But the eager public declared that the pictures and furniture could not vanish like so many ghosts. They are substantial, material things and require doors and windows for their exits and their entrances, and so do the people that remove them. Who were those people? How did they gain access to the castle? And how did they leave it?
The police officers of Rouen, convinced of their own impotence, solicited the assistance of the Parisian detective force. Mon. Dudouis, chief of the Sûreté, sent the best sleuths of the iron brigade. He himself spent forty-eight hours at the castle, but met with no success. Then he sent for Ganimard, whose past services had proved so useful when all else failed.
Ganimard listened, in silence, to the instructions of his superior; then, shaking his head, he said:
“In my opinion, it is useless to ransack the castle. The solution of the problem lies elsewhere.”
“Where, then?”
“With Arsène Lupin.”
“With Arsène Lupin! To support that theory, we must admit his intervention.”
“I do admit it. In fact, I consider it quite certain.”
“Come, Ganimard, that is absurd. Arsène Lupin is in prison.”
“I grant you that Arsène Lupin is in prison, closely guarded; but he must have fetters on his feet, manacles on his wrists, and gag in his mouth before I change my opinion.”
“Why so obstinate, Ganimard?”
“Because Arsène Lupin is the only man in France of sufficient calibre to invent and carry out a scheme of that magnitude.”
“Mere words, Ganimard.”
“But true ones. Look! What are they doing? Searching for subterranean passages, stones swinging on pivots, and other nonsense of that kind. But Lupin doesn’t employ such old-fashioned methods. He is a modern cracksman, right up to date.”
“And how would you proceed?”
“I should ask your permission to spend an hour with him.”
“In his cell?”
“Yes. During the return trip from America we became very friendly, and I venture to say that if he can give me any information without compromising himself he will not hesitate to save me from incurring useless trouble.”
It was shortly after noon when Ganimard entered the cell of Arsène Lupin. The latter, who was lying on his bed, raised his head and uttered a cry of apparent joy.
“Ah! This is a real surprise. My dear Ganimard, here!”
“Ganimard himself.”
“In my chosen retreat, I have felt a desire for many things, but my fondest wish was to receive you here.”
“Very kind of you, I am sure.”
“Not at all. You know I hold you in the highest regard.”
“I am proud of it.”
“I have always said: Ganimard is our best detective. He is almost—you see how candid I am!—he is almost as clever as Sherlock Holmes. But I am sorry that I cannot offer you anything better than this hard stool. And no refreshments! Not even a glass of beer! Of course, you will excuse me, as I am here only temporarily.”
Ganimard smiled, and accepted the proffered seat. Then the prisoner continued:
“Mon Dieu, how pleased I am to see the face of an honest man. I am so tired of those devils of spies who come here ten times a day to ransack my pockets and my cell to satisfy themselves that I am not preparing to escape. The government is very solicitous on my account.”
“It is quite right.”
“Why so? I should be quite contented if they would allow me to live in my own quiet way.”
“On other people’s money.”
“Quite so. That would be so simple. But here, I am joking, and you are, no doubt, in a hurry. So let us come to business, Ganimard. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?
“The Cahorn affair,” declared Ganimard, frankly.
“Ah! Wait, one moment. You see I have had so many affairs! First, let me fix in my mind the circumstances of this particular case. … Ah! yes, now I have it. The Cahorn affair, Malaquis castle, Seine-Inférieure. … Two Rubens, a Watteau, and a few trifling articles.”
“Trifling!”
“Oh! ma foi, all that is of slight importance. But it suffices to know that the affair interests you. How can I serve you, Ganimard?”
“Must I explain to you what steps the authorities have taken in the matter?”
“Not at all. I have read the newspapers and I will frankly state that you have made very little progress.”
“And that is the reason I have come to see you.”
“I am entirely at your service.”
“In the first place, the Cahorn affair was managed by you?”
“From A to Z.”
“The letter of warning? the telegram?”
“All mine. I ought to have the receipts somewhere.”
Arsène opened the drawer of a small table of plain white wood which, with the bed and stool, constituted all the furniture in his cell, and took therefrom two scraps of paper which he handed to Ganimard.
“Ah!” exclaimed the detective, in surprise, “I though you were closely guarded and searched, and I find that you read the newspapers and collect postal receipts.”
“Bah! these people are so stupid! They open the lining of my vest, they examine the soles of my shoes, they sound the walls of my cell, but they never imagine that Arsène Lupin would be foolish enough to choose such a simple hiding place.”
Ganimard laughed, as he said:
“What a droll fellow you are! Really, you bewilder me. But, come now, tell me about the Cahorn affair.”
“Oh! oh! not quite so fast! You would rob me of all my secrets; expose all my little tricks. That is a very serious matter.”
“Was I wrong to count on your complaisance?”
“No, Ganimard, and since you insist—”
Arsène Lupin paced his cell two or three times, then, stopping before Ganimard, he asked:
“What do you think of my letter to the baron?”
“I think you were amusing yourself by playing to the gallery.”
“Ah!
