[5]SeeFantômas: vol. i, Fantômas Series.
[5]SeeFantômas: vol. i, Fantômas Series.
This told de Loubersac nothing.
Wilhelmine explained that her childhood had been passed in an ancient château, on the banks of the Dordogne, with her grandmother, the Marquise de Langrune. One fatal December day the Marquise had been assassinated. They were led to believe the assassin was a young man, son of a friend of the family, by name, Charles Rambert. This tragedy had altered the whole course of the orphan girl's life. She was taken care of by the father of the supposed murderer, a worthy old man, Monsieur Etionne Rambert. He recommended her to Lady Beltham, whose husband had been murdered some months before; thus the bereaved girl came to live under Lady Beltham's wing, and grew very fond of her. Then Monsieur Etionne Rambert disappeared in a shipwreck, and Wilhelmine went with Lady Beltham to her castle in Scotland.
Two peaceful years passed. Among other friends and visitors, Wilhelmine met the Baron de Naarboveck, a foreign diplomat. Then Lady Beltham went to France, and one sad day the orphan girl learned that her mother by adoption had died there![6]
[6]SeeThe Exploits of Juve: vol. ii, Fantômas Series.
[6]SeeThe Exploits of Juve: vol. ii, Fantômas Series.
Six dreary, anxious months followed. Then the baron, the only person in the whole world who seemed to care whether she lived or died, came to find her. He took her to Paris. There he decided to pass her off as his daughter, declaring he had very grave reasons for doing so.
Though making her the centre of a mystery, for undeclared reasons of his own, de Naarboveck was very good to her, helped her to unravel her financial affairs, and informed her that she was the owner of a large fortune. He told her that some day she would have to go to a foreign country to take possession of this fortune—the baron did not say where.
Wilhelmine stopped her narrative, jumped up, pointing to a shadow moving across an altar.
"Did you see?" she questioned anxiously.
"I think I did," answered Henri de Loubersac. "It is the shadow of some passer-by thrown into relief on the light background."
"Oh, I hope we are not being spied on!"
"Of whom are you afraid?" asked de Loubersac.
Wilhelmine—or Thérèse Auvernois, as she had confessed herself to be—glanced about her. There was not a soul within hearing! Now she would speak her mind to Henri—her dear Henri—and tell him all.
"You want to know, dear one, why my existence has been surrounded with so many mysterious precautions of late years! You wish to know why the baron is so determined that my real identity should remain hidden! You are right; for I have long asked myself the same question. When I spoke to the baron about this for the first time—it was only a few weeks ago, and told him that I wished to appear as what I really am, Thérèse Auvernois,my father by adoption—I may call him that, seeing how good, how kind he has been to me—began by telling me it was impossible—that the most terrible misfortunes would result from such a revelation.... I insisted. I wanted to know what these dreadful misfortunes would be, and why they would follow as a matter of course, were it made known that I am Thérèse Auvernois. Thereupon the baron told me astonishing things.
"According to him, from the time of my poor grandmother's death, I, and those near to me, all those about me, were pursued, not only by a terrible fatality, but also by a being, who, for unknown motives, wished to sow perpetual death and terror among those intimately connected with us.
"The baron did not want to talk of all this, but I made him speak out. Bit by bit, I learned the details of one of those tragedies which touched my life when a child. I went to the National Library, secretly, and looked through the newspapers of that period. I noticed that in whatever concerned us, whether legally or privately, closely or distantly, one name appeared and reappeared, a terrifying and legendary name, the name of a being we think of but dare not mention—the name of Fantômas!"
Henri de Loubersac was staggered. This statement of the girl he knew as Wilhelmine de Naarboveck, far from impressing him favourably, seemed to him an improbable story invented, every bit of it, for the sole purpose of putting him on the wrong track.
He had learned to love this charming girl, believing her to be sincere, honest, pure, brought up as a young girl should be, amidst elegant and distinguished surroundings: now, behold an abyss opened before his eyes, separating him from one whom he was now inclined to consider an adventuress.
He remembered Juve's words!
Granting the truth of her statement, that a tragedy had shadowed her young life and altered her existence, this did not prevent her from having been seduced by Captain Brocq! Rather, her early experiences would tend to break down the barriers, behind which nice girlslived and moved!... There were things that called for an explanation! For instance, how explain the intimacy existing between de Naarboveck, his so-called daughter, and this Mademoiselle Berthe, whose part in the affair engaging de Loubersac's attention was open to the gravest suspicions?...
Wilhelmine continued what she called her confession, thinking aloud, opening her heart, confiding in her dear Henri, whose silence she took for sympathy and encouragement.
"Fantômas," she murmured: "I cannot tell you how often I have thought over this maddening, this puzzling personality, terrifying beyond words, who seems implacably bent on our destruction!... Again and again I have had reason to fear that his ill-omened influence has been directed against my humble self!... As if he guessed something of this, the baron has frequently sought to reassure me; yet, through some singular coincidence, each time we have spoken of Fantômas a tragedy has occurred, a dreadful tragedy, which has reminded us of monstrous crimes committed by him in the past!"
Wilhelmine's statements were impressing de Loubersac less and less favourably.
"Play acting—and clumsy play acting at that!" decided Henri: "Done to avert my suspicions, imagined to feed my curiosity!... She thinks herself a capable player at the game! She does not know the person she is playing with!"
De Loubersac came to a decision. He rose, stood close to Wilhelmine, who also rose, instinctively, looked her straight in the face, and asked, point-blank:
"Wilhelmine de Naarboveck, or Thérèse Auvernois—it matters little to me—I wish to know the real truth.... Confess, then, that you were Captain Brocq's mistress!"
"Monsieur!" exclaimed the startled girl. She met de Loubersac's inquisitorial look proudly.
His penetrating stare did not falter.
Suddenly Wilhelmine's lips began to tremble. She grew deadly pale: she might have been on the verge ofa fainting fit. She had realised the incredulity of the man to whom, in her chaste innocence, she had given her heart. In the pure soul of this loving girl an immense void made itself felt. It was as though a flashlight had revealed to her the lamentable truth: that the strange position in which destiny had placed her—a position strange but not infamous—had made of her a being apart, had put her outside the ordinary life of humanity, outside the law of love!... A desire to explain, to convince, to justify herself, the desire of a desperate creature at bay, burned up in her like a flame: it flashed and died. Henri had no confidence in her! He believed this odious thing of her—this abominable, incredible thing!... Her heart was full to bursting with an agony of grief, of outraged innocence.... She looked him straight in the eyes—her own flashing fury.
"You insult me!" she cried.... "Withdraw what you have just said!... You will apologise!"
De Loubersac said in a low, distinct voice:
"I maintain my accusation, Mademoiselle, until you have furnished me with absolute, undeniable proofs!"...
De Loubersac's voice failed him. Wilhelmine had turned from him. She hurried to the door, descended the church steps, and threw herself into a passing cab.
De Loubersac had followed her.
In tones of contempt she had flung at him the words:
"Farewell, monsieur—and for ever!"
Henri's answer was a shrug of the shoulder.
As he stood there, an outline, a shadow, appeared under the church porch: a something, a being, indescribable, appeared, disappeared, running with spirit-like swiftness, vanishing. Henri de Loubersac had a clear conviction that during his conversation with her who might have been his fiancée in days to come, they had been shadowed, spied upon!
There were strange happenings elsewhere on the day Henri de Loubersac and Wilhelmine de Naarboveck had parted in grief and anger.
It was on the stroke of noon when Corporal Vinson heard a key turn in the lock of his cell. Two military jailors confronted him.
"Butler?"
The traitor answered to that name.
Juve, for reasons of his own, had not revealed the prisoner's true quality. Vinson had therefore been entered in the jail book as Butler.
One of the jailors, an old veteran, whose uniform was a mixture of the civil and the military, took the word.
"Butler, you are to be transferred to a building belonging to the Council of War: there you will occupy cell 27.... Our prison here is for the condemned only, so you cannot remain. You belong to the accused section."
All that mattered to Butler-Vinson for the moment was—he had to reach his new quarters by crossing the rue Cherche-Midi between two jailors.... He would be exposed to the curious glances of the public! He shuddered at the thought!... And there was worse to come! This was but the commencement of his purgatory.... As he had not known how to die at the right moment, he must arm himself with courage to expiate his cowardice!... He must leave the shelter of his cell!... With an intense effort of will he stretched out his arms, was handcuffed without a murmur, and, marching between his two jailors, he quitted the prison.
The bright light of noonday made him blink. On reaching the pavement he recoiled with a convulsive movement: the jailors pulled him forward.
It was the crowded hour, when men leave offices and shops for a midday meal. But the public of these parts, accustomed to such comings and goings of prisoners and their jailors, paid no attention to this pitiful trio.
The prisoner seemed so overcome with emotion that, after uttering a long sigh like a death rattle, he sank, a dead weight, into the arms of his jailors.
They were forced to support him. They carried him to the courtyard of the Council of War. Some, whose curiosity was aroused by the unusual pallor of the prisoner, wished to follow, but the jailors closed the great doors of the courtyard.
Before leading him to his cell, they dumped their inanimate prisoner on a chair in the porter's lodge.... The porter brought vinegar. They rubbed Butler-Vinson's temples with it. A jailor slapped his hands. In vain! The prisoner showed no signs of life!
"You had better take him to his cell," advised the porter. "Perhaps he will come to his senses if laid on his palliasse? In any case, run for the medical officer."
The jailors, who could make nothing of their prisoner's mysterious condition, transported him to cell 27. They laid him on his palliasse.
"Lieutenant Servin?"
"Commandant?"
"Will you help me to reduce these papers to order? It is half-past eleven: I want to go to breakfast!"
The lieutenant brought a pile of documents to his superior's table and rapidly classified them.
His superior, Commandant Dumoulin, had been chief assistant at the Second Bureau. He had passed long years at his post there. Previous to that, he had acted as Government Commissioner on the Councils of War in the various garrisons where he had been stationed.... Some six months ago Dumoulin had sent in his request to the Minister of War for a change of billet. His record being an excellent one, the Minister had appointed him Government Chief-commissioner attached to the Principal Council of War, sitting in Paris.
Dumoulin had recently taken up his new duties, andwas counting on getting peacefully into the run of things, when, the evening before, he had been warned at his own home by a private note from the Minister, that a deserter, accused of treason, had been arrested, and that Corporal Vinson was the man in question.
At the sight of this name Commandant Dumoulin thrilled with excitement. As former Under-Secretary at the Second Bureau he had the affair at his finger ends, and well knew how tangled, how obscure it was, how bristling with dangers, how rich in complications.... The Vinson affair, it was the Captain Brocq affair, the singer Nichoune affair ... the story of a plan of mobilisation stolen, of a gun piece lifted from the Arsenal!... He was in for a big affair—a sensational case!...
The commandant passed a wakeful night and arrived early at his office. He must get to work! Fortunately, among his deputies he had found a competent and zealous helper in Lieutenant Servin. He turned to him now.
"Our next proceeding will be to establish the identity of Corporal Vinson. We must examine him on that point without delay.... Send for him immediately, Lieutenant!... According to the prison register, he occupies cell 26."
"Excuse me, Commandant; Vinson, who was registered this morning at the Cherche-Midi prison, must actually be in the Council buildings, where he occupied cell 27."
The commandant adjusted his eye-glasses, looked closely at a yellow paper, and corrected in his turn:
"That is an error: in cell 27 is an individual named Butler."
"Yes, Commandant: Butler—he is Vinson!"
"I do not understand," objected Dumoulin. "You must have made a mistake. Corporal Vinson was arrested yesterday at the Saint Lazare station: he was brought here and was registered for cell 26; besides, I was immediately informed of this arrest by a private telegram."
"Commandant," persisted the lieutenant: "Corporal Vinson, who hid himself under the name of Butler, was arrested early this morning at the Calais station, when helanded from England. The arrest was effected by Inspector Juve, who took his prisoner to Cherche-Midi about six o'clock; and this Vinson occupied cell 27."
"Come, now, Lieutenant, you have lost your head!" grumbled the commandant: "Since Vinson was arrested yesterday at the Saint Lazare station, it is evident that he was not arrested last night at Calais! Vinson and Butler—that makes two."
"I beg your pardon, Commandant: that makes only one!"
The commandant looked severely at his subordinate.
"That is enough, Lieutenant!... Send for Corporal Vinson who occupied cell 26."
"Right, Commandant!"
Some minutes later there was a knock at the door: two warders with a prisoner stood on the threshold.
The commandant assured himself with a glance that the non-commissioned officer, acting as reporter, was at his post, and that Lieutenant Servin was seated at the desk next his own.
"Enter!" he commanded.
Dumoulin solemnly opened the voluminous bundle of papers set before him, looked through the documents, affecting not to see the prisoner stationed before him.... Ready at length to begin the interrogation, the commandant raised his head, straightened himself, and ordered:
"Approach!"
The prisoner, a warder on each side of him, took a step forward.
"You are truly Corporal Vinson?"
"No, Commandant!"
Dumoulin was silent a moment, choking with anger, his hand trembling slightly—did the fellow mean to mock him?... He frowned. He did not like the manner of this fellow, with his bright, piercing eyes, his scornful looks. He repeated:
"Are you Corporal Vinson?"
"No, Commandant."
Dumoulin was boiling with rage: he was about to explode. Lieutenant Servin approached: in a low voice he said:
"Commandant! Someone wishes you to see him immediately."
Servin handed his superior a card. On it the commandant read:
Inspector Juve,Detective Force,Police Headquarters.
"What does he want?"
"He is the detective who arrested Vinson."
"Well," exclaimed the exasperated Dumoulin, "he arrives at the right moment! Let him come in!"
Juve entered and saluted Dumoulin with an amiable smile. He did not take any notice of the prisoner, who was standing with his back to the light.
"It is I, Commandant, who arrested Corporal Vinson; consequently, I have come to place myself at your disposal."
"You have done the right thing!" cried Dumoulin. "Now, will you get this prisoner to own up? Make him tell us whether or no he is Corporal Vinson!"
Dumoulin pointed an irate finger at the prisoner.
Our detective stood rooted to the ground!... The prisoner moved quickly towards him.
"Fandor!"
"Juve!"
"What does this mean, Fandor?"
"It means, Juve, that I am arrested in the place of Corporal Vinson!"
"Nothing of the sort!... I arrive from London. I arrested Vinson yesterday evening at Calais!"
Fandor laughed: he could have roared with laughter.
"My dear Juve," said he, "I should have to talk to you for two mortal hours before you would understand a word of this business!"
Fandor turned to the thunderstruck Dumoulin, and said in a voice of the most exquisite politeness:
"Commandant, I must state once for all that I am not Corporal Vinson!... I am a journalist, whom you perhaps know by name: Jérôme Fandor, on the staff ofLa Capitale.... If you see me in this uniform, this disguise, that relates to a series of events, details of which I will give you with pleasure, as soon as I have reduced my own ideas to order.... As things stand, I am fortunate in meeting my friend Juve, who, if you desire it, will confirm the truth of my statement."
Dumoulin, more and more nonplussed, started in turn at the detective, at the journalist, at his reporter.... With face red as a boiled lobster, he turned to Lieutenant Servin....
When this farcical scene began, Servin had gone into his own office, and had given his secretary an order. The secretary had just returned. The lieutenant, having recorded the answer brought him, had just that moment returned to the commandant's office.
Lieutenant Servin looked upset.
"Commandant!" he gasped out.
He turned to our detective.
"Monsieur Juve!"
He continued staring first at one man, then at the other.
"An incredible thing has happened!... I have just heard of it!... I had given the order to have Corporal Vinson brought here immediately—the real Corporal Vinson—he whom Monsieur Juve arrested under the name of Butler: well, Commandant, it appears that on entering his cell they found him—dead!"
"What is that you say?" asked Dumoulin and Juve together.
"I say that he is dead," repeated the lieutenant.
"But how?" questioned Juve.
The lieutenant made a sign to the sergeant in charge.
"Go for the medical officer."
Some minutes passed in a silence that hummed with questions.
A young assistant surgeon appeared.
"Kindly explain what is wrong, Monsieur!" commanded Dumoulin.
The surgeon spoke.
"My commandant sent for me, about an hour ago. Iwas to attend to a prisoner who had fainted. This man, when crossing the rue du Cherche-Midi, had suddenly lost consciousness. His warders could not revive him. They carried him to his cell. They laid him on his palliasse. When I arrived the man was dead."
"Dead of what?" demanded Dumoulin.
"A bullet in his heart," replied the surgeon.... "I ascertained this when undressing him. The bullet will be found at the post-mortem: it has probably lodged in the vertebral column."
Dumoulin rose: paced the floor: he was greatly agitated.
"Oh, come, come!" he cried. "People are not killed like that in the open street!... It is unheard of! Unbelievable!... A bullet presupposes a revolver—a weapon of percussion of some description—a detonation!... There is a noise, a sound!"
Dumoulin went up to the young surgeon. There was a note of suspicious contempt in his question:
"Are you quite sure of what you say?"
"I am quite sure, Commandant."
During this discussion Juve had approached Fandor. When the surgeon made his statement, Juve murmured in Fandor's ear:
"Vinson shot through the heart by a bullet!... Like Captain Brocq!... Killed undoubtedly by a noiseless weapon ... when crossing the street!... Here, again, is—Fantômas!"
Things calmed down somewhat. Fandor addressed Dumoulin:
"Excuse me, Commandant, for having troubled you. I should be most grateful if you would set me at liberty. One tragedy follows hard on another! It is phenomenal!... I shall have to."...
Commandant Dumoulin burst out:
"By Heaven!" he shouted, thumping the table with his fist: "You are the limit!... The take-the-cake limit!... You flout me! You practise on my credulity!... Now you would steal a march on me! Try it on—will you?... Ah! You are not Corporal Vinson!... No?... You are a journalist!... You have got toprove that!... Even if you do prove it, you have got yourself into a pretty pickle by your fooling, by making a laughing-stock of the entire army in your own preposterous person—by assuming that uniform!...
"Guards!" shouted Dumoulin. "Take this man back to his cell! Be sharp about it!... Double his guard!"
Fandor was not allowed time to protest: he was marched off at the double.
Juve tried to get in a word of explanation.
"I assure you, Commandant, it is certainly Jérôme Fandor you are deal——"
"You!" yelled the commandant. "Get out! Foot it!... Leave me in peace, can't you!... Out with you, or I'll know the reason why!... Begone!"...
Dumoulin was apoplectic with rage.
"What's your drink?"
"What's your offer?"
Hogshead Geoffrey, also nicknamed "The Barrel," thumped the table with a formidable fist, at the risk of upsetting a pile of saucers, which, at this advanced hour of the evening, showed clearly how he had spent the hours passed in the wine-shop.
"What do I offer?" he retorted. "I offer what's wanted. I don't haggle. When I ask a fellow: 'Old man, what do you want to wet your gullet?' that means: 'Choose.' There now!"
Hogshead Geoffrey's companion merely said:
"Pass the programme!"
Once in possession of the wine-list—if such could be called the crumpled, dirty paper on which the owner of the house had scribbled in pencil the fresh drinks, composed of indescribable mixtures specially recommended to his clients—the guest of Hogshead Geoffrey became absorbed in the list of strange beverages.
So mean-looking an individual was this guest that he had been nicknamed "The Scrub." He also answered to the more aristocratic title of "Sacristan." Once he had been sacristan at the church of Saint-Sulpice, but intemperate habits had led to his dismissal. What odd link there was between this sorry little fellow and the robust Geoffrey?[7]
[7]SeeFantômas: vol. i, Fantômas Series
[7]SeeFantômas: vol. i, Fantômas Series
The Scrub ordered: "A thick 'un—jolly thick!" He eyed his host.
"What's been your lay? I haven't clapped eyes on you for days!"
Hogshead Geoffrey emptied his glass at one go. Leaning his head against the wall, his fists on the table, his legs stretched out, he stared at the ceiling.
The atmosphere of this den in the rue Monge was poisonous with the odours of stale wine and rank tobacco. The musty air was thick, the shop was ill-lighted by one jet of gas in the centre of the room.
"Well, old Scrub," said Geoffrey at last. "You haven't seen me because you haven't!... You remember I passed the Markets' test and was nominated market porter?"
"Jolly well I do!... We had a famous drinking bout that time!"
"That's so, Scrub!... And my sister Bobinette paid the piper!... You remember I was rejected?... Well, I got into the Markets all the same!... Then—one fine day I gave a tallykeeper a regular knock-down-and-outer!"
"You did?"
"Just didn't I?... I gave him such a oner—just like this!"...
Lifting his enormous hairy fist, Hogshead Geoffrey brought it down on the table with disastrous results: the ancient worm-eaten board was split from end to end!
Flattering remarks were showered on this colossus from all sides.
"Ho! ho! Nothing can resist me!" shouted Hogshead Geoffrey.... "Give me anything you choose!... Every table in the room! No matter what! I'll break it in two—man or woman! Wood or stone!... It's all one to me!"
True or not, Hogshead Geoffrey, when not too much in liquor, was a gentle soul, a simple, kind creature; quick-tempered, kind-hearted. Liable to sudden gusts of anger, he was equally capable of knocking the life out of a comrade with his gigantic fist or of comforting some sniveling street urchin crossing his path.
Well did the Scrub know it. He too was a contradictory mixture. This mean little human specimen had been newsboy, seller of post cards, opener of cab doors, Jack of any little trade, the companion of pickpockets and other light-fingered gentry, also adored the good mannersof bygone vestry days, the polished phrases, the benedictory gestures!
When in hospital, chance had given him Hogshead Geoffrey for bed-neighbour. It did not take him long to realise that he would be the gainer by a friendship with this kindly giant: it would be a partnership of brain and muscle.... The Scrub commanded: Geoffrey executed.
When the admiration for his prowess had died down, Hogshead Geoffrey continued his story:
"When I had given the chief the knock-out, the next day they gave me the order of the boot, if you would believe me!... I was properly down and out! I hadn't saved a sou—was in debt right and left, to the wine-shops—was all but run in!"...
"What did you do?" enquired the Scrub.
"Bobinette helped me."
"Your sister?"
"Oh, she's a sharp one!... She's studied, too!... She did the bandages at Lariboise!... She had the sous!... I told her my troubles!... She let me have the dibs, so I could hang on!"
"Until you got a billet atThe Big Tun?"
"No!... Bobine said: 'Here's gold, little brother! It's all I have ... don't come for more!... You must find a way out of the mess!'"
"And you did?... How?"
Hogshead Geoffrey hesitated: he sipped his absinthe.
"Oh ... well ... I found a way out."...
"How? I ask you."...
"I tell you I managed all right! And then I got my job atThe Big Tun."
"Where you are now?"
"Where I am."
"You paid back your sister?"
Hogshead Geoffrey roared with laughter.
"I paid her back so little that I didn't know what had become of her!... She had turned her back on Lariboise without leaving an address.... Thought she must have kicked the bucket!... I would have been sorry for that!... She's a good sort!... But yesterday I had word from her.... Bobinette asked me to meet her."...
"You told her to come here?"
"Sure!"
"And how did she know your address?"
Hogshead Geoffrey scratched his big head.
"Lordy! I don't know!... Probably she saw my name quoted the other day in thePetit Journal, among the conquerors in the Who's Strongest Competition. She wrote putting the number of my old shanty, rue de la Harpe!... No good being astonished at what she does!... I tell you she has education—she has!"...
It was half an hour after midnight. The owner ofThe Crying Calfshouted in a stentorian voice:
"Now, boys! It's only seven sous drinks now!"
It was the accustomed warning, taken as a matter of course.
Protesting in a squeaky voice that his constitution was weakly, that his doctor had ordered him not to sit up late, the Scrub, who feared a meeting with Bobinette, knowing she had little liking for him, now took himself off.
Geoffrey ordered two drinks. He was bored. Bobinette was behind her promised time. He would have left, but Bobinette would pay for his drinks—a nice little total!
At last she appeared: an out-of-breath Bobinette, and somewhat flustered.
She was quietly dressed—almost shabby. This was no place for one of the elegant toilettes affected by Mademoiselle de Naarboveck's companion!... After her Rouen journey, after her meeting with Lieutenant de Loubersac in the train, she had thought it wiser not to go back to the baron's house. She had written to say she was ill. Then she had taken refuge in a quiet little inn in la Chapelle neighbourhood, there to await events.
Vagualame's arrest had made a terrible impression on her.... Vagualame had not betrayed her; but she sensed snares, pitfalls all about her: she might be trapped any minute: she must disappear! After Vagualame's arrest she had had but one idea: to get rid of the gun piece, hand it to the foreign power, and receive the promised reward.... When, instead of Corporal Vinson, whomshe had summoned in accordance with her orders, she had perceived Fandor, she was puzzled, suspicious.
If Bobinette went to the meeting place in her own undisguised person, and met Fandor as Fandor, it was because she had had the same idea as the journalist.
"I will walk through the arcades as Bobinette, and I shall see if Corporal Vinson is there, or if, by chance, he is not alone!"
That same day at Rouen she had had a bad shock. The telegram she had received at the garage was from Vagualame!... How could an arrested Vagualame send her a telegram, and such a telegram?
This telegram, in their usual cypher, informed her that at all costs, and at once, she must separate herself from Corporal Vinson, who was not the real Vinson, but a counter-spy!... Bobinette all but fainted from fright.... She must escape from this counter-spy!... Yet, owing to the false Vinson's insistence, she had been forced to share his room!... He did not mean to let her out of his sight, that was plain!...
No sooner had the false Vinson gone down to the car in the morning than Bobinette had slipped off, hot foot for Rouen. The gun piece was left behind! The chauffeur would bear the brunt of that, thought Bobinette, as she sped on her way. Later, she read of his arrest and release.
Her meeting with Lieutenant de Loubersac and the sight of the false Vinson's arrest at the Saint Lazare station showed the terrified girl that things had gone mysteriously, hopelessly wrong!...
Without resources, Bobinette had pawned her few jewels. Then a letter from Vagualame had reached her. She had obeyed the instructions it contained.... That he had learned her address did not surprise her: she knew he never lost track of those it was to his interest to keep an eye on.
Before Vagualame's note reached her she had been worried and bored.
"I must make sure of shelter and protection if needs be," she reflected: "I will look up Geoffrey. We will meet atThe Crying Calf, it is safe there!"
"Sit you down here, little Bobine!" suggested Hogshead Geoffrey.... "And now, what will you take?"
Bobinette ordered a gooseberry syrup.
"Quite the lady's drink," remarked mine host of the wine-shop with a humorous air.
Brother and sister exchanged confidences.... The good Geoffrey told of his fight, of situations obtained and lost, of fisticuff encounters, of quarrels and blows.... Bobinette went so far as to say that she was very happy, very much at her ease.
"Just imagine," said she: "I am companion to an old lady, a Russian, who in her time has had trouble with the police of her country, I think."
"The police? I don't like the police!" interrupted her brother.
"Who does?" ejaculated Bobinette. "Lots of people come to her house. I go to all the dinners, all the parties!"
"Ah, then, you'll foot the bill, Bobine, if you have such a rich situation?"
"I will pay, Geoffrey," said Bobinette: "This old lady, I think."... Bobinette stopped. She went white as a sheet.... An old man had just entered the wine-shop. His steps were uncertain, his back was bent under the weight of an old accordion.
It was Vagualame....
Bobinette's astonishment was so evident that Hogshead Geoffrey, whose powers of observation were small, was struck by his sister's expression.
"You know that old fellow?" he asked. "If he bothers you you've but to pass the word, you know, and I'll soon put him on the other side of the door!"
This amiable offer terrified the girl. She felt sure Vagualame was not atThe Crying Calfby chance. He had probably followed her—wished to have a word with her.... She must fall in with his wishes. She must cut short this interview with her brother. After all, it was only to pass the time she had come.
"Keep quiet, Geoffrey," she said: "I do not know the old boy, and you deceive yourself if you think he annoys me!... Besides, my dear Geoffrey, I must be off!"
"Be off!... Whatever's come to you, Bobine?"
"I have business on hand elsewhere.... And now that I know you are quite well, Geoffrey, I shall continue my walk."
"True?" protested the bewildered giant: "You're going to cut your stick already?"
"Call the governor!... There's a twenty-franc piece for you! Pay for your drinks and keep the rest," was Bobinette's effective reply.
Hogshead calmed down at once.
"As long as you pay up, Bobine, I've nothing to say; but, all the same, you have queer ideas.... You bring me here to keep an appointment, and then, we're not five minutes together, when up you get on the trot again!"
Bobinette caught her brother's huge fist in a quick handshake, made for the door ofThe Crying Calf, turned out of rue Monge at a slow pace, convinced that Vagualame would join her.
The street was deserted. Bobinette kept in the shadow, avoiding the bright patches cast on the silent roadway from the wine-shops and taverns still open and alight.
She had been walking about five minutes when she felt that someone was walking behind her, hastening to overtake her.... A hand was laid on her shoulder: Vagualame was beside her, regulating his steps by hers.
"Is that species of giant your brother?" he asked.
Bobinette nodded.
"You are free, then?" she asked, breathing hard.
"It looks like it!"
"Who released you?"
"Let us hurry!" said Vagualame: "Let us seek shelter."
"Where?"
"You will see—with friends."
What did it matter to Bobinette where they were going while strange doubts and horrid fears filled her mind?
"Who released you?"
They were passing beneath a street lamp. Vagualame noted that Bobinette was regarding him with defiant eyes. Was this really Vagualame? Was he an impostor?
Vagualame read her thoughts.
"Bobinette, you are nothing but a fool!" announced the old accordion player: "The man arrested at your place was a detective, who had got himself up like me to take you in!... You let him trick you! You are an imbecile!"
Bobinette stopped.
"But then ... if a detective made himself up to resemble you, it means they know you are guilty! It means they are after you! Why, it's a mad thing you are doing, coming to meet me in that rig out! Why have you not disguised yourself?"
Vagualame smiled.
"Possibly I have reason for it, a plan you know nothing about, Bobinette!... But, let us return to the false Vagualame. How was it you did not detect the fraud,if only by the voice?... How is it you have not guessed the truth since?... When you received my telegram at Rouen it should have been as clear as daylight to you!... Eh!"
Bobinette kept silence.
"Well, we will not dwell on the past," declared Vagualame, with an air of magnanimity: "Fortunately your extraordinary simplicity has not had any particular consequences—save the stupid way you let them get hold of the gun piece, and allowed the false Corporal Vinson to escape!"... In a menacing tone he said: "We will return to that question later."
"But," faltered Bobinette: "How could I act otherwise?"
Vagualame threw her such a look, a look so charged with fierce contempt that she could no longer doubt that she was face to face with her master. This master would not allow argument, discussion: well she knew that!
She screwed up her courage to ask:
"How did you learn my address?"
"That is my business!" he declared: "What I want to know I get to know—you must have seen that by this time!"
"How is it, then, you called atThe Crying Calfto-day?... Geoffrey did not know you: he alone knew I was coming to see him!... You followed me?"
"Suppose I did follow you?"... Vagualame's tone changed: it became imperious.
"Have you quite finished asking me silly questions?... I consider it is my turn to put a question or two to you—What are you doing?"
Bobinette bent her head.
"You have a right to know," she murmured: "When you sent me that letter, after I took refuge in La Chapelle, telling me to go to the house of a Madame Olga Dimitroff and present myself for the post of companion, I went. She engaged me. I am still with her."
"To take refuge in an hotel was an idiotic thing to do, Bobinette.... The police could easily have nabbed you there if they had had a mind to. That is why I sent you to one of my old friends—to a person to whom I couldrecommend you!... Well, Bobinette, you will have to leave that house!"
The young woman bent her head, mastered, ready to accept any orders of Vagualame's before they were issued. All she asked, in a timid voice, was: "Where am I to go then?"
"Far from here."
"Why?"
Vagualame's smile was evil. His reply was like a series of sword thrusts.
"Because Juve has good eyes; because Fandor also begins to see clear.... The net begins to tighten.... I shall find means to slip through it!... I am not of those who are caught like a mouse in a trap.... But, as for you—you with your simplicity—it is high time to put you out of reach of the police!... I am going to give you some money. Five days hence, disguised as a gipsy, you are to be on the road from Sceaux to Versailles, at eleven o'clock at night, by the first milestone on the left side after the aeroplane garage.... You have followed me?"
Bobinette was trembling.
"Disguised as a gipsy, Vagualame? Why?"
"That is no concern of yours!... You have only to do as I tell you. I give orders, but not explanations!"
Vagualame felt in his pockets. He held out a note-book.
"You will find two fifty-franc notes in this. It is more than you need for a suitable disguise. I will give you more money when you start off, because I am going to send you to a foreign country."
Whilst talking, Vagualame and Bobinette had gone a long way fromThe Crying Calf. By a labyrinth of little streets, all darkness and mystery, Vagualame had led his companion to a kind of blind alley: a tall house blocked the end of it. A large shop on the ground floor occupied half the front of it. Although the iron shutters had been drawn down, light from the interior penetrated through apertures to the street—thin rays of light.
Vagualame laid a brutal hand on Bobinette.
"Attend to what I say: it is no joking matter. Youare coming in with me. I am going to introduce you to my many friends here, whom I have recently got to know: they may say things that will astonish you, but do not show surprise.... I bring you here that you may know where to find me during the five days you remain in Paris.... You have only to write a letter and bring it to the woman who keeps this library. Address to Vagualame: it will reach me."
"Yes," replied Bobinette.
Vagualame knocked three separate times, then twice quickly, on the iron shutters. A key turned in the lock: the door opened. Vagualame thrust Bobinette across the threshold. Out of the obscurity of the streets whipped by an icy wind and torrents of rain, Bobinette found herself in a brilliantly lighted book-shop.
She stood dazzled.
A young woman came forward.
"Good evening, Sophie," said Vagualame: "Anything new?"
"Nothing new, Vagualame!"
Bobinette looked about her. She saw piles of books and collections of magazines and papers. The shop was crowded with them.
"Sophie, I bring a new friend—a sure friend—who may have to bring you a letter for me one of these days," said Vagualame.
The proprietress looked curiously at Bobinette. All she said was:
"Have our brothers been warned, Vagualame?"
"They have not been told yet; but I shall present my friend to them at the first opportunity."
There was loud knocking at the shutters! Voices were heard shouting:
"Open! Open! Open! The police!"
Bobinette grew ashen with terror.
"It is all up!" thought the desperate girl: "They will see Vagualame is free! They will find me with him! We are caught!"
She turned frantically to Vagualame. He stood calm and collected.
"Ah!" said he with a touch of raillery, looking at theproprietress: "They have been warned that you are again breaking the work law!"
Shaking a threatening finger at the rigid Sophie, Vagualame went to the shop entrance. He looked through the large keyhole to see who was demanding admittance at this late hour.... A look, and Vagualame turned, caught Sophie by the arm, and whispered:
"Detective Juve!... Inspector Michel!... Keep cool, Sophie! They cannot know all the ins and outs of your place."
Two strides and Vagualame joined Bobinette. He dragged her to the end of the shop, reached a corner, turned it, and they were standing on boards clear of books: it was hidden from the main part of the shop and from the entrance.
"Draw your skirts between your legs!" he commanded. "Don't utter a sound!... Don't be afraid!"
Vagualame was right. The police had surrounded the mysterious shop.
Noiselessly, gliding past the houses like shadows, revolver in hand, dark lantern at waist, fifteen detectives in plain clothes had converged on the tall house in the blind alley.
Juve was speaking low.
"Careful, Michel! We have seen our birds enter. They are inside.... I shall follow them!... Meanwhile, do not stir from this door.... There is no other issue.... Do not allow a soul to pass—not one!"
"Never fear, Juve!"
Information dropped by Corporal Vinson, who had been taken toThe Crying Calfby Vagualame, more than once had caused Juve to keep a strict watch on the wine-shop for some days. He had seen first Bobinette and then Vagualame enter the place.... When Bobinette came out, almost immediately, he felt sure she had not had time for a talk with Vagualame.... When Vagualame soon followed, Juve had shadowed the old accordion player in the darkness: behind him followed his men on the trail of both.
When he saw Vagualame and Bobinette enter the library he exclaimed, in thought:
"I have them!... I know the house! I am going to arrest Fantômas and his accomplice!"
Cool as a cucumber now that the decisive, ardently-longed-for moment was at hand, Juve repeated his instructions: he did not mean to leave anything to chance.
"You understand then, Michel, not one single person is to leave these premises. Even I can only be permitted to pass when I say to you: 'It is I, Juve,... Let me pass!' You thoroughly understand?"
"Perfectly," replied Michel.
Juve turned to his four picked men:
"Gentlemen! Are you ready?"
Revolver in one hand, lantern in the other, Juve knocked loudly on the shuttered shop door.
"In the name of the law! Open! Open! Open!... The police!"
A bare three minutes had elapsed between Juve's first summons and the opening of the library door.
Vagualame had made profitable use of the three minutes.
"Don't utter a sound! Don't be afraid!" Vagualame had repeated to Bobinette: "They will not take us this time!"
Hustled, dragged to the spot already described, Bobinette now felt the ground giving way beneath her. She rolled on to a steeply inclined plane. Gliding down into the void, clutching Vagualame, she heard a dull sound: it was the trap falling to.
"Quiet!" repeated Vagualame, as Bobinette rolled on to the wood flooring of a sort of cellar piled high with books. He signed to the girl to listen.
"Yes! They are searching the shop, knocking the books about, imagining we are hidden among them!... But, from what I know of Juve, in a very short time he will have ferreted out the trap door and will descend as we have done. He will never be such a fool as to think we have gone down the shop stairs."
"Oh!" groaned Bobinette: "Whatever shall we do?"
Vagualame calmly turned on his pocket electric torch, approached an immense pile of illustrated magazinesstacked in a corner. He struck three blows on it, saying in a low clear voice:
"Open! Open to brothers!"
Bobinette, frightened past speech, saw the immense pile of volumes oscillate, then noiselessly divide, disclosing a secret door.
Vagualame pulled her towards it, saying in a joking tone:
"You see how useful it is to have friends of all sorts! Your employer, Olga Damitroff, was well advised when she once told me when and where the Nihilists gather together in Paris to plot against the Czar!"
Vagualame brought her into a large room, lit by torches, where a score of young men were assembled. They rose and reverently saluted Vagualame, who approached them with outstretched hand.
When Juve entered, he soon satisfied himself that only Sophie remained in the library. He gave orders to keep strict guard over the proprietress, notwithstanding her loud protestations.
"Do not permit anyone to leave the premises," he repeated to the men stationed at the door—"except myself, of course."
He turned to others.
"Move all these volumes! There may be a hide-hole concealed behind them.... Keep guard at the top of the little staircase. It is the only way of escape ... I am going to make a tour of the cellars and expect to run my game to earth by this staircase."...
Sophie again protested.
"There is nothing in my cellars that ought not to be there! I don't understand what the police want here!"
Juve paid no attention to these protestations. He went towards the corner at the farther end of the shop.
Juve knew all the dens in Paris; there was not a secret society he did not know of—societies, political and otherwise, holding mysterious meetings in these places: he knew of the existence of this trap-door and slide which led to the cellars below this library.
"We will go down to the Nihilists," said he.
Before the interested eyes of his subordinates, Juve set the trap in motion. A counter weight closed it over his head.
Juve rolled into the cellar but a few seconds after Vagualame and Bobinette had escaped from it!... To tell the truth, Juve did not know of the hidden entrance to the secret room. Dizzy from his rapid glide downwards, Juve raised his lantern. He was not surprised to find this retreat empty. He knew the slide led to second and lower series of cellars....
His eye caught a movement. The huge stack of magazines, looking as if it would topple over, so much on the slant was it, was slowly moving into an upright position again! He leaped forward, thrusting his revolver between the opening of the two portions, and prevented them from joining completely!...
What was going on behind this tricky collection of magazines, which had undoubtedly just opened to give passage to Vagualame and Bobinette?
Juve glued his ear to the fissure which marked the edge of the hidden door.... Ah!... Voices of men in discussion!... Juve could not distinguish all that the voices were saying, but a word reached his ear, clear, unmistakable—Fantômas!
He listened intently.
"You are right," remarked an invisible speaker: "It is to Fantômas we owe all these police visits and annoyances—his crimes exasperate the police—and to justify themselves in the opinion of the public they track us down more vigorously than ever!"
Another voice answered:
"I know for certain that these coppers are after Fantômas to-night!"
Shouts and hoots resounded.
Menacing voices repeated:
"Since Fantômas is indirectly our persecutor, let us avenge ourselves on Fantômas!... What matters one life compared with the cause we defend—the cause of a whole people!... If Fantômas is in our way, troubles us, let us kill him!... Trokoff will be here to-morrow, this evening perhaps! Trokoff will guide us! Trokoffwill find this mysterious bandit who does us so much harm! Trokoff is a valiant man!... We do not know him, but we know what he has done!"
Juve smiled a sardonic smile. He thrust his hand into the opening wedged apart by his revolver, widened the space, opened the secret door, and entered the assembly room of the Nihilists.
"God save Russia!"
Juve pronounced these words with unction, in a solemn voice.
"God save Poland," was the reply. The oldest man present, who had thus been spokesman for the assembly advanced towards the stranger.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Without the quiver of an eyelid, an eyelash, Juve answered: "I am he whom you have awaited.... He who will direct your arms—guide you! I am Trokoff!"
"Let but one of these inspired fanatics, who hold life cheap, guess that I belong to the police, and they would kill me without mercy or pity," thought Juve, as he faced the assembly of revolutionaries with a serene countenance.
There were no threatening looks. They believed themselves to be in the presence of Trokoff. Had he not opened the door?... Only Trokoff, the expected, the longed for, could have done that!
The assembly acclaimed him:
"Trokoff! We for Russia welcome you! God be with you, Trokoff! Heaven guard you!"
"God be with you, brothers!"
Juve advanced, scrutinising each in turn: neither Vagualame nor Bobinette were among them.
Juve addressed them:
"My brothers! You know that the police are now searching the shop overhead: it is a serious moment!"
One of the Nihilists stepped forward.
"We know it, Trokoff! Our brother, Vagualame, accompanied by a young disciple, came to warn us but a minute ago. Be assured, brother! The police are not searching for us this evening.... It is the vile wretch Fantômas they are after!... A criminal ruffian,foe of all liberty, whom we have condemned to death.... Therefore we are not disquieted. Vagualame has just left us.... He will direct the suspicions of the police into another channel. He told us he knew a way of quieting their suspicions."...
"If only Michel does not allow this arch-bandit to slip through his fingers!" reflected Juve, as he listened with unmoved countenance to these remarkable statements. Before the Nihilist could say more, Juve made a declaration:
"Vagualame deceives himself, brother. I must go up at once to give him the aid of my strong arm, otherwise we are finished!... I know only the secret entrance here: guide me to the other exit, so that I may not attract the attention of the police: we do not want our secret entrance discovered!"
"It shall be as you desire, brother. Follow me; but be prudent."
Marching at the Nihilist's heels, after many twists and turns, Juve arrived at the foot of a quite ordinary staircase.
"You have only to mount, brother Trokoff. These stairs lead straight into the shop. If the police ask where you come from, you have only to say that you were looking in the first cellar for a book!... But what matters it if they do visit the cellars! They will never find the hidden door!"
Juve bent his head.
"Thanks, brother! Peace be with you!"
The Nihilist turned away. No sooner was he out of sight than Juve tore up the stairs to complete the arrest of Vagualame and Bobinette!
Inspector Michel had not stirred from his appointed place by the door leading to the street.
He had been on guard about half an hour when Juve, livid, frantic, rushed towards him.
"You have let them go out, Michel!" he shouted: "They are not here!"
"No one has gone out at this door, Chief! I give you my word on it!... But, may I ask how you managed to slip back again without my having noticed you!Deuced clever, I call it!... No one, I say, has left these premises either before or after you!"
"What's that you say?" Juve stared at Michel as if he had taken leave of his senses.
"What I say, Chief, is—the only individuals whom I have allowed to pass out are you and your woman prisoner."
"I and my woman prisoner?" Juve could have howled with rage. He caught the calm, collected Michel by the coat collar, and dragged him outside the shop. Juve looked so desperate, so at his wit's end, that Michel wondered.
"Come now, Chief!" he remonstrated; "I am not dreaming, am I?... Ten minutes ago you came to me here, and you said:
"'Don't move, Michel! Let me pass. I am Juve! I take a prisoner to the station and will return.'"
Juve had grown deadly calm.
"I was disguised, Michel, was I not?"
"Yes. You had put on your Vagualame disguise."
Juve bit his lip till the blood came. That arch-bandit had done him again! Juve could not but admire his coolness and resource. He had known how to take in Michel, because Michel had arrested Juve when disguised as Vagualame at de Naarboveck's house.... Michel would naturally think his chief had again assumed the Vagualame disguise for a purpose! Oh, it was the devil's own cleverness!
Juve glared at Michel.
"It was the real Vagualame, I tell you!" shouted Juve.... "It was not I disguised as Vagualame!... It was Vagualame in person, I tell you!... It is Vagualame himself whom you have allowed to escape!"
There was a pause—terrible, heart-sickening.
Michel drew himself up.
"What then, Chief?"
Juve's anger gave place to compassion.
"It is really not your fault, my poor Michel. How could you imagine the infernal trick this bandit was playing on you?... I bear you no grudge for it, Michel!"
But Michel was inconsolable. He had committed an irreparable blunder!
Juve slipped his arm through that of his miserable subordinate. The pair made their way to Headquarters at the head of the little column of subordinates who, understanding that Juve had not found what he sought, were cursing inwardly at the failure of their expedition....
The moment Juve realised that Michel had allowed Vagualame-Fantômas to escape, he had called off his men. He did not wish the Russian revolutionaries cornered and arrested at present.... Possibly Vagualame believed Juve and his men had come to find the Nihilists, and, having failed, had left the premises in a rage!
Sophie would report to the bandit—but she had not heard everything! Thought Juve:
"He will hardly guess that I entered the assembly below by the secret door and made them believe I was Trokoff!... It leaves a way open for future transactions!... Some day, not so far ahead, I may return, may find that devil's Will o' the Wisp of a bandit there and nab him at last!"... Did Michel suspect there were Nihilists on the premises?
"Tell me," questioned Juve: "Did you overhear any suspicious talk?... This Sophie did not say anything interesting?"
"Nothing whatever, Chief."
"Your men, Michel, do not know what individual we are after?"
Michel laughed.
"Oh, they are a hundred leagues off the truth!... That they were out to arrest Fantômas!... Just imagine, Chief! This afternoon, a complaint was lodged at Headquarters with reference to the theft of a bear! The theft was committed at Troyes, at the fair.... Our men are persuaded that to-night's search has to do with this bear-stealing case!... All the more so because, just as we started on this expedition, one of my men, whose home is at Sceaux, told us that his brother, a driver down there, had been ordered to go in five days' time, with two horses, and at five in themorning, on the road to Robinson, and take a gipsy van twenty kilometres from there!... He thought there was something very queer about such a rendezvous as that!"
Juve's interest in this piece of news was keen!