The Golden Triangle: The Return of Arsène Lupin Read online

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  THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE

  _The Return of Arsene Lupin_

  BY MAURICE LE BLANC

  AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY," "CONFESSIONS OFARSENE LUPIN," ETC.

  NEW YORKTHE MACAULAY COMPANY

  COPYRIGHT 1917BY THE MACAULAY COMPANY

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. CORALIE 11 II. RIGHT HAND AND LEFT LEG 27 III. THE RUSTY KEY 43 IV. BEFORE THE FLAMES 59 V. HUSBAND AND WIFE 74 VI. NINETEEN MINUTES PAST SEVEN 91 VII. TWENTY-THREE MINUTES PAST TWELVE 107 VIII. ESSARES BEY'S WORK 124 IX. PATRICE AND CORALIE 140 X. THE RED CORD 156 XI. ON THE BRINK 174 XII. IN THE ABYSS 188 XIII. THE NAILS IN THE COFFIN 206 XIV. A STRANGE CHARACTER 221 XV. THE BELLE HELENE 241 XVI. THE FOURTH ACT 263 XVII. SIMEON GIVES BATTLE 283 XVIII. SIMEON'S LAST VICTIM 304 XIX. FIAT LUX! 332

  THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE

  CHAPTER I

  CORALIE

  It was close upon half-past six and the evening shadows were growingdenser when two soldiers reached the little space, planted with trees,opposite the Musee Galliera, where the Rue de Chaillot and the RuePierre-Charron meet. One wore an infantryman's sky-blue great-coat; theother, a Senegalese, those clothes of undyed wool, with baggy breechesand a belted jacket, in which the Zouaves and the native African troopshave been dressed since the war. One of them had lost his right leg, theother his left arm.

  They walked round the open space, in the center of which stands a finegroup of Silenus figures, and stopped. The infantryman threw away hiscigarette. The Senegalese picked it up, took a few quick puffs at it,put it out by squeezing it between his fore-finger and thumb and stuffedit into his pocket. All this without a word.

  Almost at the same time two more soldiers came out of the Rue Galliera.It would have been impossible to say to what branch they belonged, fortheir military attire was composed of the most incongruous civiliangarments. However, one of them sported a Zouave's _chechia_, the otheran artilleryman's _kepi_. The first walked on crutches, the other on twosticks. These two kept near the newspaper-kiosk which stands at the edgeof the pavement.

  Three others came singly by the Rue Pierre-Charron, the Rue Brignolesand the Rue de Chaillot: a one-armed rifleman, a limping sapper and amarine with a hip that looked as if it was twisted. Each of them madestraight for a tree and leant against it.

  Not a word was uttered among them. None of the seven crippled soldiersseemed to know his companions or to trouble about or even perceive theirpresence. They stood behind their trees or behind the kiosk or behindthe group of Silenus figures without stirring. And the few wayfarerswho, on that evening of the 3rd of April, 1915, crossed thisunfrequented square, which received hardly any light from the shroudedstreet-lamps, did not slacken pace to observe the men's motionlessoutlines.

  A clock struck half-past six. At that moment the door of one of thehouses overlooking the square opened. A man came out, closed the doorbehind him, crossed the Rue de Chaillot and walked round the open spacein front of the museum. It was an officer in khaki. Under his redforage-cap, with its three lines of gold braid, his head was wrapped ina wide linen bandage, which hid his forehead and neck. He was tall andvery slenderly built. His right leg ended in a wooden stump with arubber foot to it. He leant on a stick.

  Leaving the square, he stepped into the roadway of the RuePierre-Charron. Here he turned and gave a leisurely look to hissurroundings on every side. This minute inspection brought him to oneof the trees facing the museum. With the tip of his cane he gentlytapped a protruding stomach. The stomach pulled itself in.

  The officer moved off again. This time he went definitely down the RuePierre-Charron towards the center of Paris. He thus came to the Avenuedes Champs-Elysees, which he went up, taking the left pavement.

  Two hundred yards further on was a large house, which had beentransformed, as a flag proclaimed, into a hospital. The officer took uphis position at some distance, so as not to be seen by those leaving,and waited.

  It struck a quarter to seven and seven o'clock. A few more minutespassed. Five persons came out of the house, followed by two more. Atlast a lady appeared in the hall, a nurse wearing a wide blue cloakmarked with the Red Cross.

  "Here she comes," said the officer.

  She took the road by which he had arrived and turned down the RuePierre-Charron, keeping to the right-hand pavement and thus making forthe space where the street meets the Rue de Chaillot. Her walk waslight, her step easy and well-balanced. The wind, buffeting against heras she moved quickly on her way, swelled out the long blue veil floatingaround her shoulders. Notwithstanding the width of the cloak, therhythmical swing of her body and the youthfulness of her figure wererevealed. The officer kept behind her and walked along with anabsent-minded air, twirling his stick, like a man taking an aimlessstroll.

  At this moment there was nobody in sight, in that part of the street,except him and her. But, just after she had crossed the Avenue Marceauand some time before he reached it, a motor standing in the avenuestarted driving in the same direction as the nurse, at a fixed distancefrom her.

  It was a taxi-cab. And the officer noticed two things: first, that therewere two men inside it and, next, that one of them leant out of thewindow almost the whole time, talking to the driver. He was able tocatch a momentary glimpse of this man's face, cut in half by a heavymustache and surmounted by a gray felt hat.

  Meanwhile, the nurse walked on without turning round. The officer hadcrossed the street and now hurried his pace, the more so as it struckhim that the cab was also increasing its speed as the girl drew near thespace in front of the museum.

  From where he was the officer could take in almost the whole of thelittle square at a glance; and, however sharply he looked, he discernednothing in the darkness that revealed the presence of the seven crippledmen. No one, moreover, was passing on foot or driving. In the distanceonly, in the dusk of the wide crossing avenues, two tram-cars, withlowered blinds, disturbed the silence.

  Nor did the girl, presuming that she was paying attention to the sightsof the street, appear to see anything to alarm her. She gave not theleast sign of hesitation. And the behavior of the motor-cab followingher did not seem to strike her either, for she did not look round once.

  The cab, however, was gaining ground. When it neared the square, it wasten or fifteen yards, at most, from the nurse; and, by the time thatshe, still noticing nothing, had reached the first trees, it camecloser yet and, leaving the middle of the road, began to hug thepavement, while, on the side opposite the pavement, the left-hand side,the man who kept leaning out had opened the door and was now standing onthe step.

  The officer crossed the street once more, briskly, without fear of beingseen, so heedless did the two men now appear of anything but theirimmediate business. He raised a whistle to his lips. There was no doubtthat the expected event was about to take place.

  The cab, in fact, pulled up suddenly. The two men leapt from the doorson either side and rushed to the pavement of the square, a few yardsfrom the kiosk. At the same moment there was a cry of terror from thegirl and a shrill whistle from the officer. And, also
at the same time,the two men caught up and seized their victim and dragged her towardsthe cab, while the seven wounded soldiers, seeming to spring from thevery trunks of the trees that hid them, fell upon the two aggressors.

  The battle did not last long. Or rather there was no battle. At theoutset the driver of the taxi, perceiving that the attack was beingcountered, made off and drove away as fast as he could. As for the twomen, realizing that their enterprise had failed and finding themselvesfaced with a threatening array of uplifted sticks and crutches, not tomention the barrel of a revolver which the officer pointed at them, theylet go the girl, tacked from side to side, to prevent the officer fromtaking aim, and disappeared in the darkness of the Rue Brignoles.

  "Run for all you're worth, Ya-Bon," said the officer to the one-armedSenegalese, "and bring me back one of them by the scruff of the neck!"

  He supported the girl with his arm. She was trembling all over andseemed ready to faint.

  "Don't be frightened, Little Mother Coralie," he said, very anxiously."It's I, Captain Belval, Patrice Belval."

  "Ah, it's you, captain!" she stammered.

  "Yes; all your friends have gathered round to defend you, all your oldpatients from the hospital, whom I found in the convalescent home."

  "Thank you. Thank you." And she added, in a quivering voice, "Theothers? Those two men?"

  "Run away. Ya-Bon's gone after them."

  "But what did they want with me? And what miracle brought you all here?"

  "We'll talk about that later, Little Mother Coralie. Let's speak of youfirst. Where am I to take you? Don't you think you'd better come in herewith me, until you've recovered and taken a little rest?"

  Assisted by one of the soldiers, he helped her gently to the house whichhe himself had left three-quarters of an hour before. The girl let himdo as he pleased. They all entered an apartment on the ground-floor andwent into the drawing-room, where a bright fire of logs was burning. Heswitched on the electric light:

  "Sit down," he said.

  She dropped into a chair; and the captain at once gave his orders:

  "You, Poulard, go and fetch a glass in the dining-room. And you, Ribrac,draw a jug of cold water in the kitchen. . . . Chatelain, you'll find adecanter of rum in the pantry. . . . Or, stay, she doesn't like rum.. . . Then . . ."

  "Then," she said, smiling, "just a glass of water, please."

  Her cheeks, which were naturally pale, recovered a little of theirwarmth. The blood flowed back to her lips; and the smile on her face wasfull of confidence. Her face, all charm and gentleness, had a pureoutline, features almost too delicate, a fair complexion and theingenuous expression of a wondering child that looks on life with eyesalways wide open. And all this, which was dainty and exquisite,nevertheless at certain moments gave an impression of energy, due nodoubt to her shining, dark eyes and to the line of smooth, black hairthat came down on either side from under the white cap in which herforehead was imprisoned.

  "Aha!" cried the captain, gaily, when she had drunk the water. "You'refeeling better, I think, eh, Little Mother Coralie?"

  "Much better."

  "Capital. But that was a bad minute we went through just now! What anadventure! We shall have to talk it all over and get some light on it,sha'n't we? Meanwhile, my lads, pay your respects to Little MotherCoralie. Eh, my fine fellows, who would have thought, when she wascoddling you and patting your pillows for your fat pates to sink into,that one day we should be taking care of her and that the children wouldbe coddling their little mother?"

  They all pressed round her, the one-armed and the one-legged, thecrippled and the sick, all glad to see her. And she shook hands withthem affectionately:

  "Well, Ribrac, how's that leg of yours?"

  "I don't feel it any longer, Little Mother Coralie."

  "And you, Vatinel? That wound in your shoulder?"

  "Not a sign of it, Little Mother Coralie."

  "And you, Poulard? And you, Jorisse?"

  Her emotion increased at seeing them again, the men whom she called herchildren. And Patrice Belval exclaimed:

  "Ah, Little Mother Coralie, now you're crying! Little mother, littlemother, that's how you captured all our hearts. When we were trying ourhardest not to call out, on our bed of pain, we used to see your eyesfilling with great tears. Little Mother Coralie was weeping over herchildren. Then we clenched our teeth still firmer."

  "And I used to cry still more," she said, "just because you were afraidof hurting me."

  "And to-day you're at it again. No, you are too soft-hearted! You loveus. We love you. There's nothing to cry about in that. Come, LittleMother Coralie, a smile. . . . And, I say, here's Ya-Bon coming; andYa-Bon always laughs."

  She rose suddenly:

  "Do you think he can have overtaken one of the two men?"

  "Do I think so? I told Ya-Bon to bring one back by the neck. He won'tfail. I'm only afraid of one thing. . . ."

  They had gone towards the hall. The Senegalese was already on the steps.With his right hand he was clutching the neck of a man, of a limp rag,rather, which he seemed to be carrying at arm's length, like adancing-doll.

  "Drop him," said the captain.

  Ya-Bon loosened his fingers. The man fell on the flags in the hall.

  "That's what I feared," muttered the officer. "Ya-Bon has only his righthand; but, when that hand holds any one by the throat, it's a miracle ifit doesn't strangle him. The Boches know something about it."

  Ya-Bon was a sort of colossus, the color of gleaming coal, with a woollyhead and a few curly hairs on his chin, with an empty sleeve fastened tohis left shoulder and two medals pinned to his jacket. Ya-Bon had hadone cheek, one side of his jaw, half his mouth and the whole of hispalate smashed by a splinter of shell. The other half of that mouth wassplit to the ear in a laugh which never seemed to cease and which wasall the more surprising because the wounded portion of the face, patchedup as best it could be and covered with a grafted skin, remainedimpassive.

  Moreover, Ya-Bon had lost his power of speech. The most that he could dowas to emit a sequence of indistinct grunts in which his nickname ofYa-Bon was everlastingly repeated.

  He uttered it once more with a satisfied air, glancing by turns at hismaster and his victim, like a good sporting-dog standing over the birdwhich he has retrieved.

  "Good," said the officer. "But, next time, go to work more gently."

  He bent over the man, felt his heart and, on seeing that he had onlyfainted, asked the nurse:

  "Do you know him?"

  "No," she said.

  "Are you sure? Have you never seen that head anywhere?"

  It was a very big head, with black hair, plastered down with grease, anda thick beard. The man's clothes, which were of dark-blue serge andwell-cut, showed him to be in easy circumstances.

  "Never . . . never," the girl declared.

  Captain Belval searched the man's pockets. They contained no papers.

  "Very well," he said, rising to his feet, "we will wait till he wakes upand question him then. Ya-Bon, tie up his arms and legs and stay here,in the hall. The rest of you fellows, go back to the home: it's time youwere indoors. I have my key. Say good-by to Little Mother Coralie andtrot off."

  And, when good-by had been said, he pushed them outside, came back tothe nurse, led her into the drawing-room and said:

  "Now let's talk, Little Mother Coralie. First of all, before we try toexplain things, listen to me. It won't take long."

  They were sitting before the merrily blazing fire. Patrice Belvalslipped a hassock under Little Mother Coralie's feet, put out a lightthat seemed to worry her and, when he felt certain that she wascomfortable, began:

  "As you know, Little Mother Coralie, I left the hospital a week ago andam staying on the Boulevard Maillot, at Neuilly, in the home reservedfor the convalescent patients of the hospital. I sleep there at nightand have my wounds dressed in the morning. The rest of the time I spendin loafing: I stroll about, lunch and dine where the mood takes me andgo an
d call on my friends. Well, this morning I was waiting for one ofthem in a big cafe-restaurant on the boulevard, when I overheard the endof a conversation. . . . But I must tell you that the place is dividedinto two by a partition standing about six feet high, with the customersof the cafe on one side and those of the restaurant on the other. I wasall by myself in the restaurant; and the two men, who had their backsturned to me and who in any case were out of sight, probably thoughtthat there was no one there at all, for they were speaking rather louderthan they need have done, considering the sentences which I overheard. . . and which I afterwards wrote down in my little note-book."

  He took the note-book from his pocket and went on:

  "These sentences, which caught my attention for reasons which you willunderstand presently, were preceded by some others in which there was areference to sparks, to a shower of sparks that had already occurredtwice before the war, a sort of night signal for the possible repetitionof which they proposed to watch, so that they might act quickly as soonas it appeared. Does none of this tell you anything?"

  "No. Why?"

  "You shall see. By the way, I forgot to tell you that the two weretalking English, quite correctly, but with an accent which assured methat neither of them was an Englishman. Here is what they said,faithfully translated: 'To finish up, therefore,' said one, 'everythingis decided. You and he will be at the appointed place at a little beforeseven this evening.' 'We shall be there, colonel. We have engaged ourtaxi.' 'Good. Remember that the little woman leaves her hospital atseven o'clock.' 'Have no fear. There can't be any mistake, because shealways goes the same way, down the Rue Pierre-Charron.' 'And your wholeplan is settled?' 'In every particular. The thing will happen in thesquare at the end of the Rue de Chaillot. Even granting that there maybe people about, they will have no time to rescue her, for we shall acttoo quickly.' 'Are you certain of your driver?' 'I am certain that weshall pay him enough to secure his obedience. That's all we want.''Capital. I'll wait for you at the place you know of, in a motor-car.You'll hand the little woman over to me. From that moment, we shall bemasters of the situation.' 'And you of the little woman, colonel, whichisn't bad for you, for she's deucedly pretty.' 'Deucedly, as you say.I've known her a long time by sight; and, upon my word. . . .' The twobegan to laugh coarsely and called for their bill. I at once got up andwent to the door on the boulevard, but only one of them came out by thatdoor, a man with a big drooping mustache and a gray felt hat. The otherhad left by the door in the street round the corner. There was only onetaxi in the road. The man took it and I had to give up all hope offollowing him. Only . . . only, as I knew that you left the hospital atseven o'clock every evening and that you went along the RuePierre-Charron, I was justified, wasn't I, in believing . . . ?"

  The captain stopped. The girl reflected, with a thoughtful air.Presently she asked:

  "Why didn't you warn me?"

  "Warn you!" he exclaimed. "And, if, after all, it wasn't you? Why alarmyou? And, if, on the other hand, it was you, why put you on your guard?After the attempt had failed, your enemies would have laid another trapfor you; and we, not knowing of it, would have been unable to preventit. No, the best thing was to accept the fight. I enrolled a little bandof your former patients who were being treated at the home; and, as thefriend whom I was expecting to meet happened to live in the square,here, in this house, I asked him to place his rooms at my disposal fromsix to nine o'clock. That's what I did, Little Mother Coralie. And nowthat you know as much as I do, what do you think of it?"

  She gave him her hand:

  "I think you have saved me from an unknown danger that looks like a verygreat one; and I thank you."

  "No, no," he said, "I can accept no thanks. I was so glad to havesucceeded! What I want to know is your opinion of the business itself?"

  Without a second's hesitation, she replied:

  "I have none. Not a word, not an incident, in all that you have told me,suggests the least idea to me."

  "You have no enemies, to your knowledge?"

  "Personally, no."

  "What about that man to whom your two assailants were to hand you overand who says that he knows you?"

  "Doesn't every woman," she said, with a slight blush, "come across menwho pursue her more or less openly? I can't tell who it is."

  The captain was silent for a while and then went on:

  "When all is said, our only hope of clearing up the matter lies inquestioning our prisoner. If he refuses to answer, I shall hand him overto the police, who will know how to get to the bottom of the business."

  The girl gave a start:

  "The police?"

  "Well, of course. What would you have me do with the fellow? He doesn'tbelong to me. He belongs to the police."

  "No, no, no!" she exclaimed, excitedly. "Not on any account! What, havemy life gone into? . . . Have to appear before the magistrate? . . .Have my name mixed up in all this? . . ."

  "And yet, Little Mother Coralie, I can't . . ."

  "Oh, I beg, I beseech you, as my friend, find some way out of it, butdon't have me talked about! I don't want to be talked about!"

  The captain looked at her, somewhat surprised to see her in such a stateof agitation, and said:

  "You sha'n't be talked about, Little Mother Coralie, I promise you."

  "Then what will you do with that man?"

  "Well," he said, with a laugh, "I shall begin by asking him politely ifhe will condescend to answer my questions; then thank him for his civilbehavior to you; and lastly beg him to be good enough to go away."

  He rose:

  "Do you wish to see him, Little Mother Coralie?"

  "No," she said, "I am so tired! If you don't want me, question him byyourself. You can tell me about it afterwards. . . ."

  She seemed quite exhausted by all this fresh excitement and strain,added to all those which already rendered her life as a nurse so hard.The captain did not insist and went out, closing the door of thedrawing-room after him.

  She heard him saying:

  "Well, Ya-Bon, have you kept a good watch! No news? And how's yourprisoner? . . . Ah, there you are, my fine fellow! Have you got yourbreath back? Oh, I know Ya-Bon's hand is a bit heavy! . . . What's this?Won't you answer? . . . Hallo, what's happened? Hanged if I don't think. . ."

  A cry escaped him. The girl ran to the hall. She met the captain, whotried to bar her way.

  "Don't come," he said, in great agitation. "What's the use!"

  "But you're hurt!" she exclaimed.

  "I?"

  "There's blood on your shirt-cuff."

  "So there is, but it's nothing: it's the man's blood that must havestained me."

  "Then he was wounded?"

  "Yes, or at least his mouth was bleeding. Some blood-vessel . . ."

  "Why, surely Ya-Bon didn't grip as hard as that?"

  "It wasn't Ya-Bon."

  "Then who was it?"

  "His accomplices."

  "Did they come back?"

  "Yes; and they've strangled him."

  "But it's not possible!"

  She pushed by and went towards the prisoner. He did not move. His facehad the pallor of death. Round his neck was a red-silk string, twistedvery thin and with a buckle at either end.