Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes — Reading Companion
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CHAPTER I. Lottery Ticket No. 514 CHAPTER II. The Blue Diamond CHAPTER III. Herlock Sholmes Opens Hostilities CHAPTER IV. Light in the Darkness CHAPTER V. An Abduction CHAPTER VI. Second Arrest of Arsène Lupin CHAPTER VII. The Jewish Lamp CHAPTER VIII. The Shipwreck
CHAPTER I. LOTTERY TICKET NO. 514.
On the eighth day of last December, Mon. Gerbois, professor of mathematics at the College of Versailles, while rummaging in an old curiosity-shop, unearthed a small mahogany writing-desk which pleased him very much on account of the multiplicity of its drawers.
“Just the thing for Suzanne’s birthday present,” thought he. And as he always tried to furnish some simple pleasures for his daughter, consistent with his modest income, he enquired the price, and, after some keen bargaining, purchased it for sixty-five francs. As he was giving his address to the shopkeeper, a young man, dressed with elegance and taste, who had been exploring the stock of antiques, caught sight of the writing-desk, and immediately enquired its price.
“It is sold,” replied the shopkeeper.
“Ah! to this gentleman, I presume?”
Monsieur Gerbois bowed, and left the store, quite proud to be the possessor of an article which had attracted the attention of a gentleman of quality. But he had not taken a dozen steps in the street, when he was overtaken by the young man who, hat in hand and in a tone of perfect courtesy, thus addressed him:
“I beg your pardon, monsieur; I am going to ask you a question that you may deem impertinent. It is this: Did you have any special object in view when you bought that writing-desk?”
“No, I came across it by chance and it struck my fancy.”
“But you do not care for it particularly?”
“Oh! I shall keep it—that is all.”
“Because it is an antique, perhaps?”
“No; because it is convenient,” declared Mon. Gerbois.
“In that case, you would consent to exchange it for another desk that would be quite as convenient and in better condition?”
“Oh! this one is in good condition, and I see no object in making an exchange.”
Mon. Gerbois is a man of irritable disposition and hasty temper. So he replied, testily:
“I beg of you, monsieur, do not insist.”
But the young man firmly held his ground.
“I don’t know how much you paid for it, monsieur, but I offer you double.”
“Three times the amount.”
“Oh! that will do,” exclaimed the professor, impatiently; “I don’t wish to sell it.”
The young man stared at him for a moment in a manner that Mon. Gerbois would not readily forget, then turned and walked rapidly away.
An hour later, the desk was delivered at the professor’s house on the Viroflay road. He called his daughter, and said:
“Here is something for you, Suzanne, provided you like it.”
Suzanne was a pretty girl, with a gay and affectionate nature. She threw her arms around her father’s neck and kissed him rapturously. To her, the desk had all the semblance of a royal gift. That evening, assisted by Hortense, the servant, she placed the desk in her room; then she dusted it, cleaned the drawers and pigeon-holes, and carefully arranged within it her papers, writing material, correspondence, a collection of post-cards, and some souvenirs of her cousin Philippe that she kept in secret.
Next morning, at half past seven, Mon. Gerbois went to the college. At ten o’clock, in pursuance of her usual custom, Suzanne went to meet him, and it was a great pleasure for him to see her slender figure and childish smile waiting for him at the college gate. They returned home together.
“And your writing desk—how is it this morning?”
“Marvellous! Hortense and I have polished the brass mountings until they look like gold.”
“So you are pleased with it?”
“Pleased with it! Why, I don’t see how I managed to get on without it for such a long time.”
As they were walking up the pathway to the house, Mon. Gerbois said:
“Shall we go and take a look at it before breakfast?”
“Oh! yes, that’s a splendid idea!”
She ascended the stairs ahead of her father, but, on arriving at the door of her room, she uttered a cry of surprise and dismay.
“What’s the matter?” stammered Mon. Gerbois.
“The writing-desk is gone!”
The novel opens with a mathematics professor, Monsieur Gerbois, buying a writing-desk in a curiosity shop, only to be pursued by a well-dressed young man who offers triple the price. The professor's irritable refusal and the young man's lingering stare set up a conflict that quickly escalates into a theft and a lottery ticket mystery. This initial scene establishes a pattern: ordinary objects become battlegrounds, and polite exchanges mask predatory intent.
Later, Herlock Sholmes—a clear parody of Conan Doyle's detective—conducts a nocturnal search through an architect's office, methodically examining registers to trace Lupin's aliases. His discovery of the account of "Maxime Bermond" shows how the narrative rewards close attention to names and paper trails. The excerpts suggest a story where every detail, from a desk's drawers to a marginal note, may be a clue or a trap.
The Opening Gambit: A Desk and a Lottery Ticket
The first chapter introduces a seemingly trivial purchase: a mahogany writing-desk bought for sixty-five francs. The young man's insistence—offering double, then triple—hints at hidden value. The professor's stubborn refusal, driven by "irritable disposition and hasty temper," contrasts with the stranger's polished persistence. When the desk is later stolen and a lottery ticket inside becomes the prize, the reader learns that Lupin's schemes often begin with everyday objects. The narrative voice stays close to Gerbois's indignation, making the reader complicit in his bafflement. This opening teaches us to watch for small anomalies: a too-eager buyer, a too-convenient antique, a too-polite demand.
Sholmes's Method: Paper Trails and Midnight Searches
In a later excerpt, Sholmes breaks into an architect's office after hours. His lantern-lit search through registers and plans is described with procedural precision: he finds the name "Harmingeat" in an index, turns to page 63, and reads a marginal note: "See account M.B." This leads him to sixteen pages detailing work for various clients, including the Baron d'Hautrec and the Château de Crozon. Sholmes copies addresses, returns the books, and jumps out a window—a blend of burglary and detection. The passage emphasizes that Lupin's identity is hidden in bureaucratic records, not just in disguises. The detective's list of eleven names becomes a map of the adversary's possible lairs, showing how the novel turns administrative details into suspense.
Dialogue as Duel: The Blonde Lady and the Secretary
When Sholmes, posing as secretary Stickmann, confronts Clotilde Destange in her father's library, the scene crackles with double meanings. He announces himself to her father as a new employee, then steps into the parlor to speak privately. Clotilde's calm reply—"my father has changed his secretary? I didn't know it"—shows she is not easily fooled. The excerpt cuts off before the conversation ends, but the setup is clear: Sholmes is hunting the "blonde Lady," and Clotilde may be his quarry or an ally. The dialogue relies on implication and withheld information, mirroring the larger contest between Lupin and Sholmes. Readers should attend to what is not said: the pauses, the deliberate movements, the way characters choose their words as weapons.
Structure and Voice: A Parody That Plays Fair
Leblanc's novel is a parody of Sherlock Holmes, but it does not mock the detective formula; it uses it. Sholmes is competent, methodical, and occasionally outsmarted—not a buffoon. The prose is straightforward, with little interiority: characters act and speak, and the narrator reports. The chapters are titled like adventure serials ("Lottery Ticket No. 514," "The Blue Diamond"), and the pacing alternates between domestic scenes and burglaries. The translation by George Morehead retains a formal, slightly archaic tone ("monsieur," "testily"). Readers familiar with Conan Doyle will enjoy spotting the parallels and inversions, but the story stands on its own as a puzzle-box narrative where every object—a desk, a lamp, a shipwreck—may be a clue or a red herring.
As you read, note how Leblanc distributes information: the professor knows only his own irritation; Sholmes knows only what he finds in registers; the reader knows both but not Lupin's full plan. The excerpts suggest that the novel rewards patience and suspicion. Pay attention to names, addresses, and objects that appear in multiple contexts—they are likely the threads that connect the episodes. And remember that in a story where the villain is a master of disguise, even the narrator may be an unreliable guide.
Leafing through the Lupin book, I was struck by how much the pleasure comes from watching two clever minds circle each other—the haggling, the careful feints, the mutual respect beneath the rivalry. It reminded me, unexpectedly, of something in A Debt of Honor: The Story of Gerald Lane's Success in the Far West — Key Ideas to Explore, where a quieter kind of persistence shapes a very different sort of victory.
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