"Where on earth that hiding-place can be!"
The count gave a start and Lupin chuckled:
"For the best part of the story is that I have not the remotest idea where that famous hiding-place is nor how to set about discovering it. What do you say to that, my dear Waldemar, eh? Funny, isn't it?.... Not the very remotest idea!...."
12: The Emperor's Letters
THE RUINS of Veldenz are well known to all who visit the banks of the Rhine and the Moselle. They comprise the remains of the old feudal castle, built in 1377 by the Archbishop of Fistingen, an enormous dungeon-keep, gutted by Turenne's troops, and the walls, left standing in their entirety, of a large Renascence palace, in which the grand-dukes of Zweibrucken lived for three centuries.
It was this palace that was sacked by Hermann II.'s rebellious subjects. The empty windows display two hundred yawning cavities on the four frontages. All the wainscoting, the hangings and most of the furniture were burnt. You walk on the scorched girders of the floors; and the sky can be seen at intervals through the ruined ceilings.
Lupin, accompanied by his escort, went over the whole building in two hours' time:
"I am very pleased with you, my dear count. I don't think I ever came across a guide so well posted in his subject, nor—which is rare—so silent. And now, if you don't mind, we will go to lunch."
As a matter of fact, Lupin knew no more than at the first moment and his perplexity did nothing but increase. To obtain his release from prison and to strike the imagination of his visitor, he had bluffed, pretending to know everything; and he was still seeking for the best place at which to begin to seek.
"Things look bad," he said to himself, from time to time. "Things are looking about as bad as they can look."
His brain, moreover, was not as clear as usual. He was obsessed by an idea, the idea of "the other one," the murderer, the assassin, whom he knew to be still clinging to his footsteps.
How did that mysterious personality come to be on his tracks? How had he heard of Lupin's leaving prison and of his rush to Luxemburg and Germany? Was it a miraculous intuition? Or was it the outcome of definite information? But, if so, at what price, by means of what promises or threats was he able to obtain it?
All these questions haunted Lupin's mind.
At about four o'clock, however, after a fresh walk through the ruins, in the course of which he had examined the stones, measured the thickness of the walls, investigated the shape and appearance of things, all to no purpose, he asked the count:
"Is there no one left who was in the service of the last grand-duke who lived in the castle?"
"All the servants of that time went different ways. Only one of them continued to live in the district."
"Well?"
"He died two years ago."
"Any children?"
"He had a son, who married and who was dismissed, with his wife, for disgraceful conduct. They left their youngest child behind, a little girl, Isilda."
"Where does she live?"
"She lives here, at the end of these buildings. The old grandfather used to act as a guide to visitors, in the days when the castle was still open to the public. Little Isilda has lived in the ruins ever since. She was allowed to remain out of pity. She is a poor innocent, who is hardly able to talk and does not know what she says."
"Was she always like that?"
"It seems not. Her reason went gradually, when she was about ten years old."
"In consequence of a sorrow, of a fright?"
"No, for no direct cause, I am told. The father was a drunkard and the mother committed suicide in a fit of madness."
Lupin reflected and said:
"I should like to see her."
The count gave a rather curious smile:
"You can see her, by all means."
She happened to be in one of the rooms which had been set apart for her. Lupin was surprised to find an attractive little creature, too thin, too pale, but almost pretty, with her fair hair and her delicate face. Her sea-green eyes had the vague, dreamy look of the eyes of blind people.
He put a few questions to which Isilda gave no answer and others to which she replied with incoherent sentences, as though she understood neither the meaning of the words addressed to her nor those which she herself uttered.
He persisted, taking her very gently by the hand and asking her in an affectionate tone about the time when she still had her reason, about her grandfather, about the memories which might be called up by her life as a child playing freely among the majestic ruins of the castle.
She stood silent, with staring eyes; impassive, any emotion which she might have felt was not enough to rouse her slumbering intelligence.
Lupin asked for a pencil and paper and wrote down the number 813.
The count smiled again.
"Look here, what are you laughing at?" cried Lupin, irritably.
"Nothing.... nothing.... I'm very much interested, that's all...."
Isilda looked at the sheet of paper, when he showed it to her, and turned away her head, with a vacant air.
"No bite!" said the count, satirically.
Lupin wrote the letters "APOON."
Isilda paid no more attention than before.
He did not give up the experiment, but kept on writing the same letters, each time watching the girl's face.
She did not stir, but kept her eyes fixed on the paper with an indifference which nothing seemed to disturb. Then, all at once, she seized the pencil, snatched the last sheet out of Lupin's hands and, as though acting under a sudden inspiration, wrote two "L's" in the middle of a space left open by Lupin.
He felt a thrill.
A word had been formed: "APOLLON."
Meanwhile, Isilda clung to both pencil and paper and, with clutching fingers and a strained face, was struggling to make her hand submit to the hesitating orders of her poor little brain.
Lupin waited, feverishly.
She rapidly wrote another word, the word "DIANE."
"Another word!.... Another word!" shouted Lupin.
She twisted her fingers round the pencil, broke the lead, made a big "J" with the stump and, now utterly exhausted, dropped the pencil.
"Another word! I must have another word!" said Lupin, in a tone of command, catching her by the arm.
But he saw by her eyes, which had once more become indifferent, that that fleeting gleam of intelligence could not shine out again.
"Let us go," he said.
He was walking away, when she ran after him and stood in his path. He stopped:
"What is it?"
She held out the palm of her hand.
"What? Money?.... Is she in the habit of begging?" he asked the count.
"No," said Waldemar, "and I can't understand."
Isilda took two gold coins from her pocket and chinked them together, gleefully.
Lupin looked at them. They were French coins, quite new, bearing the date of that year.
"Where did you get these?" asked Lupin, excitedly.
"French money!.... Who gave it you?.... And when?.... Was it to-day? Speak!.... Answer!...." He shrugged his shoulders. "Fool that I am! As though she could answer!.... My dear count, would you mind lending me forty marks?.... Thanks.... Here, Isilda, that's for you."
She took the two coins, jingled them with the others in the palm of her hand and then, putting out her arm, pointed to the ruins of the Renascence palace, with a gesture that seemed to call attention more particularly to the left wing and to the top of that wing.
Was it a mechanical movement? Or must it be looked upon as a grateful acknowledgment for the two gold coins?
He glanced at the count. Waldemar was smiling again.
"What makes the brute keep on grinning like that?" said Lupin to himself. "Any one would think that he was having a game with me."
He went to the palace on the off-chance, attended by his escort.
THE GROUND-FLOOR consisted of a number of large reception-rooms, running one into the other and containing the few pieces of furniture that had escaped the fire.
On the first floor, on the north side, was a long gallery, out of which twelve handsome rooms opened all exactly alike.
There was a similar gallery on the second floor, but with twenty-four smaller rooms, also resembling one another. All these apartments were empty, dilapidated, wretched to look at.
Above, there was nothing. The attics had been burnt down.
For an hour, Lupin walked, ran, rushed about indefatigably, with his eyes on the look-out.
When it began to grow dusk, he hurried to one of his twelve rooms on the first floor, as if he were selecting it for special reasons known to himself alone. He was rather surprised to find the Emperor there, smoking and seated in an arm-chair which he had sent for.
Taking no notice of his presence, Lupin began an inspection of the room, according to the methods which he was accustomed to employ in such cases, dividing the room into sections, each of which he examined in turn.
After twenty minutes of this work, he said:
"I must beg you, Sire, to be good enough to move. There is a fireplace here...."
The Emperor tossed his head:
"Is it really necessary for me to move?"
"Yes, Sire, this fireplace...."
"The fireplace is just the same as the others and the room is no different from its fellows."
Lupin looked at the Emperor without understanding. The Emperor rose and said, with a laugh:
"I think, M. Lupin, that you have been making just a little fun of me."
"How do you mean, Sire?"
"Oh, it's hardly worth mentioning! You obtained your release on the condition of handing me certain papers in which I am interested and you have not the smallest notion as to where they are. I have been thoroughly—what do you call it, in French?—roulé 'done'!"
"Do you think so, Sire?"
"Why, what a man knows he doesn't have to hunt for! And you have been hunting for ten good hours! Doesn't it strike you as a case for an immediate return to prison?"
Lupin seemed thunderstruck:
"Did not Your Imperial Majesty fix twelve o'clock to-morrow as the last limit?"
"Why wait?"
"Why? Well, to allow me to complete my work!"
"Your work? But it's not even begun, M. Lupin."
"There Your Imperial Majesty is mistaken."
"Prove it.... and I will wait until to-morrow."
Lupin reflected and, speaking in a serious tone:
"Since Your Imperial Majesty requires proofs in order to have confidence in me, I will furnish them. The twelve rooms leading out of this gallery each bear a different name, which is inscribed in French—obviously by a French decorative artist—over the various doors. One of the inscriptions, less damaged by the fire than the others, caught my eye as I was passing along the gallery. I examined the other doors: all of them bore hardly legible traces of names caned over the pediments. Thus I found a 'D' and an 'E' the first and last letters of 'Diane.' I found an 'A' and 'LON' which pointed to 'Apollon.' These are the French equivalents of Diana and Apollo, both of them mythological deities. The other inscriptions presented similar characteristics. I discovered traces of such names as Jupiter, Venus, Mercury, Saturn and so on. This part of the problem was solved: each of the twelve rooms bears the name of an Olympian god or goddess; and the letters APOON, completed by Isilda, point to the Apollo Room or Salle d'Apollon. So it is here, in the room in which we now are, that the letters are hidden. A few minutes, perhaps, will suffice in which to discover them."
"A few minutes or a few years.... or even longer!" said the Emperor, laughing.
He seemed greatly amused; and the count also displayed a coarse merriment.
Lupin asked:
"Would Your Imperial Majesty be good enough to explain?"
"M. Lupin, the exciting investigation which you have conducted to-day and of which you are telling us the brilliant results has already been made by me.... yes, a fortnight ago, in the company of your friend Holmlock Shears. Together we questioned little Isilda; together, we employed the same method in dealing with her that you did; and together we observed the names in the gallery and got as far as this room, the Apollo Room."
Lupin turned livid. He spluttered:
"Oh, did Shears get.... as far as.... this?"
"Yes, after four days' searching. True, it did not help us, for we found nothing. All the same, I know that the letters are not here."
Trembling with rage, wounded in his innermost pride, Lupin fired up under the gibe, as though he had been lashed with a whip. He had never felt humiliated to such a degree as this. In this fury, he could have strangled the fat Waldemar, whose laughter incensed him. Containing himself with an effort, he said:
"It took Shears four days, Sire, and me only four hours. And I should have required even less, if I had not been thwarted in my search."
"And by whom, bless my soul? By my faithful count? I hope he did not dare.... !"
"No, Sire, but by the most terrible and powerful of my enemies, by that infernal being who killed his own accomplice Altenheim."
"Is he here? Do you think so?" exclaimed the Emperor, with an agitation which showed that he was familiar with every detail of the dramatic story.
"He is wherever I am. He threatens me with his constant hatred. It was he who guessed that I was M. Lenormand, the chief of the detective-service; it was he who had me put in prison; it was he, again, who pursued me, on the day when I came out. Yesterday, aiming at me in the motor, he wounded Count von Waldemar."
"But how do you know, how can you be sure that he is at Veldenz?"
"Isilda has received two gold coins, two French coins!"
"And what is he here for? With what object?"
"I don't know, Sire, but he is the very spirit of evil. Your Imperial Majesty must be on your guard: he is capable of anything and everything."
"It is impossible! I have two hundred men in the ruins. He cannot have entered. He would have been seen."
"Some one has seen him, beyond a doubt."
"Who?"
"Isilda."
"Let her be questioned! Waldemar, take your prisoner to where the girl is."
