At the head of the mob and more daring than the others appeared a strange individual. A long-bearded old man, dressed in white, was endeavoring to force his way into the hotel and a fight was taking place at the door.
"I know him," muttered Juve, "I have seen him once or twice before trying to raise a row about this affair."
"Why it's Ouaouaoua, the Primitive Man," cried Fandor.
A squad of policemen now arrived on the scene, and without much difficulty succeeded in dispersing the mob.
"Well, Juve."
"Well, Fandor."
"To tell you the truth, Juve," admitted the journalist, "I am beginning to get a little uneasy. However, this manifestation is against Frederick-Christian, not against me...."
Juve interrupted.
"Idiot, don't you understand what's happening? Either one of two things. You are the King, and therefore in the opinion of the public the murderer of Susy d'Orsel, or you are not the King, and in thatcase you are an impostor, which will make it all the more likely that you will be considered as the murderer."
"Not much," cried Fandor. "You seem to forget it was I who picked up ..."
"Who knows that?" continued Juve. "Why, my dear fellow, think for a moment, if the King is guilty, and even if he is not, he will be only too glad to throw the responsibility for this tragedy upon your shoulders.... That would let him out of it completely. The situation could not be much worse. Suppose that this evening, to-morrow, at any moment some one finds out that you are not the King, you will then not only be suspected of the murder of Susy d'Orsel, but you will be accused of having done away with the King.... Where is the King? You haven't the least idea. Then what answer could you make?"
"The devil," murmured Fandor, suddenly growing pale. "I didn't think of that. You are right, Juve, I am in a bad fix."
There was a moment of silence. The two men looked at one another, troubled and anxious. Then Fandor, struck by a sudden inspiration, seized his hat and cane.
"What are you doing?" inquired Juve.
"I ... Why I'm going to clear out."
"How?... The King's apartment is surrounded by Secret Service men.... They take good care of His Majesty.... You were forgetting that!"
"That's true," said Fandor, depressed. "So now I am actually a prisoner. Look here, Juve, what has become of this Frederick-Christian? Haven't you any clue to follow?"
"No."
"He can't have vanished into thin air. We must find him if it is humanly possible."
"That's my opinion, Fandor, but I am wondering how."
And then suddenly to each of them the same thought occurred.
Fantômas!
Was it not probable that the strange crime of which Susy d'Orsel was the victim, the mysterious disappearance of the King, might be attributed to this enigmatic and redoubtable bandit?
It would not have been the first time that the journalist and the detective had put forth a similar hypothesis.
Fantômas had always symbolized the very essence of crime itself.
On leaving Fandor, Juve walked up the Avenue Champs Elysées, refusing the offers of various cab drivers. He felt the need of movement as an antidote to his growing worry over the affair. On arriving at the Rue Saussaies, Juve sent up his card to M. Annion and requested an immediate interview. In a few moments he was shown into M. Annion's office.
"Well, what's new? What's the result of your investigation, Juve?"
"There is nothing much to report yet. The theory of suicide is possible, although a crime may have been committed. Whether the King is involved or not in this affair is still uncertain. It will take me a week at least to find out."
"In other words, you know nothing yet. Well, I can tell you a few things you don't know. Pass me those documents."
M. Annion looked through the papers and then continued:
"When Vicart saw you this morning he forgot togive you some of the instructions I had charged him with.... I sent two of my men to the Royal Palace Hotel.... Do you know what they found?"
"No, I haven't the least idea. There was nothing to learn at the Royal Palace itself."
"On the contrary, they made an extraordinary discovery."
"What was it?"
"They discovered that the King is not the King. The individual who is posing as Frederick-Christian II is an impostor. Rather sensational news, isn't it?"
"So sensational that I don't believe it."
"And why not, if you please?"
Juve avoided a direct reply. He asked:
"Upon what do you place this supposed imposture?"
M. Annion took up the papers before him.
"I have the evidence here before me. But first I must tell you how our suspicions became aroused.... This morning, after your departure, we received a telegram from Hesse-Weimar inquiring why Frederick-Christian did not reply to the telegram sent him from his kingdom.... That gave me an inkling of what was going on.... I sent to the Royal Palace Hotel and there my two detectives learned that Frederick-Christian had gained the reputation of beingextremely odd, in fact, half crazy. Furthermore, that he was acting in a manner totally different from that of former occasions. He now scarcely moves from his room, whereas previously he spent most of his time out of doors."
M. Annion handed Juve the documents and begged him to look them over himself. After returning them Juve realized that his best chance would be to gain time.
"This is going to cause a great deal of trouble. If an impostor is really installed in the Royal Palace Hotel we shall have to notify the Chancellor and ask for the authorization to verify ... In other words, a number of tiresome formalities will have to be complied with."
"Wait a minute, I have more surprises for you. We now have the press on our trail. All the evening papers publish articles inferring the guilt of the King.... They come out boldly accusing him of murder. Would you believe that at seven o'clock this evening there was a shouting, howling mob in front of the Royal Palace? And so, my dear Juve, you had better take two men with you, and without delay go to the hotel and arrest the man who is passing for the King, and who is, besides, the murderer of Susy d'Orsel."
This is what Juve feared; he determined to make every effort to prevent the arrest of Fandor.
"All this is very well, but I think you will agree with me that it is a romance, Monsieur Annion."
"May I ask why you think that?"
"Certainly, Monsieur Annion.
"You intend to arrest the false King because he is accused by the public of murder.... If he were the real King, would you be willing to arrest him without further proof?"
"No ... naturally not ... but then he is an impostor, so that won't worry me."
"Very good, Monsieur Annion, and now, suppose you have guessed wrong? After all, you are basing your conclusion upon a number of minor details, upon the observation of hotel clerks. All that is not sufficient. But don't you think anyone in Paris knows the King by sight?"
"Only two persons knew him here.... The Ambassador of Hesse-Weimar, M. de Naarboveck, who has just been changed and whose successor has not as yet arrived. The other person is one of his friends, the Marquis de Sérac, who happens to be away from Paris just now."
Juve smiled.
"You forget one man, Monsieur Annion, who knowsthe King better than either of these. I refer to the head of the Secret Service of Hesse-Weimar ... one of my colleagues. He is at present staying at the Royal Palace and sees the King every day. Consequently it will be scarcely possible to deceive him."
"What is his name?" asked M. Annion.
"It's rather complicated; he calls himself Wulfenmimenglaschk, which we may cut to Wulf for all practical purposes. What should you think of his testimony?"
M. Annion hesitated.
"Of course, if this individual knows the King ..."
"He is attached to the King's person."
"And you are sure he recognized him at the Royal Palace?"
"I'll bring him here and let him speak for himself."
"Well, I'll give you until eleven to-morrow morning to produce this Wulf ... or whatever he calls himself; if then he cannot positively affirm that the King is really the King, you must arrest the impostor immediately. If, on the other hand, he does recognize him, we must refer the matter to the Minister of Foreign Affairs."
"That is understood," replied Juve, and he took his leave.
As Juve found himself again in the Rue de Saussaies his face clouded over.
"Twenty-four hours gained anyway, but I wonder where the devil I can get hold of this Wulf? I might catch him at the Moulin-Rouge ... Fandor sent him there."
Juve drove to the music hall and, showing his card, questioned the officials.
"I'm looking for a fat little man, probably slightly drunk, foreign accent, wears a brown coat, tight trousers, white spats, and is plastered all over with decorations."
"I saw him," cried one of the ushers. "I checked his overcoat and noticed the decorations. He left some time ago."
"Confound it!" muttered Juve. "You don't know why he left so early? The show is only beginning."
The usher smiled.
"Well, he carried a couple of girls away with him. Probably he's in some nearby café."
Juve decided to spend the whole night, if necessary, to find Wulf, and began a systematic search through all the cafés of Montmartre.
At length, about three in the morning, he decided to give himself a rest and take a drink. For thispurpose he entered a small café at the corner of the Rue de Douai and the Rue Victor-Masse, and ordered a beer. He put the usual question:
"You don't happen to have seen a fat little man, drunk and profusely decorated?"
The proprietor at once grew excited.
"I should think I have seen him. He came in here asking for some outlandish brand of cigarettes, and ended by taking the cheapest I had, then paid for them with foreign money. And when I refused to take it, he threatened me with some King or other! Aren't we still a republic, I should like to know?"
Evidently, from the description, it could be no other than the peripatetic Wulf.
"Was he alone?" asked Juve.
"Oh, he brought in a little blonde with him, but when she saw his fake money, I guess she gave him the slip, for he turned to the right and she went up the street in the opposite direction."
"The devil!" exclaimed Juve; "the trail is lost again."
A waiter stepped forward.
"I think he went to the Courcelles Station; he asked me where it was."
"The Courcelles Station!"
Juve stood staring in amazement. What on earth could Wulf want to go there for?
"Have you a telephone?" he asked.
"Yes, Monsieur."
With great difficulty Juve succeeded in getting the connection.
"Hullo! Is that your Majesty?"
Fandor's voice replied, laughingly:
"Yes, it's His Majesty all right, but His Majesty doesn't like being wakened up at night. What can I do for you, my dear Juve?"
"Can you tell me where Wulf is?"
"How should I know? Probably with some women, he seems crazy about them."
"No, he hasn't any French money."
"Hold on, Juve; I advised him to take the circular tube as the best method of seeing Paris. I told him to stay on board till he reached the end of the line. Just a little joke of mine."
Fandor burst out laughing, and Juve rang off, angrily.
Once in the street, he stood a moment in doubt as to his next course. If Wulf was really taking a trip in the circular tube, he would be in process of going round and round Paris. How was it possible to overtake him?
Hailing a taxi, he explained to the chauffeur:
"Look here, I want you to take me to the Courcelles Station ... there we must find out in what direction the first train passes, either toward Porte Maillot or toward the Avenue de Clichy ..."
The man stared stupidly and Juve found it necessary to explain in a few words the quest he was setting out upon.
"If our man isn't on the first train that passes Courcelles, then we must hurry over to the Bois de Boulogne Station, understand?"
Juve had the luck to learn from the ticket seller at Courcelles that she had noticed Wulf, and that he had bought a first-class ticket; this limited the search very considerably.
The first train pulled in, but Wulf was not on board.
Juve sprang into his taxi and now hurried over to the Bois de Boulogne. Here the same result met him; the next station was Auteuil, then Vaugirard, la Glacière and Bel-Air.
It was now eight o'clock, and his appointment with M. Annion was at eleven. What was to be done?
On reaching Menilmontant Station, Juve had about decided to abandon the chase.
"I'll wait for one more train and then make some other plan," he muttered.
By great good luck he caught sight of Wulf as it ran into the station. Rushing into the carriage, he seized his man and hauled him on to the platform.
"What's the matter? Why are you here, Monsieur Juve? I am perfectly amazed ..."
"Where are you going, Monsieur Wulf?"
Wulf smiled fatuously:
"I have been following his Majesty's advice, seeing Paris. What an immense city! I counted one hundred and twenty-seven stations since five o'clock this morning and I have crossed ten rivers! Why have you stopped me? I wanted to go to the end of the line."
Juve bustled him into the waiting taxi.
"I'll explain as we go," he replied. "It is a question of saving the King. He is menaced by powerful and terrible enemies."
"I am ready to die for him," exclaimed Wulf. "What must I do?"
"Oh, it's not necessary to die. All you have to do is to certify before the police authorities that the person you know as Frederick-Christian at the Royal Palace is actually the King."
"I don't understand in the least what you mean!"
"That doesn't matter; you have only to do as I say and all will be well."
M. Annion was overcome.
Wulf, after testifying to the identity of the King, had been sent to wait in an adjoining room while Juve and M. Annion had a confidential chat.
"Well, Juve, I can't get over it. Without you, I should have made a terrible break! The King arrested! What a scandal! But, tell me, what's to be done now? The public's calling for the murderer. I place myself in your hands. What do you suggest?"
Juve thought a moment.
For the time being Fandor was safe, but he was still very far from being out of the woods.
"Monsieur Annion," he replied at length, "there is just one method of procedure in this case. The assassination of Susy d'Orsel, the question of this imposture, in fact all these mysterious points which have arisen cannot be cleared up in Paris."
"What the devil do you mean, Juve?"
"I mean that in all probability the threads of this intrigue lead to Hesse-Weimar, to the capital of the kingdom, to Glotzbourg. And, if you have no objection, I will start for there this evening."
"Go, go," replied M. Annion; "perhaps you areright ... anyhow, don't forget to take letters of introduction with you."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I can get all I want from my colleague."
"Your colleague?"
"Yes, from this excellent Wulf."
"Come in and sit down, Monsieur Wulfenmimenglaschk."
The Marquis de Sérac led the way into his study.
He was a powerfully built, white-haired man, in the sixties, still active, with a slightly tired voice, a typical man of the world in his manners and dress.
Very embarrassed, Wulf bowed and bowed:
"I am confused, Monsieur. Quite confused ... I ..."
"Not at all, Monsieur Wulf; now take off your overcoat, sit down and smoke a cigar. I assure you it's a great pleasure for me to talk to anyone coming from Hesse-Weimar. I left the court when I was very young, and I should be a stranger in Glotzbourg to-day; still I remember my very good friends there ... but never mind that now, we have more important subjects to discuss, Monsieur Wulf, and I'm sure you are in a hurry."
"Oh, not at all; I am only too happy and too proud ..."
"Yes, yes, Paris is a city of temptations, and I won't take too much of your time. First of all let me explain that I only received your letter yesterday, as I happened to be out of town. You state that I am in a position to render you a great service; this I shall be delighted to do as soon as you tell me what it is."
Wulf began a long and rambling story to the effect that upon leaving Glotzbourg for Paris, on his special mission to the King, he had conceived the idea of writing to the Marquis de Sérac, whom he knew to be an intimate friend of the King, to give him a letter of introduction to His Majesty.
"But now I don't need it," he ended, "for the King is my best friend ... he received me with charming simplicity, just like an old comrade."
"Alas, my dear Wulf, His Majesty is at present exposed to the most terrible danger."
"What do you mean?"
"You have doubtless heard of the tragic death of Mlle. Susy d'Orsel, the King's mistress, which, by a curious coincidence, occurred in this very house?"
"I know! I know!"
"Well, perhaps you also know that among the King's enemies, some dare to accuse him of having killed Mlle. Susy d'Orsel?"
"Oh! Such people ought to be cut in pieces."
"Alas, Monsieur Wulf, we are not yet in a position to avenge His Majesty. You don't happen to know who the real murderer is, do you?"
"No, I haven't the least idea; but if I ever get hold of him, I shall know what to do!"
The Marquis smiled and shrugged his shoulders:
"I shall be glad to help you."
"Thanks, Monsieur le Marquis, but I'm afraid we shan't succeed. There's a French detective on the case, a man named Juve, who hasn't been able to find the man either!"
The Marquis gave a slight start:
"Ah, and Juve has found nothing, suspects nobody?"
"No."
"That is strange.... Well, Monsieur Wulf, I think we shall be able to do better. You are ready for anything?"
"For everything, on my honor!" replied Wulf, with fervor.
"Very well, then I promise you we shall have some news within a week. But excuse me a moment, I have some orders to give; I won't be a moment."
The Marquis crossed the room and opened the door; Wulf could hear him talking:
"Is that you, Madame Ceiron?"
A woman's voice answered:
"Yes, Monsieur le Marquis. What can I do for you?"
"Kindly unpack the bag in my room and when you go out be sure to lock the doors. I don't want a recurrence of what happened the other day when some one entered my apartment and left a chemise belonging to the murderer among my laundry."
"Monsieur le Marquis may rest assured his orders will be obeyed."
In a few moments the Marquis returned and M. Wulf rose to go. He repeated with emphasis his determination:
"If ever I get the chance to arrest this murderer, I will do so in the face of any danger. All for the King! That is my motto!"
"Yes, you are right, Monsieur, all for the King."
The Marquis de Sérac bowed his visitor out, and then suddenly his smiling face underwent an astounding change of expression.
"I must clinch my alibi!"
In a moment he had torn off his false whiskers and his wig of white hair was quickly replaced by another—this time a woman's wig. With the agility of a Fregoli he then got into a skirt and waist.
Forty seconds after the departure of Wulf the Marquis de Sérac had become ... Madame Ceiron, the concièrge.
Three or four pencil marks and his disguise was complete. It would be impossible for anybody not having seen this transformation to guess that the Marquis de Sérac and old Madame Ceiron were one and the same individual.
After a quick glance into his mirror he rushed across his drawing-room, through the hall, and quickly opened a large Breton wardrobe. Through the centre of this rose a post which he seized and slid down. It was the same contrivance used by firemen to join their engines when a call was sent in. At the foot of the post in Madame Ceiron's apartment were stretched two mattresses to deaden the fall. These were placed in a small storeroom, well hidden from observation. After closing the door behind her, Madame Ceiron rushed to the hall in time to intercept Wulf on his way downstairs.
"You are looking for some one?" she asked.
"No, Madame, I have just come from the Marquis de Sérac's apartment."
After Wulf had disappeared Madame Ceiron returned to her office and was about to enter when a voice called:
"Here I am, Madame Ceiron. I found your note under my door. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Ah, it's you, my child. You are very kind to have come, and there is something that you can do for me. I want to know if you will come upstairs to Susy d'Orsel's room with me."
"What on earth for?"
"Well, I'll tell you. It's this way: I am scared to go up there all alone."
Marie Pascal smiled.
"Of course it is rather appalling, but why do you go there, Madame Ceiron?"
"Well, you see, the police have put their seals over everything and I am paid one franc a day to see that nobody enters the apartment and breaks them. I have to take a look around from time to time, so won't you come with me?"
"Certainly, Madame Ceiron."
Marie Pascal and the concièrge went up together and began a careful examination of the poor girl's rooms. While the young girl was looking curiously around Madame Ceiron entered the boudoir. She crossed to the chimney and pulled out a small casket, which was hidden behind a blue curtain. She opened it quickly and inspected the contents.
"Jewels! Which would be the best to take? Ah,this ring and this bracelet ... and these earrings. Now for the key. I'll take that with me."
"Mam'zelle Marie Pascal!"
"Madame Ceiron?"
"Come along, my dear. I am so frightened, it upsets me to go through this poor girl's apartment. Just run and see if the outer door is locked."
While Marie Pascal turned her back and walked toward the door, Madame Ceiron suddenly pressed against a large box which fell over and spread a fine coal dust over the carpet.
"It is locked, Madame Ceiron."
"Then come along. I hope to Heaven this business will soon be cleared up or it will make me ill."
A few moments later Marie Pascal had returned to her own bedroom and the concièrge busied herself by opening in her office a parcel which she had taken from a cupboard. She was interrupted in her work by the arrival of a working woman who was engaged to take Madame Ceiron's place when she had errands to do.
"I am going to leave you alone here to-day, Madame. I have some shopping to do.... I am going to spend my New Year's gifts, buy a green dress and a hat with red feathers.... It is my turn to dress up a little."
Shortly afterwards the concièrge went out, taking with her the parcel she had prepared. But instead of going to the shopping district of Paris, she hurried toward the Bois de Boulogne.
When she had reached a remote part of the wood she entered a small hut. A few moments later visitors to the Bois noticed the well-known Ouaouaoua, the Primitive Man, walking down the main pathway. The enigmatic and dreamy face of this man resembled neither the Marquis de Sérac nor Madame Ceiron and yet ...
The science of camouflage pushed to its extreme limits produces the most unexpected transformations.
"Has Monsieur le Baron any trunks to be examined? This is the Hesse-Weimar Customs."
These words, spoken in a respectful but guttural voice, startled Juve from the deep sleep into which he had fallen after a very unpleasant night. The detective opened his eyes and stretched himself.
The pale light of dawn struggled through the windows of the sleeping car, the curtains of which had been carefully drawn. Outside nothing was to be seen, for besides the mud which covered the windows a heavy fog lay over the country.
The train came to a standstill, and before Juve stood an individual dressed in an elegant blue and yellow uniform plentifully covered with gold braid. Juve looked around to see the man who was being addressed by the title of Monsieur le Baron and finally came to the conclusion that it was himself to whom the man was speaking.
"Why do you call me Monsieur le Baron?" Theman touched his hat deferentially and seemed very surprised at the question.
"Why, Monsieur ... it's the custom. No one but the nobility travel first class."
Juve smiled and replied:
"That's all right, my friend, but in the future call me simply, 'Marquis.'"
The official again saluted and seizing Juve's valise traced on it the cabalistic chalk mark which allowed it to pass the frontier.
The evening before, the detective had taken his seat in the 10.50 express from the Gare du Nord in Paris for Cologne and Berlin. He had the good luck to find that a sleeping car had been attached to the end of the train which would take him directly to Glotzbourg. At the frontier he changed into a local, which jogged peacefully along, stopping every few minutes at small stations. The country of Hesse-Weimar spread out attractive and varied. Numerous small hills crowned with woods succeeded the green valleys they passed through. The houses were Swiss in architecture and seemed built for comfort and elegance. The little Kingdom seemed to breathe peace, simplicity and well-being. On his arrival at Hesse-Weimar, Juve had not been without some apprehension.During his last interview with Monsieur Annion he had put forward the opinion that an investigation in Hesse-Weimar would do much to clear up the mystery surrounding the affair. As a matter of fact, it was more to gain time than for any other reason that Juve had suggested this. He had not mentioned to his chief that his real object in going to Glotzbourg was to try to obtain a clue as to the real or apparent disappearance of the King Frederick-Christian II.
The formal declaration of the grotesque Wulf had reassured the French authorities as to the fate of the King, but to Juve, who knew that Fandor was installed at the Royal Palace, the search for the real King was of paramount importance.
"Glotzbourg.... All out!"
The detective seized his bag, hurried out of the car, hailed a cab and drove to the Hotel Deux-Hemispheres, which had been recommended by his colleague. After engaging his room Juve asked the porter to telephone to the police to find out when Heberlauf could see him. While waiting for the reply he took a bath and changed his clothes.
After having washed and shaved, he was about to go down to the lobby of the Hotel when a knock came at the door.
"Come in!" he cried.
A very tall and thin individual with a parchment-like face entered and bowed ceremoniously.
"To whom have I the honor...?" Juve inquired.
"I am Monsieur Heberlauf, head of the police at Hesse-Weimar.... Have I the pleasure of speaking to Monsieur Juve?"
Juve, surprised at the visit, excused the disorder of the room and tried to make his guest comfortable.
"Monsieur Wulf advised me of your intended visit to our Capital."
In a very few moments Juve was able to size up his man, who seemed only too anxious to impart information about himself and his affairs. While quite as simple-minded as Wulf, he appeared far more sinister. Juve also divined without much difficulty that his wife, Madame Heloise Heberlauf, was the best informed woman in the kingdom regarding gossip and scandal.
"In fact," declared the chief of police, "I can be of very little assistance to you, Monsieur. But my wife can give you all the information you need."
Juve made it clear to Monsieur Heberlauf that he wished to obtain an entry to the Court as soon as possible.
Monsieur Heberlauf replied that nothing would be easier than a presentation to the Queen. It happened that she was receiving in the afternoon, and Madame Heberlauf would take the necessary steps for his introduction. He ended by saying:
"Do come and lunch with us without ceremony. You will have plenty of time afterward to dress for the reception.... Have you a Court costume?"
Juve had overlooked that item.
"No, I haven't," he replied. "Is it indispensable?"
"It is, but don't worry, Madame Heberlauf will take charge of that. She will be able to find you the necessary garments." The luncheon engagement made for twelve o'clock sharp, the Chief of Police, now more solemn than ever, rose and took his leave.
"Well, Monsieur Juve, don't you think that looks fine?"
Juve was anxiously regarding himself in the glass, examining the effect of his costume, while Madame Heberlauf, a fat little red-faced woman, was circling around, eyeing him from every angle and clapping her hands with pleasure at the success of her efforts.
The lunch had been bountiful, and thoroughly German. Preserved fruit was served with the fish, and gooseberry jam with the roast. Juve was now costumedin knee breeches and a dress coat which permitted him to enter the presence of royalty.
"Don't be late," Madame Heberlauf advised, "for the Queen is very punctual, and there are a number of formalities to go through before you can be presented to her."
The Palace of the King was on the outskirts of the town, and was reached by a drive through a Park which the inhabitants had named Pois de Pulugne. It was built upon the top of a hill and had a fine view over the surrounding country. The garden surrounding the Palace had been artistically laid out, a fine lawn stretching away from the main entrance. The building itself was a miniature copy of Versailles. Having left his carriage at the gate Juve followed Madame Heberlauf's instructions and made his way to the left wing of the Palace. Upon his card of introduction was written the title "Comte," for, as Madame Heberlauf had explained, the Queen had a penchant for meeting members of the nobility. "Your welcome will be made much easier if you are thought to be noble," Madame Heberlauf had explained. As it was imperative that the reason for Juve's visit should be kept from the Court, he had arranged a little story with Madame Heberlauf.
The Comte Juve was a Canadian explorer who, aftera trip through Africa, was coming to spend some time at Glotzbourg and was anxious to meet the reigning family.
"God forgive us the lie," exclaimed Monsieur Heberlauf, "but as Monsieur Juve's mission is in the interest of the King Frederick-Christian, we are thoroughly justified in the deception."
The Queen's chamberlain, Monsieur Erick von Kampfen, after carefully examining Juve's credentials, led the detective into a drawing-room in which were already gathered a number of persons. An officer, in a wonderful uniform, came forward and introduced him to several of his companions.
"Princesse de Krauss, duc de Rutisheimer, colonel ..."
Juve was not surprised at this. The excellent Madame Heberlauf had warned him that such was the usage of the Court, and that before being admitted to the presence of the sovereign, the guests were introduced to one another. Juve was on his guard against committing the slightest imprudence, but his new friends were quickly at ease with him and very amiable in their attentions. He was soon surrounded by a number of young women begging for details of hisexplorations. Among these people Juve picked out the Princesse de Krauss, a stout woman with exaggerated blonde hair and red spots on her face, barely disguised under a thick layer of powder. She seemed to be ready for a more personal conversation which Juve insensibly brought to bear upon the royal couple.
"Will His Majesty the King be present at the Queen's reception to-day?"
The Princess looked at Juve in amazement, and then burst out laughing.
"It is easy to see you have just arrived from the middle of Africa, or you would know that His Majesty the King is in Paris.... Surely you must know that, since you tell me that you came through Paris on your way here."
The Duchess de Rutisheimer, a rather pretty and distinguished looking woman, drew the detective apart and whispered behind her fan:
"Our King is a gay bird, Count, and we know very well why he goes to Paris."
The Duchess spoke with such an air of annoyance that Juve could hardly prevent a smile.
"One might criticise His Majesty for going so far away to seek what was so close to hand."
"Ah, indeed, you are right," the Princess sighed, "there must be something about these Parisian women.... I heard that the dressmakers of the Rue de la Paix are going to bring out some Spring models which are so indecent ..."
M. Erick von Kampfen, the chamberlain, entered the room at this moment and announced:
"Ladies and gentlemen, kindly pass into the gallery. Her Majesty the Queen will be ready to receive you in a moment."
Behind him came the little Duc Rudolphe, who was informing some of his friends as though it were a fine piece of scandal:
"The Grand Duchess Alexandra hasn't come yet ... and they are wondering if she will come."
Obedient to the Grand Chamberlain's invitation, the assembled guests passed into the great gallery at the end of which an immense salon was seen, still empty; it was the room in which the Queen held her drawing-room.
It was sparsely furnished; a large gilded armchair, which was really a throne, stood at the farther end between two windows; the floor was waxed until it shone, and the surface was so slippery that Juve felt some fear of mishaps.
First came the guard with a clatter of sabres, then two heralds, and finally Her Majesty Hedwige, Queen of Hesse-Weimar, who proceeded to the throne and sat down.
She was a little body with a pinched and nervous expression of face. She trotted along like an old woman, her shoulders hunched up, and distributed nods right and left in response to the profound bows of her courtiers.
This was not in the least as Juve had pictured her. He had seen her a dozen years previously, when she was a young girl engaged to Frederick-Christian; shehad then appeared charming, and majestic in bearing. Now she looked like a woman of the middle class, bourgeois from head to heels.
Near the throne stood two officers in gala uniform, while the guard formed a circle round the throne.
The audience began.
The first Chamberlain called out a name, and a matron, after making the three traditional courtseys, came forward and chatted in a low voice with the Queen. Juve was observing the ceremony with interest, when his reflections were cut short by a voice calling:
"Monsieur le Comte de Juff!"
The detective, slightly intimidated, advanced toward the sovereign, while the grand Chamberlain leaned over and whispered his name and rank to the Queen.
"Monsieur le Comte de Juff," said the Queen in a little tinkling voice, "I am very happy to meet you. I congratulate you upon your travels. I am especially interested in the natives of Africa. We had a negro village here a few years ago ... hadn't we, M. von Kampfen?"
"Quite true, your Majesty," replied the Chamberlain, bowing deeply. The Queen turned again to Juve:
"I congratulate you, Monsieur, and I beg you to persevere in the work to which your special aptitude calls you."
The interview was at an end, and Juve was left wondering whether he should leave the room. The Chamberlain signed to him to retire behind the throne, where he found the amiable Mme. Heberlauf.
Juve, now standing quite close to the Queen, was enabled to overhear the next interview; with an old professor this time—Professor Muller. The Queen said:
"I am very happy to meet you. I congratulate you upon your pupils. I am especially interested in scholars."
Then turning to the Chamberlain:
"We have some very excellent schools here, have we not, Monsieur Kampfen?"
"Quite true, your Majesty."
"I congratulate you. Can I beg you to persevere in the work to which your special aptitude calls you?"
It was all Juve could do to keep from bursting into laughter.
The same speech was being made to a couple of young girls who were making their début at the Court, when the circle round the Queen noticed that she was growing uneasy and preoccupied. Finallyshe turned to her first maid of honor, and cried in a sharp tone:
"Really, Madame, it is extraordinary that the electric lights should have been turned on while it is still daylight!... Kindly see that they are extinguished."
The first maid of honor, very embarrassed, passed along the order to the second maid of honor, who in turn hunted up the lady of the household, who relaid the message to the captain of the guard, and while he went in search of the proper subordinate, the attention of the Court was distracted by the entrance of an individual to whom everybody paid the greatest deference.
The Chamberlain announced:
"His Highness, Prince Gudulfin!"
The Prince was a distinguished looking young man of twenty-five, clean-shaven and dressed with extreme care and richness of attire.
He presented a great contrast to his cousin, the Queen of Hesse-Weimar, and as he approached the throne, his head high and a sarcastic smile on his lips, Hedwige seemed to shrink into her armchair, unable to meet the look in his eyes.
The suppressed hatred of the reigning dynasty for the younger branch was of ancient date and a matter of common knowledge. The recent and prolongedabsence of Frederick-Christian had given Prince Gudulfin the opportunity by which he had profited to advance his claims and conspire for the overthrow of the Government, with himself as the King of Hesse-Weimar.
Therefore his presence was regarded as a great piece of audacity, and every eye was watching how the Prince would be received. The question in every mind was whether the Grand Duchess Alexandra, a woman of majestic presence and great beauty, would also appear. Prince Gudulfin had been paying her conspicuous attentions, and it was rumored that the Duchess dreamed of a nobler crown than the one her rank gave her title to bear.
The appearance of the two at the Queen's reception! What a scandal! But with the presence of the Prince came definite word that the Duchess had excused herself on the ground of a severe headache, a pretext which deceived nobody.
Prince Gudulfin, after observing the correct formalities, stood before the Queen waiting for the invitation to sit by her side.
Hedwige, still preoccupied by the electric lights, seemed to have forgotten him, and the situation was fast becoming embarrassing for the Prince, who could neither go nor stay. It was not long, however, beforehe saw what was troubling the Queen, and stepping aside he turned off the lights.
"There is no such thing as unnecessary economy, is there, cousin?" he murmured with a smile.
Hedwige blushed and gave him a furious look. She then proffered the tardy invitation to sit by her side. As the audience came to a close, the Queen in a loud voice announced:
"I wish to inform you that I have received news of the King. His Majesty is well and is in Paris. He will return very soon."
The Queen's guard now led the way back to the private apartments, followed by the maids of honor, and then the Queen herself hurried off as though glad to be finished with the whole affair.
Juve, an attentive listener to the numberless intrigues on foot on every side, divined the comedies and tragedies which underlay this little Court, more gossipy and vulgar than a servant's parlor. Especially he noted the frequent and bitter allusions to the perpetual trips of the King to Paris. These cost the royal treasury a pretty penny, and for the twentieth time Juve heard references to a certain red diamond belonging to Frederick-Christian. He had known for a long time that such a diamond was numbered among the crown jewels, and that it was supposed to representa value of several millions, but he had imagined it was kept in a place of safety. Now he learned that the King was suspected of having pawned it to raise money. With his most innocent air, he questioned one of the officers.
"I should think it a very simple matter to find out whether the King took the diamond with him. It must surely be in the keeping of loyal and tried officials."
The officer smiled:
"My dear Count, it is easily seen that you come from the depths of Africa. Otherwise you would know that the diamond is hidden in the private apartments of the King—nobody knows where, not even the Queen. You may easily divine the uneasiness of the people and the advantage the affair gives to Prince Gudulfin."
Juve now felt that the King was still in Paris. The problem thus far had become clearer. But under what conditions was he living? It was quite possible that he had been kidnapped by some person who knew of the diamond's existence.
While pondering these matters, Juve had unconsciously wandered away from the salon and now found himself in the ante-room on the ground floor. Here he came face to face with Mme. Heberlauf, whowas accompanied by a white-haired old man whom she at once introduced.
"Count de Juff, let me present the Dean of the Court, the Burgomaster of Rung Cassel ..."
"The deuce!" thought Juve, "a bore, by the look of him!"
Escape was hopeless, the Burgomaster seized the detective by the arm and announced:
"I am the author of a work in 25 volumes on "The History of the Dark Continent." Now I hear that you have just returned from a journey of exploration in Africa and ..."
The old historian dragged Juve into the Palace gardens and the latter thought:
"Hang it, I couldn't have pitched on a worse introduction, I don't know the first thing about Africa."
But the author of the 25 volumes quickly set him at ease. For he began by admitting that he himself had never set foot out of Glotzbourg.
Under these circumstances Juve recovered his nerve and glibly discussed the peculiarities of the African fauna.
An hour later the two men were still talking, but this time it was Juve who was anxious to keep the conversation going. The good Burgomaster haddrifted into gossip about the affairs of the Kingdom; suddenly he turned to the detective with a question:
"Do you believe in this story about a visit to Paris?"
Juve hesitated and then made an ambiguous reply.
The Burgomaster continued:
"Personally, I don't. You see, my windows look toward the large octagonal wing in which are the apartments of the King. Now, for the past week I have noticed strange lights moving about in these supposedly empty rooms, and I have a notion that our dear King Frederick-Christian is very far from being in Paris. In fact, I think he is held a prisoner in his own Palace!
"Ah, Monsieur, you cannot imagine the intrigues which are being hatched against that noble heart; the black wickedness of the soul of Prince Gudulfin, hidden under the exterior of his seductive person!"
Juve was impressed. He was inclined to give some credence to the suppositions of the Burgomaster. For, after all, his search in Paris for the King had been without result and he had had the presentiment that his trip to Hesse-Weimar would throw some light upon the strange disappearance of the monarch.
So, while the old man was talking, Juve carefully noted in his mind the minutest architectural details of the octagonal tower which stood out clearly against the sky.
"Good Lord! How my head aches! It feels as though it were made of lead!... I have a fire in my veins and such a thirst! Here and now I make a firm resolution never to give way again to such dissipation. Never again will I drink champagne in such quantities. But, where the deuce am I?... It's still pitch dark!... Ah, I remember ... it's outrageous! Help! Help!"
King Frederick-Christian had wakened. At first he experienced the usual unpleasant sensations which follow a night of heavy drinking and then, as his memory returned, he was afraid, horribly afraid.
He recalled his arrival at Susy d'Orsel's apartment in company with the young companion he had picked up at Raxim's and the subsequent supper, and then he broke into a cold sweat as his mind flashed to the picture of Fandor's return with the inanimate body of his mistress in his arms—dead. Yes, she was undoubtedly dead!
And afterwards, what had happened?
His companion had declared himself to be the journalist,Jerome Fandor, and had called him by name—Frederick-Christian. Furthermore, he had cried:
"It was you who killed Susy d'Orsel. It was you who threw her out of the window!"
What had happened after that? His mind was a complete blank.
Had these events occurred recently, or a long time ago? His headache and thirst were proof that they could not have been far distant.
"Where am I? Evidently not at the Royal Palace!"
When he first wakened he was lying flat on his back; now he sat up and groped about with his hands. The ground beneath him was cold and hard ... a floor of earth. So they had put him in a vault? in a cellar?
The air he breathed was heavy and warm, and the walls of his cell felt damp to the touch. Could he be in prison? That was hardly possible, in such a short time. Besides, he was innocent! As he sat listening, he detected a faint and faraway rumbling sound. It seemed to come from above his head.
As his senses became more fully aroused, an indefinable terror struck to his heart. At all costs he must take some action. He rose suddenly to his feet but before he reached his full height his head struckthe roof. The blow was so violent that he fell back again in a fainting condition.
It was not until many hours afterward that he regained his senses sufficiently to make another attempt. This time he proceeded with more caution.
"I am the victim of some gang," he thought. "This Jerome Fandor is probably the leader of a band of cutthroats who, after killing Susy d'Orsel, took advantage of my intoxication to make me unconscious with some narcotic, and then dragged me to the place I am now in."
The King now began to explore the place on his hands and knees, his ears keenly alive to the slightest sound. He crawled around trying to discover the extent and nature of his prison.
The floor appeared to be of hard earth with occasional stretches of cement. The walls were smooth, but whether of stone or metal he could not determine. The height of the ceiling at the point where he lay was not over three feet, but gradually rose, vault-like, until he was able to stand fully upright. Was he buried alive in some kind of tomb? The idea terrified him and he began to shout for help. After many fruitless efforts and completely exhausted, he dropped to the ground overcome with the horror of his situation.
The distant rumbling sound now became louderfrom time to time, and at moments shook the walls of his prison, then died away to a faint murmur.
Frederick-Christian now tried to collect his thoughts upon the situation and bring some sort of order to his mind.
Susy d'Orsel was dead ...
The King had felt no deep love for the girl. Still, he had been fond of her in a way and her sudden death affected him deeply.
He himself was a prisoner. But a prisoner of whom? Evidently of those who had killed his mistress. Again, in all probability, they did not contemplate killing him since they had had the opportunity to do so and he was still alive and unharmed. This being so, they would not let him die of hunger and thirst.
His watch had stopped and he had no way of measuring the lapse of time; but his attention was called to the fact that the rumbling noises were happening at greater intervals.
"The pulse-beats of a man are separated by intervals of a second," he thought, "and by counting my pulse I can determine the interval between the rumbling, and thus gain some idea of the passing hours."
He was about to put this plan into practice when a sudden cry escaped him:
"Good God!"
In the blackness of his cell a thin shaft of light appeared.
The King sprang toward it, but found the light too feeble for him to distinguish surrounding objects by. It entered the cell through a small fissure in one of the walls, and after a few minutes was suddenly withdrawn. Frederick-Christian stumbled forward in the darkness and, after taking a few steps, his feet struck some object lying on the ground. Stooping down, he groped with his hands until they touched something that drew from him an exclamation of joy ... he had found a pile of bottles. He seized one and opened it with a corkscrew which lay near by.
One draught and he realized that the bottle contained wine. Thereupon he opened several more but with the same result. To drink them would only increase his thirst. He had the strength to resist the temptation. Again he moved forward and this time ran into a large box. His hand touched something cold. It was meat of some kind. After smelling and tasting it he flung it from him. It was a salt ham.
Hours passed while Frederick-Christian suffered the tortures of hunger and thirst. Cold and tired out, he finally lay down on the ground, writhing with violent pains in his stomach. At length he could stand it nolonger, and dragging himself to the box, he seized the ham and began to devour it ravenously. This brought on a maddening thirst, which he tried to quench by long draughts of the wine. Then he became very drunk and so, laughing and crying, he drank until he lost consciousness once more.
"Sire! Can you hear me?"
A sharp voice broke the silence. It seemed to come from a distance.
"Sire, can you hear me?... Answer!"
Frederick-Christian sprang up.
"Who is speaking? Who are you? Help! Help!"
The voice, mocking and authoritative, answered:
"Now, then, keep quiet. I am not within reach, so it is useless to cry for help."
"Scoundrel!" cried the King.
"There's no use in behaving like a child ... you won't gain anything by it."
"Pity, pity!... I will make you rich ... I will give you anything you ask, only set me at liberty ... take me out of this prison or I shall become mad."
"Have you done with your lamentations?"
"I'll be revenged!"
"I am beyond your vengeance, Sire, and you would do well to talk quietly with me."
"You killed my mistress, Susy d'Orsel!"
"Yes, I killed her."
"You are Fandor—Jerome Fandor!"
"What you say is absurd."
"And my Kingdom? The Queen, my wife? What is happening?"
"I didn't come here to discuss politics with you. You must be reasonable."
"What do you want with me? Why was I brought here?"
"Ah, now we can discuss the matter together. You ask me what I want. First of all, let me reassure you. I do not intend to kill you. Your death would not be of the slightest use to me. Otherwise I shouldn't hesitate an instant."
"I'm not afraid of death."
"I know that, Sire ... you are brave.... I want your diamond."
"My diamond!"
"Exactly. I am quite aware, Frederick-Christian, that your personal fortune is represented by a diamond of marvelous purity and size. I also know that it is hidden in your Palace. You, alone, know where. I want you to disclose its hiding place to me so that I may go and get it."
"Never! I'm not a coward!"
"You are stupid, Sire. I repeat, once in possession of the diamond, I will set you at liberty."
"Lies!"
"Sire, consider a moment. It would be practically impossible for me to realize anything like the value of the diamond. To sell it I should be obliged to break it into small pieces, and in that case it would scarcely fetch more than twenty millions. Now, I have a better suggestion to offer."
"What is it?"
"You are to give me directions how to find it. Once in my possession, you are free. You will then draw the sum of fifty millions from your bank. As King that will be quite possible. This money you will turn over to me in exchange for your diamond. And don't think you will be able to catch me. I shall take care that the exchange is made without witnesses, and in such a way that I run no risk of arrest. Now, what do you say to my proposition?"
"I refuse."
"Very well, then in two hours you will be dead. I pledge my word for it.... And my word has some value. Perhaps you guess who I am."
"Who? Who?"
"I am Fantômas, Sire."
At this name of horror and crime, Frederick-Christianwas seized with the utmost terror. In a broken voice he replied:
"I accept."
And then in trembling, disjointed sentences, he gave up the secret of the hiding place in his Palace at Glotzbourg.