The Crystal Stopper by Maurice Leblanc (most important books of all time .TXT) 📖

chum, the best of his pals would be gone for ever, in a few hours. He could not save him. He was at the end of his tether. He did not even look round for a last expedient. What was the use?

And his persuasion of his own helplessness was so deep, so definite that he felt no shock of any kind on receiving a telegram from the Masher that said:

“Motor accident. Essential part broken. Long repair. Arrive to-morrow morning.”

It was a last proof to show that fate had uttered its decree. He no longer thought of rebelling against the decision.

He looked at Clarisse. She was peacefully sleeping; and this total oblivion, this absence of all consciousness, seemed to him so enviable that, suddenly yielding to a fit of cowardice, he seized the bottle, still half-filled with the sleeping-draught, and drank it down.

Then he stretched himself on a couch and rang for his man:

“Go to bed, Achille, and don’t wake me on any pretence whatever.”

“Then there’s nothing to be done for Gilbert and Vaucheray, governor?” said Achille.

“Nothing.”

“Are they going through it?”

“They are going through it.”

Twenty minutes later Lupin fell into a heavy sleep. It was ten o’clock in the evening.

The night was full of incident and noise around the prison. At one o’clock in the morning the Rue de la Sante, the Boulevard Arago and all the streets abutting on the gaol were guarded by police, who allowed no one to pass without a regular cross-examination.

For that matter, it was raining in torrents; and it seemed as though the lovers of this sort of show would not be very numerous. The public-houses were all closed by special order. At four o’clock three companies of infantry came and took up their positions along the pavements, while a battalion occupied the Boulevard Arago in case of a surprise. Municipal guards cantered up and down between the lines; a whole staff of police-magistrates, officers and functionaries, brought together for the occasion, moved about among the troops.

The guillotine was set up in silence, in the middle of the square formed by the boulevard and the street; and the sinister sound of hammering was heard.

But, at five o’clock, the crowd gathered, notwithstanding the rain, and people began to sing. They shouted for the footlights, called for the curtain to rise, were exasperated to see that, at the distance at which the barriers had been fixed, they could hardly distinguish the uprights of the guillotine.

Several carriages drove up, bringing official persons dressed in black. There were cheers and hoots, whereupon a troop of mounted municipal guards scattered the groups and cleared the space to a distance of three hundred yards from the square. Two fresh companies of soldiers lined up.

And suddenly there was a great silence. A vague white light fell from the dark sky. The rain ceased abruptly.

Inside the prison, at the end of the passage containing the condemned cells, the men in black were conversing in low voices. Prasville was talking to the public prosecutor, who expressed his fears:

“No, no,” declared Prasville, “I assure you, it will pass without an incident of any kind.”

“Do your reports mention nothing at all suspicious, monsieur le secretaire-general?”

“Nothing. And they can’t mention anything, for the simple reason that we have Lupin.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes, we know his hiding-place. The house where he lives, on the Place de Clichy, and where he went at seven o’clock last night, is surrounded. Moreover, I know the scheme which he had contrived to save his two accomplices. The scheme miscarried at the last moment. We have nothing to fear, therefore. The law will take its course.”

Meanwhile, the hour had struck.

They took Vaucheray first; and the governor of the prison ordered the door of his cell to be opened. Vaucheray leapt out of bed and cast eyes dilated with terror upon the men who entered.

“Vaucheray, we have come to tell you...”

“Stow that, stow that,” he muttered. “No words. I know all about it. Get on with the business.”

One would have thought that he was in a hurry for it to be over as fast as possible, so readily did he submit to the usual preparations. But he would not allow any of them to speak to him:

“No words,” he repeated. “What? Confess to the priest? Not worth while. I have shed blood. The law sheds my blood. It’s the good old rule. We’re quits.”

Nevertheless, he stopped short for a moment:

“I say, is my mate going through it too?”

And, when he heard that Gilbert would go to the scaffold at the same time as himself, he had two or three seconds of hesitation, glanced at the bystanders, seemed about to speak, was silent and, at last, muttered:

“It’s better so.... They’ll pull us through together... we’ll clink glasses together.”

Gilbert was not asleep either, when the men entered his cell.

Sitting on his bed, he listened to the terrible words, tried to stand up, began to tremble frightfully, from head to foot, like a skeleton when shaken, and then fell back, sobbing:

“Oh, my poor mummy, poor mummy!” he stammered.

They tried to question him about that mother, of whom he had never spoken; but his tears were interrupted by a sudden fit of rebellion and he cried:

“I have done no murder... I won’t die. I have done no murder...”

“Gilbert,” they said, “show yourself a man.”

“Yes, yes... but I have done no murder... Why should I die?”

His teeth chattered so loudly that words which he uttered became unintelligible. He let the men do their work, made his confession, heard mass and then, growing calmer and almost docile, with the voice of a little child resigning itself, murmured:

“Tell my mother that I beg her forgiveness.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes... Put what I say in the papers... She will understand... And then...”

“What, Gilbert?”

“Well, I want the governor to know that I have not lost confidence.”

He gazed at the bystanders, one after the other, as though he entertained the mad hope that “the governor” was one of them, disguised beyond recognition and ready to carry him off in his arms:

“Yes,” he said, gently and with a sort of religious piety, “yes, I still