CHAPTER IV
THE VILLA B. IS BURGLED
“If there is one principle to which I always cling,” said Arsène Lupin to me, when, many years later, he told me the story of the girl with the green eyes, “it is never to attempt the solution of a problem before the proper hour for doing so has arrived. To get to the bottom of certain enigmas, you must wait till luck, or your own cleverness, has brought you a sufficient number of the actual facts. You must only advance along the road to the truth, with the greatest care, step by step, following the course of events.”
This reasoning applies to such an affair as this, in which there was nothing but contradictions, absurdities, isolated acts, apparently linked to one another by no connection of any kind; without a scrap of unity in it; without a directing thought; every one playing a lone hand. Never had Ralph felt so strongly how deeply he ought to distrust any kind of precipitousness in any adventure of this kind. Deductions, intuitions, analyses, explorations were just so many snares you must be careful not to fall into.
All day therefore he remained under the tarpaulin of the truck while the freight train rolled southwards through sunny landscapes. He dreamed pleasantly, [[77]]eating the apples to appease his hunger, without wasting his time on building fragile hypotheses about the pretty girl, about her crimes and her dark soul. He enjoyed the pleasure of the memory of her lips, the tenderest and most exquisite lips he had ever kissed. That was the unique fact which he chose to bear in mind. To avenge the English girl and punish the guilty one, to catch the third murderer and regain possession of his stolen notes would undoubtedly have been interesting; but to find again the green eyes and the lips which yielded to his, what a joy!
The examination of the red leather wallet did not give him much information. There was a list of names and addresses, of confederates doubtless, some letters from associates in different parts of Europe. They were written with a certain discretion, though a more careful person would have destroyed one or two of them; but in view of what Marescal had told him, they proved beyond doubt that Miss Bakersfield was indeed a thief. Among them were letters from Lord Bakersfield full of a father’s frank affection. But there was nothing which gave a clue to the part played by the girl in this affair of the express, nothing which showed any connection between the adventure in which the English girl was engaged and the crime of the three train-robbers; that is to say between Miss Bakersfield and the murderess with the green eyes.
A single document, the document of which Marescal [[78]]had spoken, the letter addressed to the English girl touching the matter of burgling Villa B., was of real value. It ran:
“You will find Villa B. on the right hand side of the road from Nice to Cimiez, just above the Roman arena. It’s a massive building in a large, walled garden.
“On the fourth Wednesday in every month the old Comte de B. settles himself on the back seat of his carriage and goes down to Nice with his man, his two maids, and some baskets for provisions. Therefore the house is empty from three o’clock till five.
“Go round the garden walls to the wall which looks down upon the valley of Paillon. You will come to a small, worm-eaten, wooden door, of which I send you the key by the same messenger.
“It is certain that the Comte de B. who has quarrelled with his wife, has not found the packet of deeds which she hid. But a letter written by the dead lady to a friend, speaks of a broken violin case which is lying in a kind of little tower used as a lumber room. Why this allusion which seems to mean nothing? The friend died on the very day on which she received the letter, which was mislaid and only fell into my hands two years later.
“Enclosed herein is the plan of the house and garden. The turret is situated at the top of the staircase and is in a tumble-down condition. Two persons are necessary for the expedition, one to keep watch, for you have to look out for the laundress, who often comes by another garden door fastened by a padlock of which she has the key. [[79]]
“Fix the date (a note in blue pencil on the margin fixes it as the 28th of April) and let me know that we may meet at the same hotel.
G.
“P.S. My information with regard to the great enigma of which I spoke to you is still uncommonly vague. Is it a matter of a considerable treasure, or of a scientific secret? I do not yet know. The journey for which I am getting ready will therefore settle the matter. How useful your help will be then!”
For the time being Ralph paid little attention to this somewhat strange postscript. He saw in it, according to a phrase he affected, one of those jungles into which one can only penetrate by means of dangerous suppositions. But the burgling of Villa B.——
This burglary little by little excited his keen interest. He considered it at length. A kickshaw perhaps; but there are kickshaws as nourishing as a substantial dish. And since he was rolling towards the South, it would be rather foolish to neglect such a good opportunity. That night he slipped out of his truck at the railway station at Marseilles and took an ordinary train to Nice, where he arrived on the morning of Wednesday the 28th of April, after having relieved a good gentleman of some bank notes, which permitted him to buy a suit-case, clothes, and linen, and to establish himself in one of the best hotels on the front.