The Hollow Needle Maurice Leblanc (good short books .txt) đ
- Author: Maurice Leblanc
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At that moment Beautrelet, was interrupted by BrĂ©doux, the magistrateâs clerk, who opened the door and announced the unexpected arrival of the chief public prosecutor. M. Filleul rose:
âAnything new? Is Monsieur le Procureur GĂ©nĂ©ral downstairs?â
âNo, Monsieur le Juge dâInstruction. Monsieur le Procureur GĂ©nĂ©ral has not left his carriage. He is only passing through AmbrumĂ©sy and begs you to be good enough to go down to him at the gate. He only has a word to say to you.â
âThatâs curious,â muttered M. Filleul. âHoweverâ âwe shall see. Excuse me, Beautrelet, I shanât be long.â
He went away. His footsteps sounded outside. Then the clerk closed the door, turned the key and put it in his pocket.
âHullo!â exclaimed Beautrelet, greatly surprised. âWhat are you locking us in for?â
âWe shall be able to talk so much better,â retorted BrĂ©doux.
Beautrelet rushed toward another door, which led to the next room. He had understood: the accomplice was Brédoux, the clerk of the examining magistrate himself. Brédoux grinned:
âDonât hurt your fingers, my young friend. I have the key of that door, too.â
âThereâs the window!â cried Beautrelet.
âToo late,â said BrĂ©doux, planting himself in front of the casement, revolver in hand.
Every chance of retreat was cut off. There was nothing more for Isidore to do, nothing except to defend himself against the enemy who was revealing himself with such brutal daring. He crossed his arms.
âGood,â mumbled the clerk. âAnd now let us waste no time.â He took out his watch. âOur worthy M. Filleul will walk down to the gate. At the gate, he will find nobody, of course: no more public prosecutor than my eye. Then he will come back. That gives us about four minutes. It will take me one minute to escape by this window, clear through the little door by the ruins and jump on the motor cycle waiting for me. That leaves three minutes, which is just enough.â
BrĂ©doux was a queer sort of misshapen creature, who balanced on a pair of very long spindlelegs a huge trunk, as round as the body of a spider and furnished with immense arms. A bony face and a low, small stubborn forehead pointed to the manâs narrow obstinacy.
Beautrelet felt a weakness in the legs and staggered. He had to sit down:
âSpeak,â he said. âWhat do you want?â
âThe paper. Iâve been looking for it for three days.â
âI havenât got it.â
âYouâre lying. I saw you put it back in your pocketbook when I came in.â
âNext?â
âNext, you must undertake to keep quite quiet. Youâre annoying us. Leave us alone and mind your own business. Our patience is at an end.â
He had come nearer, with the revolver still aimed at the young manâs head, and spoke in a hollow voice, with a powerful stress on each syllable that he uttered. His eyes were hard, his smile cruel.
Beautrelet gave a shudder. It was the first time that he was experiencing the sense of danger. And such danger! He felt himself in the presence of an implacable enemy, endowed with blind and irresistible strength.
âAnd next?â he asked, with less assurance in his voice.
âNext? Nothing.â âYou will be free.â âWe will forgetâ ââ
There was a pause. Then Brédoux resumed:
âThere is only a minute left. You must make up your mind. Come, old chap, donât be a fool.â âWe are the stronger, you know, always and everywhere.â âQuick, the paperâ ââ
Isidore did not flinch. With a livid and terrified face, he remained master of himself, nevertheless, and his brain remained clear amid the breakdown of his nerves. The little black hole of the revolver was pointing at six inches from his eyes. The finger was bent and obviously pressing on the trigger. It only wanted a momentâ â
âThe paper,â repeated BrĂ©doux. âIf notâ ââ
âHere it is,â said Beautrelet.
He took out his pocketbook and handed it to the clerk, who seized it eagerly.
âCapital! Weâve come to our senses. Iâve no doubt thereâs something to be done with you.â âYouâre troublesome, but full of common sense. Iâll talk about it to my pals. And now Iâm off. Goodbye!â
He pocketed his revolver and turned back the fastening of the window. There was a noise in the passage.
âGoodbye,â he said again. âIâm only just in time.â
But the idea stopped him. With a quick movement, he examined the pocketbook:
âDamn and blast it!â He grated through his teeth. âThe paperâs not there.â âYouâve done meâ ââ
He leaped into the room. Two shots rang out. Isidore, in his turn, had seized his pistol and fired.
âMissed, old chap!â shouted BrĂ©doux. âYour handâs shaking.â âYouâre afraidâ ââ
They caught each other round the body and came down to the floor together. There was a violent and incessant knocking at the door. Isidoreâs strength gave way and he was at once over come by his adversary. It was the end. A hand was lifted over him, armed with a knife, and fell. A fierce pain burst into his shoulder. He let go.
He had an impression of someone fumbling in the inside pocket of his jacket and taking the paper from it. Then, through the lowered veil of his eyelids, he half saw the man stepping over the windowsill.
The same newspapers which, on the following morning, related the last episodes that had occurred at the ChĂąteau dâAmbrumĂ©syâ âthe trickery at the chapel, the discovery of ArsĂšne Lupinâs body and of Raymondeâs body and, lastly, the murderous attempt made upon Beautrelet by the clerk to the examining magistrateâ âalso announced two further pieces of news: the disappearance of Ganimard, and the kidnapping of Holmlock Shears, in broad daylight, in the heart of London, at the moment when he was about to take the train for Dover.
Lupinâs gang, therefore, which had been disorganized for a moment by the extraordinary ingenuity of a seventeen-year-old schoolboy, was now resuming the offensive and was winning all along the line from the first. Lupinâs two great adversaries, Shears and Ganimard, were put away. Isidore Beautrelet was disabled. The police were powerless. For the moment there was no one left
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