The Crystal Stopper Part 57

"It is the name of a friend of yours."

"What friend?"

"Stanislas Vorenglade, the ex-deputy."

"And then?" said Prasville, who seemed to be losing some of his self-confidence.

"Then? Ask yourself if an inquiry, however summary, would not end by discovering, behind that Stanislas Vorenglade, the name of one who shared certain little profits with him."

"And whose name is?"

"Louis Prasville."

M. Nicole banged the table with his fist.

"Enough of this humbug, monsieur! For twenty minutes, you and I have been beating about the bush. That will do. Let us understand each other.

And, to begin with, drop your pistols. You can't imagine that I am frightened of those playthings! Stand up, sir, stand up, as I am doing, and finish the business: I am in a hurry."

He put his hand on Prasville's shoulder and, speaking with great deliberation, said:

"If, within an hour from now, you are not back from the Elysee, bringing with you a line to say that the decree of pardon has been signed; if, within one hour and ten minutes, I, a.r.s.ene Lupin, do not walk out of this building safe and sound and absolutely free, this evening four Paris newspapers will receive four letters selected from the correspondence exchanged between Stanislas Vorenglade and yourself, the correspondence which Stanislas Vorenglade sold me this morning. Here's your hat, here's your overcoat, here's your stick. Be off. I will wait for you."

Then happened this extraordinary and yet easily understood thing, that Prasville did not raise the slightest protest nor make the least show of fight. He received the sudden, far-reaching, utter conviction of what the personality known as a.r.s.ene Lupin meant, in all its breadth and fulness. He did not so much as think of carping, of pretending--as he had until then believed--that the letters had been destroyed by Vorenglade the deputy or, at any rate, that Vorenglade would not dare to hand them over, because, in so doing, Vorenglade was also working his own destruction. No, Prasville did not speak a word. He felt himself caught in a vise of which no human strength could force the jaws asunder. There was nothing to do but yield. He yielded.

"Here, in an hour," repeated M. Nicole.

"In an hour," said Prasville, tamely. Nevertheless, in order to know exactly where he stood, he added, "The letters, of course, will be restored to me against Gilbert's pardon?"

"No."

"How do you mean, no? In that case, there is no object in..."

"They will be restored to you, intact, two months after the day when my friends and I have brought about Gilbert's escape... thanks to the very slack watch which will be kept upon him, in accordance with your orders."

"Is that all?"

"No, there are two further conditions: first, the immediate payment of a cheque for forty thousand francs."

"Forty thousand francs?"

"The sum for which Stanislas Vorenglade sold me the letters. It is only fair..."

"And next?"

"Secondly, your resignation, within six months, of your present position."

"My resignation? But why?"

M. Nicole made a very dignified gesture:

"Because it is against public morals that one of the highest positions in the police-service should be occupied by a man whose hands are not absolutely clean. Make them send you to parliament or appoint you a minister, a councillor of State, an amba.s.sador, in short, any post which your success in the Daubrecq case ent.i.tles you to demand. But not secretary-general of police; anything but that! The very thought of it disgusts me."

Prasville reflected for a moment. He would have rejoiced in the sudden destruction of his adversary and he racked his brain for the means to effect it. But he was helpless.

He went to the door and called:

"M. Lartigue." And, sinking his voice, but not very low, for he wished M. Nicole to hear, "M. Lartigue, dismiss your men. It's a mistake. And let no one come into my office while I am gone. This gentleman will wait for me here."

He came back, took the hat, stick and overcoat which M. Nicole handed him and went out.

"Well done, sir," said Lupin, between his teeth, when the door was closed. "You have behaved like a sportsman and a gentleman... So did I, for that matter... perhaps with too obvious a touch of contempt... and a little too bluntly. But, tush, this sort of business has to be carried through with a high hand! The enemy's got to be staggered! Besides, when one's own conscience is clear, one can't take up too bullying a tone with that sort of individual. Lift your head, Lupin. You have been the champion of outraged morality. Be proud of your work. And now take a chair, stretch out your legs and have a rest. You've deserved it."

When Prasville returned, he found Lupin sound asleep and had to tap him on the shoulder to wake him.

"Is it done?" asked Lupin.

"It's done. The pardon will be signed presently. Here is the written promise."

"The forty thousand francs?"

"Here's your cheque."

"Good. It but remains for me to thank you, monsieur."

"So the correspondence..."

"The Stanislas Vorenglade correspondence will be handed to you on the conditions stated. However, I am glad to be able to give you, here and now, as a sign of my grat.i.tude, the four letters which I meant to send to the papers this evening."

"Oh, so you had them on you?" said Prasville.

"I felt so certain, monsieur le secretaire-general, that we should end by coming to an understanding."

He took from his hat a fat envelope, sealed with five red seals, which was pinned inside the lining, and handed it to Prasville, who thrust it into his pocket. Then he said:

"Monsieur le secretaire-general, I don't know when I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again. If you have the least communication to make to me, one line in the agony column of the Journal will be sufficient. Just head it, 'M. Nicole.' Good-day to you."

And he withdrew.

Prasville, when he was alone, felt as if he were waking from a nightmare during which he had performed incoherent actions over which his conscious mind had no control. He was almost thinking of ringing and causing a stir in the pa.s.sages; but, just then, there was a tap at the door and one of the office-messengers came hurrying in.

"What's the matter?" asked Prasville.

"Monsieur le secretaire-general, it's Monsieur le Depute Daubrecq asking to see you... on a matter of the highest importance."

"Daubrecq!" exclaimed Prasville, in bewilderment. "Daubrecq here! Show him in."

Daubrecq had not waited for the order. He ran up to Prasville, out of breath, with his clothes in disorder, a bandage over his left eye, no tie, no collar, looking like an escaped lunatic; and the door was not closed before he caught hold of Prasville with his two enormous hands:

"Have you the list?"