Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Crystal Stopper by Maurice Leblanc (most important books of all time .TXT) 📖
- Author: Maurice Leblanc
Book online «The Crystal Stopper by Maurice Leblanc (most important books of all time .TXT) 📖». Author Maurice Leblanc
“Has any one else been told?”
“No, nobody. I know that Clarisse has had terrible things to bear... and that she prefers not to be talked about.”
“Can I see her?”
“She is asleep just now. And the doctor has forbidden all excitement.”
“Is the doctor anxious about her?”
“He is afraid of a fit of fever, any nervous strain, an attack of some kind which might cause her to make a fresh attempt on her life. And that would be...”
“What is needed to avoid it?”
“A week or a fortnight of absolute quiet, which is impossible as long as her little Jacques...”
Lupin interrupted her:
“You think that, if she got her son back...”
“Oh, certainly, there would be nothing more to fear!”
“You’re sure? You’re sure?... Yes, of course you are!... Well, when Madame Mergy wakes, tell her from me that I will bring her back her son this evening, before midnight. This evening, before midnight: it’s a solemn promise.”
With these words, Lupin hurried out of the house and, stepping into his car, shouted to the driver:
“Go to Paris, Square Lamartine, Daubrecq the deputy’s!”
CHAPTER VI. THE DEATH-SENTENCE
Lupin’s motor-car was not only an office, a writing-room furnished with books, stationery, pens and ink, but also a regular actor’s dressing-room, containing a complete make-up box, a trunk filled with every variety of wearing-apparel, another crammed with “properties”—umbrellas, walking-sticks, scarves, eye-glasses and so on—in short, a complete set of paraphernalia which enabled him to alter his appearance from top to toe in the course of a drive.
The man who rang at Daubrecq the deputy’s gate, at six o-clock that evening, was a stout, elderly gentleman, in a black frock-coat, a bowler hat, spectacles and whiskers.
The portress took him to the front-door of the house and rang the bell. Victoire appeared.
Lupin asked:
“Can M. Daubrecq see Dr. Vernes?”
“M. Daubrecq is in his bedroom; and it is rather late...”
“Give him my card, please.”
He wrote the words, “From Mme. Mergy,” in the margin and added:
“There, he is sure to see me.”
“But...” Victoire began.
“Oh, drop your buts, old dear, do as I say, and don’t make such a fuss about it!”
She was utterly taken aback and stammered:
“You!... is it you?”
“No, it’s Louis XIV!” And, pushing her into a corner of the hall, “Listen... The moment I’m done with him, go up to your room, put your things together anyhow and clear out.”
“What!”
“Do as I tell you. You’ll find my car waiting down the avenue. Come, stir your stumps! Announce me. I’ll wait in the study.”
“But it’s dark in there.”
“Turn on the light.”
She switched on the electric light and left Lupin alone.
“It’s here,” he reflected, as he took a seat, “it’s here that the crystal stopper lives... Unless Daubrecq always keeps it by him... But no, when people have a good hiding-place, they make use of it. And this is a capital one; for none of us... so far...”
Concentrating all his attention, he examined the objects in the room; and he remembered the note which Daubrecq wrote to Prasville:
“Within reach of your hand, my dear Prasville!... You touched it! A little more and the trick was done...”Nothing seemed to have moved since that day. The same things were lying about on the desk: books, account-books, a bottle of ink, a stamp-box, pipes, tobacco, things that had been searched and probed over and over again.
“The bounder!” thought Lupin. “He’s organized his business jolly cleverly. It’s all dove-tailed like a well-made play.”
In his heart of hearts, though he knew exactly what he had come to do and how he meant to act, Lupin was thoroughly aware of the danger and uncertainty attending his visit to so powerful an adversary. It was quite within the bounds of possibility that Daubrecq, armed as he was, would remain master of the field and that the conversation would take an absolutely different turn from that which Lupin anticipated.
And this prospect angered him somewhat.
He drew himself up, as he heard a sound of footsteps approaching.
Daubrecq entered.
He entered without a word, made a sign to Lupin, who had risen from his chair, to resume his seat and himself sat down at the writing-desk. Glancing at the card which he held in his hand:
“Dr. Vernes?”
“Yes, monsieur le depute, Dr. Vernes, of Saint-Germain.”
“And I see that you come from Mme. Mergy. A patient of yours?”
“A recent patient. I did not know her until I was called in to see her, the other day, in particularly tragic circumstances.”
“Is she ill?”
“Mme. Mergy has taken poison.”
“What!”
Daubrecq gave a start and he continued, without concealing his distress:
“What’s that you say? Poison! Is she dead?”
“No, the dose was not large enough. If no complications ensue, I consider that Mme. Mergy’s life is saved.”
Daubrecq said nothing and sat silent, with his head turned to Lupin.
“Is he looking at me? Are his eyes open or shut?” Lupin asked himself.
It worried Lupin terribly not to see his adversary’s eyes, those eyes hidden by the double obstacle of spectacles and black glasses: weak, bloodshot eyes, Mme. Mergy had told him. How could he follow the secret train of the man’s thought without seeing the expression of his face? It was almost like fighting an enemy who wielded an invisible sword.
Presently, Daubrecq spoke:
“So Mme. Mergy’s life is saved... And she has sent you to me... I don’t quite understand...
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