It was morning before he found that important account. It comprised sixteen pages, one of which was a copy of the page on which was described the work done for Mon. Harmingeat of the rue Chalgrin. Another page described the work performed for Mon. Vatinel as owner of the house at No. 25 rue Clapeyron. Another page was reserved for the Baron d'Hautrec, 134 avenue Henri-Martin; another was devoted to the Château de Crozon, and the eleven other pages to various owners of houses in Paris.
Sholmes made a list of those eleven names and addresses; after which he returned the books to their proper places, opened a window, jumped out onto the deserted street and closed the shutters behind him.
When he reached his room at the hotel he lighted his pipe with all the solemnity with which he was wont to characterize that act, and amidst clouds of smoke he studied the deductions that might be drawn from the account of M.B., or rather, from the account of Maxime Bermond alias Arsène Lupin.
At eight o'clock he sent the following message to Ganimard:
"I expect to pass through the rue Pergolese this forenoon and will inform you of a person whose arrest is of the highest importance. In any event, be at home to-night and to-morrow until noon and have at least thirty men at your service."
Then he engaged an automobile at the stand on the boulevard, choosing one whose chauffeur looked good-natured but dull-witted, and instructed him to drive to the Place Malesherbes, where he stopped him about one hundred feet from Monsieur Destange's house.
"My boy, close your carriage," he said to the chauffeur; "turn up the collar of your coat, for the wind is cold, and wait patiently. At the end of an hour and a half, crank up your machine. When I return we will go to the rue Pergolese."
As he was ascending the steps leading to the door a doubt entered his mind. Was it not a mistake on his part to be spending his time on the affairs of the blonde Lady, while Arsène Lupin was preparing to move? Would he not be better engaged in trying to find the abode of his adversary amongst the eleven houses on his list?
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "when the blonde Lady becomes my prisoner, I shall be master of the situation."
And he rang the bell.
Monsieur Destange was already in the library. They had been working only a few minutes, when Clotilde entered, bade her father good morning, entered the adjoining parlor and sat down to write. From his place Sholmes could see her leaning over the table and from time to time absorbed in deep meditation. After a short time he picked up a book and said to Monsieur Destange:
"Here is a book that Mademoiselle Destange asked me to bring to her when I found it."
He went into the little parlor, stood before Clotilde in such a manner that her father could not see her, and said:
"I am Monsieur Stickmann, your father's new secretary."
"Ah!" said Clotilde, without moving, "my father has changed his secretary? I didn't know it."
"Yes, mademoiselle, and I desire to speak with you."
"Kindly take a seat, monsieur; I have finished."
She added a few words to her letter, signed it, enclosed it in the envelope, sealed it, pushed her writing material away, rang the telephone, got in communication with her dressmaker, asked the latter to hasten the completion of a traveling dress, as she required it at once, and then, turning to Sholmes, she said:
"I am at your service, monsieur. But do you wish to speak before my father? Would not that be better?"
"No, mademoiselle; and I beg of you, do not raise your voice. It is better that Monsieur Destange should not hear us."
"For whose sake is it better?"
"Yours, mademoiselle."
"I cannot agree to hold any conversation with you that my father may not hear."
"But you must agree to this. It is imperative."
Both of them arose, eye to eye. She said:
"Speak, monsieur."
Still standing, he commenced:
"You will be so good as to pardon me if I am mistaken on certain points of secondary importance. I will guarantee, however, the general accuracy of my statements."
"Can we not dispense with these preliminaries, monsieur? Or are they necessary?"
Sholmes felt the young woman was on her guard, so he replied:
"Very well; I will come to the point. Five years ago your father made the acquaintance of a certain young man called Maxime Bermond, who was introduced as a contractor or an architect, I am not sure which it was; but it was one or the other. Monsieur Destange took a liking to the young man, and as the state of his health compelled him to retire from active business, he entrusted to Monsieur Bermond the execution of certain orders he had received from some of his old customers and which seemed to come within the scope of Monsieur Bermond's ability."
Herlock Sholmes stopped. It seemed to him that the girl's pallor had increased. Yet there was not the slightest tremor in her voice when she said:
"I know nothing about the circumstances to which you refer, monsieur, and I do not see in what way they can interest me."
"In this way, mademoiselle: You know, as well as I, that Maxime Bermond is also known by the name of Arsène Lupin."
She laughed, and said:
"Nonsense! Arsène Lupin? Maxime Bermond is Arsène Lupin? Oh! no! It isn't possible!"
"I have the honor to inform you of that fact, and since you refuse to understand my meaning, I will add that Arsène Lupin has found in this house a friend—more than a friend—and accomplice, blindly and passionately devoted to him."
Without emotion, or at least with so little emotion that Sholmes was astonished at her self-control, she declared:
"I do not understand your object, monsieur, and I do not care to; but I command you to say no more and leave this house."
"I have no intention of forcing my presence on you," replied Sholmes, with equal sang-froid, "but I shall not leave this house alone."
"And who will accompany you, monsieur?"
"You will."
"I?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, we will leave this house together, and you will follow me without one word of protest."
The strange feature of the foregoing interview was the absolute coolness of the two adversaries. It bore no resemblance to an implacable duel between two powerful wills; but, judging solely from their attitude and the tone of their voices, an onlooker would have supposed their conversation to be nothing more serious than a courteous argument over some impersonal subject.
Clotilde resumed her seat without deigning to reply to the last remark of Herlock Sholmes, except by a shrug of her shoulders. Sholmes looked at his watch and said:
"It is half-past ten. We will leave here in five minutes."
"Perhaps."
"If not, I shall go to Monsieur Destange, and tell him——"
"What?"
"The truth. I will tell him of the vicious life of Maxime Bermond, and I will tell him of the double life of his accomplice."
"Of his accomplice?"
"Yes, of the woman known as the blonde Lady, of the woman who was blonde."
"What proofs will you give him?"
"I will take him to the rue Chalgrin, and show him the secret passage made by Arsène Lupin's workmen,—while doing the work of which he had the control—between the houses numbered 40 and 42; the passage