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Updated: September 11, 2025
"But this one..." "This one is a forgery." "A forgery?" "An undoubted forgery. It was an admirable piece of cunning on Daubrecq's part. Dazzled by the crystal stopper which he flashed before your eyes, you did nothing but look for that stopper in which he had stowed away no matter what, the first bit of paper that came to hand, while he quietly kept..." Prasville interrupted himself.
Then, at the moment when they were uniting their efforts, a series of ghastly disasters had come one after the other: the kidnapping of little Jacques, Daubrecq's disappearance, his imprisonment in the Lovers' Tower, Lupin's wound, his enforced inactivity, followed by the cunning manoeuvres that dragged Clarisse and Lupin after her to the south, to Italy.
By his instructions, the chauffeur set them down near the Square Lamartine, but kept the motor going. Lupin foresaw that Daubrecq, in order to escape the detectives watching the house, would jump into the first taxi; and he did not intend to be outdistanced. He had not allowed for Daubrecq's cleverness.
If she mistrusted him, had he not also reasons to mistrust that woman who had twice taken the crystal stopper from him to restore it to Daubrecq? Mortal enemy of Daubrecq's though she were, up to what point did she remain subject to that man's will? By surrendering himself to her, did he not risk surrendering himself to Daubrecq? And yet he had never looked upon graver eyes nor a more honest face.
The thing appeared to me as a dead certainty. And I found Vorenglade's address in Daubrecq's pocket-books, so... driver, Boulevard Raspail!" They went to the address given. Lupin sprang from the cab, ran up three flights of stairs. The servant said that M. Vorenglade was away and would not be back until dinner-time next evening. "And don't you know where he is?" "M. Vorenglade is in London, sir."
And, almost at the same time, some one slipped behind Daubrecq, sprang up fiercely, flung one of his arms round Daubrecq's neck, threw him to the ground with incredible violence and applied a pad of cotton-wool to his face. A sudden smell of chloroform filled the room. Clarisse had recognized M. Nicole. "Come along, Growler!" he cried. "Come along, Masher! Drop your shooters: I've got him!
She gave a start when she saw a scrap of paper on the balcony, lying as though flung there by accident: "Can it be a trick of Daubrecq's?" she thought, out loud. "Can that scrap of paper contain..." "No," said a voice behind her, as she put her hand on the latch. She turned and saw Daubrecq.
It did not take us long to recognize your old servant Victoire in Daubrecq's new cook and to discover, from what the portress told us, that Victoire was putting you up in her room; and I was afraid of your schemes." "It was you, was it not, who wrote to me to retire from the contest?" "Yes." "You also asked me not to go to the theatre on the Vaudeville night?"
Continuing his way down, he crouched on one of the bottom steps of the staircase, thus placing himself between the door of the bedroom and the hall-door, on the road which Daubrecq's enemy must inevitably take in order to join his accomplices. He questioned the darkness with an unspeakable anguish. He was on the point of unmasking that enemy of Daubrecq's, who was also his own adversary.
Clarisse Mergy, the loving wife of that Mergy whom Daubrecq had really murdered, the terrified mother of that Gilbert whom Daubrecq had led astray, Clarisse Mergy, to save her son from the scaffold, must, come what may and however ignominious the position, yield to Daubrecq's wishes.
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