Paris rises very late indeed on New Year's Day. The night before is given up to family reunions, supper parties and every kind of jollification. So the year begins with a much needed rest. The glitter and racket of the streets gives place to a death-like stillness. Shops are shut and the cafés are empty. Paris sleeps. There is an exception to this rule: Certain unfortunate individuals are obliged to rise at day-break, don their best clothes, their uniforms and make their way to the four corners of the town to pay ceremonial calls.
These are the Government officials representing the army, the magistracy, the parliament, the municipality—all must pay their respects to their chiefs. For this hardship they receive little sympathy, as it is generally understood that while they have to work hard on New Year's Day, they do nothing for the rest of the year.
The somnolence of Paris, however, only extends until noon. At that hour life begins again. It is luncheon time.
This New Year's Day differed in no wise from others, and during the afternoon the streets were thronged with people.
A pale sun showed in the gray winter sky and the crowd seemed to be converging toward the Place de la Concorde. Suddenly the blare of a brass band on the Rue Royale brought curious heads to the windows.
A procession headed by a vari-colored banner was marching toward the banks of the Seine. The participants wore a mauve uniform with gold trimmings and upon the banner was inscribed in huge letters:
LA CAPITALETHE GREAT EVENING PAPER
With some difficulty the musicians reached the Obelisk and at the foot of the monument they formed a circle, while at a distance the crowd awaited developments.
In the front rank two young women were standing.
One of them seemed to be greatly amused at the gratuitous entertainment, the other appeared preoccupied and depressed.
"Come, Marie Pascal, don't be so absent-minded. You look as if you were at a funeral."
The other, a workgirl, tried to smile and gave a deep sigh.
"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Rose, to be out of sorts, but I feel very upset."
Two police officers tried to force their way to the musicians and after some difficulty they succeeded in arresting the flute and the trombone players.
This act of brutality occasioned some commotion and the crowd began to murmur.
The employés ofLa Capitalenow brought up several handcarts and improvised a sort of platform. Gentlemen in frock coats then appeared on the scene and gathered round it. One or two were recognized and pointed out by the crowd.
"There's M. Dupont, the deputy and director ofLa Capitale."
A red-faced young man with turned up moustaches was pronounced to be M. de Panteloup, the general manager of the paper.
As a matter of fact, those who readLa Capitalehad been advised through its columns that an attempt would be made to solve the mystery of the Singing Fountains, which had intrigued Paris for so many weeks. A small army of newsboys offered the paper for sale during the ceremony. Marie Pascal bought a copy and read it eagerly.
"They haven't a word about the affair yet," she cried.
At that moment the powerful voice of M. de Panteloup was heard:
"You are now going to hear an interesting speech by the celebrated archivist and paleographer, M. Anastasius Baringouin, who, better than anyone else, can explain to you the strange enigma of the Singing Fountains."
An immense shout of laughter greeted the orator as he mounted the steps to the stage. He was an old man, very wrinkled and shaky, wearing a high hat much too large for his head. He was vainly trying to settle his glasses upon a very red nose. In a thin, sharp voice, he began:
"The phenomenon of the Singing Fountains is not, as might be supposed, wholly unexpected. Similar occurrences have already been noted and date back to remote antiquity. Formerly a stone statue was erected in the outskirts of the town of Thebes to the memory of Memnon. When the beams of the rising sun struck it, harmonious sounds were heard to issue from it. At first this peculiarity was attributed to some form of trickery, a secret spring or a hidden keyboard. But upon further research, it was demonstrated that the sounds arose from purely physical and natural causes."
The crowd which hitherto had listened in silence to the orator now began to show signs of impatience.
"What the dickens is he gassing about?" shouted some one in the street.
As the savant paid no attention to these signs the band struck up a military march. Finally when order was re-established M. Panteloup himself mounted the platform.
"This fountain, ladies and gentlemen," he began in a powerful voice, "was built in 1836 at a cost of a million and a half francs. In the twenty-four hours its output is 6,716 cubic yards of water. It is composed, as you can see, of a basin of polished stone, decorated by six tritons and nereids, each holding a fish in its mouth from which the water flows out. Thus far there is nothing unusual and it is therefore with justifiable surprise that we discover the fact that at certain moments these fountains actually sing. Are we in the presence of a phenomenon similar to that recalled just now by M. Anastasius Baringouin? Are we, at the beginning of the twentieth century—the century of Science and Precision—victims of hallucination or sorcery? This, ladies and gentlemen, is what we are about to investigate, and we will begin by consulting the celebrated clairvoyant, Madame Gabrielle de Smyrne."
A murmur of approbation greeted the pretty prophetess as she appeared, but at the same moment a police officer followed by fifteen men pushed his way to the foot of the platform and ordered M. Panteloup to cease attracting a crowd. The latter, however, was equal to the occasion. After lifting his hand for silence he shouted the famous cry:
"We are here by the will of the people, we shall not go away except by force."
The crowd cheered, and with the voices mingled the barking of dogs.
"Ladies and gentlemen," continued M. Panteloup, "you hear the wonderful police dogs of Neuilly, Turk and Bellone. They are coming to help us to scent out the mystery."
This was to be the termination of the ceremony, but an unlooked for addition to the program appeared in the person of one of those Parisian "Natural Men" or "Primitive Men."
He was a very old, long-bearded man and wore a white robe. He went by the name of Ouaouaoua, and his portrait had been published in all city papers. A hush came over the crowd and then in the silence a vague metallic murmur was heard above the splash of the water.
This time there was no mistake. The Fountains were singing.
Thousands of witnesses were present and could testify to that fact.
The crowd at once associated the arrival of Ouaouaoua with the music from the Fountains, and he was acclaimed the hero of the occasion.
M. de Panteloup, seized with a happy inspiration, shook hands with Ouaouaoua and pinned on his white robe the gold medal ofLa Capitale.
Proceedings were, however, summarily brought to a stop at this point. The prefect of the police drove up and his men scattered the crowd in all directions.
Ten minutes after the Place de la Concorde had assumed its usual aspect and the tritons and nereids continued to pour out their 6,716 cubic yards of water every twenty-four hours.
M. Vicart, sub-director of the Police Department, was in an execrable humor.
In all his long career such a thing had never happened before. In spite of the established rule, he had been deprived of his New Year holiday, which he usually spent in visits to governmental officials capable of influencing his advancement.
He had been ordered to his office. His morning had been spent in endless discussions with M. Annion, his director. Numerous telegrams, interviews, work of all kinds instead of his customary rest. Besides, he had received from his friends only 318 visiting cards instead of 384, last year's number. It was most annoying. He was engaged in recounting his cards when a clerk announced the visit of detective Juve.
"Send him in at once."
In a few moments Juve entered.
Juve had not changed. In spite of his forty-odd years, he was still young looking, active, persevering and daring.
For some time past he had been left very much to his own devices in his tracking of the elusive Fantômas, and he was rarely called in to assist in the pursuit of other criminals. Therefore he realized that it was an affair of the very first importance which called for his presence in M. Vicart's office.
The detective found M. Vicart seated at his desk in the badly lighted room.
"My dear Juve, you are probably surprised at being sent for to-day."
"A little ... yes."
"Well, you probably know that the King of Hesse-Weimar, Frederick-Christian II, has been staying incognito in Paris?"
Juve nodded. He did not think it necessary to mention the incident that had occasioned this visit.[1]
"Now, Christian II has, or rather had, a mistress, Susy d'Orsel, a demi-mondaine. Were you aware of that?"
"No, what of it?"
"This woman has been murdered ... or rather ... has not been murdered ... you understand, Juve, has not been murdered."
"Has not been murdered, very well!"
"Now, this woman who has not been murderedthrew herself out of the window last night at three o'clock; in a word, she committed suicide, at the precise moment when Frederick-Christian was taking supper with her ... you grasp my meaning?"
"No, I don't. What are you trying to get at?"
"Why, it's as clear as day, Juve ... the scandal! especially as the local magistrate had the stupidity to arrest the King."
"The King has been arrested ... I don't understand! Then it wasn't suicide?"
"That is what must be established."
"And I am to take charge of the investigation?"
"I put it in your hands."
When M. Vicart had explained the circumstances of the case, Juve summed up:
"In a word, Frederick-Christian II went to see his mistress last night, she threw herself out of the window, the King was arrested for murder; he put in a denial, claiming that a third person was present, this third person escaped, an inadmissible hypothesis, since nobody saw him and the door to the servant's staircase was locked ... this morning the King was set at liberty, and we have now to find out whether a crime was really committed or whether it was a case of suicide.... Is that it?"
"That is it! But you're going ahead pretty fast.You don't realize, Juve, the seriousness of the supposition you formulate so freely.... You must know whether it's murder or suicide! Of course! Of course!... but you are too precise.... A King a murderer ... that isn't possible. There would be terrible diplomatic complications.... It's a case of suicide.... Susy d'Orsel committed suicide beyond a doubt."
Juve smiled slightly.
"That has to be proved, hasn't it?"
"Certainly it must be proved. The accident happened at number 247 Rue de Monceau. Go there, question the concièrge ... the only witness.... In a word, bring us the proof of suicide in written form. We can then send a report to the press and stifle the threatened scandal."
Juve rose.
"I will begin an immediate investigation," he replied, smiling, "and M. Vicart, you may depend upon me to use all means in my power to clear up the affair ... entirely and impartially."
When Juve had gone, M. Vicart realized a sense of extreme uneasiness.
"Impartially!... the deuce!"
Hurriedly he left his office and made his way through the halls to his chief, M. Annion. His firstcare must be to cover his own responsibility in the matter.
M. Annion, cold and impassive, listened to his recital in silence and then broke out:
"You have committed a blunder, M. Vicart. I told you this morning to put a detective on the case who would bring us a report along the lines that we desire. I pointed out to you the gravity of the situation."
"But ..." protested M. Vicart.
"Let me finish.... I thought I had made myself quite clear on that point and now, you actually give the commission to Juve!"
"Exactly, Monsieur! I gave Juve the commission because he is our most expert detective."
"That I don't deny, and therefore Juve is certain to discover the truth! It is an unpardonable blunder."
At this moment a clerk entered with a telegram. M. Annion opened it quickly and read it.
"Ah! this is enough to bring about the fall of the Ministry. Listen!"
"The Minister of Hesse-Weimar to the Secretary of the Interior, Place Beauvau, Paris—Numerous telegrams addressed to his Majesty the King of Hesse-Weimar, at present staying incognito at the Royal Palace Hotel, Avenue des Champs Elysées, remainunanswered, in spite of their extreme urgence. The Minister of Hesse-Weimar begs the Secretary of the Interior of France to kindly make inquiries and to send him the assurance that his Majesty the King of Hesse-Weimar is in possession of these diplomatic telegrams."
M. Annion burst out.
"There now! Pretty soon they'll be accusing us of intercepting the telegrams ... Frederick-Christian doesn't answer! How can I help that! I suppose he's weeping over the death of his mistress. And now that fellow Juve has taken a hand in it! I tell you. Monsieur Vicart, we're in a nice fix!"
While M. Annion was unburdening his mind to M. Vicart, Juve left the Ministry whistling a march, and hailed a cab to take him to the Rue Monceau.
He quite understood what was required of him, but his professional pride, his independence and his innate honesty of purpose determined him to ferret out the truth regardless of consequences.
As a matter of fact, the presence of the King in Paris was, in part, to render a service to Juve himself.[2]
If, therefore, the hypothesis of suicide could be verified, Juve would be able to be of use to the King;if, on the other hand, it had to be rejected, his report would prove that fact.
On arriving at the Rue de Monceau, Juve went straight to the concièrge's office and having shown his badge, began to question her:
"Tell me, Madame Ceiron, did you see the King when he came to pay his visit to his mistress?"
"No, Monsieur. I saw nothing at all. I was in bed ... the bell rang, I opened the door ... the King called out as usual, 'the Duke of Haworth'—it's the name he goes by—and then he went upstairs, but I didn't see him."
"Was he alone?"
"Ah, that's what everyone asks me! Of course he was alone ... the proof being that when they went up and found poor Mlle. Susy, nobody else was there, so ..."
Juve interrupted:
"All right. Now, tell me, did Mlle. Susy d'Orsel expect any other visitor? Any friend?"
"Nobody that I knew of ... at least that's what she said to her lace-maker—one of my tenants ... a very good young girl, Mlle. Marie Pascal—She said like this—'I'm expecting my lover,' but she mentioned nobody else."
"And this Marie Pascal is the last person who sawSusy d'Orsel alive, excepting, of course, the King? The servants had gone to bed?"
"Oh, Monsieur, the maid wasn't there. Justine came down about eleven, she said good-night to me as she went by ... while Marie Pascal didn't go up before eleven-thirty or a quarter to twelve."
"Very well, I'll see Mlle. Pascal later. Another question, Mme. Ceiron: did any of your tenants leave the house after the crime ... I mean after the death?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Mlle. Susy d'Orsel's apartment is reached by two staircases. Do you know if the door to the one used by the servants was locked?"
"That I can't tell you, Monsieur, all I know is that Justine generally locked it when she went out."
"And while you were away hunting the doctor and the police, did you leave the door of the house open?"
"Ah, no, Monsieur, to begin with, I didn't go out. I have a telephone in my room, besides I never leave the door open."
"Is Justine in her room now?"
"No, I have the key, which means that she's out ... she's probably looking after funeral arrangements of the poor young girl."
"Mlle. d'Orsel had no relations?"
"I don't think so, Monsieur."
"Is Marie Pascal in?"
"Yes ... sixth floor to the right at the end of the hall."
"Then I will go up and see her. Thanks very much for your information, Madame."
"You're very welcome, Monsieur. Ah, this wretched business isn't going to help the house. I still have two apartments unrented."
Juve did not wait to hear the good woman's lamentations but hurriedly climbed the flights of stairs and knocked on the door indicated.
It was opened by a young girl.
"Mademoiselle Marie Pascal?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Can I see you for a couple of minutes? I am a detective and have charge of investigating the death of Mlle. d'Orsel."
Mlle. Pascal led the way into her modest room, which was bright and sunny with a flowered paper on the walls, potted plants and a bird-cage. She then began a recital of the interview she had had with Susy. This threw no fresh light upon the case and at the end, Juve replied:
"To sum it up, Mademoiselle, you know only onething, that Mlle. d'Orsel was waiting for her lover, that she told you she was not very happy, but did not appear especially sad or cast down ... in fact, neither her words nor her attitude showed any thought of attempted suicide. Am I not right?"
Marie Pascal hesitated; she seemed worried over something; at length she spoke up:
"I do know more."
"What?"
Juve, to cover the young girl's confusion, had turned his head away while putting the last question.
"Why," he remarked, "you can see Mlle. d'Orsel's apartment from your windows!"
"Yes, Monsieur, and that ..."
"Were you in bed when the suicide took place?"
"No ... I was not in bed, I saw ..."
"Ah! You saw! What did you see?"
"Monsieur, I haven't spoken to a soul about it; in fact, I'm not sure I wasn't mistaken, it all happened so quickly.... I was getting a breath of fresh air at the window, I noticed her apartment was lighted up, I could see that through the curtains, and I said to myself, her lover must have arrived."
"Well, what then?"
"Then suddenly some one pulled back the hall-window curtains, then the window was flung open andI thought I saw a man holding Mlle. d'Orsel by the shoulders ... she was struggling but without crying out ... finally he threw her out of the window, then the light was extinguished and I saw nothing more."
"But you called for help?"
"Ah, Monsieur, I'm afraid I didn't act as I should have. I lost my head, you understand ... I left my room and was on my way downstairs to help the poor woman ... and then I heard voices, doors slamming ... I was afraid the murderer might kill me, too, so I hurried back to my room."
"According to you, then, it was not a suicide?"
"Oh, no, Monsieur ... I am quite sure she was thrown out of the window by some man."
"Some man? But, Mademoiselle, you know Susy d'Orsel was alone with the King, so that man must be the King."
Marie Pascal gave a dubious shrug.
"You know the King?" Juve asked.
"Yes, I sold him laces. I saw him through an open door."
"And you are not sure that he is or is not the murderer?"
"No, I don't know, that's why I've said nothing about it. I'm not sure of anything."
"Pardon, Mademoiselle, but it seems to me you don't quite grasp the situation ... what is it you are not sure of?"
"Whether it was the King who killed poor Mlle. Susy."
"But you are sure it was a man who killed Mlle. d'Orsel?"
"Yes, Monsieur ... and I am also sure it was a thin, tall man ... in fact, some one of the same build as the King."
"Well, Mademoiselle, I cannot see why you have kept this knowledge to yourself, it is most important, for it does away with the theory of suicide, it proves that a crime has been committed."
"Yes, but if it wasn't the King, it would be terrible to suspect him unjustly ... that is what stopped me ..."
"It must no longer stop you. If the King is a murderer, he must be punished like any other man; if he is innocent, the guilty man must be caught. You haven't spoken of this to the concièrge?"
Marie Pascal smiled.
"No, Monsieur, Mme. Ceiron is rather a gossip."
"I understand, but now you need keep silence no longer; in fact, I should be glad if you would spread your news ... talk of it freely and I, on my side,will notify my chief.... I may add that we shall not be long in clearing up this mystery."
Juve had a reason for giving this advice. The more gossip, the less chance would the police department have to stifle the investigation.
Marie Pascal slept badly that night. She was too intelligent not to realize that her deposition had convinced Juve of the guilt of the King, and this troubled her greatly. She, herself, was persuaded that she had seen the King throw Susy out of the window, although she had had no time to identify him positively and the young girl was alarmed at the importance of her testimony.
However, she determined to follow Juve's advice and spread the gossip. With that purpose she went down to see Mother Ceiron. As the concièrge was not in her room she called through the hallway:
"Madame Ceiron!... Madame Ceiron!"
A man's voice answered and a laundryman came downstairs carrying a basket.
"The concièrge is on the sixth floor, Mademoiselle. I passed her as I was going up to get M. de Sérac's laundry."
"Ah, thank you, then I will wait for her."
Marie Pascal took a seat in the office, but at the endof ten minutes she became bored and decided to go out and get a breath of the fresh morning air.
As she reached the entrance she noticed an article of clothing lying on the ground.
"A woman's chemise," she exclaimed, picking it up. "The laundryman must have dropped it."
Then suddenly she grew pale and retraced her steps to the office.
"Good God!" she cried, leaning for support upon the back of a chair.
[1]See "A Nest of Spies."
[1]See "A Nest of Spies."
[2]See "Fantômas," Vols. I, II, III, IV.
[2]See "Fantômas," Vols. I, II, III, IV.
The elegant attaché of the Secretary for Foreign Affairs bowed, saying:
"I am extremely sorry to bring your Majesty this bad news."
A voice from the depth of the cushions inquired:
"What bad news?"
"I am telling your Majesty that it would be difficult—even impossible for you to go to the Longchamps races as you had the intention of doing."
"And why not?"
"The President of the Republic opens to-day the exposition at the Bagatelle Museum. If your Majesty went to the Bois de Boulogne you would run the risk of meeting him. You would then be obliged to stop and talk a few moments, but as this interview has not been foreseen and arranged for it would be very awkward."
"That is true."
"That is all I had to convey to your Majesty."
"Let me see, what is your name, Monsieur?"
"I am Count Adhemar de Candières, your Majesty."
"Well, Count, many thanks! You may retire."
The Count gracefully bowed himself out and with a convulsive movement of the cushions Jerome Fandor sprang up and burst out laughing.
"Ah!" he cried, "I thought that chap would never go! Your Majesty!... Sire ... the King ... pleasant names to be called when you're not accustomed to them. I've already had twenty-four hours of it, and if it goes on much longer I shall begin to think it's not a joke.
"And the King himself, what's become of him ... what is Frederick-Christian II doing now ... that's something I'd like to find out."
The journalist had indeed sufficient food for thought. From the dawn of New Year's Day he had gone from surprise to surprise. At first he thought he had been brought to the Royal Palace Hotel at the instigation of the King. That would have been the simple solution of the affair. The King must have realized the awkward predicament in which his companion was placed and in spite of his drunken stupor he would come to his assistance as soon as possible. As a matter of fact, Fandor had been set at liberty. The journalist therefore had waited patiently for the arrival of the King, who was unaccountably late.
Then little by little it began to dawn on him thatthe hotel people were considering him not as a friend of the King but as the King himself! Under ordinary circumstances, he would at once have made his identity known, but against that there were now a multitude of objections. His presence in the apartment of the murdered Susy d'Orsel had created an ambiguous and disagreeable situation. Again, was the personnel of the hotel really duped by the substitution?
The situation was becoming more and more difficult for Fandor. He realized that he was being watched. The evening before one of the clerks of the Royal Palace Hotel had informed him that his Majesty's automobile was ready. For a moment Fandor did not know what to do, but finally decided to take a chance for an outing. As soon as he had come downstairs he regretted his decision. Among the persons lounging in the lobby he recognized five or six detectives whom he had known and he realized that the police would have accurate information as to where he might go. On reaching the door he saw three or four automobiles lined up outside. Which one belonged to the King? Faced by this situation he acted without hesitation, he turned quickly and went back to the Royal apartment, where during the rest of the evening he had been left in peace. The following morning he awoke with a violent headache, and applied the usual remedy for theneuralgia to which he was subject. He bound up his head with a large silk scarf which he found in the Royal wardrobe. During the course of the morning his hotel bill was brought to him, which amounted to four thousand francs.
"Pretty stiff," he muttered, "for three days' stay. It may be all right for Frederick-Christian II, but for a poor devil of a journalist it is rather awkward."
Fandor was wondering what he should do about it when the telephone rang to announce a visitor. After listening at the receiver, his face suddenly lighted with a broad smile.
"Show him up," he answered.
Several moments afterwards a man entered the apartment He was about forty and wore the conventional frock coat and light gloves.
"I am," he said, "the private secretary of the Comptoir National de Crédit and am at your Majesty's disposition for the settlement of accounts. Your Majesty will excuse our sub-director for not having come himself to take your orders as it is his pleasure and honor generally to do, but he has been ill for several days and that is why I have begged permission for this audience with your Majesty."
Fandor with difficulty repressed his desire to laugh and congratulated himself that he had escaped thedanger of being shown up by the sub-director who knew the real King. The Secretary brought with him a large sum of money which he placed at the disposal of the sovereign. For a moment Fandor was tempted to accept the money but his scruples held him back. If things should turn out badly it would not do to lay himself open to the charge of usurping the Royal funds as well as the personality of the King. So he limited himself to handing over the hotel bill, saying:
"Kindly settle this without delay and don't stint yourself with the tips."
A little later a porter entered with newspapers. Fandor seized them eagerly, but after a single glance he could not repress a movement of impatience.
"These idiots," he growled to himself, "always bring me the Hesse-Weimar papers, and I don't know a confounded word of German. What I would like to get hold of is a copy ofLa Capitale."
He rang the bell intending to give the order for a copy to be sent up, but at that moment a servant announced:
"Mlle. Marie Pascal is here, your Majesty."
"What does she want?"
The servant handed Fandor a letter.
"Your Majesty has granted an interview to her."
Without thinking the journalist asked: "Is she pretty?"
The employé of the Royal Palace kept a straight face. He was too much in the habit of dealing with royal patrons. The King might joke as much as he pleased, but the same liberty was not granted to others. He therefore made a deep bow and said with a tone of profound deference:
"I will send Marie Pascal to your Majesty."
Now that he had become a King and was obliged to receive unexpected visits in that capacity, Fandor had adopted the wise precaution of making his visitors wait in the main Salon, while he retired to the adjoining study. From there, thanks to a large mirror, he could see them without being seen himself. Following this precaution he waited for the appearance of his visitor and scarcely had she set foot in the Salon when he experienced an agreeable surprise.
"Ah, there's a pretty girl."
He was right. She was charming, with her large clear blue eyes, her fair hair and slight figure.
"By Jove," thought Fandor, "here's a way to fill up my hours of solitude. It oughtn't to be hard for one in my position to get up an intrigue, and provided the lady is not too shy I can begin one of those adventures one reads of in fairy stories."
Covering his face still further with his scarf and putting on a pair of blue spectacles he entered the Salon. The young girl betrayed a slight movementof surprise upon seeing him. At his silent invitation she sat down on the edge of an armchair without daring to raise her eyes. Then followed a long pause, until Fandor recollected that according to etiquette she was waiting for him to speak first.
"Well, Mademoiselle, what can I do for you?"
The young girl stammered: "I wanted to see you ... pardon ... to see your Majesty ... to tell him how grateful I am for the laces he ordered from me ... that your Majesty ordered."
Fandor began to be amused at the embarrassment of the young girl, so to set her at ease he remarked:
"Mademoiselle, just talk to me as you would to anyone else, and as for the laces, I shall be very glad to order others."
A start of surprise from Marie Pascal gave Fandor the uneasy feeling that he had made a break.
"Then, your Majesty, I suppose I must send the next lot to the Queen."
"Of course."
"How about the bill?"
Fandor repressed a smile. Evidently these poor Kings must have one hand in their pockets. As the interview continued the young girl regained her confidence, and going close to Fandor, spoke in a tone of sincere anxiety:
"Sire, it was not you ... oh, forgive me." And then in a lower tone: "I have denounced you, Sire."
Then, dropping to her knees, Marie Pascal repeated all that had happened. Fandor now realized that the death of Susy d'Orsel had a witness and that a detective was now in possession of the facts.
"And this detective! Is he tall, broad shouldered, about forty-five, with gray hair and clean shaven?"
The young girl was astonished at the accuracy of the portrait.
"Why, yes, Sire ... your Majesty is right."
"It can be no other than Juve," thought Fandor joyfully. Then turning to Marie Pascal, "Now you must answer truthfully the question I am going to ask you. Will you tell me why, after accusing me of this dreadful crime, you have suddenly changed your opinion and come to tell me how sorry you are and that you are now sure I am not guilty? You must have very serious reasons for this change of front."
"I have been convinced of your innocence," she replied, "by the most absolute proof." She then recounted to Fandor her discovery of the chemise belonging to the Marquis de Sérac.
"After picking up this chemise I was about to give it over to Mme. Ceiron, the concièrge of the house, when my eyes happened to fall upon the ruffles onthe sleeves. Attached to the right sleeve were some shreds of lace which seemed to have been torn from a larger piece. I am a lace maker and I recognized immediately that these pieces came from a dress I had just delivered to Mlle. Susy d'Orsel a few hours before."
Fandor, who was listening with the closest attention, now asked: "What do you deduce from that, Mademoiselle?"
"Sire, simply that the person who threw Susy d'Orsel out of the window was wearing that chemise."
"And," continued the journalist, "as this belonged to the Marquis de Sérac?"
"But it is a woman's chemise."
Fandor quickly realized the importance of this testimony. First, that Susy d'Orsel had really been murdered and secondly that the King Frederick-Christian had had no hand in it.
"Is your Majesty very unhappy over the death of Mlle. d'Orsel?"
Fandor glanced sharply at the young woman and then replied enigmatically: "I am, of course, very much shocked at the tragic end of this poor girl. But what is the matter with you?"
Marie Pascal was growing paler and paler and finally collapsed in his arms. Gently he placed Marie Pascalon a sofa. For a few moments Fandor sat there holding her hands. Then she sat up quickly.
"What are you doing?"
Ready to continue what he considered an amusing adventure, he was about to take her in his arms murmuring, "I love you." But she rose quickly and fled horror-stricken.
"No, no, it's horrible." She sank down covering her face and crying hysterically.
Fandor rushed over just in time to hear her murmur, "Alas, and I love you."
A variety of sentiments and impressions passed through the mind of Fandor. At first, delighted with the avowal he had heard, he took her, unresisting, in his arms. Then suddenly he became the victim of a violent jealousy. For it was not to Fandor she had yielded but to the King of Hesse-Weimar, Frederick-Christian. She looked so pretty with her tears and her love that the situation became intolerable to him.
"Sire," whispered the gentle voice of Marie Pascal, "may I remind you of a promise? Dare I ask for a souvenir?" She pointed to a photograph of Frederick-Christian II.
"All right, all right," growled Fandor, "take it."
She then handed him a pen and asked him to write a dedication.
"No, I'll be hanged if I do," cried Fandor. Then seeing that the young girl was beginning to cry again, he added:
"My dear Marie Pascal, I am very sorry but it is against the rule for me to write a single word on my portrait.... It is against the Constitution." The journalist searched through his pockets to find something he might give her as compensation, and then clasped her to his heart as the only thing possible to do under the circumstances. At this moment a servant entered and gravely announced:
"Sire, Wulfenmimenglaschk is here." Had the sun or the moon or the King himself been announced Fandor's amazement would not have been greater. Marie Pascal was about to slip away embarrassed, hardly capable of leaving in so much happiness, when Fandor recalled her.
"Mademoiselle!"
"Sire!"
"What you told me just now about the torn lace you had better repeat at police headquarters." Then in a lower tone he continued his instructions. When he had finished she nodded her head.
Yes, she would go and find Juve, the detective Juve, as the King had ordered her, and she would tell him everything.
The servant was waiting motionless for the King's answer.
"Wulfenmimenglaschk," thought he, "that must be one of those extraordinary German-American cocktails which Frederick-Christian is accustomed to order." He turned to the servant:
"Pour it out." At the man's surprise Fandor realized that he had made a mistake. At this moment a very fat man with scarlet face and pointed moustache appeared in the doorway and gave the military salute, announcing in a voice of thunder:
"Wulfenmimenglaschk!"
"Good God," murmured the journalist, dropping into an armchair. "This time I'm dished. He's come from Hesse-Weimar."
Juve was busy searching in a bureau drawer while Marie Pascal was going through piles of linen in her cupboard.
"You are sure you put it there?" asked Juve. "Madame Ceiron hasn't by any chance taken it away, has she?"
"Oh, no," replied Marie Pascal, "I am quite sure I locked it in my drawer, and locked the door of my room as well."
The room had been turned completely topsy-turvy, while Juve and Marie Pascal were searching anxiously and nervously through all the girl's belongings.
When she left the Royal Palace Hotel, Marie Pascal had gone directly to Police Headquarters, where she had found Juve. After telling him the history of the chemise fallen from the Marquis de Sérac's laundry, she had repeated all the details of her interview with the King and the advice he had given her.
"His Majesty Frederick-Christian was certainly wise in sending you here," he replied; "to begin with, itproves most conclusively that he has every intention of denying the crime of which you accused him yesterday, and of which you no longer accuse him to-day."
Marie Pascal protested: "I never accused him!"
"It amounted to the same thing, for the man you say threw Susy d'Orsel out of the window could only be the King, since he was alone with his mistress.... Now we get the further evidence of the chemise found by you quite by chance ... and by sending you to me His Majesty explicitly accuses a woman, the woman to whom that chemise belonged—of having killed Susy d'Orsel."
"The first thing to be done, Mademoiselle, is to go to your room and have a look at this garment. The Marquis de Sérac himself is away, and besides, his reputation is well known. Therefore, we cannot accuse him. If the chemise was found among his laundry it would imply that the murderer, taken by surprise, hid himself in the Marquis's apartment and either changed his clothes there or dropped the chemise into the Marquis's laundry-bag on purpose to create a false scent."
Without further words, Juve and the young girl drove to Rue de Monceau to examine the chemise which she had found that morning. Marie Pascal unlocked her door; a few moments later started in amazement. The chemise had disappeared. Afterward Juvebegan to wonder whether Marie Pascal had spoken the truth or whether it was a put-up story between herself and the King.
"There's no use looking any further," he cried, "some one has stolen it."
"But it's terrible," replied Marie Pascal. "It is the only evidence that would clear the King. The only proof that he is not guilty. How can anyone be sure that I really found the chemise?"
Juve nodded. "That's what I have been asking myself, Mademoiselle."
"Oh, what can be done?"
The anxiety of the young girl interested Juve keenly.
"It's very annoying, Mademoiselle. But, after all, it only affects you indirectly. The King will have to explain clearly whether he was alone with Susy d'Orsel or whether a woman accompanied him."
"Yes, but then they will suspect him.... Oh, M. Juve, what do you think?"
Juve gave a dry cough and answered:
"Well, Mademoiselle, this is the way I figure it out. Susy d'Orsel has been the mistress of the King for about two years, and as you know constancy is unusual with men, it is quite possible that Frederick-Christian had had enough of his mistress and had become interested in another woman."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"Oh, yes, it does. It explains everything. Suppose, for instance, that the King had fallen in love with another demi-mondaine, and that had brought her to the apartment to notify Susy d'Orsel of his intention to break with her. Might not a quarrel have arisen between the two women and the new mistress, exasperated by some taunt, had thrown the unfortunate Susy d'Orsel out of the window?... That would be a commonplace enough story."
While speaking Juve was watching carefully the expression on Marie Pascal's face. She had grown very pale and at the end protested with a cry:
"No, no, you are wrong. The King had not two mistresses. And besides, the chemise I found was made of coarse linen, and would not certainly be worn by that sort of woman."
"Ah," thought Juve, "I wonder if Marie Pascal by any chance is in love with his Majesty. That would explain many things. To begin with, the reason why she was watching Susy's window. Also why the King, touched perhaps by the caprice of this girl, had had a row with his mistress, and finally why Marie Pascal, having seen him again, had invented the story of the chemise, which could not be found. This young girl is imprudent. She lets it be seen too clearly how disagreeablethe hypothesis would be to her. After reasoning thus to himself Juve turned to the young girl.
"Well, Mademoiselle Marie, if my supposition is wrong there can be only one explanation, namely, that some woman committed the crime, a woman who was hidden in the apartment and who subsequently hid the chemise in the Marquis de Sérac's laundry bag, and then having learned of your discovery returned to your room to recover the compromising article." Marie Pascal remained silent. Juve continued with the intention of alarming her out of her reserve.
"But if this last supposition is the right one we must admit that it is none the less unfortunate for the King. For once the chemise disappeared the King must be held guilty until further discovery."
Marie Pascal replied simply:
"It is frightful. The more so because I had this proof in my hand, and I know very well he is innocent."
Juve picked up his hat and began buttoning his overcoat.
"Naturally, Mademoiselle, you yourself know ... and I may add that I am of your opinion, but still you have no proof to offer, and consequently...."
Marie Pascal wrung her hands in desperation.
"What is to be done? How can the truth come to light.... Ah, I shall never forgive myself for havingat first accused the King and then losing the proof of his innocence."
"Oh, don't take it to heart too much. In criminal affairs the first results of the investigator are really conclusive."
Juve nodded to the young girl and rapidly went downstairs smiling to himself. One thing and one alone had developed from his interview. The King denied his guilt.
"The only thing I know," he thought, "is that the concièrge affirms that Frederick-Christian was alone when he came to see Susy d'Orsel.... If I can prove that definitely I can also prove by the chain of evidence that the King is guilty. But how to do it?"
Juve hurried through the courtyard, passing the office of Mme. Ceiron, who was out at that moment. As he had already obtained the key of Susy d'Orsel's apartment, her absence did not trouble him.
"I'll be willing to bet," he thought, "that I shall find nothing interesting in her rooms. But it is at least my duty to go over them carefully.... If only I could discover evidence showing that three persons were there together, but that is most unlikely. The officers, the doctors, the concièrge and the men who carried the body to the Morgue would have destroyed all traces."
It was not without a slight shudder that Juve entered the apartment where the tragedy occurred. With a real catch at his heart he went through the bright, luxuriously decorated rooms, still giving evidence of a feminine presence.
Death had entered there. The sinister death of crime, brutal, unforeseen. A hundred times more tragic for remaining unexplained. Juve, however, quickly stifled his feelings. He was there to investigate and nothing else mattered. The bedroom presented nothing worthy of notice, the boudoir was in perfect order, also the kitchen and the hall.
Juve entered, finally, the dining-room. It was there, according to the testimony of witnesses, that the crime must have taken place. It was there in any case that Susy d'Orsel had received her lover.
Nothing had been deranged. The table was still set for supper. Two places, side by side, bore mute witness that the King had been alone with his mistress.
Juve at first carefully examined the general lay of the room. The disposition of the chairs, the two knives from the two forks, two fish plates, all went to prove there had been only two persons at the table.
But suddenly he gave a start and his face expressed the keenest interest. He dropped to his knees and carefully examined the floor under the table.
"Unless I am dreaming there are ashes here."
Juve bent forward and noticed at the right of the sofa an ash receiver placed near the edge of the table, and below on the carpet a small heap of gray ash.
"To begin with, we'll admit that Susy d'Orsel flicked the ash off her cigarette ... gray ash from Egyptian tobacco, a woman's cigarette."
He now moved to the left of the sofa.
"In the second place, here is another heap of ashes in this plate ... cigar ashes ... in fact here is the tend showing a German brand.... So the King was sitting on the right of Susy d'Orsel. Less careful, he used his plate instead of an ash receiver."
Now bending down he noticed on the carpet a third heap of ash.
"A third person has been smoking here. For there is no reason why the King should have changed his place and sat at the opposite side of the table where no place is laid.... Also this third person, in smoking a cigarette, and having no plate or ash receiver, dropped his ashes on the carpet."
After a moment's thought Juve took from his pocket a small automatic lighting arrangement and going on his hands and knees under the table began a careful examination of its feet. In a moment he gave an exclamation of joy.
"Ah, I have got it now. This is conclusive."
And in fact Juve had made a most important discovery. The heavy legs of the table were joined by crosspieces and Juve had been able to determine where Susy d'Orsel had rested her feet. He saw also the slight traces of mud where the King had rested his feet. Most important, however, was the fact that further traces of mud had been left by a third pair of feet.
"If only I could identify the feet that were placed here, and whether they belonged to a woman."
A closer examination of the wood made him rise to his feet with a cry. Quickly taking a chair, he placed it before the table in the place that might naturally be occupied by a third guest, and then sat down. This is what he discovered. It was quite impossible for a woman to have been sitting there. Having stretched his legs and rested his feet upon the traces of mud, he discovered that one of the legs of the table came directly between his knees. A woman's skirt would have made this position impossible for her.
"Why, the King was telling the truth! There were three persons in this dining-room a few moments before the crime was committed. And they were Susy d'Orsel, the King and another man."
Juve now threw himself into an armchair and remained buried in thought.
"To sum it up, the King alone is in a position to give me further information.... And if he should refuse to speak or should attempt to lie I have now within my hands the means of forcing him to tell the truth."
He sprang up quickly.
"The next thing to do is to go and see the King."
Wulfenmimenglaschk!
Fandor stared in consternation at the individual who had just entered the apartment of Frederick-Christian II.
He was enormously fat and absurd looking. A large red nose stood out between two little blinking eyes; a heavy moustache bushed above his three well-defined chins. In his hand he held a soft green hat, through the ribbon of which was stuck a feather. He wore a wide leather belt containing cartridge cases, and the butts of two revolvers peeped out of his pockets.
The man began once more.
"Wulfen ..."
Fandor stopped him with a movement of impatience.
"Won't you please speak French, so long as we are in France?"
For the twenty-fifth time this strange individual repeated the phrase which apparently meant his name and added in French:
"Head of the Secret Service of the Kingdom of Hesse-Weimar and Attaché of your Majesty."
Fandor congratulated himself that the table separated them. He expected at any moment to be shown up as an impostor. But thinking the best plan would be to try and bluff it through he said graciously:
"Sit down, Monsieur Wulf."
"But that isn't possible."
"Yes, it is ... take that chair."
"I should never dare to," answered the police officer.
Fandor insisted.
"We desire you."
Wulf bowed to such formal instructions, murmuring:
"I do so at the order of your Majesty."
Fandor sprang up amazed.
"Does he take me for the King too? That can't be possible. The head of the Secret Service! They must be carrying this joke out to the bitter end. I'm hanged if I can understand it."
"What do you want?"
The man who since his entrance had not taken his eyes off Fandor, now appeared to be considering him with the greatest admiration.
"Ah! Heaven be thanked.... My most cherisheddesire has come to pass.... Your Majesty has been good enough to allow me the honor of a personal interview."
"He must be mad," thought Fandor.
"Of course I was well acquainted with your august features.... Frederick-Christian II is popular in his kingdom ... his portrait hangs on the walls of private houses as well as public buildings. But your Majesty understands that portraits and the reality are often dissimilar.... Now, although for seventeen years I have belonged to the Secret Service of the Kingdom, I have never before had the honor of meeting his Majesty face to face."
"So, Monsieur Wulf, you think I don't look like my portrait."
"Pardon me, Sire, that is not what I wish to say. The portrait represents your Majesty as being taller and heavier, with a larger moustache and fairer hair."
"In other words," said Fandor, smiling, "my portrait flatters me."
"Oh, Sire, quite the contrary, I assure you."
"Well, what do you want?"
Wulf was evidently waiting for this question. He rose from the seat and made a careful inspection of the room, opening each door to see that no one wasoutside listening. Then he returned to Fandor and whispered:
"I am here on a secret mission, Sire."
"Well, let's hear what it is."
"I am charged with two commissions, one which interests your Majesty, the other the Kingdom. To begin with, I have come to get your reply to the telegram in cipher which his Highness the Minister of the Interior sent your Majesty yesterday."
"The deuce," thought Fandor, "this is getting annoying. What on earth shall I tell him?"
Then with an air of innocence he asked:
"What telegram are you speaking of? I have received none."
"Your Majesty didn't receive it?"
"Well, you know the service is rotten in France."
"Yes," replied Wulf scornfully, "it's easy to see it's a Republic."
Fandor smiled. If he was compelled to run down his own country for once, it wouldn't matter.
"What can you expect with the continual strikes ... however, that's not our fault, is it, Wulf?"
"Quite true, Sire."
The Chief of the Secret Service leaned toward Fandor and whispered mysteriously.
"I have it, Sire."
"What," inquired Fandor, with somewhat of anxiety.
"The text of the telegram."
Wulf drew out a document and was about to hand it to Fandor, but the latter stopped him with a gesture.
"Read it to me."
"His Highness, the Minister of the Interior, begs to inform your Majesty that since his absence a propaganda unfavorable to the throne is being actively spread in the Court and in the town. The partisans of Prince Gudulfin believe the occasion favorable to seize the Government."
Fandor pretended anger.
"Ah, it's Prince Gudulfin again!"
"Alas, Sire, it is always the Prince."
Fandor repressed a violent laugh.
"Is that all?"
"No, Sire. His Highness the Minister requested to know, in the name of the Queen, when your Majesty has the intention of returning to his Kingdom."
Fandor rose and tapping Wulf amicably on the shoulder replied:
"Tell the Queen that business of the greatest importance keeps me in Paris, but that before long I hope to return to the Court."
Wulf looked at him without answering, and Fandor added with great dignity:
"You can go now."
"But I have a formal order not to return to Glotzbourg without your Majesty, and when your Majesty is ready I am at your orders. Even to-night."
Then he added in a low tone:
"That would be a pity, for in Paris ..."
Fandor glanced quickly at him. So this fat police officer was like the rest of the world. He, too, wanted to have his fling in Paris.
At this moment they were interrupted by the arrival of the servant carrying a tray of cocktails. Fandor turned smilingly to Wulf.
"Have a cocktail, Wulf?"
The officer almost choked with delight. In Hesse-Weimar he would never have imagined that his King could be so charming and simple in private life. He made some remark to this effect and the journalist answered:
"Why not, Wulf? Hesse-Weimar and France are two different places ... we are now in a democracy, let's be democratic." Then clinking his glass with Wulf's he cried:
"To the health of the Republic!"
Fandor now led the conversation to the charms andseductions of Paris, and he pictured the delights of the city in such glowing terms that Wulf's little eyes sparkled and his purple face became even more congested. He lost his timidity. He expressed a wish to see the Moulin-Rouge and the Singing Fountains.
"What do you know about them?" inquired Fandor.
"Why, they speak of nothing else in Hesse-Weimar."
"You shall hear them then.... Look here, Wulf, are you married?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Then I'll bet you deceive your wife."
"Hum! I should be sorry if my wife heard you say that. For up to now ..."
Fandor laughed.
"Oh, we Kings know everything. Even more than your Secret Service."
"That's true," cried Wulf, "absolutely true."
"Wulf, Paris is the town of charming women. I am sure they will please you greatly. And as I have no need of your services to-morrow I will give you your liberty."
The officer was about to break into thanks when the door opened and a servant announced:
"Will your Majesty receive Monsieur Juve?"
"Show him in."
When the detective entered and heard Fandor addressed as His Majesty he opened his eyes and stood staring, while Fandor himself was obliged to stuff his handkerchief into his mouth to prevent himself from roaring with laughter.
Juve began:
"What does this mean?..."
But Fandor quickly stepped forward.
"Monsieur Juve, let me introduce you to Monsieur Wulf. Monsieur Wulf is the head of the Secret Service in my Kingdom of Hesse-Weimar."
Then tapping Wulf familiarly on the shoulder he added:
"He's one of the greatest detectives in the world. He was able to find the King of Hesse-Weimar right here in this apartment.... Though he had never seen me, he found me and recognized me!"
The officer beamed with delight at the compliment. Fandor then conducted him to the door, whispering advice as to the best way of passing his night in Paris.
Scarcely had the ridiculous Wulf disappeared when Juve seized Fandor by the shoulder.
"Fandor! What does this mean?"
"Why, Juve, simply that I'm the King of Hesse-Weimar—of which fact you had a proof just now."
But Juve's face was serious.
"Now, without joking, tell me what you are doing here."
When Fandor had finished his explanation Juve seized him by the hand.
"Where is the King, Fandor?"
"I have already told you. I haven't the least idea. And, furthermore, I don't care."
"You are crazy to talk this way. What is happening is extremely serious."
"Why?"
"Simply because a charge of murder has been brought against Frederick-Christian."
"Very few people know it," exclaimed the journalist.
He stopped speaking suddenly. Outside the murmur of a crowd grew louder and louder as it approached. Juve and Fandor ran to the window just in time to receive a volley of stones which broke the glass in several places. The two men sprang back.
"Put out the lights!" cried Juve.
Below them the avenue was black with people. After a moment they could distinguish what they were shouting.
"Murderer! Murderer! Down with the King!"
"That surprises you, Fandor," exclaimed Juve, "but for the last forty-eight hours I have been watchingthis trouble grow, and I tell you it is going to end badly."