The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar

Each one expressed his own opinion of the affair; and, of course, their various theories were not only contradictory but impossible.

“And you, monsieur,” said the countess to the chevalier Floriani, “what is your opinion?”

“Oh! I—I have no opinion, madame.”

All the guests protested; for the chevalier had just related in an entertaining manner various adventures in which he had participated with his father, a magistrate at Palermo, and which established his judgment and taste in such manners.

“I confess,” said he, “I have sometimes succeeded in unraveling mysteries that the cleverest detectives have renounced; yet I do not claim to be Sherlock Holmes. Moreover, I know very little about the affair of the Queen’s Necklace.”

Everybody now turned to the count, who was thus obliged, quite unwillingly, to narrate all the circumstances connected with the theft. The chevalier listened, reflected, asked a few questions, and said:

“It is very strange.... at first sight, the problem appears to be a very simple one.”

The count shrugged his shoulders. The others drew closer to the chevalier, who continued, in a dogmatic tone:

“As a general rule, in order to find the author of a crime or a theft, it is necessary to determine how that crime or theft was committed, or, at least, how it could have been committed. In the present case, nothing is more simple, because we are face to face, not with several theories, but with one positive fact, that is to say: the thief could only enter by the chamber door or the window of the cabinet. Now, a person cannot open a bolted door from the outside. Therefore, he must have entered through the window.”

“But it was closed and fastened, and we found it fastened afterward,” declared the count.

“In order to do that,” continued Floriani, without heeding the interruption, “he had simply to construct a bridge, a plank or a ladder, between the balcony of the kitchen and the ledge of the window, and as the jewel-case–”

“But I repeat that the window was fastened,” exclaimed the count, impatiently.

This time, Floriani was obliged to reply. He did so with the greatest tranquility, as if the objection was the most insignificant affair in the world.

“I will admit that it was; but is there not a transom in the upper part of the window?”

“How do you know that?”

“In the first place, that was customary in houses of that date; and, in the second place, without such a transom, the theft cannot be explained.”

“Yes, there is one, but it was closed, the same as the window. Consequently, we did not pay attention to it.”

“That was a mistake; for, if you had examined it, you would have found that it had been opened.”

“But how?”

“I presume that, like all others, it opens by means of a wire with a ring on the lower end.”

“Yes, but I do not see–”

“Now, through a hole in the window, a person could, by the aid of some instrument, let us say a poker with a hook at the end, grip the ring, pull down, and open the transom.”

The count laughed and said:

“Excellent! excellent! Your scheme is very cleverly constructed, but you overlook one thing, monsieur, there is no hole in the window.”

“There was a hole.”

“Nonsense, we would have seen it.”

“In order to see it, you must look for it, and no one has looked. The hole is there; it must be there, at the side of the window, in the putty. In a vertical direction, of course.”

The count arose. He was greatly excited. He paced up and down the room, two or three times, in a nervous manner; then, approaching Floriani, said:

“Nobody has been in that room since; nothing has been changed.”

“Very well, monsieur, you can easily satisfy yourself that my explanation is correct.”

“It does not agree with the facts established by the examining judge. You have seen nothing, and yet you contradict all that we have seen and all that we know.”

Floriani paid no attention to the count’s petulance. He simply smiled and said:

“Mon Dieu, monsieur, I submit my theory; that is all. If I am mistaken, you can easily prove it.”

“I will do so at once....I confess that your assurance–”

The count muttered a few more words; then suddenly rushed to the door and passed out. Not a word was uttered in his absence; and this profound silence gave the situation an air of almost tragic importance. Finally, the count returned. He was pale and nervous. He said to his friends, in a trembling voice:

“I beg your pardon.... the revelations of the chevalier were so unexpected....I should never have thought....”

His wife questioned him, eagerly:

“Speak.... what is it?”

He stammered: “The hole is there, at the very spot, at the side of the window–”

He seized the chevalier’s arm, and said to him in an imperious tone:

“Now, monsieur, proceed. I admit that you are right so far, but now.... that is not all.... go on.... tell us the rest of it.”

Floriani disengaged his arm gently, and, after a moment, continued:

“Well, in my opinion, this is what happened. The thief, knowing that the countess was going to wear the necklace that evening, had prepared his gangway or bridge during your absence. He watched you through the window and saw you hide the necklace. Afterward, he cut the glass and pulled the ring.”

“Ah! but the distance was so great that it would be impossible for him to reach the window-fastening through the transom.”

“Well, then, if he could not open the window by reaching through the transom, he must have crawled through the transom.”

“Impossible; it is too small. No man could crawl through it.”

“Then it was not a man,” declared Floriani.

“What!”

“If the transom is too small to admit a man, it must have been a child.”

“A child!”