unfolded the clenched fingers. The bezel was turned inward and, contained within the bezel, glittered the blue diamond.
"The devil!" muttered Ganimard, absolutely nonplussed. "This is beyond me!"
"And I hope that you will now give up suspecting that unfortunate Arsène Lupin?" said M. Dudouis, with a grin.
Ganimard took his time, reflected and retorted, in a sententious tone:
"It is just when a thing gets beyond me that I suspect Arsène Lupin most."
These were the first discoveries effected by the police on the day following upon that strange murder, vague, inconsistent discoveries to which the subsequent inquiry imparted neither consistency nor certainty. The movements of Antoinette Bréhat remained as absolutely inexplicable as those of the blonde lady, nor was any light thrown upon the identity of that mysterious creature with the golden hair who had killed Baron d'Hautrec without taking from his finger the fabulous diamond from the royal crown of France.
Moreover and especially, the curiosity which it inspired raised the murder above the level of a sordid crime to that of a mighty, if heinous trespass, the mystery of which irritated the public mind.
Baron d'Hautrec's heirs were obliged to benefit by this great advertisement. They arranged an exhibition of the furniture and personal effects in the Avenue Henri-Martin, in the house itself, on the scene of the crime, prior to the sale at the Salle Drouot. The furniture was modern and in indifferent taste, the knicknacks had no artistic value … but, in the middle of the bedroom, on a stand covered with ruby velvet, the ring with the blue diamond sparkled under a glass shade, closely watched by two detectives.
It was a magnificent diamond of enormous size and incomparable purity and of that undefined blue which clear water takes from the sky which it reflects, the blue which we can just suspect in newly-washed linen. People admired it, went into raptures over it … and cast terrified glances round the victim's room, at the spot where the corpse had lain, at the floor stripped of its blood-stained carpet and especially at the walls, those solid walls through which the criminal had passed. They felt to make sure that the marble chimney-piece did not swing on a pivot, that there was no secret spring in the mouldings of the mirrors. They pictured yawning cavities, tunnels communicating with the sewers, with the catacombs....
The blue diamond was sold at the Hôtel Drouot on the thirtieth of January. The auction-room was crammed and the bidding proceeded madly.
All Paris, the Paris of the first nights and great public functions, was there, all those who buy and all those who like others to think that they are in a position to buy: stockbrokers, artists, ladies in every class of society, two members of the Government, an Italian tenor, a king in exile who, in order to reëstablish his credit, with great self-possession and in a resounding voice, permitted himself the luxury of running up the price to a hundred thousand francs. A hundred thousand francs! His Majesty was quite safe in making the bid. The Italian tenor was soon offering a hundred and fifty thousand, an actress at the Français a hundred and seventy-five.
At two hundred thousand francs, however, the competition became less brisk. At two hundred and fifty thousand, only two bidders remained: Herschmann, the financial magnate, known as the Gold-mine King; and a wealthy American lady, the Comtesse de Crozon, whose collection of diamonds and other precious stones enjoys a world-wide fame.
"Two hundred and sixty thousand … two hundred and seventy thousand … seventy-five … eighty," said the auctioneer, with a questioning glance at either competitor in turn. "Two hundred and eighty thousand for madame.... No advance on two hundred and eighty thousand…?"
"Three hundred thousand," muttered Herschmann.
A pause followed. All eyes were turned on the Comtesse de Crozon. Smiling, but with a pallor that betrayed her excitement, she stood leaning over the back of the chair before her. In reality, she knew and everybody present knew that there was no doubt about the finish of the duel: it was logically and fatally bound to end in favour of the financier, whose whims were served by a fortune of over five hundred millions. Nevertheless, she said:
"Three hundred and five thousand."
There was a further pause. Every glance was now turned on the Gold-mine King, in expectation of the inevitable advance. It was sure to come, in all its brutal and crushing strength.
It did not come. Herschmann remained impassive, with his eyes fixed on a sheet of paper which he held in his right hand, while the other crumpled up the pieces of a torn envelope.
"Three hundred and five thousand," repeated the auctioneer. "Going … going.... No further bid…?"
No one spoke.
"Once more: going … going...."
Herschmann did not move. A last pause. The hammer fell.
"Four hundred thousand!" shouted Herschmann, starting up, as though the tap of the hammer had roused him from his torpor.
Too late. The diamond was sold.
Herschmann's acquaintances crowded round him. What had happened? Why had he not spoken sooner?
He gave a laugh:
"What happened? Upon my word, I don't know. My thoughts wandered for a second."
"You don't mean that!"
"Yes, some one brought me a letter."
"And was that enough…?"
"To put me off? Yes, for the moment."
Ganimard was there. He had watched the sale of the ring. He went up to one of the porters:
"Did you hand M. Herschmann a letter?"
"Yes."
"Who gave it you?"
"A lady."
"Where is she?"
"Where is she?… Why, sir, there she is … the lady over there, in a thick veil."
"Just going out?"
"Yes."
Ganimard rushed to the door and saw the lady going down the staircase. He ran after her. A stream of people stopped him at the entrance. When he came outside, he had lost sight of her.
He went back to the room, spoke to Herschmann, introduced himself and asked him about the letter. Herschmann gave it to him. It contained the following simple words, scribbled in pencil and in a handwriting unknown to the financier:
"The blue diamond brings ill-luck. Remember Baron d'Hautrec."
The tribulations of the blue diamond were not over. Already famous through the murder of Baron d'Hautrec and the incidents at the Hôtel Drouot, it attained the height of its celebrity six months later. In the summer, the precious jewel which the Comtesse de Crozon had been at such pains to acquire was stolen.
Let me sum up this curious case, marked by so many stirring, dramatic and exciting episodes, upon which I am at last permitted to throw some light.
On the evening of the tenth of August, M. and Madame de Crozon's guests were gathered in the drawing-room of the magnificent château overlooking the Bay of Somme. There was a request for some music. The countess sat down to the piano, took off her rings, which included Baron d'Hautrec's, and laid them
