LUPIN - The Adventures of Gentleman Thief. Морис Леблан

what belongs to us. It may

       be a difficult matter, but we rely upon the assistance of Mon.

       Andermatt. It will be to his interest to explain his conduct which

       has hitherto been so strange and inscrutable. He will explain not

       only why he concealed these facts at the time of the suicide of

       Etienne Varin, but also why he has never revealed the disappearance

       of the paper—a fact well known to him. He will tell why, during

       the last six years, he paid spies to watch the movements of the

       Varin brothers. We expect from him, not only words, but acts. And

       at once. Otherwise—-"

      The threat was plainly expressed. But of what did it consist? What whip was Salvator, the anonymous writer of the article, holding over the head of Mon. Andermatt?

      An army of reporters attacked the banker, and ten interviewers announced the scornful manner in which they were treated. Thereupon, the `Echo de France' announced its position in these words:

      "Whether Mon. Andermatt is willing or not, he will be, henceforth, our collaborator in the work we have undertaken."

      Daspry and I were dining together on the day on which that announcement appeared. That evening, with the newspapers spread over my table, we discussed the affair and examined it from every point of view with that exasperation that a person feels when walking in the dark and finding himself constantly falling over the same obstacles. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the door opened and a lady entered. Her face was hidden behind a thick veil. I rose at once and approached her.

      "Is it you, monsieur, who lives here?" she asked.

      "Yes, madame, but I do not understand—-"

      "The gate was not locked," she explained.

      "But the vestibule door?"

      She did not reply, and it occurred to me that she had used the servants' entrance. How did she know the way? Then there was a silence that was quite embarrassing. She looked at Daspry, and I was obliged to introduce him. I asked her to be seated and explain the object of her visit. She raised her veil, and I saw that she was a brunette with regular features and, though not handsome, she was attractive—principally, on account of her sad, dark eyes.

      "I am Madame Andermatt," she said.

      "Madame Andermatt!" I repeated, with astonishment.

      After a brief pause, she continued with a voice and manner that were quite easy and natural:

      "I have come to see you about that affair—you know. I thought I might be able to obtain some information—-"

      "Mon Dieu, madame, I know nothing but what has already appeared in the papers. But if you will point out in what way I can help you...."

      "I do not know....I do not know."

      Not until then did I suspect that her calm demeanor was assumed, and that some poignant grief was concealed beneath that air of tranquility. For a moment, we were silent and embarrassed. Then Daspry stepped forward, and said:

      "Will you permit me to ask you a few questions?"

      "Yes, yes," she cried. "I will answer."

      "You will answer.... whatever those questions may be?"

      "Yes."

      "Did you know Louis Lacombe?" he asked.

      "Yes, through my husband."

      "When did you see him for the last time?"

      "The evening he dined with us."

      "At that time, was there anything to lead you to believe that you would never see him again?"

      "No. But he had spoken of a trip to Russia—in a vague way."

      "Then you expected to see him again?"

      "Yes. He was to dine with us, two days later."

      "How do you explain his disappearance?"

      "I cannot explain it."

      "And Mon. Andermatt?"

      "I do not know."

      "Yet the article published in the `Echo de France' indicates—-"

      "Yes, that the Varin brothers had something to do with his disappearance."

      "Is that your opinion?"

      "Yes."

      "On what do you base your opinion?"

      "When he left our house, Louis Lacombe carried a satchel containing all the papers relating to his invention. Two days later, my husband, in a conversation with one of the Varin brothers, learned that the papers were in their possession."

      "And he did not denounce them?"

      "No."

      "Why not?"

      "Because there was something else in the satchel—something besides the papers of Louis Lacombe."

      "What was it?"

      She hesitated; was on the point of speaking, but, finally, remained silent. Daspry continued:

      "I presume that is why your husband has kept a close watch over their movements instead of informing the police. He hoped to recover the papers and, at the same time, that compromising article which has enabled the two brothers to hold over him threats of exposure and blackmail."

      "Over him, and over me."

      "Ah! over you, also?"

      "Over me, in particular."

      She uttered the last words in a hollow voice. Daspry observed it; he paced to and fro for a moment, then, turning to her, asked:

      "Had you written to Louis Lacombe?"

      "Of course. My husband had business with him—"

      "Apart from those business letters, had you written to Louis Lacombe.... other letters? Excuse my insistence, but it is absolutely necessary that I should know the truth. Did you write other letters?"

      "Yes," she replied, blushing.

      "And those letters came into the possession of the Varin brothers?"

      "Yes."

      "Does Mon. Andermatt know it?"

      "He has not seen them, but Alfred Varin has told him of their existence and threatened to publish them if my husband should take any steps against him. My husband was afraid.... of a scandal."

      "But he has tried to recover the letters?"

      "I think so; but I do not know. You see, after that last interview with Alfred Varin, and after some harsh words between me and my husband in which he called me to account—we live as strangers."

      "In that case, as you have nothing to lose, what do you fear?"

      "I may be indifferent to him now, but I am the woman that he has loved, the one he would still love—oh! I am quite sure of that," she murmured, in a fervent voice, "he would still love me if he had not got hold of those cursed letters——"

      "What! Did he succeed?....But the two brothers still defied him?"

      "Yes, and they boasted of having a secure hiding-place."

      "Well?"

      "I believe my husband discovered that hiding-place."

      "Well?"

      "I believe my husband has discovered that hiding-place."

      "Ah! where was it?"

      "Here."

      "Here!" I cried in alarm.

      "Yes. I always had that suspicion. Louis Lacombe was very ingenious and amused himself in his leisure hours, by making