"Ah!" he said. "Could I see Mrs. Kesselbach?"
"Mrs. Kesselbach went straight to bed after dinner. She is sure to be asleep."
"No, I saw a light in her boudoir. She will see me."
He did not even wait for Mrs. Kesselbach to send out an answer. He walked into the boudoir almost upon the maid's heels, dismissed her and said to Dolores:
"I have to speak to you, madame, on an urgent matter.... Forgive me.... I confess that my behavior must seem importunate.... But you will understand, I am sure...."
He was greatly excited and did not seem much disposed to put off the explanation, especially as, before entering the room, he thought he heard a sound.
Yet Dolores was alone and lying down. And she said, in her tired voice:
"Perhaps we might.... to-morrow...."
He did not answer, suddenly struck by a smell that surprised him in that boudoir, a smell of tobacco. And, at once, he had the intuition, the certainty, that there was a man there, at the moment when he himself arrived, and that perhaps the man was there still, hidden somewhere....
Pierre Leduc? No, Pierre Leduc did not smoke. Then who?
Dolores murmured:
"Be quick, please."
"Yes, yes, but first.... would it be possible for you to tell me.... ?"
He interrupted himself. What was the use of asking her? If there were really a man in hiding, would she be likely to tell?
Then he made up his mind and, trying to overcome the sort of timid constraint that oppressed him at the sense of a strange presence, he said, in a very low voice, so that Dolores alone should hear:
"Listen, I have learnt something.... which I do not understand.... and which perplexes me greatly. You will answer me, will you not, Dolores?"
He spoke her name with great gentleness and as though he were trying to master her by the note of love and affection in his voice.
"What have you learnt?" she asked.
"The register of births at Veldenz contains three names which are those of the last descendants of the family of Malreich, which settled in Germany...."
"Yes, you have told me all that...."
"You remember, the first name is Raoul de Malreich, better known under his alias of Altenheim, the scoundrel, the swell hooligan, now dead.... murdered."
"Yes."
"Next comes Louis de Malreich, the monster, this one, the terrible murderer who will be beheaded in a few days from now."
"Yes."
"Then, lastly, Isilda, the mad daughter...."
"Yes."
"So all that is quite positive, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Well," said Lupin, leaning over her more closely than before, "I have just made an investigation which showed to me that the second of the three Christian names, or rather a part of the line on which it is written, has at some time or other, been subjected to erasure. The line is written over, in a new hand, with much fresher ink; but the writing below is not quite effaced, so that...."
"So that....?" asked Mrs. Kesselbach, in a low voice.
"So that, with a good lens and particularly with the special methods which I have at my disposal, I was able to revive some of the obliterated syllables and, without any possibility of a mistake, in all certainty, to reconstruct the old writing. I then found not Louis de Malreich, but...."
"Oh, don't, don't!...."
Suddenly shattered by the strain of her prolonged effort of resistance, she lay bent in two and, with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaken with convulsive sobs, she wept.
Lupin looked for long seconds at this weak and listless creature, so pitifully helpless. And he would have liked to stop, to cease the torturing questions which he was inflicting upon her. But was it not to save her that he was acting as he did? And, to save her, was it not necessary that he should know the truth, however painful?
He resumed:
"Why that forgery?"
"It was my husband," she stammered, "it was my husband who did it. With his fortune, he could do everything; and he bribed a junior clerk to have the Christian name of the second child altered for him on the register."
"The Christian name and the sex," said Lupin.
"Yes," she said.
"Then," he continued, "I am not mistaken: the original Christian name, the real one, was Dolores?"
"Yes."
"But why did your husband.... ?"
She whispered in a shame-faced manner, while the tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Don't you understand?"
"No."
"But think," she said, shuddering, "I was the sister of Isilda, the mad woman, the sister of Altenheim, the ruffian. My husband—or rather my affianced husband—would not have me remain that. He loved me. I loved him too, and I consented. He suppressed Dolores de Malreich on the register, he bought me other papers, another personality, another birth-certificate; and I was married in Holland under another maiden name, as Dolores Amonti."
Lupin reflected for a moment and said, thoughtfully:
"Yes.... yes.... I understand.... But then Louis de Malreich does not exist; and the murderer of your husband, the murderer of your brother and sister, does not bear that name.... His name...."
She sprang to a sitting posture and, eagerly:
"His name! Yes, that is his name.... yes, it is his name nevertheless.... Louis de Malreich.... L. M.... Remember.... Oh, do not try to find out.... it is the terrible secret.... Besides, what does it matter?.... They have the criminal.... He is the criminal.... I tell you he is. Did he defend himself when I accused him, face to face? Could he defend himself, under that name or any other? It is he.... it is he.... He committed the murders.... He struck the blows.... The dagger.... The steel dagger.... Oh, if I could only tell all I know!.... Louis de Malreich.... If I could only...."
She fell back on the sofa in a fit of hysterical sobbing; and her hand clutched Lupin's and he heard her stammering, amid inarticulate words:
"Protect me.... protect me.... You alone, perhaps.... Oh, do not forsake me.... I am so unhappy!.... Oh, what torture.... what torture!.... It is hell!...."
With his free hand, he stroked her hair and forehead with infinite gentleness; and, under his caress, she gradually relaxed her tense nerves and became calmer and quieter.
Then he looked at her again and long, long asked himself what there could be behind that fair, white brow, what secret was ravaging that mysterious soul. She also was afraid. But of whom? Against whom was she imploring him to protect her?
Once again, he was obsessed by the image of the man in black, by that Louis de Malreich, the sinister and incomprehensible enemy, whose attacks he had to ward off without knowing whence they came or even if they were taking place.
He was in prison, watched day and night. Tush! Did Lupin not know by his own experience that there are beings for whom prison does not exist and who throw off their chains at the given moment? And Louis de Malreich was one of those.
Yes, there was some one in the Santé prison, in the condemned man's cell. But it might be an accomplice or some victim of Malreich.... while Malreich himself prowled around Bruggen Castle, slipped in under cover of the darkness, like an invisible spectre, made his way into the chalet in the park and, at night, raised his dagger against Lupin asleep and helpless.
And it was Louis de Malreich who terrorized Dolores, who drove her mad with his threats, who held her by some dreadful secret and forced her into silence and submission.
And Lupin imagined the enemy's plan: to throw Dolores, scared and trembling, into Pierre Leduc's arms, to make away with him, Lupin, and to reign in his place, over there, with the grand-duke's power and Dolores's millions.
It was a likely supposition, a certain supposition, which fitted in with the facts and provided a solution of all the problems.
"Of all?" thought Lupin. "Yes.... But then, why did he not kill me, last night, in the chalet? He had but to wish.... and he did not wish. One movement and I was dead. He did not make that movement. Why?"
Dolores opened her eyes, saw him and smiled, with a pale smile:
"Leave me," she said:
He rose, with some hesitation. Should he go and see if the enemy was behind the curtain or hidden behind the dresses in a cupboard?
She repeated, gently:
"Go.... I am so sleepy...."
He went away.
But, outside, he stopped behind some trees that formed a dark cluster in front of the castle. He saw a light in Dolores' boudoir. Then the light passed into the bedroom. In a few minutes, all was darkness.
He waited. If the enemy was there, perhaps he would come out of the castle....
An hour elapsed.... Two hours.... Not a sound....
"There's nothing to be done," thought Lupin. "Either he is burrowing in some corner of the castle.... or else he has gone out by a door which I cannot see from here. Unless the whole thing is the most ridiculous supposition on my part...."
He lit a cigarette and walked back to the chalet.
As he approached it, he saw, at some distance from him, a shadow that appeared to be moving away.
He did not stir, for fear of giving the alarm.
The shadow crossed a path. By the light of the moon, he seemed to recognize the black figure of Malreich.
He rushed forward.
The shadow fled and vanished from sight.
"Come," he said, "it shall be for to-morrow. And, this time...."
Lupin went to Octave's, his chauffeur's, room, woke him and said:
"Take the motor and go to Paris. You will be there by six o'clock in the morning. See Jacques Doudeville and tell him two things: first, to give me news of the man under sentence of death; and secondly, as soon as the post-offices open, to send me a telegram which I will write down for you now...."
He worded the telegram on a scrap of paper and added:
"The moment you have done that, come back, but this way, along the wall of the park. Go now. No one must suspect your absence."
Lupin went to his own room, pressed the spring of his lantern and began to make a minute inspection. "It's as I thought," he said presently. "Some one came here to-night, while I was watching beneath the window. And, if he came, I know what he came for.... I was certainly right: things are getting warm..... The first time, I was spared. This time, I may be sure of my little stab."
For prudence's sake, he took a blanket, chose a lonely spot in the park and spent the night under the stars.
Octave was back by ten o'clock in the morning:
"It's all right, governor. The telegram has been sent."
"Good. And is Louis de Malreich still in prison?"
"Yes. Doudeville passed his cell at the Santé last night as the warder was coming out. They talked together. Malreich is just the same, it appears: silent as the grave. He is waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"The fatal hour of course. They are saying, at headquarters, that the execution will take place on the day after to-morrow."
"That's all right, that's all right," said Lupin. "And one thing is quite plain: he has not escaped."
He ceased to understand or even to look for the explanation of the riddle, so clearly did he feel that the whole truth would soon be revealed to him. He had only to prepare his plan, for the enemy to fall into the trap.
"Or for me to fall into it myself," he thought, laughing.
He felt very gay, very free from care; and no fight had ever looked more promising to him.
A footman came from the castle with the telegram which he had told Doudeville to send him and which the postman had just brought. He opened it and put it in his pocket.
A LITTLE before twelve o'clock, he met Pierre Leduc in one of the avenues and said, off-hand:
"I am looking for you.... things are serious.... You must answer me frankly. Since you have been at the castle, have you ever seen a man there, besides the two German servants whom I sent in?"
"No."
"Think carefully. I'm not referring to a casual visitor. I mean a man who hides himself, a man whose presence you might have discovered or, less than that, whose presence you might have suspected from some clue or even by some intuition?"
"No.... Have you.... ?"
"Yes. Some one is hiding here.... some one is prowling about.... Where? And who is it? And what is his object? I don't know.... but I shall know. I already have a suspicion. Do you, on your side, keep your eyes open and watch. And, above all, not a word to Mrs. Kesselbach.... It is no use alarming her...."
He went away.
Pierre Leduc, taken aback and upset, went back to the castle. On his way, he saw a piece of blue paper on the edge of the lawn. He picked it up. It was a telegram, not crumpled, like a piece of paper that had been thrown away, but carefully folded: obviously lost.
It was addressed to "Beauny," the name by which Lupin was known at Bruggen. And it contained these words:
"We know the whole truth. Revelations impossible by letter. Will take train to-night. Meet me eight o'clock to-morrow morning Bruggen station."
"Excellent!" said Lupin, who was watching Pierre Leduc's movements from a neighboring coppice. "Excellent! In two minutes from now, the young idiot will have shown Dolores the telegram and told her all my fears. They will talk about it all day. And 'the other one' will hear, 'the other one' will know, because he knows everything, because he lives in Dolores' own shadow and because Dolores is like a fascinated prey in his hands.... And, to-night...."
He walked away humming to himself:
"To-night.... to-night.... we shall dance.... Such a waltz, my boys! The waltz of blood, to the tune of the little nickel-plated dagger!.... We shall have some fun, at last!...."
He reached the chalet, called to Octave, went to his room, flung himself on his bed, and said to the chauffeur:
"Sit down in that chair, Octave, and keep awake. Your master is going to take forty winks. Watch over him, you faithful servant."
He had a good sleep.
"Like Napoleon on the morning of Austerlitz," he said, when he woke up.
It was dinner-time. He made a hearty meal and then, while he smoked a cigarette, inspected his weapons and renewed the charges of his two revolvers:
