The clothes of the Duke of Charmerace littered the floor; the kit-bag was open; and he was wearing the very clothes of Chief-Inspector Guerchard, his seedy top-hat, his cloak. He wore also Guerchard’s sparse, lank, black hair, his little, bristling, black moustache. His figure, hidden by the cloak, seemed to have shrunk to the size of Guerchard’s.
He sat before a mirror in the wall of the lift, a make-up box on the seat beside him. He darkened his eyebrows, and put a line or two about his eyes. That done he looked at himself earnestly for two or three minutes; and, as he looked, a truly marvellous transformation took place: the features of Arsène Lupin, of the Duke of Charmerace, decomposed, actually decomposed, into the features of Jean Guerchard. He looked at himself and laughed, the gentle, husky laugh of Guerchard.
He rose, transferred the pocket-book to the coat he was wearing, picked up the bomb, came out into the smoking-room, and listened. A muffled roaring thumping came from the well of the lift. It almost sounded as if, in their exasperation, Guerchard and Dieusy were engaged in a struggle to the death. Smiling pleasantly, he stole to the window and looked out. His eyes brightened at the sight of the motor-car, Guerchard’s car, waiting just before the front door and in charge of a policeman. He stole to the head of the stairs, and looked down into the hall. Victoire was sitting huddled together on a chair; Sonia stood beside her, talking to her in a low voice; and, keeping guard on Victoire, stood a brown-faced, active, nervous policeman, all alertness, briskness, keenness.
“Hi! officer! come up here! Be smart,” cried Lupin over the bannisters, in the husky, gentle voice of Chief-Inspector Guerchard.
The policeman looked up, recognized the great detective, and came bounding zealously up the stairs.
Lupin led the way through the anteroom into the sitting-room. Then he said sharply: “You have your revolver?”
“Yes,” said the young policeman. And he drew it with a flourish.
“Put it away! Put it away at once!” said Lupin very smartly. “You’re not to use it. You’re not to use it on any account! You understand?”
“Yes,” said the policeman firmly; and with a slightly bewildered air he put the revolver away.
“Here! Stand here!” cried Lupin, raising his voice. And he caught the policeman’s arm, and hustled him roughly to the front of the doors of the lift-well. “Do you see these doors? Do you see them?” he snapped.
“Yes, yes,” said the policeman, glaring at them.
“They’re the doors of a lift,” said Lupin. “In that lift are Dieusy and Lupin. You know Dieusy?”
“Yes, yes,” said the policeman.
“There are only Dieusy and Lupin in the lift. They are struggling together. You can hear them,” shouted Lupin in the policeman’s ear. “Lupin is disguised. You understand—Dieusy and a disguised man are in the lift. The disguised man is Lupin. Directly the lift descends and the doors open, throw yourself on him! Hold him! Shout for assistance!” He almost bellowed the last words into the policeman’s ear.
“Yes, yes,” said the policeman. And he braced himself before the doors of the lift-well, gazing at them with harried eyes, as if he expected them to bite him.
“Be brave! Be ready to die in the discharge of your duty!” bellowed Lupin; and he walked out of the room, shut the door, and turned the key.
The policeman stood listening to the noise of the struggle in the lift, himself strung up to fighting point; he was panting. Lupin’s instructions were whirling and dancing in his head.
Lupin went quietly down the stairs. Victoire and Sonia saw him coming. Victoire rose; and as he came to the bottom of the stairs Sonia stepped forward and said in an anxious, pleading voice:
“Oh, M. Guerchard, where is he?”
“He’s here,” said Lupin, in his natural voice.
Sonia sprang to him with outstretched arms.
“It’s you! It is you!” she cried.
“Just look how like him I am!” said Lupin, laughing triumphantly. “But do I look quite ruffian enough?”
“Oh, no! You couldn’t!” cried Sonia.
“Isn’t he a wonder?” said Victoire.
“This time the Duke of Charmerace is dead, for good and all,” said Lupin.
“No; it’s Lupin that’s dead,” said Sonia softly.
“Lupin?” he said, surprised.
“Yes,” said Sonia firmly.
“It would be a terrible loss, you know—a loss for France,” said Lupin gravely.
“Never mind,” said Sonia.
“Oh, I must be in love with you!” said Lupin, in a wondering tone; and he put his arm round her and kissed her violently.
“And you won’t steal any more?” said Sonia, holding him back with both hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes.
“I shouldn’t dream of such a thing,” said Lupin. “You are here. Guerchard is in the lift. What more could I possibly desire?” His voice softened and grew infinitely caressing as he went on: “Yet when you are at my side I shall always have the soul of a lover and the soul of a thief. I long to steal your kisses, your thoughts, the whole of your heart. Ah, Sonia, if you want me to steal nothing else, you have only to stay by my side.”
Their lips met in a long kiss.
Sonia drew herself out of his arms and cried, “But we’re wasting time! We must make haste! We must fly!”
“Fly?” said Lupin sharply. “No, thank you; never again. I did flying enough last night to last me a lifetime. For the rest of my life I’m going to crawl—crawl like a snail. But come along, you two, I must take you to the police-station.”
He opened the front door, and they came out on the steps. The policeman in charge of the car saluted.
Lupin paused and said softly: “Hark! I hear the sound of wedding bells.”
They went down the steps.
Even as they were getting into the car some chance blow of Guerchard or Dieusy struck a hidden spring and released the lift. It sank to the level of Lupin’s smoking-room and stopped. The doors flew open, Dieusy and Guerchard sprang out of it; and on the instant the brown-faced, nervous policeman sprang actively on Guerchard and pinned him. Taken by surprise, Guerchard yelled loudly, “You stupid idiot!” somehow entangled his legs in those of his captor, and they rolled on the floor. Dieusy surveyed them for a moment with blank astonishment. Then, with swift intelligence, grasped the fact that the policeman was Lupin in disguise. He sprang upon them, tore them asunder, fell heavily on the policeman, and pinned him to the floor with a strangling hand on his throat.
Guerchard dashed to the door, tried it, and found it locked, dashed for the window, threw it open, and thrust out his head. Forty yards down the street a motor-car was rolling smoothly away—rolling to a honeymoon.
“Oh, hang it!” he screamed.
