On a rock in the middle of the Seine River sits a little manor called Malaquis Castle. Connected to the mainland only by an arched bridge, Malaquis Castle has been surrounded by intrigue and menace since it was built. Many legends surround the mysterious castle. One legend tells of a famous tunnel that supposedly led to an abbey and the house of a lover of a French king. A most eccentric millionaire, Baron Cahorn, lived alone in the castle with his treasures and three old servants. He lived in constant fear, but not in fear for his life, oh no; he feared that his private collection of antique furniture, rare art, and wood carvings would be stolen. So he barricaded himself in the castle and, every day at sunset, locked the iron gates at each end of the bridge. The baron guarded his private art collection as possessively and passionately as a jealous lover.
One September day a man with merry eyes and a pleasant manner showed up at one gate with some newspapers.
"Good morning, Baron Cahorn," the man said in a friendly voice.
Partially opening the gate, the baron scrutinized the man as if he had never seen him before.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" said the man, laughing. "It is only I—the postman who comes every day."
"One can never be too sure about who people are," muttered the baron.
The baron took the newspapers and was about to close the gate when the postman exclaimed, "Oh, here is something new, Baron." The postman handed him a thin envelope.
"For me?"
Having no intimate friends or business relations, the baron seldom, if ever, received any letters. So he reacted to this occurrence with both suspicion and alarm.
"It’s a registered letter, sir. Please sign here," said the postman.
Baron Cahorn signed, took the letter, and watched as the man tipped his cap and disappeared down the road, whistling an aria from The Magic Flute. Then, leaning against the gate, he tore open the letter. It contained one sheet, bearing the letterhead of Santé Prison in Paris. He scanned quickly down to the signature. It read: Arsène Lupin. Breathing rapidly, the baron read the letter.
My dearest Baron Cahorn:
Allow me to applaud you on your exquisite collection of fine art.
To the baron’s horror, not only did the letter name in detail the paintings and other treasures inside his castle, but the writer also revealed the exact location of each item he specifically wanted.
"How could anyone possibly know?" the baron shouted into the air. "No one has set foot inside my castle!" He continued to read.
I humbly request that these particular items be packed carefully and shipped to me, within eight days, to the address below. However, if you will not oblige, then I will have to remove them myself. Expect me on the night of September 27. I apologize for any inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Arsène Lupin
P.S. Don’t send the Jean-Antoine Watteau painting. Although you paid thirty thousand francs for it, it is only a copy.
The letter quite upset the baron. Being well acquainted with the recent crimes reported in the newspapers, he was only too familiar with the name Arsène Lupin. He knew Lupin had been arrested in America by the celebrated detective Ganimard and was now imprisoned in Santé Prison. The baron, however, also knew that with Lupin nothing was impossible.
That evening the baron wrote a letter to the local police captain, enclosing Lupin’s letter and requesting protection. The reply came immediately, informing the baron that Lupin was in Santé Prison under close surveillance and without letter-writing privileges. No doubt the letter was from an impostor making idle threats.
Still the baron was not convinced, and his hopelessness and despair grew as each day passed. However, one morning he found a glimmer of hope when he read the Caudebec Revealer, a local newspaper.
"‘The celebrated detective who captured Arsène Lupin has been spotted in town, taking a well-deserved rest. An enthusiastic fisherman, Detective Ganimard is seldom missing from the river,’" Baron Cahorn read aloud and then cried, "Ganimard is here! Only he can help!"
The town of Caudebec was just six kilometers away, so immediately the baron went to the offices of the Revealer and spoke to the reporter who had written the article.
"Ganimard?" the young reporter repeated.
"It is of the utmost urgency!" exclaimed the baron. "You must tell me where he is."
The reporter scratched his head and said, "You are sure to find him fishing on the riverbank. I happened to meet him there one day and noticed that his name was engraved on his fishing pole." He pointed outside his window at a man wearing a straw hat and fishing at the river’s edge. "There he is now."
The baron left the reporter and ran toward the river. He approached the famous Ganimard and introduced himself. The detective, however, responded with silence. Then the baron burst forth with his story about his treasures, Lupin, and the letter, as the man sat motionless.
"Please, Monsieur Ganimard," pleaded the baron, "I am in desperate need of your help."
Without removing his eyes from his fishing pole, the man replied, "Burglars do not customarily warn people before they rob them, especially Lupin."
"But the letter . . ."
"If this were the work of Lupin," said Ganimard with a slight smile, "which it obviously is not, it would be my pleasure to assist you, Baron. Unfortunately Lupin is already locked up."
"He could have escaped," the baron retorted.
Ganimard finally faced him, unsmiling.
"No one has ever escaped Santé Prison," said the detective. "Now, go home and sleep soundly—you’re frightening the fish." Then he turned his gaze back to the river.
The baron went home, somewhat reassured by Ganimard’s words. He was beginning to believe that he had possibly overreacted, but every night he still checked each bolt and lock in the castle. When September 26 arrived, so did a message, and the baron’s initial anxieties were reawakened.
"A telegram for you, sir," announced a servant.
The baron snatched the telegram and read: The items I requested have not been delivered. Prepare to see me tomorrow night. Lupin
The baron hastened to Caudebec and found Ganimard at the same spot by the river.
"Lupin is coming!" the baron shouted as he shoved the telegram in the detective’s face. "Now he will take away my treasures!"
Ganimard put down his fishing pole and said in a cold voice, "I’m on vacation. I don’t want to bother myself with such silliness."
"Come to my castle and protect my valuables," the baron begged. "Name your price."
Ganimard smiled coolly and said, "You will be throwing your money out the window."
"I don’t care," cried the baron.
"Then I accept on one condition," replied Ganimard. "You must not speak to anyone of my involvement. It must be kept a secret."
"You have my word," the baron promised.
"I’ll see you tomorrow evening at nine o’clock, and I’ll be bringing some men to help me," said the detective. "Before I arrive, put all your valuables in one room in the main part of the castle."