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. Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (english reading book TXT) 📖
- Author: Maurice Leblanc
Book online «Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (english reading book TXT) 📖». Author Maurice Leblanc
“Nevertheless, I’d better bucket on to Paris, and let you follow slowly with Germaine. The sooner I get to Paris the better for your collection. I’ll take Mademoiselle Kritchnoff with me, and, if you like, Irma, though the lighter I travel the sooner I shall get there.”
“No, I’ll take Irma and Germaine,” said the millionaire. “Germaine would prefer to have Irma with her, in case you had an accident. She wouldn’t like to get to Paris and have to find a fresh maid.”
The drawing-room door opened, and in came Germaine, followed by Sonia and Irma. They wore motor-cloaks and hoods and veils. Sonia and Irma were carrying hand-bags.
“I think it’s extremely tiresome your dragging us off to Paris like this in the middle of the night,” said Germaine pettishly.
“Do you?” said the millionaire. “Well, then, you’ll be interested to hear that I’ve just seen a burglar here in this very room. I frightened him, and he bolted through the window on to the terrace.”
“He was greenish-pink, slightly tinged with yellow,” said the Duke softly.
“Greenish-pink? Oh, do stop your jesting, Jacques! Is this a time for idiocy?” cried Germaine, in a tone of acute exasperation.
“It was the dim light which made your father see him in those colours. In a bright light, I think he would have been an Alsatian blue,” said the Duke suavely.
“You’ll have to break yourself of this silly habit of trifling, my dear Duke, if ever you expect to be a member of the Academie Francaise,” said the millionaire with some acrimony. “I tell you I did see a burglar.”
“Yes, yes. I admitted it frankly. It was his colour I was talking about,” said the Duke, with an ironical smile.
“Oh, stop your idiotic jokes! We’re all sick to death of them!” said Germaine, with something of the fine fury which so often distinguished her father.
“There are times for all things,” said the millionaire solemnly. “And I must say that, with the fate of my collection and of the coronet trembling in the balance, this does not seem to me a season for idle jests.”
“I stand reproved,” said the Duke; and he smiled at Sonia.
“My keys, Sonia—the keys of the Paris house,” said the millionaire.
Sonia took her own keys from her pocket and went to the bureau. She slipped a key into the lock and tried to turn it. It would not turn; and she bent down to look at it.
“Why—why, some one’s been tampering with the lock! It’s broken!” she cried.
“I told you I’d seen a burglar!” cried the millionaire triumphantly. “He was after the keys.”
Sonia drew back the flap of the bureau and hastily pulled open the drawer in which the keys had been.
“They’re here!” she cried, taking them out of the drawer and holding them up.
“Then I was just in time,” said the millionaire. “I startled him in the very act of stealing the keys.”
“I withdraw! I withdraw!” said the Duke. “You did see a burglar, evidently. But still I believe he was greenish-pink. They often are. However, you’d better give me those keys, Mademoiselle Sonia, since I’m to get to Paris first. I should look rather silly if, when I got there, I had to break into the house to catch the burglars.”
Sonia handed the keys to the Duke. He contrived to take her little hand, keys and all, into his own, as he received them, and squeezed it. The light was too dim for the others to see the flush which flamed in her face. She went back and stood beside the bureau.
“Now, papa, are you going to motor to Paris in a thin coat and linen waistcoat? If we’re going, we’d better go. You always do keep us waiting half an hour whenever we start to go anywhere,” said Germaine firmly.
The millionaire bustled out of the room. With a gesture of impatience Germaine dropped into a chair. Irma stood waiting by the drawing-room door. Sonia sat down by the bureau.
There came a sharp patter of rain against the windows.
“Rain! It only wanted that! It’s going to be perfectly beastly!” cried Germaine.
“Oh, well, you must make the best of it. At any rate you’re well wrapped up, and the night is warm enough, though it is raining,” said the Duke. “Still, I could have wished that Lupin confined his operations to fine weather.” He paused, and added cheerfully, “But, after all, it will lay the dust.”
They sat for three or four minutes in a dull silence, listening to the pattering of the rain against the panes. The Duke took his cigarette-case from his pocket and lighted a cigarette.
Suddenly he lost his bored air; his face lighted up; and he said joyfully: “Of course, why didn’t I think of it? Why should we start from a pit of gloom like this? Let us have the proper illumination which our enterprise deserves.”
With that he set about lighting all the lamps in the hall. There were lamps on stands, lamps on brackets, lamps on tables, and lamps which hung from the roof—old-fashioned lamps with new reservoirs, new lamps of what is called chaste design, brass lamps, silver lamps, and lamps in porcelain. The Duke lighted them one after another, patiently, missing none, with a cold perseverance. The operation was punctuated by exclamations from Germaine. They were all to the effect that she could not understand how he could be such a fool. The Duke paid no attention whatever to her. His face illumined with boyish glee, he lighted lamp after lamp.
Sonia watched him with a smiling admiration of the childlike enthusiasm with which he performed the task. Even the stolid face of the ox-eyed Irma relaxed into grins, which she smoothed quickly out with a respectful hand.
The Duke had just lighted the twenty-second lamp when in bustled the millionaire.
“What’s this? What’s this?” he cried, stopping short, blinking.
“Just some more of Jacques’ foolery!” cried Germaine in tones of the last exasperation.
“But, my dear Duke!—my dear Duke! The oil!—the oil!” cried the millionaire, in a tone of bitter distress. “Do you think it’s my object in life to swell the Rockefeller millions? We never have more than six lamps burning unless we are holding a reception.”
“I think it looks so cheerful,” said the Duke, looking round on his handiwork with a beaming smile of satisfaction. “But where are the cars? Jean seems a deuce of a time bringing them round. Does he expect us to go to the garage through this rain? We’d better hurry him up. Come on; you’ve got a good carrying voice.”
He caught the millionaire by the arm, hurried him through the outer hall, opened the big door of the chateau, and said: “Now shout!”
The millionaire looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and said: “You don’t beat about the bush when you want anything.”
“Why should I?” said the Duke simply. “Shout, my good chap—shout!”
The millionaire raised his voice in a terrific bellow of “Jean! Jean! Firmin! Firmin!”
There was no answer.
THE THEFT OF THE MOTOR-CARS
The night was very black; the rain pattered in their faces.
Again the millionaire bellowed: “Jean! Firmin! Firmin! Jean!”
No answer came out of the darkness, though his bellow echoed and re-echoed among the out-buildings and stables away on the left.
He turned and looked at the Duke and said uneasily, “What on earth can they be doing?”
“I can’t conceive,” said the Duke. “I suppose we must go and hunt them out.”
“What! in this darkness, with these burglars about?” said the millionaire, starting back.
“If we don’t, nobody else will,” said the Duke. “And all the time that rascal Lupin is stealing nearer and nearer your pictures. So buck up, and come along!”
He seized the reluctant millionaire by the arm and drew him down the steps. They took their way to the stables. A dim light shone from the open door of the motor-house. The Duke went into it first, and stopped short.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he cried,
Instead of three cars the motor-house held but one—the hundred horse-power Mercrac. It was a racing car, with only two seats. On them sat two figures, Jean and Firmin.
“What are you sitting there for? You idle dogs!” bellowed the millionaire.
Neither of the men answered, nor did they stir. The light from the lamp gleamed on their fixed eyes, which stared at their infuriated master.
“What on earth is this?” said the Duke; and seizing the lamp which stood beside the car, he raised it so that its light fell on the two figures. Then it was clear what had happened: they were trussed like two fowls, and gagged.
The Duke pulled a penknife from his pocket, opened the blade, stepped into the car and set Firmin free. Firmin coughed and spat and swore. The Duke cut the bonds of Jean.
“Well,” said the Duke, in a tone of cutting irony, “what new game is this? What have you been playing at?”
“It was those Charolais—those cursed Charolais!” growled Firmin.
“They came on us unawares from behind,” said Jean.
“They tied us up, and gagged us—the swine!” said Firmin.
“And then—they went off in the two cars,” said Jean.
“Went off in the two cars?” cried the millionaire, in blank stupefaction.
The Duke burst into a shout of laughter.
“Well, your dear friend Lupin doesn’t do things by halves,” he cried. “This is the funniest thing I ever heard of.”
“Funny!” howled the millionaire. “Funny! Where does the fun come in? What about my pictures and the coronet?”
The Duke laughed his laugh out; then changed on the instant to a man of action.
“Well, this means a change in our plans,” he said. “I must get to Paris in this car here.”
“It’s such a rotten old thing,” said the millionaire. “You’ll never do it.”
“Never mind,” said the Duke. “I’ve got to do it somehow. I daresay it’s better than you think. And after all, it’s only a matter of two hundred miles.” He paused, and then said in an anxious tone: “All the same I don’t like leaving you and Germaine in the chateau. These rogues have probably only taken the cars out of reach just to prevent your getting to Paris. They’ll leave them in some field and come back.”
“You’re not going to leave us behind. I wouldn’t spend the night in the chateau for a million francs. There’s always the train,” said the millionaire.
“The train! Twelve hours in the train—with all those changes! You don’t mean that you will actually go to Paris by train?” said the Duke.
“I do,” said the millionaire. “Come along—I must go and tell Germaine; there’s no time to waste,” and he hurried off to the chateau.
“Get the lamps lighted, Jean, and make sure that the tank’s full. As for the engine, I must humour it and trust to luck. I’ll get her to Paris somehow,” said the Duke.
He went back to the chateau, and Firmin followed him.
When the Duke came into the great hall he found Germaine and her father indulging in recriminations. She was declaring that nothing would induce her to make the journey by train; her father was declaring that she should. He bore down her opposition by the mere force of his magnificent voice.
When at last there came a silence, Sonia said quietly: “But is there a train? I know there’s a train at midnight; but is there one before?”
“A time-table—where’s a time-table?” said the millionaire.
“Now, where did I see a time-table?” said the Duke. “Oh, I know; there’s one in the drawer of that Oriental cabinet.” Crossing to the cabinet, he opened the drawer, took out the time-table, and handed it to M. Gournay-Martin.
The millionaire took it and turned over the leaves quickly, ran his eye down a page, and said, “Yes, thank goodness, there is a train. There’s one at a quarter to nine.”
“And what good is it to us? How are we to get to the station?” said Germaine.
They looked at one another blankly. Firmin, who had followed the Duke into the hall, came to the rescue.
“There’s the luggage-cart,” he said.
“The luggage-cart!” cried Germaine contemptuously.
“The very thing!” said the millionaire. “I’ll drive it myself. Off you go, Firmin; harness a horse to it.”
Firmin went clumping out of the hall.
It was perhaps as well that he went, for the Duke asked what time it was; and since the watches of Germaine and her father differed still, there ensued an altercation in which, had Firmin been there, he would doubtless have taken part.
The Duke cut it short by saying: “Well, I don’t think I’ll wait to see you start for the station. It won’t take you more than half an hour. The cart is light. You needn’t start yet. I’d better get off as soon as the car is ready. It isn’t as though I could trust it.”
“One moment,” said Germaine. “Is there a dining-car on the train? I’m
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