a nipper; but they’ve made me lose it since.”
“Who’s they?”
Gilbert was silent. He was always silent when questioned about his early life; and all that Lupin knew was that he had been an orphan since childhood and that he had lived all over the place, changing his name and taking up the queerest jobs. The whole thing was a mystery which no one had been able to fathom; and it did not look as though the police would make much of it either.
Nor, on the other hand, did it look as though the police would consider that mystery a reason for delaying proceedings. They would send Vaucheray’s accomplice for trial—under his name of Gilbert or any other name—and visit him with the same inevitable punishment.
“Poor boy!” repeated Lupin. “They’re persecuting him like this only because of me. They are afraid of his escaping and they are in a hurry to finish the business: the verdict first and then… the execution.
“Oh, the butchers!… A lad of twenty, who has committed no murder, who is not even an accomplice in the murder…”
Alas, Lupin well knew that this was a thing impossible to prove and that he must concentrate his efforts upon another point. But upon which? Was he to abandon the trail of the crystal stopper?
He could not make up his mind to that. His one and only diversion from the search was to go to Enghien, where the Growler and the Masher lived, and make sure that nothing had been seen of them since the murder at the Villa Marie-Therese. Apart from this, he applied himself to the question of Daubrecq and nothing else.
He refused even to trouble his head about the problems set before him: the treachery of the Growler and the Masher; their connection with the gray-haired lady; the spying of which he himself was the object.
“Steady, Lupin,” he said. “One only argues falsely in a fever. So hold your tongue. No inferences, above all things! Nothing is more foolish than to infer one fact from another before finding a certain starting-point. That’s where you get up a tree. Listen to your instinct. Act according to your instinct. And as you are persuaded, outside all argument, outside all logic, one might say, that this business turns upon that confounded stopper, go for it boldly. Have at Daubrecq and his bit of crystal!”
Lupin did not wait to arrive at these conclusions before settling his actions accordingly. At the moment when he was stating them in his mind, three days after the scene at the Vaudeville, he was sitting, dressed like a retired tradesman, in an old overcoat, with a muffler round his neck, on a bench in the Avenue Victor-Hugo, at some distance from the Square Lamartine. Victoire had his instructions to pass by that bench at the same hour every morning.
“Yes,” he repeated to himself, “the crystal stopper: everything turns on that… Once I get hold of it…”
Victoire arrived, with her shopping-basket on her arm. He at once noticed her extraordinary agitation and pallor:
“What’s the matter?” asked Lupin, walking beside his old nurse.
She went into a big grocer’s, which was crowded with people, and, turning to him:
“Here,” she said, in a voice torn with excitement. “Here’s what you’ve been hunting for.”
And, taking something from her basket, she gave it to him.
Lupin stood astounded: in his hand lay the crystal stopper.
“Can it be true? Can it be true?” he muttered, as though the ease of the solution had thrown him off his balance.
But the fact remained, visible and palpable. He recognized by its shape, by its size, by the worn gilding of its facets, recognized beyond any possible doubt the crystal stopper which he had seen before. He even remarked a tiny, hardly noticeable little scratch on the stem which he remembered perfectly.
However, while the thing presented all the same characteristics, it possessed no other that seemed out of the way. It was a crystal stopper, that was all. There was no really special mark to distinguish it from other stoppers. There was no sign upon it, no stamp; and, being cut from a single piece, it contained no foreign object.
“What then?”
And Lupin received a quick insight into the depth of his mistake. What good could the possession of that crystal stopper do him so long as he was ignorant of its value? That bit of glass had no existence in itself; it counted only through the meaning that attached to it. Before taking it, the thing was to be certain. And how could he tell that, in taking it, in robbing Daubrecq of it, he was not committing an act of folly?
It was a question which was impossible of solution, but which forced itself upon him with singular directness.
“No blunders!” he said to himself, as he pocketed the stopper. “In this confounded business, blunders are fatal.”
He had not taken his eyes off Victoire. Accompanied by a shopman, she went from counter to counter, among the throng of customers. She next stood for some little while at the pay-desk and passed in front of Lupin.
He whispered her instructions:
“Meet me behind the Lycee Janson.”
She joined him in an unfrequented street:
“And suppose I’m followed?” she said.
“No,” he declared. “I looked carefully. Listen to me. Where did you find the stopper?”
“In the drawer of the table by his bed.”
“But we had felt there already.”
“Yes; and I did so again this morning. I expect he put it there last night.”
“And I expect he’ll want to take
