813

813

Maurice Leblanc

MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM

INTRODUCTION

IF MAURICE LEBLANC (1864–1941)
had done nothing except create Arsène Lupin—the rogue who has been wildly popular in France for more than a century—his place in the pantheon of French literature would still have been assured.

Born in Rouen, he was educated in France; Berlin, Germany; and Manchester, England, and studied law before becoming a hack writer and police reporter for French periodicals. His sister Georgette—a famous actress and singer—was the mistress of Maurice Maeterlinck, the noted dramatist, and it is possible that this relationship influenced Leblanc’s work; some critics claim that his plays are his most polished literary productions.

In 1906 Leblanc’s previously undistinguished career skyrocketed when he was asked to write a short story for a new journal and produced the first Lupin adventure. His subsequent success and worldwide fame culminated in his induction into the French Legion of Honor.

Reading his fiction today, one is generally impressed with the fast pace and diversified action, although it borders on burlesque, and the incredible situations and coincidences may be a little difficult to accept.

Unlike Fantômas, the other great criminal in French literature, Arsène Lupin is not violent or evil; his unlawful acts center on theft and clever cons rather than murder or anarchy.

A brilliant rogue, he pursues his career with carefree élan, mocking the law for the sheer joy of it rather than for purely personal gain. Young, handsome, brave, and quick-witted, he has a joie de vivre uniquely and recognizably French. His sense of humor and conceit make life difficult for the police, who attribute most of the major crimes in France to him and his gang of ruffians and urchins.

Like most French criminals and detectives, Lupin is a master of disguise. His skill is attested to by the fact that he once became Lenormand, chief of the Sûreté, and, for four years, conducted official investigations into his own activities. He employs numerous aliases, including Jim Barnett, Prince Renine, le Duc de Charmerace, Don Luis Perenna, and Ralph de Limezy; his myriad names, combined with his brilliant costumes, make it nearly impossible for the police to identify him (the reader of his exploits sometimes encounters a similar difficulty).

After a long criminal career of uninterrupted successes, Lupin begins to shift position and aids the police in their work—usually for his own purposes and without their knowledge. Toward the end of his career, he becomes a full-fledged detective, and although he is as successful in his endeavors as ever before, his heart does not seem to be in it.

The first book about him is
Arsène Lupin, gentleman-cambrioleur
(1907; US title:
The Exploits of Arsène Lupin
, 1907; reissued as
The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar
, 1910; British title:
The Seven of Hearts
, 1908). One of the stories, “Holmlock Shears Arrives Too Late,” is a parody of Sherlock Holmes. The second book in the series, and the worst, is
Arsène Lupin contre Herlock Sholmes
(1908; British title:
The Fair-haired Lady
, 1909; reissued as
Arsène Lupin versus Holmlock Shears
, 1909; reissued again as
The Arrest of Arsène Lupin
, 1911; US title:
The Blonde Lady
, 1910; reissued as
Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes
, 1910). Other short story collections about Lupin are
The Confessions of Arsène Lupin
(1912),
The Eight Strokes of the Clock
(1922), and
Jim Barnett Intervenes
(1928; US title:
Arsène Lupin Intervenes
). Among the best of the novels are
813
(1910), in which Lupin, accused of murder, heads the police investigation to clear himself by finding the true killer, and
The Hollow Needle
(1910), in which Lupin is shot by a beautiful girl and falls in love with her, vowing to give up his life of crime. Among the other Lupin novels are
The Crystal Stopper
(1913),
The Teeth of the Tiger
(1914),
The Golden Triangle
(1917), and
The Memoirs of Arsène Lupin
(1925; British title:
The Candlesticks with Seven Branches
).

There are many early screen versions of Arsène Lupin’s basic conflicts with the Paris police, both in the United States, starting in 1917, and in Europe.
The Teeth of the Tiger
(Paramount, with David Powell) of 1919 is an old-dark-horse murder melodrama with sliding panels, secret passageways, and serial-like thrills. Wedgewood Nowell portrays Lupin in
813
(Robertson-Cole, 1920), in which Lupin impersonates a police officer to clear himself of a murder charge. There are several later European Lupins, notably French, in films even until the 1950s. The most important American Lupin films are given below.

Arsène Lupin.
MGM, 1932. John Barrymore, Lionel Barrymore, Karen Morley, John Miljan. Directed by Jack Conway. Based on the play by Leblanc and Francis de Croisset. When the silk-hatted Lupin announces that he will steal a famous painting from the Louvre under the nose of the police, and does so, the chief of detectives uses a pretty lady crook to lure him into a trap.

Arsène Lupin Returns.
MGM, 1938. Melvyn Douglas, Warren William, Virginia Bruce, Monty Woolley, E. E. Clive. Directed by George Fitzmaurice. The signature of Arsène Lupin, long thought dead, is scrawled across a safe from which a necklace has been stolen; the real Lupin, innocent and now living as a country gentleman, is as perplexed as the police are.

Enter Arsène Lupin.
Universal, 1944. Charles Korvin, Ella Raines, J. Carrol Naish, Gale Sondergaard, Miles Mander. Directed by Ford Beebe. International thief Lupin, on a train from Istanbul to Paris, steals an emerald from a young heiress but returns it when he begins to suspect that the girl’s aunt and uncle plan to murder her.

“You are the visitor I was expecting”

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

A zealous reader, collating the translation of this book with the original, would hit upon certain differences. These are due to alterations made, in most case, by the author himself, and, in all cases, with his full approval.

A. T. de M.

Chelsea, England, August, 1910.

CHAPTER I

THE TRAGEDY AT THE PALACE HOTEL

MR. KESSELBACH STOPPED SHORT ON
the threshold of the sitting-room, took his secretary’s arm and, in an anxious voice, whispered:

“Chapman, some one has been here again.”

“Surely not, sir,” protested the secretary. “You have just opened the hall-door yourself; and the key never left your pocket while we were lunching in the restaurant.”

“Chapman, some one has been here again,” Mr. Kesselbach repeated. He pointed to a traveling-bag on the mantelpiece. “Look, I can prove it. That bag was shut. It is now open.”

Chapman protested.

“Are you quite sure that you shut it, sir? Besides, the bag contains nothing but odds and ends of no value, articles of dress …”

“It contains nothing else, because I took my pocket-book out before we went down, by way of precaution … But for that … No, Chapman, I tell you, some one has been here while we were at lunch.”

There was a telephone on the wall. He took down the receiver:

“Hallo! … I’m Mr. Kesselbach … Suite 415 … That’s right … Mademoiselle, would you please put me on to the Prefecture of Police … the detective department … I know the number … one second … Ah, here it is! Number 822.48 … I’ll hold the line.”

A moment later he continued:

“Are you 822.48? I should like a word with M. Lenormand, the chief of the detective-service. My name’s Kesselbach … Hullo! … Yes, the chief detective knows what it’s about. He has given me leave to ring him up … Oh, he’s not there? … To whom am I speaking? … Detective-sergeant Gourel? … You were there yesterday, were you not, when I called on M. Lenormand? Well, the same thing that I told M. Lenormand yesterday has occurred again to-day … Some one has entered the suite which I am occupying. And, if you come at once, you may be able to discover some clues … In an hour or two? All right; thanks … You have only to ask for suite 415 … Thank you again.”

Rudolf Kesselbach, nicknamed alternatively the King of Diamonds and the Lord of the Cape, possessed a fortune estimated at nearly twenty millions sterling. For the past week, he had occupied suite 415, on the fourth floor of the Palace Hotel, consisting of three rooms, of which the two larger, on the right, the sitting-room and the principal bedroom, faced the avenue; while the other, on the left, in which Chapman, the secretary, slept, looked out on the Rue de Judée.

Adjoining this bedroom, a suite of five rooms had been reserved for Mrs. Kesselbach, who was to leave Monte Carlo, where she was at present staying, and join her husband the moment she heard from him.

Rudolf Kesselbach walked up and down for a few minutes with a thoughtful air. He was a tall man, with a ruddy complexion, and still young; and his dreamy eyes, which showed pale blue through his gold-rimmed spectacles, gave him an expression of gentleness and shyness that contrasted curiously with the strength of the square forehead and the powerfully-developed jaws.

He went to the window: it was fastened. Besides, how could any one have entered that way? The private balcony that ran round the flat broke off on the right and was separated on the left by a stone channel from the balconies in the Rue de Judée.

He went to his bedroom: it had no communication with the neighboring rooms. He went to his secretary’s bedroom: the door that led into the five rooms reserved for Mrs. Kesselbach was locked and bolted.

“I can’t understand it at all, Chapman. Time after time I have noticed things here … funny things, as you must admit. Yesterday, my walking-stick was moved … The day before that, my papers had certainly been touched … And yet how was it possible? …

“It is not possible, sir!” cried Chapman, whose honest, placid features displayed no anxiety. “You’re imagining things, that’s all … You have no proof, nothing but impressions, to go upon … Besides, look here: there is no way into this suite except through the entrance-lobby. Very well. You had a special key made on the day of our arrival: and
your own man, Edwards, has the only duplicate. Do you trust him?”

“Of course I do! … He’s been with me for ten years! … But Edwards goes to lunch at the same time that we do; and that’s a mistake. He must not go down, in future, until we come back.”

Chapman gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. There was no doubt about it, the Lord of the Cape was becoming a trifle eccentric, with those incomprehensible fears of his. What risk can you run in an hotel, especially when you carry no valuables, no important sum of money on you or with you?

They heard the hall-door opening. It was Edwards. Mr. Kesselbach called him:

“Are you dressed, Edwards? Ah, that’s right! … I am expecting no visitors to-day, Edwards … or, rather, one visitor only, M. Gourel. Meantime, remain in the lobby and keep an eye on the door. Mr. Chapman and I have some serious work to do.”