#The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin

[rjalker]

The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin, is now available in English, transcribed into text from a single PDF scan of the story from Popular Magazine #81, v6.

This is, as far as I am aware, the only version of this story available in English besides the original PDF. You're welcome.

Links:

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Buy a physical copy from Lulu.com

@walks-the-ages, @internet--archive (thought you might like to be tagged, lol)

You can also read this short story under the read-more right here on tumblr. It is 9,051 words long, not including the title.

Summary, by me:

A crime so terrible it barely bears thinking about has been brought to the attention of cabinet minister Jean Rouxval, and he has taken it upon himself to bring those responsible for this horrible deed to justice.

But his plans to go it alone are brought up short when a detective by the name of Hercules Petitgris is assigned to assist him. Despite his poor appearance, detective Petitgris comes highly recommended. The suspects arrive, and Rouxval begins his interrogation, the proceedings watched over by the silent Petitgris as Rouxval takes the lead, driven by anger over the crime he has discovered. Little does he know that Petitgris got the case all worked out as soon as Rouxval started talking...

(Archived read-more link)

[read-more link was here]

The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin

Written by Maurice Leblanc,

“author of “The Hollow Needle,” “813,” “A Gentleman,” Ect.”

[Image description start: A black and white illustration with a black border, showing four characters. One is a man sitting at a desk, in a suit and tie, gesturing with one hand, while another man stands in front of the desk with his back to the viewer, one hand on his hip. Then a man and woman looking worried, the man with his hat off and hanging by his side, his other hand held out as he speaks, the woman with one hand to her face, the other clutching her chest. Image description end.]

Hands behind his back, head sunk deep in the collar of his coat, his harsh countenance contracted in deep thought, Jean Rouxval nervously paced up and down the length of his vast study. At the threshold the chief page, detailed to the service of of cabinet officers, awaited orders. The minister betrayed by his short, quick steps, his drawn brow, his agitation, that he was shaken by emotion which assail a strong man seldom, and only at crucial moment of his life.

Stopping suddenly, he said to the page in a determined voice:

“A lady and a gentleman, no longer very young, will arrive presently. You will ask them to wait in the drawing-room. Shortly after I expect a gentleman, younger and alone. You will conduct him to the yellow room. They are neither to speak nor to see each other. You understand? I am to be notified at once of their arrival.”

“Very well, sir,” said the page, and withdrew.

Jean Rouxval’s political ability lay mainly in his tremendous energy, his attention to detail and a determination to know a bit about everything, whether it concerned his department or not.

Having enlisted almost at once in 1914 to avenge his two sons – both of whom had seemingly vanished from the field of battle – and the subsequent death of his wife, the war had given him an excessive sense of the value of discipline, authority, and duty. Affairs in which he was concerned always discovered him ready to undertake the most serious responsibilities and consequently found him assuming the greatest amount of power. He won the esteem of his colleagues, but they were also a bit wary lest the exaggeration of his good qualities might not drag the cabinet into needless complications.

He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to give. He still had time to glance over the record of the frightful case which had caused him so much anxiety. Just then, however, he was interrupted by the telephone. He seized the receiver; the president of the council wished to speak to him.

He waited what seemed an endless time. Finally the president himself spoke. Answering, he said:

“Yes, Rouxval speaking, Mr. President.” He listened, seemed annoyed, and then replied in a bitter voice:

“Certainly, Mr. President, I shall receive the detective you are sending. But don’t you think I could have obtained the necessary information? Well, of course, if you insist, my dear president, and if this Hercules Petitgris is, according to you, a specialist in criminal investigation, he can attend the meeting I have arranged … Hello! … Hello! … Yes …. What? … My dear president. … This Petitgris may be… Really! Is it possible? Ah! Well, merely a supposition … That is-- Petitgris has all the perspicacity usually attributed to Arsène Lupin. … Yes, sir...Perfectly. … I shall wait for him. Hello! … You are quite right, my dear Mr. President. … The case is very serious, especially since certain rumors have already begun to be circulated. … If I do not arrive at an immediate solution, and if the truth of the matter is at all what we fear, it will be a frightful scandal and a disaster for the country. … Hello! … Yes, yes, rest easy, my dear Mr. President, I shall do the impossible to succeed. I will succeed. … I must succeed.”

After a few more words, Rouxval hung up, muttering between clenched teeth:

“I must! I must! What a scandal!” He was considering the various paths which might lead him to a successful solution, when he gradually became aware that some one was near him, some one who was not seeking to be noticed.

He turned his head and was dumbfounded by what he saw. All but next to him stood a shabby, wretched-looking individual, a poor devil, one might say, holding his hat in his hand in the humble attitude of a beggar asking alms.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“By the door, sir. The chief page was busy parking people right and left, so I beat it straight in.”

“But who are you?”

The stranger bowed respectfully and introduced himself:

“Hercules Petitgris – the specialist whom the president of the council just recommended to you, sir—”

“Oh, then you were listening?” Rouxval broke in peevishly.

“What would you have done in my place, sir?”

He was a sickly looking, pitiful object, sad-faced – his hair, mustache, his pinched nose, his thin cheeks, the corners of his mouth, all drooped pathetically.

His arms hung wearily in a long, greenish overcoat which seemed about to slip from his shoulders. He spoke in a disconsolate voice, not without care, but accenting certain words in a manner peculiar to the common people.

“I even heard you speak of me as a detective, Mr. Minister,” he continued. “Wrong, all wrong! I am not even on the police force. I was dismissed from headquarters for ‘weak character, drunkenness and laziness.’ Those were the terms of discharge.”

Rouxval was unable to conceal his amazement.

“I don’t understand. The president of the council has recommended you as a man with a disconcerting ability to diagnose clearly and correctly.”

“Disconcerting, Mr. Minister, is the right word. There are people who even believe I am Arsène Lupin, as the president was telling you. That is why some gentlemen consent to my services, in cases where no one has succeeded or could succeed, without looking too closely at my record or my character. Sure they say I am conceited and insolent to my employers. And then what? When one of my employers puts his foot in it and I see the point right off, haven’t I the right to tell him, have a little laugh on the side? On the level, Mr. Minister, I have turned down money more than once just to be able to bust right out laughing. They are funny! You ought to see the faces on them.”

In that melancholy face, under the drooping mustache, the left side of his mouth curled up in a little, silent sneer, uncovering a huge tooth – the tooth of a wild beast. It gave him a look of sardonic joy for a moment. With a tooth like that the possessor would bite, and bite deeply.

The minister was not afraid of being bitten, but the stranger certainly did not appeal to him, and if the president of the council had not so insistently recommended him, Rouxval would have gotten rid of him promptly.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly. “I am about to question three people and have them face each other in my presence. In case you have any remarks to make, you will make them to me directly.”

“To you directly, Mr. Minister, and in a whisper, as I always do when I always see my chief putting his foot in it.”

Rouxval frowned. In the first place, he hated people who did not know their place – like many men of action, he was very sensitive and keenly feared ridicule. Concerning his efforts the phrase “putting his foot in it” seemed particularly outrageous and almost an intentional menace. But he had already rung; the page entered. Without further delay Rouxval ordered the there people brought to him.

Hercules Petitgris took off his worn, green overcoat, folded it carefully and sat down.

The lady and gentleman were the first to enter. They were evidently aristocrats, and both in deep mourning; she, still young, tall and very beautiful, with a lovely face, pale and austere, framed in graying hair; he, slightly shorter, slim, elegant, his mustache almost white.

Jean Rouxval addressed him:

“The Count de Bois-Vernay, I believe?”

“Yes, sir. My wife and I received your summons, which I confess, startled us a bit. But may we hope it has no ominous portent? My wife is not very strong.”

He looked toward her with affectionate solicitude. Rouxval asked them to be seated and answered:

“I am sure everything will be suitably arranged and that Madame de Bois-Vernay will excuse the slight inconvenience I have caused her.”

The door opened. A man between twenty-five and thirty entered. He was of more modest mien, not very carefully dressed; his countenance, though frank and kindly, gave evidences of dissipation and weariness, confusing one’s estimate of his fair, broad-shouldered young man.

“You are Maxime Leriot?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“You do not know this lady and gentleman?”

“No, sir,” answered the newcomer, looking straight at the count and countess.

“No, we do not know this gentleman, either,” said the count in answer to a question of Rouxval’s.

The minister smiled. “I regret that this interview should begin with a statement which I am forced to disbelieve. But that little error will right itself at the proper time. Without haste and without undue delay over nonessentials, let us begin at the beginning.”

He opened the records on the table, turned to Maxine Leriot and in a slightly hostile tone said:

“We shall begin with you, sir. You were born in Dollincourt, Maine-et-Loire. Your father was a hard-working peasant who starved himself to give you a suitable education. The mobilization of 1914 found you a private in the infantry. Four years later you were an adjutant, with the croix de guerre and five citations for bravery. After the war you reenlisted. Toward the end of 1920 you were in Verdun. Your papers gave you credit for ‘ability as an officer.’

“But, about the middle of November, in the same year, came a bolt from the blue. One night in a third-rate dance hall, after opening ten bottles of champagne, you lost your head in a senseless brawl. You were arrested. You were taken to the post. You were searched. On you were found one hundred thousand francs. Where did you get that amount of money? You were never able to explain.”

Maxine Leriot protested:

“I beg your pardon, sir, I said that I had received the money from a person who wished to remain anonymous.”

“A worthless explanation!” said the minister. “Nevertheless, an inquiry was instituted by the military authorities. It came to nothing. Six months later, after obtaining your discharge from the service, you were again the center of another scandal,. This time your bill fold contained forty thousand francs in war bonds. And concerning these, too – silence and mystery. And again no explanation as to your means of livelihood or any reason for the dissipated existence you were leading. No position, no resources to speak of, yet money flowed through your fingers as if they supply were endless.

“The special detectives assigned to your case at the time could discover nothing, and you continued from bad to worse. Chance only, or a misstep on your part, could undo you. And that is what happened. One day, beneath the Arc de Triomphe, a man approached a woman who came there each day to pray, and said in a low voice, ‘I expect your husband’s letter to-morrow. Warn him – otherwise—‘

“The man’s attitude was surly, his tone snarling and menacing. The lady was frightened and quickly sought her motor. Must I specify that one of these persons was you, Maxime Leriot, and the other the Countess de Bois-Vernay, and only a moment ago you pretended not to know each other?”

Rouxval abruptly held up his hand. “I beg of you, sir,” he said to the count, who was about to interrupt, “do not try to deny the evidence. The episode occurred near me, for I also go regularly to the sacred tomb each week to pray for my sons. It was I who overheard the whispered threat; and it was for my own enlightenment, without knowing any of the facts which I have just related to you, that I undertook to discover who the man was, and the identity of his victim, in this too-apparently blackmailing scheme.”

The count said nothing. His wife did not stir. In his corner Hercules Petitgris nodded his head and seemed to approve the conduct of the investigation. Jean Rouxval, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, felt reassured. The tooth was not to be seen; therefore all was well. Rouxval continued, forging additional links in his chain of evidence.

“From the moment when circumstances placed the direction of this affair in my hands, it took quite a different turn, perhaps because I saw it in one light rather than another. Instead of Maxime Leriot, the man of to-day, I immediately saw the soldier of yesterday. His past interested me more than his present. Instantly, the moment I glanced at his record, two things struck me forcibly – a name and a date: Maxime Leriot was in Verdun, and he was there in the month of November, 1920 – that is, at the time when the anniversary of the armistice was to be celebrated and when most the solemn of ceremonies was about to take place.

“I went there and directed and inquiry on the spot, which proved neither very long nor difficult. His former battalion chief, whom I questioned, showed me an old order of that date over his signature, which also struck me forcibly. It seemed the key to the situation. The leader of one of the eight funeral cars, brought from eight different points along the great field of battle and bearing the bodies of eight nameless heroes, one of which was to be the Unknown Soldier-- this leader was none other than Adjutant Leriot himself.”

Jean Rouxval struck the desk with his fists, straining every muscle in his anger. Then in a muffled voice, deliberately emphasizing every word, he said:

“You, Maxime Leriot, were in the gallery of the fort where this historic ceremony took place; you were one of the guard of honor. Your heroism, your fame in military annals, caused you to be among those chosen for a part in this ceremony, amid the tricolor flags of your country and the trophies of victory in the great mortuary chapel. You – you were there—”

Overcome by emotion, Rouxval was forced to interrupt his vehement denunciation. It was necessary, moreover, to state facts more accurately and with less passion if the purport of his secret thought was to be clearly understood. Hercules Petitgris continued to nod his head approvingly, which only served to fan the flame of the minister’s ardor.

The former adjutant did not utter a sound. Like troops piercing an enemy line came Rouxval’s accusations. Hesitant, then stronger and stronger, and with greater force they had overwhelmed the foe before he could recover himself. The count listened and looked anxiously at his wife.

“Until this point in my investigation, I have only vague forebodings, no definite suspicions, no clews to lead me. I dared not understand. It was in this spirit, terrified, aghast, that I sought proofs of what I feared to know. These proofs were irrefutable. To begin: On All Saint’s Day, again the third of November, the fourth and the fifth, Adjutant Leriot, whose daily life I succeeded in reconstructing exactly, went, as soon as darkness had fallen, to an isolated inn.

“there he met a lady and gentleman with whom he remained in conference until dinner time. This lady and gentleman came to the inn in an automobile from a near-by city where they stayed at a certain hotel, the name of which I secured. I then went to this hotel and asked to see the register. From the first to the eleventh of November, 1920, two guests had been there – the Count and Countess de Bois-Vernay.”

A silence; the pallor of the countess deepened; Rouxval drew from the records two sheets of paper which he unfolded.

“Here are two birth certificates. The one of Maxime Leriot, born in Dolincourt, Maine-et-Loire, in 1895. That is yours, Maxime Leriot. The other, Julian de Bois-Vernay, born in Dolincourt, Maine-et-Loire, in 1895. That is your son’s, Monsieur de Bois-Vernay. Therefore, we may say, the same birthplace, the same age – two facts granted. Here is a letter from the mayor of Dolincourt. The two young men had had the same nurse. In youth they continued the friendship of their childhood. They enlisted at the same time. Again uncontestable facts.”

Rouxval went on reading from the documents as fast as he turned the pages.

“Here is the death certificate of Julian de Bois-Vernay; died in 1916 at Verdun. Here is a copy of the burial permit for the cemetery of Douaumont. Here is an extract of the report of Adjutant Leriot, who ‘brought back from a trench running along the road to Fleury-à-Bras and near an old surgical service station, the remains, in good condition, of an unknown infantryman.’

“Finally, here is a relief map of the whole scene of action. The old service station is here, about five hundred meters from the cemetery where Julian de Bois-Vernay lay buried. I went from one to the other. I had that tomb opened – it is empty! What has become of the coffin of Julian de Bois-Vernay? Who removed it from the cemetery of Douaumont, if not you, Maxime Leriot? You, his friend, and the friend of the Count and Countess de Bois-Vernay!”

Each sentence Rouxval uttered lent force to the final charge which the accumulated evidence imposed. The enemy was surrounded by undeniable arguments. There remained nothing but submission.

Rouxval, coming closer to Leriot and looking at him squarely, continued:

“This sinister venture is written on the pages of an open book. We know that the coffin of your foster brother was first taken from Douaumont, where he had been buried in an ordinary grave, to the trench where you were sent to secure the body of an unidentified combatant. We know that you took it there, and we know that it was this coffin which you brought to the fort at Verdun. In this we agree, I am sure. And the sequel – the choice, the supreme hour among the eight unknown—”

Again Rouxval could not go on. He mopped the sweat from his brow and tried to regain his composure. In a few moments he managed to continue in the same muffled and anguished voice:

“I hardly dare paint that scene. The slighted doubt in that direction is blasphemy. And yet, is this not rather a certainty than a doubt? Ah, what a frightful imposture! How did you ever succeed in your infamous plan? Answer—answer me!”

Jean Rouxval questioned, but it seemed as if he were afraid to hear the answer. His voice did not carry the authority which brings confession. A long silence ensued, fraught with uneasiness and anxiety. Madame de Bois-Vernay breathed the salts her husband gave her. She seemed very weak and on the verge of fainting. Maxime Leriot turned to the count, mutely asking his help. The count looked toward his wife, afraid to begin a dangerous struggle, asking himself upon what ground he would stand.

Then the count arose and said:

“Mr. Rouxval, because you have so shaped this interview, we there sit here facing you as if we were guilty. Before defending ourselves against an accusation, the meaning of which we do not yet clearly understand, we should like to know by what right you question us and by what right you demand our answers.”

“By the right, sir,” answered Rouxval, “of my great desire to suppress infamy, which, if it became public property, would injure my country inestimably.”

“If the affair is such as you have outlined it, Mr. Minister, there is no reason to believe it will become known to the public.”

“You are wrong, sir. Under the influence of alcohol, Maxime Leriot has talked. What he said was not understood, but various interpretations and rumors have been circulated—”

“False rumors, Mr. Minister,” broke in De Bois-Vernay.

“That makes no difference. They must be stopped.”

“How?”

“Maxime Leriot must leave France. A position will be found for him in southern Algeria. You will, I am sure, furnish him with the necessary funds.”

“And ourselves, Mr. Minister?”

“You will also leave – both you and madame. Far from France, you will be safe from further blackmail.”

“Exile, then?”

“Yes, for a few years.”

The count again turned to his wife.

Notwithstanding her pallor and frailty, she conveyed an impression of vitality and obstinate determination. She leaned forward and said firmly:

“Not a day, sir! Not for an hour will I leave Paris.”

“And why not, madame?”

“Because my son is there. In the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”

Those few words, that explicit, frightful avowal, seemed to drop into a pit of silence, which echoed and re-echoed, syllable by syllable,a message of death and sorrow. In Madame de Bois-Vernay’s attitude there was more than an expression of an unconquerable will – there was a defiance and the calm acceptance of a challenge which she did not seem to fear. Nothing could change the fact that her son lay under the Arc de Triomphe, and no power on earth could trouble his last sleep in that tomb of glory.

Rouxval held his head in his hands, desperate. Until that moment he had been able to keep, in the face of all evidence, some illusion of an impossible justification. The confession took the ground from under his feet.

“It is really true!” he murmured brokenly, “I did not really believe – I could not admit it even to myself – it is beyond all reason!”

Monsieur de Bois-Vernay, standing between the countess and Rouxval, begged her to sit down. She pushed him aside, ready for the struggle, determined and defiant.

Only two adversaries now faced each other, implacable enemies, with the count and Maxime Leriot mere accessories.

Scenes of such extreme nervous tension must necessarily be of short duration, when from the first each one throws every ounce of power into the grueling struggle. What further enhanced the tragedy of this duel was the calm, the intense quiet with which it was waged. Not a loud tone, no apparent anger, simple words, radiating emotion. Simple sentences, no oratory, revealing the depth of Rouxval’s amazement and horror.

“How dared you? How do you continue to live, knowing what you do? I, myself, would have borne any agony rather than permit such a deed for one of my sons. It would seem to me I had brought him ill luck in his last sleep. Given him a tomb which was not rightfully his! Diverted to him the prayers, the tears, all the holy thoughts which flow over a loved one, dead! What an abomination! Can’t you see that?”

He glared at her, opposite him, tense and white, and continued more aggressively:

“There are hundreds – no, thousands! -- of mothers and wives who may believe that their son, their husband lies there. These bereaved women, as sorely smitten as you, with the same rights to seek consolation there – these women have been betrayed, pilfered, robbed – yes, robbed and vilely robbed!”

The countess shrank under these insults, this contempt. She had surely never paused a moment to consider her course of action in itself; certainly she had never weighed its ethical values. She had reacted impulsively, moved by the bitter suffering of a mother seeking to regain a small part of the son so cruelly torn from her; for the rest – nothing mattered.

Murmuring, almost in a dream, she answered:

“He did not rob any one. He is the Unknown Soldier. He is there in the place of the others; he represents them all—”

Rouxval seized her arm. Her words exasperated him. He thought of his own lost ones, whose remains he had almost found again that day of solemn burial and consecration. Now they had vanished once more in a fathomless abyss. Where now could one pray? Where find the dear ones, gone forever?

But the countess smiled, her face transformed by the happiness which fairly irradiated her whole being.

“It was circumstance which caused him to be chosen among all the others,” she said. “What I did, alone, would not have sufficed, if there had not been a greater will than mine in his favor. Chance might have assigned the honor to some soldier who did not deserve it, either in his life or in his death. My son was worthy of the reward.”

“All were worthy!” protested Rouxval vehemently. “Even if during his life he had been the most obscure, the most odious of men, the soldier chosen by destiny became, in that instant, the equal of the greatest!”

She shook her head. Her eyes gleamed with a contemptuous pride. Before her rose the ghosts of a hundred proud ancestors and the heroic dead of her country acclaiming her son the chosen one, born for glory.

“This has happened for the best, sir,” she said. “Believe in me and rest assured that I have stolen no tears, no prayers. Every mother who kneels there and weeps, prays for her dead son. Does it really matter if it is my son, if she does not know it?”

“But I know it,” said Rouxval, “and they may find it out! And then what? Can you imagine what will happen – the anger, the hate, the wild scenes of unbridled fury? No crime in the would would arouse such indignation! Can’t I make you understand?”

Little by little he was losing control of himself. He despised this woman. Her exile seemed more and more the only solution which could avert a calamity and at the same time appease his own pain.

Without any attempt to spare her, he said roughly:

“You must go, madame. Your presence at that grave is an outrage to every other woman. Go, and go now!”

“No, I will not,” she said.

“You will; you must! With you out of the country, their wrongs will be partially righted; the soldier there will once more become the Unknown Soldier.”

“No, no, no! What you ask is impossible. I could not live away from him. If I had to continue to live, it is only because he is there, because I can see him each day, speak to him, and hear him speak to me. Oh, you cannot understand how I feel when I stand there in the crowd! They come from every corner of France, bringing their offerings of flowers, of tears, of prayers. There are moments when I am so overwhelmed by a wave of happiness and pride that I almost forget he is dead. I see my son alive – alive and standing beneath that arch, smiling at me as I kneel before him. And you dare ask me to give up all of that! It is madness. It would be like killing my beloved child a second time!”

Rouxval clenched his hands, to restrain himself from killing this ungovernable woman. He knew now that she was stronger than he was. Driven to desperation, he threatened:

“You force me to the worst. If you do not go – I swear – I swear that I will denounce you! I will unmask you to the whole world rather than permit this ghastly imposture to continue --”

She laughed mockingly.

“Denounce me? Is it possible? You will denounce me and inform the world about this imposture which causes even you to tremble?”

“Nothing, nothing can stop me!” he cried. “I shall do my duty even if it kills me. Your trickery has made life intolerable. If you do not go, madame, he shall go – the body of your son shall be --”

She quivered, stricken by the brutal words. The frightful image of that poor body, torn from the tomb, roughly handled and cast into another grave, was more than she could bear. Tears came to her eyes; with a cry of pain her hand went to her heart. The count made a vain attempt to reach her as she tottered and fell to the floor, unconcious.

The duel was nearing an end. Wounded to the depths, but triumphant, she fell, not yielding a step in her struggle. The count carried her, still unconcious, to the couch with the assistance of Leriot and Hercules Petitgris. She was stifling, grinding her teeth, still fighting in her coma.

“Oh, how could you, how could you hurt her so!” exclaimed De Bois-Vernay.

But Rouxval made no excuses for his conduct. A temperament which drove him to extremes, when he had curbed his desires too long, did not allow him time for reflection or regret in a crisis. He saw red. The problem seemed to him so hopeless he would have stopped at nothing, however ridiculous, to solve it.

What difference did it make what he did, as long as he did something? It seemed as if his revenge were already nearer, if he could only proceed in some way. Action became a necessity. Should he call the president of the council? The telephone! He seized the receiver and, as soon as the president answered, gasped out breathlessly:

“Yes, Rouxval, Mr. President. … I must speak to you immediately, in person… You’re not free? ...In half an hour? ...All right. In half an hour I shall be there. Thanks. Situation serious. ...Quick action… Yes...Later.”

The countess was being cared for by the three men. She was evidently subject to these attacks, as her husband had a small case of medicine from which he quickly administered a dose. He took off his overcoat, knelt beside her, and tended her in an agony of fear which all but suffocated him, speaking to her constantly, as if she could hear him.

“It is your heart, darling, isn’t it? Your poor heart! But you are better, aren’t you? You are better – your cheeks have a little color – I know you are better. Are you, dearest?”

Madame de Bois-Vernay remained in the swoon several minutes, but at last her eyelids fluttered and she slowly regained consciousness.

As soon as she saw Rouxval she gave a cry of distress.

“Take me away! Let us go. I cannot stay here!”

“But, dearest, be reasonable. You must rest a few minutes.”

“No, no, not a moment! We must go. I cannot stay.”

The count begged Leriot’s aid, it was he who carried the countess from the room, while the count followed, completely upset, having been assisted into his overcoat by Hercules Petitgris.

Rouxval had not stirred. One might have thought that he had no connection whatever with the scene which had just taken place. These people, guilty of the most odious crime, were beyond his sympathies; he did not feel he owed either pity or kindness to a woman like the countess. With his head pressed against the windowpane he tried to think of a reasonable course of action. Why talk to the president of the council? Would it not be better to finish the affair and get in touch with headquarters, with the department of justice?

“Come now,” he said to himself, “no nonsense; a level head at any price!”

He decided to go as far as the president’s home; the walk there, the cool air, might calm his overwrought nerves. Taking his hat and stick from the stand, he started on his errand. To his surprise he found Petitgris sitting on a chair in front of the door, completely in shadow. He evidently had not left the study.

“Well, it’s you,” said Rouxval. “Still here?”

“Yes, Mr. Minister, and I cannot advice you too strongly to keep me company.”

Rouxval was annoyed and about to reprove him for his familiarity when a second glance at the man gave him a sudden shock. He noticed that the huge tooth of the detective was clearly visible, under a curling lip. He could not have been more discomfited if he had seen a ghost rise in front of him. The appearance of that tooth, long, white and pointed, the tooth of a wild animal, could only mean one thing – Rouxval was being jeered at, mocked.

“Confound it, I certainly have not put my foot in it!” said Rouxval to himself, remembering Petitgris’ words.

He pulled himself together. A cabinet minister, used to handling men and affairs of state, does not go “putting his foot in it.” Nor does he step into the pitfalls which trip the unwary. Having risen to such a position, he sees clearly, and goes straight to the goal. Yet the sight of that tooth troubled him. Why – what did it mean at this time? To reassure himself, he blamed the detective.

“If one of us has put his foot in it, it is that scamp. This whole thing is perfectly clear; any college boy could see that,” argued the minister to himself.

As clear as it was, however, he answered Petitgris by asking surlily:

“What is it? I’m in a hurry. Speak up!”

“Speak up, Mr. Minister?” he repeated. “I have nothing to say.”

“What do you mean, nothing to say? I don’t suppose you expect to sleep here?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Minister.”

“Well then?”

“Well, I’m just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For something which is sure to happen.”

“What ‘something?’”

“Patience, a little patience, Mr. Minister! You are certainly more interested in knowing it than I am. It won’t be long, anyway – only a few minutes—at the most about ten minutes. Yes, just about ten minutes.”

“Nothing of the sort,” cried Rouxval. “The confessions these people have made are perfectly explicit.”

“What confessions, Mr. Minister?”

“What confessions? Why, Leriot’s, the count’s, and his wife’s!”

“The countess’, perhaps. But the count confessed nothing; neither did Leriot,” said the detective.

“What are you trying to put over now?”

“I’m not trying to put anything over, Mr. Minister; it’s a fact. You might say, the truth, the two men didn’t open their mouths. Only one person talked, and that was you, Mr. Minister.”

Without paying any attention to Rouxval’s threatening attitude, he continued:

“A wonderful speech, really, and I sure did appreciate it. What an orator! In the senate you would have been a riot! An ovation, publicity, and all the rest of it. Only a speech is not all that is needed. When you are trying to dig facts out of a criminal, you don’t stuff him with talk. On the contrary, you question him. You get him to gab. And then you listen. That’s the way to get to the bottom of things. If you think Mr. Petitgris was just snoozing in the corner, you can bet you made a mistake. Mr. Petitgris never took his eye off those two codgers, especially that Bois-Vernay. And that’s why I’m telling you, Mr. Minister, that in eight minutes some one is coming and something will happen – in seven minutes and a half.”

Rouxval was floored. He did not give the least credence to Petitgris’ predictions not to the special announcement that “something” was going to happen. But the man’s tenacity held him. And that canine tooth, which gave him an expression at once arrogant, fierce, wicked, enigmatic--

The minister capitulated, and returned to the other end of the room, where he gave vent to his rage by tapping furiously on the desk with a pen handle, by nervously moving the desk appointments about, by looking at the clock and watching Petitgris out of the corner of his eye.

The detective sat quite still, only moving once. He tore a sheet of paper from a pad, came to the desk, borrowed Rouxval’s own pen with an air of authority, and rapidly write a few lines. He folded the paper in half, put it in an envelope and slipped it under a magazine, which happened to be near the desk edge. Then he sat down.

What did it all mean? Why did he continue to sneer with that mysterious, abominable tooth? Three minutes. Two minutes. Rouxval, in a sudden burst of anger, jumped up and again started striding up and down the room, knocking over a chair, jostling against a table and upsetting all the bric-a-brac. This whole case was stupid. That blockhead Petitgris and his devilish tooth had unnerved him.

“Listen, Mr. Minister,” mumbled the detective, holding up his hand. “Listen!”

“Listen to what?”

“Footsteps! Listen. Some one is knocking.”

Someone was knocking. Rouxval recognized the discreet tap of the page.

“He is not alone,” asserted Petitgris.

“What do you know about it?”

“He can’t be alone, because what I told you would happen is going to happen, and it can’t happen unless some one else comes in.”

“Well, confound it, what is it that is going to happen?”

“the truth, Mr. Minister. There are times, when the hour has struck, that nothing can prevent the truth from being known. It comes in at the window if the door is closed. But the door is so near, Mr. Minister, you don’t want to stop me from opening it, will you, Mr. Minister?”

Rouxval, beside himself with rage, opened the door.

The page looked in. “Mr. Minister, the gentleman who left here a little while ago with the lady is asking for his overcoat.”

“His overcoat?”

“Yes, sir; the gentleman forgot it, or rather he got the wrong one.”

Hercules Petitgris explained:

“He is right, Mr. Minister. I see a mistake has been made. The gentleman took my overcoat and left me his. Perhaps the gentleman can come in and—”

Rouxval acquiesced. The page went out, and almost immediately Monsieur de Bois-Vernay entered.

After the overcoats had been exchanged, the count, having bowed to Rouxval, who carefully looked the other way, started to leave the room. On the threshold, grasping the handle of the door, he hesitated, murmured a few words scarcely audible, stopped and re-entered the room.

“The ten minutes are up, Mr. Minister,” whispered Petitgris. “Consequently, ‘something’ is going to happen.”

Rouxval waited. Events seemed to occur as the detective had predicted.

“What do you wish, sir?” inquired the minister.

After a few minutes’ hesitation Monsieur de Bois-Vernay asked:

“Mr. Minister, are you really going to denounce us? The consequences would be so serious that I am taking the liberty of calling them to your attention. Think of the scandal – public clamor --”

Rouxval lost his temper.

“Will you tell me if I can do anything else?”

“Yes you can – you should. Everything can be arranged between us two, in a perfectly legitimate way. There is no reason why we should not come to some agreement.”

“I did propose an agreement, but Madame de Bois-Vernay would not hear of it.”

“She would not, but I will.”

Rouxval seemed surprised. Petitgris had already made the distinction between husband and wife a short time before.

“Explain yourself!”

The count seemed embarrassed. Irresolute, hesitating between sentences, he went on:

“Mr. Minister, I love my wife beyond words – and – sometimes I am weak enough to do things – for her which I know are – wrong, dangerous. That is what has happened. The death of our son so completely demoralized her – that twice – in spite of her deep religious sentiment – she tried to commit suicide. It became an obsession. In spite of my watchfulness, my every care, she would have carried out her intentions. But at an opportune moment Maxime Leriot came to see me. While talking to him about the war, our son – the idea came to me-- to combine – the Unknown—”

He shrank before the decisive words. Rouxval, more and more irritated, broke in:

“We are losing time, sir, since I know the result of your machinations. And that is all that matters.”

“It is precisely because the result alone matters that I am here. Because you discovered certain preparations, you concluded too hastily, perhaps because of your apprehension, that a sacrilege had been committed. That is not so.”

Rouxval did not understand.

“It is not so? Then why didn’t you protest?”

“I could not.”

“Why?”

“My wife would have had to hear me.”

“But Madame de Bois-Vernay herself confessed.”

“Yes, but I did not. It would have been a lie.”

“A lie! But the facts are there, sir! Do you want me to reread the records, the inquiries, the proofs that the body was removed, your meeting with Leriot?”

“Again, sir, may I say that these facts show definite preparations, but not the execution of a deed?”

“That is to say?”

“That is to say that there were meetings between Maxime and ourselves, and the body was removed. But I never, never had an idea of committing an act which I, too, should consider unforgivable sacrilege. For that matter, Maxime Leriot would never have consented.”

“Your idea then—” began the minister.

“My intention was to give my wife the --”

“To give her?”

“To give her the illusion, Mr. Minister.”

“The illusion?” repeated Rouxval mechanically, as the truth was beginning to dawn upon him.

“Yes, sir, an illusion which might sustain her, give her a faint desire to live – and which has sustained her until now. She believes it, Mr. Minister; she believes it! Try to imagine what that means to her! She believes her son is in that sacred tomb, and that belief has kept her alive.”

Rouxval bowed his head with his hand before his eyes. Overwhelmed by this sudden happiness, the restoration of his shrine, he feared they might see how disturbed he was.

With an affectation of indifference, he said:

“Ah, that is what happened! There was a pretense—” He stopped. “But how about all these proofs?”

“The proofs I took great care to accumulate, that she might have no doubts. She saw all, sir; she insisted upon being there during the entire proceedings: the removal of the body, the transfer to the funeral car. How could she have suspected that the funeral car did not go directly to the fort of Verdun, that our poor child is buried a little way on in a country cemetery where I go, when I can, to kneel at his grave and beg his forgiveness – his forgiveness for me and his absent mother.”

Rouxval was convinced that the count told the truth, that there was nothing in the evidence to contradict his statement of the facts as they had actually occurred.

“And Maxime Leriot’s part in this?”

“He obeyed my orders.”

“How about his actions since then?”

“Alas! The money he received turned his head, degraded him. It is my one great regret. The more I gave him, the more he wanted; that is why he threatened to reveal all to my wife. But rest assured, Mr. Minister, I will answer for him. He is really an honest, loyal soul, and has promised me he will leave the country at once.”

Rouxval meditated a moment and then said:

“Are you prepared to swear to the absolute truth of your statements?”

“I am prepared to swear to anything, provided my wife learns nothing and continues in her belief.”

“We agree in that, sir,” said the minister. “The secret shall be kept. I swear it.”

He took a sheet of paper and was about to ask the count for a written statement when Hercules Petitgris leaned over and whispered to him:

“There it is, Mr. Minister — under the magazine -- just lift it up and you’ll find it --”

“I’ll find what?”

“The statement. I drew it up a few minutes ago.”

“You knew?”

“You can just bet I knew! The count only needs to write his name on it.”

Rouxval, nonplused, pushed the magazine aside, snatched the paper and read:

I, the undersigned, Count de Bois-Vernay, acknowledge that I, with the connivance of Maxime Leriot, proceeded with certain arrangements in order to impress my wife with the conviction that our son was buried under the Arc de Triomphe. But I swear on my honor that no attempt was made by me, or by the said Maxime Leriot, to fulfill these arrangements and give my poor child the honors and resting place of the Unknown Soldier.

While Rouxval remained silent, the count, who was as astonished as the minister, slowly reread the document aloud, as if weighing each word.

“Quite right. I have nothing to add nor curtail. I should have written the same thing if I had drawn it up myself.”

He then affixed his signature without further hesitation.

“Mr. Minister, I must trust you,” he continued. “The slightest doubt on her part would cause the death of a mother who is guilty of nothing but too great a love for her child. I have your promise?”

“I have but one word to give, sir. I have given it. I shall keep it.”

He shook hands absent-mindedly with Monsieur de Bois-Vernay, accompanied him without a word to the door, closed it, and came back to the window where again he remained standing, with his head pressed to the windowpane.

“So Petitgris guessed the truth!” he mused. “In that chaos, that entanglement of fact and fancy, he saw the narrow path which led to the truth.”

Rouxval was distressed, angry; the pleasure he might otherwise have felt in seeing his case in another light was singularly diminished. Behind him he heard a tiny chuckle, undoubtedly the detective’s manifestation of triumph. It conjured up a vision of the pointed tooth, that terrible tooth.

“He has the laugh on me,” thought Rouxval. “He has known from the beginning. He maliciously let me put my foot in it. He could have warned me and he didn’t. What a beast!”

But his prestige as a cabinet officer would not permit him to remain in that humiliating position. He turned suddenly and taking the offensive said:

“Yes, yes, and then what? Luck was on your side! You probably discovered some clew—”

“Not a clew,” sneered Petitgris, who was not granting any favors. “What did you want clews for, anyway? Just a little bit of judgment, a grain of common sense, were all you needed.”

And with hideous good nature, he continued:

“Come on now, Mr. Minister! That long rigmarole of yours didn’t stand up at all. It was just bunk. Contradictions, omissions, impossibilities of every kind and color. Just a rotten scenario! That the countess should have bitten, all right, but you, a minister of your rank! Honestly, do you think people juggle with corpses in real life? Have a heart!

“They make every effort to have the Unknown Soldier be an unknown soldier! Arrangements for the public, funeral cars, functionaries, generals, brigadiers, ministers; in fact, the devil and his whole crew, and are you credulous enough to believe that any little gentlemen with cash in his pocket can afford the luxury of making a laughingstock of the world, and of burying an everlasting concession under the Arch de Triomphe! Well, I’ve heard some good ones, but that one has ‘em all beat.”

Rouxval restrained himself with difficulty and said:

“But the proofs—” began Rouxval.

“Those proofs – they were good enough for kids. I said to myself right away: ‘As long as the count couldn’t possibly afford the Arc de Triomphe, what was he cooking up with Leriot?’ Just as soon as I saw the way he looked at the wife I got it. ‘My boy, you're a good thing. Just to help the wife along, you’re going to play a little game and make her believe you did the real thing. But you’re a bit weak, too, and if my chief gets good and mad and threatens you, you’re going to give in.’ There’s the whole trick, Mr. Minister! Rage and threats on your part, and little Mr. Bois-Vernay gives in.”

“All right, well and good so far,” said Rouxval. “But you could not know he was coming back and that ‘something,’ as you put it, was going to happen.”

“Say, listen! What about the overcoat.”

“The overcoat?”

“Great Scott! how could he come back without it? He had to have some excuse to leave his wife and to confess before the department of justice put its nose in it.”

“Well?”

“Well, when he was leaving, I helped him on with my overcoat instead of his. He was all up in the air; he couldn’t see anything – but red. Then outside in the car, when he saw my cast-off, he jumped at the chance to run back here! D’ye get it? What do you think of that piece of work? I put over some better ones in my life, a couple of harder ones, but never a shrewder one. I got that without moving – a decision with hands in my pockets – and landed a punch that knocked the other fellow out. That’s some good job!”

Rouxval was silent; the cleverness, the ease with which Hercules Petitgris had handled the situation, disconcerted him. All alone in his corner, without interrupting the inquiry, without asking a question, and knowing nothing about the case, except what Rouxval himself was telling, Petitgris had really conducted the examination, guided the trend of questions, thrown light on the whole case. With one little move at the right moment he had managed to have the problem solve itself in the only way possible.

Rouxval put his hand in his pocket to draw out a bank note. But it went no farther. The detective sneered:

“Put it back, Mr. Minister. I’ve got mine.”

The tooth gleamed implacably. A frightful chuckle, and his face again resumed the fierce look of a wild animal. Could one help remembering the jeering words: “when one of my employers puts his foot in it, haven’t I the right to tell him, and have a little laugh? I have turned down money more than once just to be able to bust right out laughing! Are they funny? You ought to see the faces on them!

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Mr. Minister. I’ve had worse cases. Your big mistake was to rely too much on logic, and the logic of what you see and hear isn’t worth a nickel. The real logic runs underground like some rivers, and when it does run out of sight, then you have to keep your eye on it. That was where you lost your head. Instead of going into the details of that ceremony in the fort of Verdun, you turned away! ‘I hardly dare paint the scene. The slightest doubt in that direction is blasphemy!’

“Damn it all, Mr. Minister, that’s the time you should have gone ahead, investigated, put your whole mind to it! You would have seen there wasn’t a chance of a fraud. And what is more, Hercules Petitgris wouldn’t be laying down the law to-day to a cabinet minister in his own study.”

He had risen and was putting on the worn, green overcoat. Rouxval had a strong desire to take him by the neck and strangle him, but – he opened the door.

“Let us say no more about it. I shall advise the president of the service you have rendered us.”

“Oh, don’t bother!” returned the detective. “I’d rather do that myself.”

“Sir!” cried Rouxval.

“Well, what, Mr. Minister?”

Petitgris suddenly drew himself up and seemed to change personalities under the very eyes of the minister. He was no longer the poor devil begging alms, but a lively, self-possessed young man entirely at his ease. With thumb and forefinger he delicately removed the enormous tooth; the lines in his face changed; the horrible grin disappeared. He looked cheerful and gay, but still arrogant.

Rouxval asked:

“What does this mean? Permit me to ask who are you?”

“Who I am is of no importance whatever,” he answered. “Let us say that I am Arsène Lupin. The memory of your recent mistake will perhaps be less bitter if you connect it with the name of Arsène Lupin, rather than with that of Hercules Petitgris.”

Rouxval showed him the door. The detective passed gracefully in front of the minister to the anteroom. In that doorway, he said:

“Good-bye, Mr. Minister-- and a word of advice: Don’t go out of your little world again. A case of shoemaker, stick to your last. Straighten out government squabbles, help them make the laws, but – when it comes to police work leave that to the specialist.”

He started to go. Would he never stop talking? He came back and said:

“After all, you may be right – perhaps I put my foot in it. Come to think of it, what proofs have we that the count did stop on the way, that he did not go through with his plot? It is quite possible, and he did make excellent plans! Well, it’s all over my head. Good-by, Mr. Minister.”

This time he had nothing more to add. He left the anteroom.

Rouxval returned slowly to his desk and sat down heavily. He was singularly troubled by the detective's last words. They were a last bite of that frightful tooth – a drop of distilled venom! He felt vaguely that he would always be in doubt, that his case would always remain a mystery. He knew it was absurd, but all the same – the proofs – the removal of the body – the transfer to the funeral car --

“Damn it all!” He cried, infuriated. “What an infernal bird he is! If ever I lay my hands on him again!”

But Rouxval knew that Petitgris was none other than Arsène Lupin, and Arsène Lupin was not one to be caught a second time.

[neopronouns-in-action]

Neopronouns in Action #070: The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin

This one is special, and very long. This is a version of the 1926 short story The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc, which up until a few days ago, did not exist in English despite being in the public domain.

A few days ago, I finished transcribing it into text from what may be the only scan of the original 1926 magazine in existence.

You can read the plain-text version that I transcribed here on the web archive, or here on tumblr, or on Itch.io.

You are 100% encouraged to copy and paste it, download it, print it out, translate it, turn it into an animation or movie or play, and share it wherever and withwhomever you want. The web archive and itch.io links include Epub downloads, which is the generic file for ebooks -- if you have a smart phone or tablet, you can download the epub and read it in free ebook apps.

You can also buy a physical copy from Lulu.com if you'd like to help me buy groceries. You can also publish it yourself!

This short story is in the public domain, which is why the person who uploaded the scan of the magazine could do so, and why I was able to transcribe the story from that scan.

It is also why I am able to rewrite it like this. Public domain means it belongs to everyone, and you can use it in any way you like -- including changing the characters' pronouns, or making them animals, or putting them in space, or literally anything you can imagine.

Alright, background info out of the way. Let's get to using the story!

This version of the short story is 8,940 words long. Let me know if you find a section I missed editing.

(Archived read-more link)

Neopronouns:

drae/drem/draer/dremself

tei/tev/telk/tevself

ty/tyl/tyr/tylself

ex/exi/exil/exiself

rot/rots/rotself

shay

Neohonorifics:

Mireir / Mrr.

Marix / Mrx.

Martix / Mtx.

Titles:

Amica (equivalent to count or countess)

Comra (equivalent to count or countess)

Other terms:

aimiel (a nonbinary spouse)

enban (equivalent to woman or man)

androgyne (equivalent to woman or man)

noblean (equivalent to lady or gentleman. pretending that the lowest common denominator between man and woman is the "an" rather than "man")

= = =

Neopronoun examples:

drae/drem/draer/dremself

Replace he with drae

Replace him with drem

Replace his with draer

Replace himself with dremself

EX:

"He is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as he gets a fence set up around his yard so the puppy can go outside without him having to walk it. His uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting him use, since he lost his. He's going to buy toys and train the puppy himself.”

Becomes:

"Drae is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as drae gets a fence set up around draer yard so the puppy can go outside without drem having to walk it. Draer uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting drem use, since drae lost draer. Drae's going to buy toys and train the puppy dremself.”

= = =

tei/tev/telk/tevself

Replace he with tei

Replace him with tev

Replace his with telk

Replace himself with tevself

EX:

"He is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as he gets a fence set up around his yard so the puppy can go outside without him having to walk it. His uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting him use, since he lost his. He's going to buy toys and train the puppy himself.”

Becomes:

"Tei is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as tei gets a fence set up around telk yard so the puppy can go outside without tev having to walk it. Telk uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting tev use, since tei lost telk. Tei's going to buy toys and train the puppy tevself.”

= = =

ty/tyl/tyr/tylself

Replace he with ty

Replace him with tyl

Replace his with tyr

Replace himself with tylself

EX:

"He is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as he gets a fence set up around his yard so the puppy can go outside without him having to walk it. His uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting him use, since he lost his. He's going to buy toys and train the puppy himself.”

Becomes:

"Ty is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as ty gets a fence set up around tyr yard so the puppy can go outside without tyl having to walk it. Tyr uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting tyl use, since ty lost tyr. Ty's going to buy toys and train the puppy tylself.”

= = =

ex/exi/exil/exiself

Replace he with ex

Replace him with exi

Replace his with exil

Replace himself with exiself

EX:

"He is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as he gets a fence set up around his yard so the puppy can go outside without him having to walk it. His uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting him use, since he lost his. He's going to buy toys and train the puppy himself.”

Becomes:

"Ex is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as ex gets a fence set up around exil yard so the puppy can go outside without exi having to walk it. Exil uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting exi use, since ex lost exil. Ex's going to buy toys and train the puppy exiself.”

= = =

rot/rots/rotself

Replace it with rot

Replace its with rots

Replace itself with rotself

EX:

"It is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as it gets a fence set up around its yard so the puppy can go outside without it having to walk it. Its uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting it use, since it lost its. It's going to buy toys and train the puppy itself."

Becomes:

"Rot is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as rot gets a fence set up around rots yard so the puppy can go outside without rot having to walk it. Rots uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting rot use, since rot lost rots. Rot's going to buy toys and train the puppy rotself."

= = =

Shay pronouns:

Replace all pronouns with shay.

"Shay is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as shay gets a fence set up around shay yard so the puppy can go outside without shay having to walk it. Shay uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting shay use, since shay lost shay. Shay's going to buy toys and train the puppy shay."

= = =

The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin, neopronoun edition

Hands behind draer back, head sunk deep in the collar of draer coat, draer harsh countenance contracted in deep thought, Jean Rouxval nervously paced up and down the length of draer vast study. At the threshold the chief page, detailed to the service of of cabinet officers, awaited orders. The minister betrayed by draer short, quick steps, draer drawn brow, draer agitation, that drae was shaken by emotion which assail a strong man seldom, and only at crucial moment of draer life.

Stopping suddenly, drae said to the page in a determined voice:

“A married couple, no longer very young, will arrive presently. You will ask them to wait in the drawing-room. Shortly after I expect an androgyne, younger and alone. You will conduct thim to the yellow room. They are neither to speak nor to see each other. You understand? I am to be notified at once of their arrival.”

“Very well, sir,” said the page, and withdrew.

Jean Rouxval’s political ability lay mainly in draer tremendous energy, draer attention to detail and a determination to know a bit about everything, whether it concerned draer department or not.

Having enlisted almost at once in 1914 to avenge draer two children – both of whom had seemingly vanished from the field of battle – and the subsequent death of draer wife, the war had given drem an excessive sense of the value of discipline, authority, and duty. Affairs in which drae was concerned always discovered drem ready to undertake the most serious responsibilities and consequently found drem assuming the greatest amount of power. Drae won the esteem of draer colleagues, but they were also a bit wary lest the exaggeration of draer good qualities might not drag the cabinet into needless complications.

Drae looked at draer watch. Twenty minutes to give. Drae still had time to glance over the record of the frightful case which had caused drem so much anxiety. Just then, however, drae was interrupted by the telephone. Drae seized the receiver; the president of the council wished to speak to drem.

Drae waited what seemed an endless time. Finally the president hillself spoke. Answering, drae said:

“Yes, Rouxval speaking, Mx. President.” Drae listened, seemed annoyed, and then replied in a bitter voice:

“Certainly, Mx. President, I shall receive the detective you are sending. But don’t you think I could have obtained the necessary information? Well, of course, if you insist, my dear president, and if this Hercules Petitgris is, according to you, a specialist in criminal investigation, tei can attend the meeting I have arranged … Hello! … Hello! … Yes …. What? … My dear president. … This Petitgris may be… Really! Is it possible? Ah! Well, merely a supposition … That is-- Petitgris has all the perspicacity usually attributed to Arsène Lupin. … Yes, sir...Perfectly. … I shall wait for tev. Hello! … You are quite right, my dear Mx. President. … The case is very serious, especially since certain rumors have already begun to be circulated. … If I do not arrive at an immediate solution, and if the truth of the matter is at all what we fear, it will be a frightful scandal and a disaster for the country. … Hello! … Yes, yes, rest easy, my dear Mx. President, I shall do the impossible to succeed. I will succeed. … I must succeed.”

After a few more words, Rouxval hung up, muttering between clenched teeth:

“I must! I must! What a scandal!” Drae was considering the various paths which might lead drem to a successful solution, when drae gradually became aware that some one was near drem, some one who was not seeking to be noticed.

Drae turned draer head and was dumbfounded by what drae saw. All but next to drem stood a shabby, wretched-looking individual, a poor devil, one might say, holding their hat in their hand in the humble attitude of a beggar asking alms.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“By the door, sir. The chief page was busy parking people right and left, so I beat it straight in.”

“But who are you?”

The stranger bowed respectfully and introduced themselves:

“Hercules Petitgris – the specialist whom the president of the council just recommended to you, sir—”

“Oh, then you were listening?” Rouxval broke in peevishly.

“What would you have done in my place, sir?”

Tei was a sickly looking, pitiful object, sad-faced – telk hair, mustache, telk pinched nose, telk thin cheeks, the corners of telk mouth, all drooped pathetically.

Telk arms hung wearily in a long, greenish overcoat which seemed about to slip from his shoulders. Tei spoke in a disconsolate voice, not without care, but accenting certain words in a manner peculiar to the common people.

“I even heard you speak of me as a detective, Mireir Minister,” tei continued. “Wrong, all wrong! I am not even on the police force. I was dismissed from headquarters for ‘weak character, drunkenness and laziness.’ Those were the terms of discharge.”

Rouxval was unable to conceal draer amazement.

“I don’t understand. The president of the council has recommended you as an enban with a disconcerting ability to diagnose clearly and correctly.”

“Disconcerting, Mrr. Minister, is the right word. There are people who even believe I am Arsène Lupin, as the president was telling you. That is why some nobles consent to my services, in cases where no one has succeeded or could succeed, without looking too closely at my record or my character. Sure they say I am conceited and insolent to my employers. And then what? When one of my employers puts their foot in it and I see the point right off, haven’t I the right to tell them, have a little laugh on the side? On the level, Mrr. Minister, I have turned down money more than once just to be able to bust right out laughing. They are funny! You ought to see the faces on them.”

In that melancholy face, under the drooping mustache, the left side of telk mouth curled up in a little, silent sneer, uncovering a huge tooth – the tooth of a wild beast. It gave tev a look of sardonic joy for a moment. With a tooth like that the possessor would bite, and bite deeply.

The minister was not afraid of being bitten, but the stranger certainly did not appeal to drem, and if the president of the council had not so insistently recommended tev, Rouxval would have gotten rid of tev promptly.

“Sit down,” drae said gruffly. “I am about to question three people and have them face each other in my presence. In case you have any remarks to make, you will make them to me directly.”

“To you directly, Mrr. Minister, and in a whisper, as I always do when I always see my chief putting their foot in it.”

Rouxval frowned. In the first place, drae hated people who did not know their place – like many people of action, drae was very sensitive and keenly feared ridicule. Concerning draer efforts the phrase “putting their foot in it” seemed particularly outrageous and almost an intentional menace. But drae had already rung; the page entered. Without further delay Rouxval ordered the there people brought to drem.

Hercules Petitgris took off telk worn, green overcoat, folded it carefully and sat down.

The married couple were the first to enter. They were evidently aristocrats, and both in deep mourning; ty, still young, tall and very beautiful, with a lovely face, pale and austere, framed in graying hair; ex, slightly shorter, slim, elegant, exil mustache almost white.

Jean Rouxval addressed exi:

“The Comra de Bois-Vernay, I believe? You may refer to me with drae/drem/draer/draers/draeself pronouns, and call me sir if you need.”

“Yes, sir. My pronouns are ex/exi/exil/exiself, my husband’s are ty/tyl/tyr/tylself, refered to as marix. We received your summons, which I confess, startled us a bit. But may we hope it has no ominous portent? My husband is not very strong.”

Ex looked toward tyl with affectionate solicitude. Rouxval asked them to be seated and answered:

“I am sure everything will be suitably arranged and that Marix de Bois-Vernay will excuse the slight inconvenience I have caused tyl.”

The door opened. A person between twenty-five and thirty entered. They were of more modest mien, not very carefully dressed; their countenance, though frank and kindly, gave evidences of dissipation and weariness, confusing one’s estimate of their fair, broad-shouldered young person.

“My pronouns are drae/drem/draer/(draers)/draeself. You may refer to me as sir. You are Maxime Leriot?”

“Yes, I am. My pronouns are rot/rots/rotself.”

“You do not know these people?”

“No, sir,” answered the newcomer, looking straight at the two nobles.

“No, we do not know this person, either,” said the comra in answer to a question of Rouxval’s.

The minister smiled. “I regret that this interview should begin with a statement which I am forced to disbelieve. But that little error will right itself at the proper time. Without haste and without undue delay over nonessentials, let us begin at the beginning.”

Drae opened the records on the table, turned to Maxine Leriot and in a slightly hostile tone said:

“We shall begin with you. You were born in Dollincourt, Maine-et-Loire. Your mother was a hard-working peasant who starved herself to give you a suitable education. The mobilization of 1914 found you a private in the infantry. Four years later you were an adjutant, with the croix de guerre and five citations for bravery. After the war you reenlisted. Toward the end of 1920 you were in Verdun. Your papers gave you credit for ‘ability as an officer.’

“But, about the middle of November, in the same year, came a bolt from the blue. One night in a third-rate dance hall, after opening ten bottles of champagne, you lost your head in a senseless brawl. You were arrested. You were taken to the post. You were searched. On you were found one hundred thousand francs. Where did you get that amount of money? You were never able to explain.”

Maxine Leriot protested:

“I beg your pardon, sir, I said that I had received the money from a person who wished to remain anonymous.”

“A worthless explanation!” said the minister. “Nevertheless, an inquiry was instituted by the military authorities. It came to nothing. Six months later, after obtaining your discharge from the service, you were again the center of another scandal,. This time your bill fold contained forty thousand francs in war bonds. And concerning these, too – silence and mystery. And again no explanation as to your means of livelihood or any reason for the dissipated existence you were leading. No position, no resources to speak of, yet money flowed through your fingers as if they supply were endless.

“The special detectives assigned to your case at the time could discover nothing, and you continued from bad to worse. Chance only, or a misstep on your part, could undo you. And that is what happened. One day, beneath the Arc de Triomphe, a stranger approached a person who came there each day to pray, and said in a low voice, ‘I expect your wife’s letter to-morrow. Warn exi – otherwise—‘

“The person’s attitude was surly, rot tone snarling and menacing. The victim was frightened and quickly sought tyr motor. Must I specify that one of these persons was you, Maxime Leriot, and the other the Amica de Bois-Vernay, and only a moment ago you pretended not to know each other?”

Rouxval abruptly held up draer hand. “I beg of you, per,” he said to the comra, who was about to interrupt, “do not try to deny the evidence. The episode occurred near me, for I also go regularly to the sacred tomb each week to pray for my children. It was I who overheard the whispered threat; and it was for my own enlightenment, without knowing any of the facts which I have just related to you, that I undertook to discover who the aggressor was, and the identity of rots victim, in this too-apparently blackmailing scheme.”

The comra said nothing. Exil husband did not stir. In telk corner Hercules Petitgris nodded telk head and seemed to approve the conduct of the investigation. Jean Rouxval, who had been watching tev out of the corner of draer eye, felt reassured. The tooth was not to be seen; therefore all was well. Rouxval continued, forging additional links in draer chain of evidence.

“From the moment when circumstances placed the direction of this affair in my hands, it took quite a different turn, perhaps because I saw it in one light rather than another. Instead of Maxime Leriot, the androgyne of to-day, I immediately saw the soldier of yesterday. Rot past interested me more than rots present. Instantly, the moment I glanced at rots record, two things struck me forcibly – a name and a date: Maxime Leriot was in Verdun, and rot was there in the month of November, 1920 – that is, at the time when the anniversary of the armistice was to be celebrated and when most the solemn of ceremonies was about to take place.

“I went there and directed and inquiry on the spot, which proved neither very long nor difficult. Rots former battalion chief, whom I questioned, showed me an old order of that date over rots signature, which also struck me forcibly. It seemed the key to the situation. The leader of one of the eight funeral cars, brought from eight different points along the great field of battle and bearing the bodies of eight nameless heroes, one of which was to be the Unknown Soldier-- this leader was none other than Adjutant Leriot rotself.”

Jean Rouxval struck the desk with draer fists, straining every muscle in draer anger. Then in a muffled voice, deliberately emphasizing every word, drae said:

“You, Maxime Leriot, were in the gallery of the fort where this historic ceremony took place; you were one of the guard of honor. Your heroism, your fame in military annals, caused you to be among those chosen for a part in this ceremony, amid the tricolor flags of your country and the trophies of victory in the great mortuary chapel. You – you were there—”

Overcome by emotion, Rouxval was forced to interrupt draer vehement denunciation. It was necessary, moreover, to state facts more accurately and with less passion if the purport of draer secret thought was to be clearly understood. Hercules Petitgris continued to nod telk head approvingly, which only served to fan the flame of the minister’s ardor.

The former adjutant did not utter a sound. Like troops piercing an enemy line came Rouxval’s accusations. Hesitant, then stronger and stronger, and with greater force they had overwhelmed the foe before rot could recover rotself. The comra listened and looked anxiously at exil husband.

“Until this point in my investigation, I have only vague forebodings, no definite suspicions, no clews to lead me. I dared not understand. It was in this spirit, terrified, aghast, that I sought proofs of what I feared to know. These proofs were irrefutable. To begin: On All Saint’s Day, again the third of November, the fourth and the fifth, Adjutant Leriot, whose daily life I succeeded in reconstructing exactly, went, as soon as darkness had fallen, to an isolated inn.

“there rot met two nobles with whom rot remained in conference until dinner time. These two nobles came to the inn in an automobile from a near-by city where they stayed at a certain hotel, the name of which I secured. I then went to this hotel and asked to see the register. From the first to the eleventh of November, 1920, two guests had been there – the Comra and Amica de Bois-Vernay.”

A silence; the pallor of the amica deepened; Rouxval drew from the records two sheets of paper which drae unfolded.

“Here are two birth certificates. The one of Maxime Leriot, born in Dolincourt, Maine-et-Loire, in 1895. That is yours, Maxime Leriot. The other, Julian de Bois-Vernay, born in Dolincourt, Maine-et-Loire, in 1895. That is your offspring’s, Monsieur de Bois-Vernay. Therefore, we may say, the same birthplace, the same age – two facts granted. Here is a letter from the mayor of Dolincourt. The two children had had the same nurse. In youth they continued the friendship of their childhood. They enlisted at the same time. Again uncontestable facts.”

Rouxval went on reading from the documents as fast as drae turned the pages.

“Here is the death certificate of Julian de Bois-Vernay; died in 1916 at Verdun. Here is a copy of the burial permit for the cemetery of Douaumont. Here is an extract of the report of Adjutant Leriot, who ‘brought back from a trench running along the road to Fleury-à-Bras and near an old surgical service station, the remains, in good condition, of an unknown infantryman.’

“Finally, here is a relief map of the whole scene of action. The old service station is here, about five hundred meters from the cemetery where Julian de Bois-Vernay lay buried. I went from one to the other. I had that tomb opened – it is empty! What has become of the coffin of Julian de Bois-Vernay? Who removed it from the cemetery of Douaumont, if not you, Maxime Leriot? You, shay friend, and the friend of the Comra and Amica de Bois-Vernay!”

Each sentence Rouxval uttered lent force to the final charge which the accumulated evidence imposed. The enemy was surrounded by undeniable arguments. There remained nothing but submission.

Rouxval, coming closer to Leriot and looking at rot squarely, continued:

“This sinister venture is written on the pages of an open book. We know that the coffin of your foster shareling was first taken from Douaumont, where shay had been buried in an ordinary grave, to the trench where you were sent to secure the body of an unidentified combatant. We know that you took it there, and we know that it was this coffin which you brought to the fort at Verdun. In this we agree, I am sure. And the sequel – the choice, the supreme hour among the eight unknown—”

Again Rouxval could not go on. Drae mopped the sweat from draer brow and tried to regain draer composure. In a few moments drae managed to continue in the same muffled and anguished voice:

“I hardly dare paint that scene. The slighted doubt in that direction is blasphemy. And yet, is this not rather a certainty than a doubt? Ah, what a frightful imposture! How did you ever succeed in your infamous plan? Answer—answer me!”

Jean Rouxval questioned, but it seemed as if drae were afraid to hear the answer. Draer voice did not carry the authority which brings confession. A long silence ensued, fraught with uneasiness and anxiety. Marix de Bois-Vernay breathed the salts tyr aimiel gave tyl. Ty seemed very weak and on the verge of fainting. Maxime Leriot turned to the comra, mutely asking exil help. The comra looked toward exil wife, afraid to begin a dangerous struggle, asking exiself upon what ground ex would stand.

Then the comra arose and said:

“Mrr. Rouxval, because you have so shaped this interview, we there sit here facing you as if we were guilty. Before defending ourselves against an accusation, the meaning of which we do not yet clearly understand, we should like to know by what right you question us and by what right you demand our answers.”

“By the right, sir,” answered Rouxval, “of my great desire to suppress infamy, which, if it became public property, would injure my country inestimably.”

“If the affair is such as you have outlined it, Mrr. Minister, there is no reason to believe it will become known to the public.”

“You are wrong, comra. Under the influence of alcohol, Maxime Leriot has talked. What rot said was not understood, but various interpretations and rumors have been circulated—”

“False rumors, Mrr. Minister,” broke in De Bois-Vernay.

“That makes no difference. They must be stopped.”

“How?”

“Maxime Leriot must leave France. A position will be found for rot in southern Algeria. You will, I am sure, furnish rot with the necessary funds.”

“And ourselves, Mrr. Minister?”

“You will also leave – both you and the amica. Far from France, you will be safe from further blackmail.”

“Exile, then?”

“Yes, for a few years.”

The comra again turned to exil husband.

Notwithstanding tyr pallor and frailty, ty conveyed an impression of vitality and obstinate determination. Ty leaned forward and said firmly:

“Not a day, sir! Not for an hour will I leave Paris.”

“And why not, amica?”

“Because my child is there. In the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”

Those few words, that explicit, frightful avowal, seemed to drop into a pit of silence, which echoed and re-echoed, syllable by syllable, a message of death and sorrow. In the amica de Bois-Vernay’s attitude there was more than an expression of an unconquerable will – there was a defiance and the calm acceptance of a challenge which ty did not seem to fear. Nothing could change the fact that tyr child lay under the Arc de Triomphe, and no power on earth could trouble shay last sleep in that tomb of glory.

Rouxval held draer head in draer hands, desperate. Until that moment drae had been able to keep, in the face of all evidence, some illusion of an impossible justification. The confession took the ground from under draer feet.

“It is really true!” drae murmured brokenly, “I did not really believe – I could not admit it even to myself – it is beyond all reason!”

The comra de Bois-Vernay, standing between the amica and Rouxval, begged tyl to sit down. Ty pushed exi aside, ready for the struggle, determined and defiant.

Only two adversaries now faced each other, implacable enemies, with the comra and Maxime Leriot mere accessories.

Scenes of such extreme nervous tension must necessarily be of short duration, when from the first each one throws every ounce of power into the grueling struggle. What further enhanced the tragedy of this duel was the calm, the intense quiet with which it was waged. Not a loud tone, no apparent anger, simple words, radiating emotion. Simple sentences, no oratory, revealing the depth of Rouxval’s amazement and horror.

“How dared you? How do you continue to live, knowing what you do? I, myself, would have borne any agony rather than permit such a deed for one of my children. It would seem to me I had brought them ill luck in their last sleep. Given them a tomb which was not rightfully theirs! Diverted to them the prayers, the tears, all the holy thoughts which flow over a loved one, dead! What an abomination! Can’t you see that?”

Drae glared at tyl, opposite drem, tense and white, and continued more aggressively:

“There are hundreds – no, thousands! -- of parents and partners who may believe that their child, their partner lies there. These bereaved people, as sorely smitten as you, with the same rights to seek consolation there – these people have been betrayed, pilfered, robbed – yes, robbed and vilely robbed!”

The amica shrank under these insults, this contempt. Ty had surely never paused a moment to consider tyr course of action in itself; certainly ty had never weighed its ethical values. Ty had reacted impulsively, moved by the bitter suffering of a parent seeking to regain a small part of the child so cruelly torn from tyl; for the rest – nothing mattered.

Murmuring, almost in a dream, ty answered:

“Julian did not rob any one. Shay is the Unknown Soldier. Shay is there in the place of the others; shay represents them all—”

Rouxval seized tyr arm. Tyr words exasperated drem. Drae thought of draer own lost ones, whose remains drae had almost found again that day of solemn burial and consecration. Now they had vanished once more in a fathomless abyss. Where now could one pray? Where find the dear ones, gone forever?

But the amica smiled, tyr face transformed by the happiness which fairly irradiated tyr whole being.

“It was circumstance which caused shay to be chosen among all the others,” ty said. “What I did, alone, would not have sufficed, if there had not been a greater will than mine in shay favor. Chance might have assigned the honor to some soldier who did not deserve it, either in their life or in their death. My Julian was worthy of the reward.”

“All were worthy!” protested Rouxval vehemently. “Even if during their life they had been the most obscure, the most odious of people, the soldier chosen by destiny became, in that instant, the equal of the greatest!”

Ty shook tyr head. Tyr eyes gleamed with a contemptuous pride. Before tyl rose the ghosts of a hundred proud ancestors and the heroic dead of tyr country acclaiming tyr Julian the chosen one, born for glory.

“This has happened for the best, sir,” ty said. “Believe in me and rest assured that I have stolen no tears, no prayers. Every person who kneels there and weeps, prays for their dead child. Does it really matter if it is my child, if they do not know it?”

“But I know it,” said Rouxval, “and they may find it out! And then what? Can you imagine what will happen – the anger, the hate, the wild scenes of unbridled fury? No crime in the would would arouse such indignation! Can’t I make you understand?”

Little by little drae was losing control of dremself. Drae despised this person. Tyr exile seemed more and more the only solution which could avert a calamity and at the same time appease draer own pain.

Without any attempt to spare tyl, drae said roughly.

“You must go, per. Your presence at that grave is an outrage to every other mourner. Go, and go now!”

“No, I will not,” ty said.

“You will; you must! With you out of the country, their wrongs will be partially righted; the soldier there will once more become the Unknown Soldier.”

“No, no, no! What you ask is impossible. I could not live away from shay. If I had to continue to live, it is only because shay is there, because I can see shay each day, speak to shay, and hear shay speak to me. Oh, you cannot understand how I feel when I stand there in the crowd! They come from every corner of France, bringing their offerings of flowers, of tears, of prayers. There are moments when I am so overwhelmed by a wave of happiness and pride that I almost forget Julian is dead. I see my child alive – alive and standing beneath that arch, smiling at me as I kneel before shay. And you dare ask me to give up all of that! It is madness. It would be like killing my beloved child a second time!”

Rouxval clenched draer hands, to restrain dremself from killing this ungovernable person. Drae knew now that ty was stronger than drae was. Driven to desperation, drae threatened:

“You force me to the worst. If you do not go – I swear – I swear that I will denounce you! I will unmask you to the whole world rather than permit this ghastly imposture to continue --”

Ty laughed mockingly.

“Denounce me? Is it possible? You will denounce me and inform the world about this imposture which causes even you to tremble?”

“Nothing, nothing can stop me!” drae cried. “I shall do my duty even if it kills me. Your trickery has made life intolerable. If you do not go, per, shay shall go – the body of your child shall be --”

Ty quivered, stricken by the brutal words. The frightful image of that poor body, torn from the tomb, roughly handled and cast into another grave, was more than ty could bear. Tears came to tyr eyes; with a cry of pain tyr hand went to tyr heart. The comra made a vain attempt to reach tyl as ty tottered and fell to the floor, unconcious.

The duel was nearing an end. Wounded to the depths, but triumphant, ty fell, not yielding a step in tyr struggle. The comra carried tyl, still unconcious, to the couch with the assistance of Leriot and Hercules Petitgris. Ty was stifling, grinding tyr teeth, still fighting in tyr coma.

“Oh, how could you, how could you hurt tyl so!” exclaimed De Bois-Vernay.

But Rouxval made no excuses for draer conduct. A temperament which drove drem to extremes, when drae had curbed draer desires too long, did not allow drem time for reflection or regret in a crisis. Drae saw red. The problem seemed to drem so hopeless drae would have stopped at nothing, however ridiculous, to solve it.

What difference did it make what drae did, as long as drae did something? It seemed as if draer revenge were already nearer, if drae could only proceed in some way. Action became a necessity. Should drae call the president of the council? The telephone! Drae seized the receiver and, as soon as the president answered, gasped out breathlessly:

“Yes, Rouxval, Mx. President. … I must speak to you immediately, in person… You’re not free? ...In half an hour? ...All right. In half an hour I shall be there. Thanks. Situation serious. ...Quick action… Yes...Later.”

The amica was being cared for by the three people. Ty was evidently subject to these attacks, as tyr aimiel had a small case of medicine from which ex quickly administered a dose. Ex took off exil overcoat, knelt beside tyl, and tended tyl in an agony of fear which all but suffocated exi, speaking to tyl constantly, as if ty could hear exi.

“It is your heart, darling, isn’t it? Your poor heart! But you are better, aren’t you? You are better – your cheeks have a little color – I know you are better. Are you, dearest?”

Amica de Bois-Vernay remained in the swoon several minutes, but at last tyr eyelids fluttered and ty slowly regained consciousness.

As soon as ty saw Rouxval ty gave a cry of distress.

“Take me away! Let us go. I cannot stay here!”

“But, dearest, be reasonable. You must rest a few minutes.”

“No, no, not a moment! We must go. I cannot stay.”

The comra begged Leriot’s aid, it was rot who carried the amica from the room, while the comra followed, completely upset, having been assisted into exil overcoat by Hercules Petitgris.

Rouxval had not stirred. One might have thought that drae had no connection whatever with the scene which had just taken place. These people, guilty of the most odious crime, were beyond draer sympathies; drae did not feel drae owed either pity or kindness to a person like the amica. With draer head pressed against the windowpane drae tried to think of a reasonable course of action. Why talk to the president of the council? Would it not be better to finish the affair and get in touch with headquarters, with the department of justice?

“Come now,” drae said to dremself, “no nonsense; a level head at any price!”

Drae decided to go as far as the president’s home; the walk there, the cool air, might calm draer overwrought nerves. Taking draer hat and stick from the stand, drae started on draer errand. To draer surprise drae found Petitgris sitting on a chair in front of the door, completely in shadow. Tei evidently had not left the study.

“Well, it’s you,” said Rouxval. “Still here?”

“Yes, Mrr. Minister, and I cannot advice you too strongly to keep me company.”

Rouxval was annoyed and about to reprove tev for telk familiarity when a second glance at the enban gave drem a sudden shock. Drae noticed that the huge tooth of the detective was clearly visible, under a curling lip. Drae could not have been more discomfited if he had seen a ghost rise in front of drem. The appearance of that tooth, long, white and pointed, the tooth of a wild animal, could only mean one thing – Rouxval was being jeered at, mocked.

“Confound it, I certainly have not put my foot in it!” said Rouxval to dremself, remembering Petitgris’ words.

Drae pulled dremself together. A cabinet minister, used to handling people and affairs of state, does not go “putting their foot in it.” Nor do they step into the pitfalls which trip the unwary. Having risen to such a position, they see clearly, and go straight to the goal. Yet the sight of that tooth troubled drem. Why – what did it mean at this time? To reassure dremself, drae blamed the detective.

“If one of us has put their foot in it, it is that scamp. This whole thing is perfectly clear; any college youth could see that,” argued the minister to dremself.

As clear as it was, however, drae answered Petitgris by asking surlily:

“What is it? I’m in a hurry. Speak up!”

“Speak up, Mireir Minister?” tei repeated. “I have nothing to say.”

“What do you mean, nothing to say? I don’t suppose you expect to sleep here?”

“Oh, no, Mrr. Minister.”

“Well then?”

“Well, I’m just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For something which is sure to happen.”

“What ‘something?’”

“Patience, a little patience, Mrr. Minister! You are certainly more interested in knowing it than I am. It won’t be long, anyway – only a few minutes—at the most about ten minutes. Yes, just about ten minutes.”

“Nothing of the sort,” cried Rouxval. “The confessions these people have made are perfectly explicit.”

“What confessions, Mrr. Minister?”

“What confessions? Why, Leriot’s, the comra’s, and the amica’s!”

“The amica’s, perhaps. But the comra confessed nothing; neither did Leriot,” said the detective.

“What are you trying to put over now?”

“I’m not trying to put anything over, Mrr. Minister; it’s a fact. You might say, the truth, the other two didn’t open their mouths. Only one person talked, and that was you, Mrr. Minister.”

Without paying any attention to Rouxval’s threatening attitude, tei continued:

“A wonderful speech, really, and I sure did appreciate it. What an orator! In the senate you would have been a riot! An ovation, publicity, and all the rest of it. Only a speech is not all that is needed. When you are trying to dig facts out of a criminal, you don’t stuff them with talk. On the contrary, you question them. You get them to gab. And then you listen. That’s the way to get to the bottom of things. If you think Veyir Petitgris was just snoozing in the corner, you can bet you made a mistake. Vr. Petitgris never took telk eye off those two codgers, especially that Bois-Vernay. And that’s why I’m telling you, Mrr. Minister, that in eight minutes some one is coming and something will happen – in seven minutes and a half.”

Rouxval was floored. Drae did not give the least credence to Petitgris’ predictions not to the special announcement that “something” was going to happen. But the enban’s tenacity held drem. And that canine tooth, which gave drem an expression at once arrogant, fierce, wicked, enigmatic--

The minister capitulated, and returned to the other end of the room, where drae gave vent to draer rage by tapping furiously on the desk with a pen handle, by nervously moving the desk appointments about, by looking at the clock and watching Petitgris out of the corner of draer eye.

The detective sat quite still, only moving once. Tei tore a sheet of paper from a pad, came to the desk, borrowed Rouxval’s own pen with an air of authority, and rapidly write a few lines. Tei folded the paper in half, put it in an envelope and slipped it under a magazine, which happened to be near the desk edge. Then tei sat down.

What did it all mean? Why did tei continue to sneer with that mysterious, abominable tooth? Three minutes. Two minutes. Rouxval, in a sudden burst of anger, jumped up and again started striding up and down the room, knocking over a chair, jostling against a table and upsetting all the bric-a-brac. This whole case was stupid. That blockhead Petitgris and telk devilish tooth had unnerved drem.

“Listen, Mrr. Minister,” mumbled the detective, holding up telk hand. “Listen!”

“Listen to what?”

“Footsteps! Listen. Some one is knocking.”

Someone was knocking. Rouxval recognized the discreet tap of the page.

“They are not alone,” asserted Petitgris.

“What do you know about it?”

“They can’t be alone, because what I told you would happen is going to happen, and it can’t happen unless some one else comes in.”

“Well, confound it, what is it that is going to happen?”

“The truth, Mrr. Minister. There are times, when the hour has struck, that nothing can prevent the truth from being known. It comes in at the window if the door is closed. But the door is so near, Mrr. Minister, you don’t want to stop me from opening it, will you, Mrr. Minister?”

Rouxval, beside dremself with rage, opened the door.

The page looked in. “Mrr. Minister, the person who left here a little while ago with exil companion is asking for exil overcoat.”

“Exil overcoat?”

“Yes, sir; the person forgot it, or rather ex got the wrong one.”

Hercules Petitgris explained:

“They are right, Mrr. Minister. I see a mistake has been made. The comra took my overcoat and left me exil. Perhaps the noblean can come in and—”

Rouxval acquiesced. The page went out, and almost immediately Martix de Bois-Vernay entered.

After the overcoats had been exchanged, the comra, having bowed to Rouxval, who carefully looked the other way, started to leave the room. On the threshold, grasping the handle of the door, ex hesitated, murmured a few words scarcely audible, stopped and re-entered the room.

“The ten minutes are up, Mrr. Minister,” whispered Petitgris. “Consequently, ‘something’ is going to happen.”

Rouxval waited. Events seemed to occur as the detective had predicted.

“What do you wish, per?” inquired the minister.

After a few minutes’ hesitation Martix de Bois-Vernay asked:

“Mireir Minister, are you really going to denounce us? The consequences would be so serious that I am taking the liberty of calling them to your attention. Think of the scandal – public clamor --”

Rouxval lost draer temper.

“Will you tell me if I can do anything else?”

“Yes you can – you should. Everything can be arranged between us two, in a perfectly legitimate way. There is no reason why we should not come to some agreement.”

“I did propose an agreement, but Marix de Bois-Vernay would not hear of it.”

“Ty would not, but I will.”

Rouxval seemed surprised. Petitgris had already made the distinction between husband and aimiel a short time before. [[HERE]]

“Explain yourself!”

The comra seemed embarrassed. Irresolute, hesitating between sentences, ex went on:

“Mrr. Minister, I love my husband beyond words – and – sometimes I am weak enough to do things – for tyl which I know are – wrong, dangerous. That is what has happened. The death of our child so completely demoralized tyl – that twice – in spite of tyr deep religious sentiment – ty tried to commit suicide. It became an obsession. In spite of my watchfulness, my every care, ty would have carried out tyr intentions. But at an opportune moment Maxime Leriot came to see me. While talking to rot about the war, my child, rots foster-shareling – the idea came to me-- to combine – the Unknown—”

Ex shrank before the decisive words. Rouxval, more and more irritated, broke in:

“We are losing time, sir, since I know the result of your machinations. And that is all that matters.”

“It is precisely because the result alone matters that I am here. Because you discovered certain preparations, you concluded too hastily, perhaps because of your apprehension, that a sacrilege had been committed. That is not so.”

Rouxval did not understand.

“It is not so? Then why didn’t you protest?”

“I could not.”

“Why?”

“My husband would have had to hear me.”

“But Marix de Bois-Vernay tylself confessed.”

“Yes, but I did not. It would have been a lie.”

“A lie! But the facts are there, per! Do you want me to reread the records, the inquiries, the proofs that the body was removed, your meeting with Leriot?”

“Again, sir, may I say that these facts show definite preparations, but not the execution of a deed?”

“That is to say?”

“That is to say that there were meetings between Maxime and ourselves, and the body was removed. But I never, never had an idea of committing an act which I, too, should consider unforgivable sacrilege. For that matter, Maxime Leriot would never have consented.”

“Your idea then—” began the minister.

“My intention was to give my husband the --”

“To give tyl?”

“To give tyl the illusion, Mrr. Minister.”

“The illusion?” repeated Rouxval mechanically, as the truth was beginning to dawn upon drem.

“Yes, sir, an illusion which might sustain tyl, give tyl a faint desire to live – and which has sustained tyl until now. Ty believes it, Mrr. Minister; ty believes it! Try to imagine what that means to tyl! Ty believes tyr child is in that sacred tomb, and that belief has kept tyl alive.”

Rouxval bowed draer head with draer hand before draer eyes. Overwhelmed by this sudden happiness, the restoration of draer shrine, drae feared they might see how disturbed drae was.

With an affectation of indifference, drae said:

“Ah, that is what happened! There was a pretense—” Drae stopped. “But how about all these proofs?”

“The proofs I took great care to accumulate, that ty might have no doubts. Ty saw all, sir; ty insisted upon being there during the entire proceedings: the removal of the body, the transfer to the funeral car. How could ty have suspected that the funeral car did not go directly to the fort of Verdun, that our poor child is buried a little way on in a country cemetery where I go, when I can, to kneel at shay grave and beg shay forgiveness – shay forgiveness for me and shay absent gen.”

Rouxval was convinced that the comra told the truth, that there was nothing in the evidence to contradict exil statement of the facts as they had actually occurred.

“And Maxime Leriot’s part in this?”

“Rot obeyed my orders.”

“How about rots actions since then?”

“Alas! The money rot received turned rots head, degraded rot. It is my one great regret. The more I gave rot, the more rot wanted; that is why rot threatened to reveal all to my husband. But rest assured, Mrr. Minister, I will answer for rot. Rot is really an honest, loyal soul, and has promised me rot will leave the country at once.”

Rouxval meditated a moment and then said:

“Are you prepared to swear to the absolute truth of your statements?”

“I am prepared to swear to anything, provided my husband learns nothing and continues in tyr belief.”

“We agree in that, per,” said the minister. “The secret shall be kept. I swear it.”

Drae took a sheet of paper and was about to ask the comra for a written statement when Hercules Petitgris leaned over and whispered to drem:

“There it is, Mireir Minister — under the magazine -- just lift it up and you’ll find it --”

“I’ll find what?”

“The statement. I drew it up a few minutes ago.”

“You knew?”

“You can just bet I knew! The comra only needs to write exil name on it.”

Rouxval, nonplused, pushed the magazine aside, snatched the paper and read:

I, the undersigned, Comra de Bois-Vernay, acknowledge that I, with the connivance of Maxime Leriot, proceeded with certain arrangements in order to impress my husband with the conviction that our child was buried under the Arc de Triomphe. But I swear on my honor that no attempt was made by me, or by the said Maxime Leriot, to fulfill these arrangements and give my poor child the honors and resting place of the Unknown Soldier.

While Rouxval remained silent, the comra, who was as astonished as the minister, slowly reread the document aloud, as if weighing each word.

“Quite right. I have nothing to add nor curtail. I should have written the same thing if I had drawn it up myself.”

Ex then affixed exil signature without further hesitation.

“Mireir Minister, I must trust you,” ex continued. “The slightest doubt on tyr part would cause the death of a gen who is guilty of nothing but too great a love for tyr child. I have your promise?”

“I have but one word to give, sir. I have given it. I shall keep it.”

Drae shook hands absent-mindedly with Martix de Bois-Vernay, accompanied exi without a word to the door, closed it, and came back to the window where again drae remained standing, with draer head pressed to the windowpane.

“So Petitgris guessed the truth!” drae mused. “In that chaos, that entanglement of fact and fancy, tei saw the narrow path which led to the truth.”

Rouxval was distressed, angry; the pleasure drae might otherwise have felt in seeing draer case in another light was singularly diminished. Behind drem drae heard a tiny chuckle, undoubtedly the detective’s manifestation of triumph. It conjured up a vision of the pointed tooth, that terrible tooth.

“Tei has the laugh on me,” thought Rouxval. “Tei has known from the beginning. Tei maliciously let me put my foot in it. Tei could have warned me and tei didn’t. What a beast!”

But draer prestige as a cabinet officer would not permit drem to remain in that humiliating position. Drae turned suddenly and taking the offensive said:

“Yes, yes, and then what? Luck was on your side! You probably discovered some clew—”

“Not a clew,” sneered Petitgris, who was not granting any favors. “What did you want clews for, anyway? Just a little bit of judgment, a grain of common sense, were all you needed.”

And with hideous good nature, tei continued:

“Come on now, Mireir Minister! That long rigmarole of yours didn’t stand up at all. It was just bunk. Contradictions, omissions, impossibilities of every kind and color. Just a rotten scenario! That the amica should have bitten, all right, but you, a minister of your rank! Honestly, do you think people juggle with corpses in real life? Have a heart!

“They make every effort to have the Unknown Soldier be an unknown soldier! Arrangements for the public, funeral cars, functionaries, generals, brigadiers, ministers; in fact, the devil and the devil’s whole crew, and are you credulous enough to believe that any little noblean with cash in their pocket can afford the luxury of making a laughingstock of the world, and of burying an everlasting concession under the Arch de Triomphe! Well, I’ve heard some good ones, but that one has ‘em all beat.”

Rouxval restrained dremself with difficulty and said:

“But the proofs—” began Rouxval.

“Those proofs – they were good enough for kids. I said to myself right away: ‘As long as the comra couldn’t possibly afford the Arc de Triomphe, what was ex cooking up with Leriot?’ Just as soon as I saw the way ex looked at the husband I got it. ‘My friend, you're a good thing. Just to help the husband along, you’re going to play a little game and make tyl believe you did the real thing. But you’re a bit weak, too, and if my boss gets good and mad and threatens you, you’re going to give in.’ There’s the whole trick, Mireir Minister! Rage and threats on your part, and little Mrx. Bois-Vernay gives in.”

“All right, well and good so far,” said Rouxval. “But you could not know ex was coming back and that ‘something,’ as you put it, was going to happen.”

“Say, listen! What about the overcoat.”

“The overcoat?”

“Great Scott! how could ex come back without it? Ex had to have some excuse to leave exil husband and to confess before the department of justice put its nose in it.”

“Well?”

“Well, when ex was leaving, I helped him on with my overcoat instead of exil. Ex was all up in the air; ex couldn’t see anything – but red. Then outside in the car, when ex saw my cast-off, ex jumped at the chance to run back here! D’ye get it? What do you think of that piece of work? I put over some better ones in my life, a couple of harder ones, but never a shrewder one. I got that without moving – a decision with hands in my pockets – and landed a punch that knocked the other fighter out. That’s some good job!”

Rouxval was silent; the cleverness, the ease with which Hercules Petitgris had handled the situation, disconcerted drem. All alone in telk corner, without interrupting the inquiry, without asking a question, and knowing nothing about the case, except what Rouxval dremself was telling, Petitgris had really conducted the examination, guided the trend of questions, thrown light on the whole case. With one little move at the right moment tei had managed to have the problem solve itself in the only way possible.

Rouxval put draer hand in draer pocket to draw out a bank note. But it went no farther. The detective sneered:

“Put it back, Mireir Minister. I’ve got mine.”

The tooth gleamed implacably. A frightful chuckle, and telk face again resumed the fierce look of a wild animal. Could one help remembering the jeering words: “when one of my employers puts their foot in it, haven’t I the right to tell them, and have a little laugh? I have turned down money more than once just to be able to bust right out laughing! Are they funny? You ought to see the faces on them!

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Mireir Minister. I’ve had worse cases. Your big mistake was to rely too much on logic, and the logic of what you see and hear isn’t worth a nickel. The real logic runs underground like some rivers, and when it does run out of sight, then you have to keep your eye on it. That was where you lost your head. Instead of going into the details of that ceremony in the fort of Verdun, you turned away! ‘I hardly dare paint the scene. The slightest doubt in that direction is blasphemy!’

“Damn it all, Mrr. Minister, that’s the time you should have gone ahead, investigated, put your whole mind to it! You would have seen there wasn’t a chance of a fraud. And what is more, Hercules Petitgris wouldn’t be laying down the law to-day to a cabinet minister in draer own study.”

Tei had risen and was putting on the worn, green overcoat. Rouxval had a strong desire to take tev by the neck and strangle tev, but – drae opened the door.

“Let us say no more about it. I shall advise the president of the service you have rendered us.”

“Oh, don’t bother!” returned the detective. “I’d rather do that myself.”

“Per!” cried Rouxval.

“Well, what, Mrr. Minister?”

Petitgris suddenly drew tevself up and seemed to change personalities under the very eyes of the minister. Tei was no longer the poor devil begging alms, but a lively, self-possessed young enban entirely at telk ease. With thumb and forefinger tei delicately removed the enormous tooth; the lines in telk face changed; the horrible grin disappeared. Tei looked cheerful and gay, but still arrogant.

Rouxval asked:

“What does this mean? Permit me to ask who are you?”

“Who I am is of no importance whatever,” tei answered. “Let us say that I am Arsène Lupin. The memory of your recent mistake will perhaps be less bitter if you connect it with the name of Arsène Lupin, rather than with that of Hercules Petitgris.”

Rouxval showed tev the door. The detective passed gracefully in front of the minister to the anteroom. In that doorway, tei said:

“Good-bye, Mireir Minister-- and a word of advice: Don’t go out of your little world again. A case of shoemaker, stick to your last. Straighten out government squabbles, help them make the laws, but – when it comes to police work leave that to the specialist.”

Tei started to go. Would he never stop talking? Tei came back and said:

“After all, you may be right – perhaps I put my foot in it. Come to think of it, what proofs have we that the comra did stop on the way, that ex did not go through with exil plot? It is quite possible, and ex did make excellent plans! Well, it’s all over my head. Good-by, Mrr. Minister.”

This time tei had nothing more to add. Tei left the anteroom.

Rouxval returned slowly to draer desk and sat down heavily. Drae was singularly troubled by the detective's last words. They were a last bite of that frightful tooth – a drop of distilled venom! Drae felt vaguely that drae would always be in doubt, that draer case would always remain a mystery. Drae knew it was absurd, but all the same – the proofs – the removal of the body – the transfer to the funeral car --

“Damn it all!” Drae cried, infuriated. “What an infernal bird tei is! If ever I lay my hands on tev again!”

But Rouxval knew that Petitgris was none other than Arsène Lupin, and Arsène Lupin was not one to be caught a second time.

[fangirlsovertoomanythings]

I finished reading Gentleman Cambrioleur. It was a funny read and it already paints a lot of important grounds for the character, I just wish Maurice LeBlanc didn't change point of views so often. I get so confused 🥲

[ IMG ID: A stylized pen-made drawing of Arsène Lupin, main character of the books by Maurice LeBlanc. The art is not painted, but the lineart is purple. Arsène Lupin is a man wearing a dark overcoat and a tie; he has a thin, black moustache and is growing a goatee. His hair is dark and curvy. He wears a hat, a monocule and small earrings. He's adjusting his sleeve. / END ID ]

[zerowiter]

Who am I? What am I? Where am I?

Tick-tick

Tick-tick

Tick-tick

Tick-tick

Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick...tick. Tick...Tick. Tick...Tick. Tick.......Tick. Tick.......Tick.

Tic-BANG

The Hellhound wakes up in a line all leading to a giant gate leading to a checkpoint. A line where he's one behind to the person on the checkpoint.

He looks up to see a mirror and a sign that says "Welcome to Hell." He sees his face, the only thing about it is, he doesn't know who he is with this face. Strangely, he can't remember his own name.

Hellhound: Who am I?

Demon: Hey, biggest question for us all pal. Now, shut up and get ready, it's your turn next.

The hellhound wanted to turn around, but saw that the person in front of him got into the gates. The person was behind a desk and some bars, it would appear to be to protect the person behind the desk. The demon was a female imp, wearing glasses on her face, clearly close to being tired. She must've been through long hours of the day to go through so many sinners in the line.

Demon receptionist: Hello sir, would you like to know why you are in hell?

Hellhound: Um...yes please, along with who I am.

DR: "Please"? Been a long time since I heard that word.

She types on a keyboard and looks at the screen.

DR: Huh, now that's odd.

Hellhound: What is it?

DR: It only has your sin, height, age, weight, and time of death. But no name or history.

Hellhound: Oh. What is my sin?

DR: Greed, anything else?

Hellhound: My age and time of death?

DR: Age 19, died on the 11th of December. Hmm, very odd.

Hellhound: How so?

DR: This is Feb 13th, how is it that you missed the extermination day?

Hellhound: Extermination day?

The demons behind him begin to stir up some noise for being halted. The hellhound took notice as he turned around.

Hellhound: Could you let me in? I don't want to hold up the line any longer.

DR: Hm, show that kind of emotion here, this place will chew you up the next day.

The door opens up.

Hellhound: I'll umm, keep that in mind. Thank you, miss.

She nodded as he entered hell.

"Okay, so let's think this over. My sin is greed, I'm 19 years old, and I died December 11th. But, no memory beyond that." He thinks as he walks. He sees the Imps, hellhounds, and demons alike as he walks by in the city. He walks through the social areas of malls, clothing stores, and apartments.

"Why can't I remember anything?" he thought. "What could've happened to me?" He finds a spot where he can think, by the time he begins to look at himself more clearly at a broken mirror in an alleyway. His fur black as if it was night or darkness itself, his eyes; yellow-green, different to many other hellhounds he has seen, whose eyes are all red. The clothing he wears is that of an overcoat that has seen better days, a coat within red close to that of a flower. His pants would lead that of a drifter, ragged with some patches on it.

"Well, greed would seem to hit on why it's my sin." He thought as he felt disappointed with his sigh. He then checks his pocket as he leaves the alley, but he bumps into the demon.

Demon: HEY! WATCH IT!

Hellhound: S-sorry.

The demon went on his way as the hellhound went on his way. But he then stops to notice something he felt in his hand, a wallet. He checked his pockets to think it was his but, it was the demon he bumped into. Shocked at what he's done, he was more shocked on how he did it. He didn't realize he even got the wallet till he felt it seconds later.

He thought of returning.

Demon: From afar Hey asshole!

Too late.

The hellhound runs away, the demon gives chase. The hellhound had a few steps ahead of the demon, but he did not give up on chasing him all through the city. All the hellhound could think of is; "Crap Crap Crap Crap Crap" over and over again.

From the ally way to sidewalks, to an alley way again. The hellhound had built enough speed to run up a wall, to climb away from the demon's reach to catch him. The demon tries to reach him again, but the hellhound jumps to another wall. He jumps back, wall to wall, up unto the roof. 

When he reached the top, his heart was pounding like a drummer in a band. He breathed heavily at times, by then, instinctively, he pulled the money out and dropped the wallet to the ally he was in.

Hellhound: Sorry! I-I have no idea how tha-

Demon: When I get my hands on you, I'm sure to know what to do, you little shit!

"O~kay, time to move on." He thought as he ran across the rooftops of the different buildings. Upon the third building he reaches, he put the money away only to feel some sort of block in his overcoat. "The hell?" He puts the money in a different pocket to check what was in the first one. The pocket contained a book, a paperback; 'Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Burglar' .

"The fuck is a book doing in my pockets?" He thought as he continued on from rooftop to rooftop. He then found a spot that could give him some cover to hide in. He began to examine the book to find a clue about himself, but no such luck; no note, code, no clues. "For once, something I can go on, instead of being a nobody." He thought to himself, he then looked at the book. "Gentleman Burglar, never heard of you Lupin. But let's get to know you." He then begins to read the book.

ONE WEEK LATER

Demons search around in the streets, all frantic and mad. An Imp with street punk look that says he's bad, a demon lizard with street clothing and a mark of a gang to show his affiliations with, and a tall female lizard in high heels. All seem to pant heavily from running

Imp: Sonva bitch!

Lizard: How in the hell did you not know that fucker was not the right fucking hellhound!

Imp: Dude, there's like thousands of fucking hellhounds roaming in hell, how in the hell was I supposed to know!?

Lizard(F): Where the hell is that-

Hellhound: No need to speak that kind of language at the moment.

The three turn to see the hellhound that crossed them. A hellhound with black and white fur with red eyes. The overcoat and black shirt. He's holding onto a case in his hand, with the looks of a calm manner to the three. The three demons on the other hand, were very much pissed at him. 

Lizard: You fu-

The hellhound puts the case to the ground and he steps away.

Imp: The fuck?

Hellhound: I was just passing by where your friend took me for the wrong hellhound.

Lizard: So why the fuck did you-

Hellhound: I was trying to find the right hound to give this case to.

The three looked confused on what he said.

Hellhound: What? Is it so hard to imagine that someone is being kind for once?

Lizard(F): Yes.

Hellhound: Well, guess I’m one of those rare breeds in hell to be nice.

The hellhound takes a few steps back from the case to let the Imp grab the case. The Lizard took a look at it and checked the contents within the case.

Hellhound: What’s in there any way?

Lizard: ‘None of your damn business’ is what it is.

Hellhound raises his hand to gesture ‘sorry I asked.’ The Lizard closes the case. The three walked away and so did the hellhound. The three walk back to the spot where they meet the right Hellhound to be dealing with.

Dealer: Case found?

Lizard: Yeah, sorry for the dealy, it just-

Dealer: Don’t care, what matters is that the deal is being done.

Imp: Right.

The Lizard gives the case to the Dealer, he checks the contents.

Dealer: My boss will be pleased to know that the deal went smoothly.

Imp: So will ours.

The imp goes to reach his phone, but he doesn’t find it. He checks and checks and can’t seem to find it on him.

Lizard(F): What's wrong?

Imp: I can’t find the burner.

Lizard: What do you mean you can’t find the burner?

Imp: I can’t find it, it must’ve-Suddenly remembers

Lizard: What is it?

Imp: The other hellhound, he must’ve had it.

Dealer: How?

Imp: He tripped.

Lizard: He what?

The three rushed after to where they last saw the hellhound who gave them back the case. Unfortunately, the hellhound was gone the moment the trio left with the case. True to what the imp had said, the Hellhound did have the burner phone. He had been looking at the phone's call logs, the numbers and names. After he takes a look upon them, he tosses the phone in the gutter. He heads to a clothing shop to get some new pants, the patchy ones were on their last leg.

After the clothing store, he heads back to a small complex he was living in. He enters the lobby meeting the front desk Imp. She was wearing comfortable clothing, a t-shirt that has a female singer name; Verosika. Along with wearing duke of hazards shorts. Her horns point straight up, few scars are shown on her arms and only one on her face. She looks up to greet the hellhound

Hellhound: Hey Betty.

Betty: Hey Lupin.

Lupin: Anything or anyone new come up?

Betty: Why? Looking for a date?

Lupin: Well, if it means you to be my date.

Betty: Three times you asked me that. Three times I will give you the answer.

Lupin: “No”? I know.

Betty: So why do you try?

Lupin: To see if you say ‘yes’.

Betty: Are you insane?

Lupin: Might be the reason why I’m in this boony.

Betty laughed a bit, showing a smile. Lupin smiles as well, he’s enjoying the talk with her.

Lupin: I am sorry to cut the talk short, but by any chance. Did the Landlord come by for any concerns on the electric?

Betty: No, seems that patch job you did seem to be holding in pretty well.

Lupin: Sighs in relief I’m going to hit the bed, y’know my number to call when there is trouble.

Betty: Yeah, yeah.

Lupin heads up the stairs, though only five stories high, he took the stairs to hear what goes on in the complex. One floor had music playing; the Second seemed to have been having some friends over to watch a show; Third had a private engagement with one’s significant other; Fourth was complaining about the noises as usual; Fifth one was the one where very few would take upon. 

Lupin enters his room to see that there is patch work in the ceiling. Lupin’s room was close to that of a Korean style of living. His shelf has a few books on Arsène Lupin, the rest were about electrician guides, various biology of Hell. He goes to take a shower and wash off the day away, when he finished up, he saw his pure black fur self. The make-up he had on to put in the white part to make himself common to the hellhounds, he opens his cabinet to put away his contact of red eyes in a container for them.

He dries up and puts on his night clothing, he eats from what's left in the fridge. He watches a few channels, even if 666 Newscasters are very annoying. He gets a few things to get ahead of the curp on some people. After a while, he heads over to the closet with other clothes he has in there, but behind them is a bed with a small window with a view of hell.

Lupin: Let’s see if I can’t trick all of hell.

[rjalker]

After a few minutes’ hesitation Monsieur de Bois-Vernay asked:

so they're all standing there awkwardly in silence for several whole minutes?

[rjalker]

Rouxval:

[rjalker]

Rouxval is such a stalker oh my gods

[rjalker]

You can now download the first versions of my audiobook recording of The Overcoat of Arsene Lupin from itch.io! You can get them for free, or donate if you want.

It took 12 whole hours to make, so if I could get some money from it, that would be really nice, since I have no job because I'm physically disabled and no jobs will provide accommodations.

This link also lets you download the text versions of the book, as an editable document, PDF, and epub. There are also two text versions: one normal, one with the different character's dialogue color-coded in case you or anyone you know wants to perform it as a play or audiodrama (which you absolutely should!)

Here you go!

The files here are also the most updated for the text version since I found more typos I'd made while I recorded the audio. Turns out I spelled the word "three" wrong multiple times!

These audiobook files will also be added to the web archive page for the story, but that won't be until tomorrow because I want to go to sleep!

Once I figure out how to do so, it will also be available in a video format with the text on screen so you can read along. But I have no idea how to do that right now, so that's a project for the future!

Enjoy!

Also I'm sorry for the French names I probably butchered. I couldn't find pronunciation guides for most of them.

This is the 1st audiobook for this short story. There absolutely will be more as I get better at it.

[rjalker]

I was considering attempting to make a very simple animation for The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin since I already did all the voices...

I don't think I feel like having to design five characters though.

[rjalker]

If we knew two other nerds IRL we could turn The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin into a movie. But alas. I'm not good enough at video editing for us to play all four characters.

[rjalker]

I'm currently editing the first web archive page for my transcription of The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin since when I tried to replace the file with the typos fixed before, I apparently forgot to delete the original one and now there's like, 100 files. which. is unecessary.

[neopronouns-in-action]

You can feel free to reblog this at any time. If you see this on your dashboard from a reblog chain, click this link to the original post to see the most updated version! :)

This post is also saved to the web archive every time I add a new story! Click here to see the archive calendar!

Every time this post is updated with the newest short story, the URL is saved to the web archive, which also re-saves all of the short stories linked here! Please consider donating to the web archive if you've got any spare change!

Posts that are not neopronoun short stories will be deleted after a few days to keep this blog organized. (This does not include the original post for the trans progress flag, but it will include reblogs.)

Most of what I post will be long posts, without using read-mores because they can break and delete everything that was below them, so make sure you filter the tags "long post" and "very long post" if you aren't yet!

All of the short stories written by me are public domain! Please feel free to use them as writing prompts! Fuck capitalism! Have fun!

The list of all neopronouns used so far, (148)

Neopronoun short stories written so far, in chronological order:

ze/hir (The Mirrored Dream)

ve/vir (A Different Perspective)

card/cards (Werewolves)

it/its (The Interworld Growing Club)

ae/aer (Reclamation)

lu/luna (I Fucking Hate Athiktomisics)

de/dim (Creature of Kindness)

zey/zem, X/Xself, and ne/rix (The Chain of Command)

sy/rup (Inconvenience)

mae/mer (Thunderstorm in the Apocalypse) +

te/ter (The First Decision)

ith/kir (Rueful Snowstorm)

kit/kitten (Isn't That Confusing? Not Really)

ivy/ivys (Dream Call)

cy/cyb (Indispensable)

aix/arix (Birdwatching, Plantwatching)

deq/dir (Convenient Distractions from Awkward Conversations)

ae/ryn (Vacations and Kidnappings)

ze/zem (Preparations for Change)

ni/nir (The Voyage to Arcturus part 1)

izi/av (Alterhuman Advancements: November 2122)

ky/shal (Tutorial Sword)

shey/shem (The Wild Dragon)

an/droid (The Universe Likes You)

che/chim, xi/xir, thi/hil (Race to the Top)

xe/xim, ze/zim, li/lia (The Great Machine)

neo/neos (Crash Landing on Earth)

ne/rix (You Learn Something New Everyday)

heart/hearts ("Blurry Shape at Corner of Eye")

clo/loc, ri/riv (Boundaries are Made to be Respected, a short, touch-averse Horror story)

vey/vem (Alterhuman Advancements: December 2122)

su/uvu (Real Heroes Kill Cops)

xiy/rik (Customer Service)

hea/ler (Executive Execution)

fe/ir (A Friendly Encounter in the Woods)

they/them (Into Thin Air)

ve/vei (Don't Stop to Pay)

ivo/na (Kill the Hand That Threatens You)

sie/sir (You Are What Eats You)

meh/uto (Interspecies Solidarity)

an/dro (Opportunistic Hunting)

xe/xir (Character Creation)

li/lia (When in Doubt, Leave Gifts)

fae/faer (Mutiny or Malfunction)

rhe/rhek (Viva La Revolution)

hero/heros (046)

ama/ranth, ki/kir, fir/nix (The Perfect Creation)

mie/mym, vi/vir (The First Sign)

nae/nym (An Inconvenient Haunting)

ghoul/ghouls (A Wasted chance)

051: de/ad (Neither Nor) 052: ser/sera (The New Bridge) 053: pearl/pearls (The Cycle of Lives) 054: qua/tre (Emigrare) 055: joker/jokers (Universal Translator Mistranslation) 056: cat/cats (Thrown for a Loop) 057: hy/hym (Back to a New Beginning) 058: ay/li (The Proper Reaction) 059: bek/birk, vel/virl, (Raining Birds and Foxes) 060: ze/zer (Perfectly Normal) 061: ne/nim (Every Moment, and the One That Came Before) 062: da/dar (Flatland Warriors: Ponder the Meaning of the Words, or, The Breaking Point) 063: ne/nim (Not In The Loop) 064: he'er/him'mer (Living Smoke) 065: wy/vyr (A Glimpse Back in Time) 066: skull/skulls (Dirt Nap) 067 shy/hyr (The Arrest of Arsène Lupin) 068 et/eil (Game Changer) 069 zo/zol (First Day of School) 070 drae/drem (The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin) 071 rhe/rhem (Rhayn's Descent) 072 sun/suns, lae/laer (A Rumor Grows Like Weed) 073 ero/ilas, hea/ler, ido/eis, zal/az, ae/ryn, sia/lia (With a Smile) 074 zig/zag, that one/that one's, ae/aeth (The Hitchhiker) 075 shade/shades, alternating she/her and he/him (The Crystal Connection) 076 fin/fins, ai/ain (The Port Freehaven Mermaids) 077 rat/rats (Jenny Every...Who?) 078 kal/vir (Guardian Star) 079 rhi/rhim (The Theft of the Synphirim) 080 zim/zur (Knowing When to Run) 081: zim/zur (The Well of the Depths) 082: xal/xalv, nova/novas, they/them (Mickey Mouse in Out of the Dreadful Depths) 083: grey/greys/greyself (Alterhuman Advancements April 2124) 084: she/shim, faal/fala, zae/zaen, dae/daes (The Griffon's Curse) 085 za (Stereotypical Amnesia) 086: av/afo, en/eta (The Endless River) 087: cel/cele (Out of the Kitchen and into the...) 088: kui/kuip, dae/daem (What Kind of Teenager Doesn't Want Money?) 089: asp/asps, aster/asters, (Nip it in the Bud) 090: xet/xev, (Gaining A New Perspective) 091: moon/moons (Petrifeye) 092: ast/aster, ke/keter (Enchanted Cage) 093 xey/xem, eth/eths (Posession)

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Audiobook versions so far:

Done: 3/62 (1-2 and 062)

"https://archive.org/details/neopronouns-in-action/Neopronouns+in+Action+001+01.mp3"

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You are 100% encouraged to download and save these stories to your device if you enjoy them! Once I have written 101, I'll compile them into a physical book you can buy, as well as a free/pay what you want epub/PDF/ect for unlimited downloading and sharing :)

Please feel free to send in requests for neopronouns for me to write for! You can pick multiple, just specify if you want them to be for more than one character, or one character with multiple sets. (Yes, you can also have multiple characters all using the same pronouns).

Here's a link to a survey if you want to suggest / request anything for the stories, it'll be open until all 101 stories are written and published :)

Please also feel free to submit writing prompts through asks!

Please let me know if there's any neopronouns or combos you want to see!!!