Public-domain ebook
Language: en5,768 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Short Stories·Crime, Thrillers and Mystery·Adventure
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #28093.
The work is an adventure tale that places the legendary gentleman thief Arsène Lupin at a relatively early stage of his career, before the grand heists of The Hollow Needle and 813. The narrative opens with a brisk, almost theatrical exchange between Lupin and an unnamed confidant, who challenges the master criminal to reveal the “confessions” of his deeds. Their banter quickly shifts to a puzzling game of numbers and letters, a light‑hearted cipher that transforms sunlight flashes into a cryptic message. This episode leads the pair from a cramped drawing‑room to a shadowy Parisian flat, where Lupin discovers a murdered man and begins to untangle a web of theft, betrayal, and a vanished baroness. The plot thus weaves together a clever code‑breaking exercise, a quick‑draw investigation, and the characteristic blend of daring burglary and moral ambiguity that defines Lupin’s world.
The prose reflects Maurice Leblanc’s turn‑of‑the‑century French popular fiction, rendered in a brisk, witty style that balances elaborate description with rapid dialogue. The narrator’s voice is conversational, often addressing the reader directly, while Lupin’s own speech is laced with sarcasm and flamboyance, evoking the era’s fascination with charismatic anti‑heroes. Readers who enjoy clever puzzles, atmospheric Parisian settings, and a protagonist who is as much a charming rogue as a detective will find this opening especially engaging. The novel’s blend of mystery, humor, and a touch of romance makes it a satisfying entry point for fans of classic adventure literature.
The opening · free to read
Was he mad? I looked at him hard and, presently, I saw that his eyes were no longer listless, as they had been a little before, but keen and attentive and that they seemed to be watching, somewhere, in space, a sight that apparently captivated them.
Meanwhile, he dictated, with intervals between each number:
"18, 9, 19, 11, 19 ..."
There was hardly anything to be seen through the window but a patch of blue sky on the right and the front of the building opposite, an old private house, whose shutters were closed as usual. There was nothing particular about all this, no detail that struck me as new among those which I had had before my eyes for years....
"1, 2...."
And suddenly I understood ... or rather I thought I understood, for how could I admit that Lupin, a man so essentially level-headed under his mask of frivolity, could waste his time upon such childish nonsense? What he was counting was the intermittent flashes of a ray of sunlight playing on the dingy front of the opposite house, at the height of the second floor!
"15, 22 ..." said Lupin.
The flash disappeared for a few seconds and then struck the house again, successively, at regular intervals, and disappeared once more.
I had instinctively counted the flashes and I said, aloud:
"5...."
"Caught the idea? I congratulate you!" he replied, sarcastically.
He went to the window and leant out, as though to discover the exact direction followed by the ray of light. Then he came and lay on the sofa again, saying:
"It's your turn now. Count away!"
The fellow seemed so positive that I did as he told me. Besides, I could not help confessing that there was something rather curious about the ordered frequency of those gleams on the front of the house opposite, those appearances and disappearances, turn and turn about, like so many flash signals.
They obviously came from a house on our side of the street, for the sun was entering my windows slantwise. It was as though some one were alternately opening and shutting a casement, or, more likely, amusing himself by making sunlight flashes with a pocket-mirror.
"It's a child having a game!" I cried, after a moment or two, feeling a little irritated by the trivial occupation that had been thrust upon me.
"Never mind, go on!"
And I counted away.... And I put down rows of figures.... And the sun continued to play in front of me, with mathematical precision.
"Well?" said Lupin, after a longer pause than usual.
"Why, it seems finished.... There has been nothing for some minutes...."
We waited and, as no more light flashed through space, I said, jestingly:
"My idea is that we have been wasting our time. A few figures on paper: a poor result!"
Lupin, without stirring from his sofa, rejoined:
"Oblige me, old chap, by putting in the place of each of those numbers the corresponding letter of the alphabet. Count A as 1, B as 2 and so on. Do you follow me?"
"But it's idiotic!"
"Absolutely idiotic, but we do such a lot of idiotic things in this life.... One more or less, you know!..."
I sat down to this silly work and wrote out the first letters:
"_Take no...._"
And I went on and the next letters formed two more words, which I separated as they appeared. And, to my great amazement, a complete English sentence lay before my eyes.
"Done?" asked Lupin, after a time.
"Done!... By the way, there are mistakes in the spelling...."
"Never mind those and read it out, please.... Read slowly."
Thereupon I read out the following unfinished communication, which I will set down as it appeared on the paper in front of me:
"_Take no unnecessery risks. Above all, avoid atacks, approach ennemy with great prudance and...._"
"And there you are! Fiat lux! We're simply dazed with light! But, after all, Lupin, confess that this advice, dribbled out by a kitchen-maid, doesn't help you much!"
Lupin rose, without breaking his contemptuous silence, and took the sheet of paper.
I remembered soon after that, at this moment, I happened to look at the clock. It was eighteen minutes past five.
Lupin was standing with the paper in his hand; and I was able at my ease to watch, on his youthful features, that extraordinary mobility of expression which baffles all observers and constitutes his great strength and his chief safeguard. By what signs can one hope to identify a face which changes at pleasure, even without the help of make-up, and whose every transient expression seems to be the final, definite expression?... By what signs? There was one which I knew well, an invariable sign: Two little crossed wrinkles that marked his forehead whenever he made a powerful effort of concentration. And I saw it at that moment, saw the tiny tell-tale cross, plainly and deeply scored.
He put down the sheet of paper and muttered:
"Child's play!"
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