Queen Hedwige had had a serious and legitimate reason for bringing her reception to an abrupt conclusion. A Court ball for the high functionaries and dignities of the Kingdom was to take place that evening.
Furthermore, the Queen was very much exercised over the rumor that the Grand Duchess Alexandra was to be present. This woman, still young and very beautiful, played an important rôle in the small world of the Palace. It was said by the gossips that she accepted the attentions of Prince Gudulfin, in the hope that some day she might share the throne of Hesse-Weimar with him. For many years she had been a great traveler but in recent times she had spent more and more of her time in Glotzbourg, where she continually met the Prince.
While Juve had experienced no difficulty in being present at the Queen's audience, he found that even Mme. Heberlauf's influence was not sufficient to procure him an invitation to the ball. As a matter offact, he had no particular wish to appear in the quality of a guest that evening. He had other plans.
At ten o'clock a long line of carriages and automobiles began to arrive in the gardens of the Palace. Innumerable electric lights shone out along the drive-way and from the windows. A few persons had managed to slip past the guards and had stationed themselves near the awning at the main entrance to watch the arrival of the guests. Beneath their fur cloaks, the women wore their very finest gowns and their richest jewelry.
The hall of the chancellory had been transformed into a cloakroom and there the crowd was thickest. In contrast to the brilliantly illuminated left wing of the château, the octagonal tower showed dark and silent. Hiding behind pillars, keeping close to the walls, a man was making his way slowly toward that tower.
The man was Juve.
From behind a big tree he stood and watched the sky, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.
"This is a night after my own heart," he murmured, "overcast and dark. I should have been very embarrassed had the moon come out."
He felt his pockets.
"Everything I need. My electric lamp and a good, strong, silk ladder."
Then, surveying the tower, he soliloquized:
"A fine monument! Solid and strong. They don't build them like that nowadays."
Juve took a few steps, bent his knees and stretched his arms, tested the suppleness of his body.
"Ah, in spite of my forty-odd years, I'm still pretty fit for ... the work I have to do."
By the aid of the lightning rod, the gutters and the inequalities in the stones, the detective was enabled to climb without much difficulty to the first floor.
There he paused to take breath and to examine the shutters of a window.
"Can't get in that way," he muttered, "they're bolted inside. I'll have to climb higher."
The same condition met him on the second floor, but when he had finally reached the roof, he espied a large chimney which promised a method of ingress to the apartment below. The descent was anything but easy, and Juve, in spite of his great strength and agility, was used up by the time he had reached the bottom. His clothes were torn and he was covered with the greasy soot he had accumulated on his journey. By dint of brushing and scraping, he succeededin cleaning off the worst of it, and then looked round to take his bearings.
He had landed in the large waiting-room which adjoined the royal apartments.
The distant sound of dance music came to his ears and the atmosphere of the place was cold and damp.
"He doesn't often come here, I'll bet," thought Juve.
A door led him directly into the King's bathroom, and Juve paused to admire the famous bath of solid silver which the municipality had presented to the King upon one of his birthdays.
"I've a good mind to take a tub," he muttered. "Maybe I shall find His Majesty locked in his bedroom, and I'm hardly a fit sight to appear before him."
The detective now felt some cause for anxiety.
There were two alternatives to consider. Either the King was absent, and in that case Juve's business would be to discover the hiding place of the diamond and clear up the question whether the King had taken it with him, or, if he had been sequestered, to discover his prison.
Clutching the butt of his Browning revolver in his pocket, the detective opened the door to the King's bedroom and entered.
A thick carpet deadened the sound of his footsteps. After listening for a few moments he relit his pocket lamp and flashed it round the room.
In the centre stood an immense bed of oak designed in Renaissance style, the posts of which reached to the ceiling. Three steps led up to it. Juve noticed that it had not been disturbed. The sheets and pillows were all in order. There was nothing, however, to indicate that the King had been absent for any length of time.
Upon one point he was certain: The King was not concealed anywhere about the room, and the more he thought of the Burgomaster's suspicion, the less he thought it plausible. But if the King had not been sequestered, it was quite possible that he might be purposely hiding after his unfortunate adventure of the Rue de Monceau. Therefore, Juve decided to pursue his search through the other rooms.
But first he began mechanically to tap the wood-work, looking behind the pictures for the hiding place of the famous diamond. In his time he had seen so many secret drawers, double-seated chairs, and numerous contrivances of a similar sort, that it would be a cunning hand that could baffle his perspicacity and experience.
He had just examined a chair when suddenly hestopped in his work and waited, listening. The sound of footsteps some distance off struck his ear. Without a moment's hesitation he put out his light and darted behind the curtains. It was a good position to take up for he could see without being seen.
The footsteps drew near, the door opened and a light from an electric lantern similar to the one Juve had used, was thrown into the room.
The individual advanced to the bed, all unaware of Juve's presence. Stooping down, he began feeling the foot of one of the bedposts, which at this point formed a bulge. In an instant the wood parted and disclosed a hollow in which lay a jewel case. The jewel case contained the famous red diamond.
Juve's heart began to thump as he watched the man open the case and take out the diamond. Its facets reflected the light, multiplying the gleams and bringing into relief the features of the robber.
Then it was that the detective uttered a great cry, a cry of agony, of anger and of triumph. The man was wrapped in a great cloak, his face hidden by a black mask, but there was no mistaking his identity. It was Fantômas.
Juve's cry called forth another, ferocious and menacing, and then in a moment the room was plunged into darkness and the two men sprang at one another.Two revolver shots rang out. The dancers heard them in the ballroom and stopped dancing. The musicians heard them and ceased playing.
At once a stampede ensued.
Two officers of the guard rushed to the door leading to the King's apartments, and flung it wide open. One of them turned on the electric light and, followed by the frightened guests, entered the King's bedchamber.
At the foot of the bed, struggling in a long cloak, a man with his hands over his face lay moaning. By his side was a smoking revolver, and on the ground the empty jewel case.
"Arrest him!" somebody cried.
In a moment a number of hands had seized and bound him. It was noticed that his eyelids were fearfully swollen and the eyes bloodshot.
What had happened!
The struggle between Juve and the monster had scarcely lasted a second.
The detective had fired point blank at the black mask and as his finger pressed the trigger he had felt the whistle of a bullet past his ear.
Then a door had opened slightly, letting in a thin shaft of light. To his amazement, Fantômas no longerstood before him, but an officer in the uniform of the Queen's lancers.
Juve was not taken in by this quick change, and was on the point of firing again when suddenly his eyes were filled with a blinding powder, burning and blistering the pupils. He had been blinded by pepper. Instinctively he put his hands to his face, and in that moment he felt himself enveloped in the long cloak in which Fantômas had entangled him. Falling to the ground in agony he then heard the cry:
"Help! Help!"
By the sudden and growing noise, he realized that the crowd was drawing near. When he had struggled to a sitting posture, he found himself a prisoner.
The sudden change from darkness to bright light increased the pain in his eyes, but with a superhuman effort he was enabled to pick out the superb uniform of the false lancer. Pointing to him, he cried:
"Arrest him, why don't you arrest him!"
Brutally, he was told to keep quiet.
The noise of the theft spread rapidly and the greatest confusion reigned in the Palace. Many of the women fainted. Finally M. Heberlauf arrived. He appeared immensely important, and confided to a group his opinion of the affair, adding this restriction:
"At any rate, that is what my wife believes."
Mme. Heberlauf had, in fact, after an interview with one of the officers, announced it as her opinion that the thief so providentially arrested was no other than the world-famous and unseizable Fantômas.
And then a queer thing happened. When the Grand Duchess Alexandra heard this sinister name spoken, when she knew that Fantômas had been arrested, she staggered as though struck to the heart and fell fainting into the arms of her friends.
"Fantômas!" she murmured, "Fantômas arrested! Can it be possible?"
Juve was taken away tightly bound. He seemed indifferent to the clamor of the crowd and constantly looked from side to side as though searching for something or somebody. Suddenly, as he passed the group surrounding the Grand Duchess Alexandra, he made a violent effort and dragged his captors close enough to enable him to see the fainting woman's features. One look was enough, and then without further resistance he allowed himself to be marched away. He had found out what he wanted to know; he had recognized in the Grand Duchess the mistress of Fantômas, the accomplice of his most dreadful crimes. He had seen Lady Beltham!
"The Bureau of Public Highways, if you please?"
"What is it you wish to inquire about?"
"I want some information as to the probable duration of certain repair works."
"Ah, then go to the fourth floor, number 54, door to the right at the end of the passage."
"Thanks."
With a slight nod, the visitor entered the huge building on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, which houses the offices of Public Works. He was a young man, dressed in a long black overcoat, a derby hat, which he wore well down over his eyes, and a wide bandage that covered one eye and part of the cheek.
After climbing the four flights indicated, he discovered that he had evidently taken the wrong staircase. There was nothing to do then but to go back to the porter's lodge and get more explicit instructions. But after taking a few steps, he hesitated.
"Fandor, old chap," he soliloquized, "what's theuse of showing yourself and taking the risk of being recognized as the erstwhile King of Hesse-Weimar?"
For the individual who was in search of the Bureau of Public Works was no other than the journalist. An hour previously he had succeeded by clever strategy in getting rid of the excellent Wulf, who was at all times very loath to let the King out of his sight. Then, rushing to his own apartment, he had changed his clothes and partly covered his face with the bandage to conceal his features.
After several futile attempts, aided by innumerable directions from passing employés, he at length reached the office of which he was in search. There he encountered a clerk who viewed him with a suspicious eye.
"What do you want, Monsieur?"
"I want some information."
"We don't give information here."
"Really!... Why not?"
"Are you a contractor?"
"No."
"You wish to lodge a complaint?"
"No."
"Then what is your business?"
"Just to get some information as to the probable duration of certain works."
"You are not a reporter?"
"I am not a reporter. I am an advertising agent."
"Ah, that's different. The office you are looking for is number 43, the door opposite ... but there's nobody in now. However, you can wait."
Fandor crossed and entered room 43, where, after a moment, he discovered an occupant tucked away behind an enormous pile of books and manuscripts. This clerk was absorbed in a yellow-covered novel and greeted Fandor with evident ill-humor.
"What d'you want?"
"I would like to know, Monsieur, the probable duration of the repair work in operation at the Place de la Concorde."
"And why do you want to know that?"
"I am an advertising agent, and I may have a proposition to offer to the city."
"And at what point is this work in operation?"
"At the corner of the wall of the Orangery and the Quay."
After consulting a large register, the clerk turned to Fandor, shutting the book with a bang.
"Nothing is being done there. You are mistaken."
"But I've just come from there. There is a ditch and a palisade."
"No, no, no such thing. In every quarter of Paris the police are obliged to notify me of any public works in operation, and an entry is made in my register to that effect. Now, I have no record of the repairs you speak of, consequently they don't exist."
Fandor left the office, hailed a cab and ordered the driver to take him to the National Library.
"Hang it," he muttered, "I saw the ditch and the palisade myself! Now, if they are not the work of the city, it will be interesting to find out what is going on there.... Ah! suppose this idiot Wulf was not deceived! Suppose he really heard the Singing Fountains the other evening giving the last bars of the national hymn of Hesse-Weimar!"
Arrived at the National Library, Fandor began a long and minute search through volumes on architecture, on statuary and a multitude of guide books to Paris! He was so engrossed in his work that when four o'clock struck he sprang up suddenly.
"Good heavens! I've scarcely time to get back to my apartment, change into my kingly clothes and meet Wulf, to become once more His Majesty Frederick-Christian!"
In his apartment in his own house, the extraordinary Marquis de Sérac, who was also the common Mme.Ceiron, was whispering to a person hidden behind the curtains.
"You understand, don't move and listen with all your ears, and promise me not to interfere until I give you permission!"
"I promise. Monsieur le Marquis," replied the individual in a low tone.
"All right, then I'll have her in."
The Marquis crossed the room and opened a door.
"Come in, Mademoiselle, and forgive me for keeping you waiting. I had visitors."
"Oh, Monsieur," replied Marie Pascal, for it was the young seamstress, "don't mention it ... and let me thank you for your recommendation to the King. I got two big orders from it."
"Oh, I was very glad to be of service to you with Frederick-Christian.... I regret only one thing, Mademoiselle, and that is the unhappy events which have clouded His Majesty's visit to Paris."
"Yes, indeed," replied Marie Pascal, "and in such a tragic way, too!"
"A tragic way, Mademoiselle? I imagine this has quite upset you."
"Yes."
The Marquis emphasized his words.
"So I thought, so I thought ... especially you."
The young girl lifted her pure blue eyes in surprise.
"The King spoke to me of you at great length," the Marquis added.
A quick blush overspread her face.
"Really.... The King spoke of me?"
"His Majesty told me you were charming. He noticed you the very first time you went to see him."
"At the Royal Palace?... But he only got a glimpse of me through the open door."
The Marquis smiled.
"Oh, it doesn't take long for a King ... or a young man to sometimes dream of the impossible."
"Impossible ... yes, you are right."
Marie Pascal pronounced the last words in a serious voice. She was making an evident effort to keep calm. The Marquis, on the other hand, seemed inclined to joke.
"Impossible, why?... One never knows ... the will of the King knows no obstacle." Then brusquely turning, he asked:
"You like the King, Mademoiselle?"
"Why ... why ..."
"Therefore, I'm wondering if the death of this unfortunate Susy is not really a benefit."
"Oh, Monsieur!"
"Well, you know, Mademoiselle Marie, the happinessof one person is made of the tears of another. You would have suffered. You would have been jealous."
As though against her will, Marie Pascal repeated in a low voice:
"Yes, I should have been jealous."
"Terribly jealous, for Susy d'Orsel was pretty. Besides, a liaison with her wasn't taken seriously by the King ... while with you it would have been quite different ... why, I believe you would have reached the point of wishing her death."
"No! no!" protested Marie feebly, "the King would have made his choice ... frankly and loyally...."
"And suppose he hadn't chosen? Suppose he had hesitated before the possible scandal of a rupture? Don't you care enough for him to realize that the very idea of sharing him with another would have been intolerable?... What I am saying sounds brutal, I know, but I am frank with you.... Believe me, you would have been driven to hate the unfortunate Susy."
"To hate her? Yes, ... perhaps ... for I should have been jealous!"
And then suddenly Marie realized what her words meant: that she had betrayed her cherished secret ... her love. In a moment she burst into sobs and collapsed on the sofa.
The Marquis de Sérac very gently tried to reassure her.
"Don't cry, my poor child. After all, you are lamenting imaginary misfortunes which I have so imprudently imagined.... They don't exist, and never could exist, for it is a fact that Susy d'Orsel is no longer a rival to be feared. Think rather of the future which smiles upon you. You love and you have some reason to hope that you are loved in return, so dry your eyes ... fate has withdrawn the one obstacle which existed between you and the King."
Tremblingly, Marie Pascal rose.
"Forgive me, Monsieur, for this stupid scene. I lost my self ... control.... I confessed a feeling which I should have kept a secret.... I'm so confused I no longer know what I'm saying ... so please let me go."
The Marquis, with exquisite politeness, opened the door for her.
"Promise to come and see me again, Mademoiselle; before long I shall probably have something further of interest to say to you."
When the door had closed upon Marie Pascal, the Marquis drew aside the portières.
"Come out, my dear fellow.... We shall be alone now!"
Wulf appeared. A Wulf literally armed to the teeth, and ready for any emergency.
"Put up your arsenal, we are in no danger," exclaimed the Marquis, "and tell me what you think of the visit."
"I think there is not a moment to lose," replied Wulf, agitated. "She loves the King and she hated Susy d'Orsel, therefore she is the assassin. She is the cause of all the troubles that have fallen upon the head of our beloved sovereign. Ah! I want to arrest her! Condemn her to death! Come, Marquis, let us go to her room and seize her!"
"Not yet a while, Wulf; sit down and talk it over. To begin with, we can arrest nobody without proof ... presumption is not sufficient."
"I'll force her to confess!"
"You wouldn't succeed, Wulf, and besides, you have no power to arrest her yourself. That is work for the French authorities. Your duty is simply to go and warn Juve."
"Right away! At once!"
"Hold on ... remember, you are to do nothing without my permission. Now, I repeat, we have no proof yet to offer ... but listen carefully, for I have a plan ... this is it...."
Two hours later, Wulf rejoined Fandor in a boulevardcafé. The excellent man had such an air of elation that the journalist wondered:
"What fool thing is this idiot getting ready to do now!"
Fandor sat up in bed as the door of his room opened to admit the cautious head of Wulf. "Your Majesty is awake?" he inquired.
"Yes, my Majesty is awake and ready to get up. Wulf, we are going out to-day."
"As your Majesty wishes."
"The Queen has written to say that she is getting bored, and wants me home again. That being the case we had better make the most of our few remaining days, you understand?"
"Not very well."
"Why, this afternoon we must look up some pretty girls and, as my cousin the King of England says, 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.' Evil to him who evil thinks. And now, au revoir, my dear Wulf; by and by I'll invite you to crack a bottle with me."
The punctilious Wulf made the three bows demanded by etiquette, turned on his heel, and left the room.
Fandor sprang out of bed and began to dress.
"After all, it's not altogether a joke," he muttered."I had to listen to that idiot Wulf jawing away all yesterday evening ... and if I remember right, he said something about being suspicious of that little Marie Pascal. I'll have to stop him making more blunders. He's quite capable of having her arrested. Anyway, Wulf is to do nothing till the return of Juve, and that will give me time to take my precautions."
Fandor and Wulf had just finished a very excellent dinner, which Fandor paid for out of his own pocket. He was careful not to take any of the royal funds for his personal use. Wulf hovered on the borderland of drunkenness, but his ideas still showed some coherence. For the twentieth time he asked Fandor the same question:
"But, Sire, why the deuce are you wearing a false moustache and whiskers to-day?"
"So that I may not be recognized, my friend. I don't like having to give royal tips everywhere."
Fandor was not speaking the truth. His disguise was assumed for other reasons. He did not wish to be recognized either as Frederick-Christian or as Fandor. Since noon—and it was now ten o'clock at night—the two men had been doing Paris together, and Wulf had received the very gratifying appellations of "my excellent friend," "my subtle detective," andother flattering names, so he was now dreaming of decorations, new decorations created especially for him.
Fandor interrupted his thoughts by patting him familiarly on the shoulder:
"Now that we've had dinner, I'm going to tell you something. We've had quite a day of it; we've visited the Bois, where you spat in the lake, the action of a reflective mind; we've been to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and to the Madeleine, so now there is only one joy remaining."
Wulf nodded: "To pay for the dinner."
"Not exactly," laughed Fandor, "that's more of a penance. No, I was referring to a chance meeting, a charming feminine figure, a kiss, a caress. Wulf, what would you say to two plump white arms around your neck?"
Wulf became purple in the face.
"Oh, Sire, that would be great! But when I am with your Majesty, I don't look at women."
"And why not, Wulf?"
"Because the women only look at you."
"That's so, Wulf, that's so; but there is a way of fixing that. You order a drink which I will pay for, then sit here and count all the carriages that pass in the street while I do an errand, it will only take twenty-fiveminutes.... I'm going to see a girl I know you understand?"
"Yes, Sire. Must I count all the carriages?"
"No, only those drawn by white horses. Au revoir, Wulf."
Fandor left the café and hailed a cab:
"Rue Bonaparte. I'll tell you where to stop." He settled back in his seat, an anxious frown on his face.
"I'll just drop a hint to Juve," he thought. "One never knows what may happen.... I suppose he'll be back soon ... to-morrow morning or evening ... and won't he be glad to hear the result of my search!"
Fandor tapped on the glass with his cane, got out, paid the driver and made his way to the house where Juve lived. He still had his pass-key and let himself in, calling:
"Hello! Juve, are you in?"
There was no answer, so Fandor sat at Juve's desk and wrote a long letter, then tracing a diagram upon another sheet, he put them into an envelope addressed to "Monsieur Juve—Urgent."
When he rejoined Wulf, he found the faithful detective on his job.
"I've counted up to 99, Sire, but I'm not quite surethat I'm exact. A bay horse passed, and I wasn't sure whether to count him or not."
"That's all right, we'll take this up another time. I've spoken of you to my little friend and she is crazy to meet you, Wulf."
"Oh, Sire! Sire!"
"Yes ... so come along."
"To her house?"
"Oh, no—this lady is poetic, she wants the first meeting to take place in appropriate surroundings."
While Wulf was cudgeling his brains to think up a verse or two to fit the occasion, Fandor guided him down the Rue Castiglione, the Rue de Rivoli and at length reached the Place de la Concorde. He cast an anxious glance as he passed at the mysterious repairs, repairs not indexed by the administration, and then turned to the Singing Fountains.
"Sire, is this the place?"
"Yes, Wulf, but first there are a few formalities to be gone through."
The two men had reached the parapet overlooking the Seine.
"You are to stand here, Wulf, and look down at the water. You are not to take your eyes off it."
"Why? What does your Majesty mean?"
"Because I have a surprise in store for you, andalso I wish to bring about the meeting in a natural manner—to spare the lady's feelings. Now I shall go to meet her and take her to the Singing Fountains. When I whistle you are to join us. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Your Majesty is most kind."
Fandor moved away and after glancing back to make sure Wulf was obeying orders, he quickly drew his revolver and approached the works.
"I must remember Juve's precept," he muttered, "never fire first, and then only when you're sure to hit."
The journalist now examined the palisade which surrounded a ditch of some depth dug in the angle made by the Orangery walls.
"Can't see anything from the outside," he thought, "so I'll go in."
With a running jump he succeeded in catching hold of the palisade top and in a moment was sitting astride of it.
Nobody was in sight. Fandor was a little surprised. He expected to be confronted by some sinister individual.
"All right," he growled, "if you don't mind I'll come in."
Letting go of the top he slid down to the ground.There he found a large hole in which was placed a ladder. This led to the bottom of the ditch where a series of pipes protruded from the soil. Fandor lit his pocket lamp and carefully examined the surroundings.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "it looks as though some perfectly natural repair work was going on."
He then went down listening at each pipe mouth. One of them gave out a peculiar sound, steady and cadenced, in fact, a snore, a real snore.
"Can he be asleep," he muttered.
Climbing quickly out of the ditch, Fandor reached the street again and ran toward the Singing Fountains.
"Either the 'Curiosities of Paris' which I read yesterday in the library is a collection of bad jokes, or the body of the third statue ..."
He did not complete his thought.
After once more making sure that nobody was about, and that the excellent Wulf was still absorbed in contemplation of the Seine, he climbed into the basin at the foot of one of the bronze naiads and waded through mud and water to the base of the statue.
"Now, then, let's see, what must I do next? Seize the statue by the neck, place the left hand in the middle of the body and sway it."
Suiting the action to the word, the journalist applied all his force and in a moment the statue parted in two and swung toward him. The hollow interior appeared like a black hole. Bending forward, Fandor cried:
"Sire, Sire, can you hear me?"
His voice came echoing back to him, but there was no reply from the depths.
"Ah, I can't be mistaken!" he cried, desperately. "Wulf heard this fountain singing the national anthem of Hesse-Weimar, the statue is hollow, therefore the King should be hidden in it."
Again he stood, listening. After a pause an exclamation of surprise escaped him.
"Why, it's the same noise I heard in the pipe ... it's a snore ... the unfortunate man is somewhere asleep!"
To call louder would have been dangerous, and besides, quick action was necessary.
"Nothing venture, nothing gain," he whispered, as, revolver in hand, he stepped inside the statue. He slid rapidly down for a distance of six or eight feet and then landed on earth. There he lay for a minute or two, reasoning that if he should be met by a fusillade, he would be safer in that position.
However, complete silence reigned about him, broken only by the steady and distant snoring.
Then, lighting his electric lamp, Fandor began a survey of the premises into which he had so daringly intruded.
After a brief inspection, a cry of surprise rose to his lips.
"Good Lord!... there he is! Frederick-Christian."
It was indeed the King—a prisoner in the hollow foundations of the Singing Fountains.
"Sire, Sire!"
The King slept on. But his sleep seemed troubled; he breathed in gasps.
"Sire! Sire! Wake up! I have come to save you! Upon my word, that is what might be called a royal sleep."
The journalist's words made no impression on the sleeping monarch, so, ignoring all formality, he laid hands upon the King and gave him a violent shaking.
"For Heaven's sake, try to recognize me ... speak to me ... I am Jerome Fandor ... I've come to save you."
In leaning over the sleeping man, Fandor suddenly got a whiff of his breath and then drew back, amazed.
"Why, he's drunk! As drunk as a lord! Wherethe deuce did he get it?... Ah, these empty bottles!... Wine!... and ham ... no wonder! What on earth shall I do with him now? How can I get him out of here? I can't leave him in the hands of the cutthroats who have imprisoned him.... But if I do take him away, how the devil will Juve and I be able to catch the accomplices of Fantômas, if he has any?"
"Juve!"
The very name of the detective gave him an inspiration.
"Yes, that's the only way out of it ... first of all, I must save the King, get him out of danger, and then arrange a trap to catch my gang." Fandor deliberated a moment.
"There's no doubt I shall run the risk of being killed in his place, but that's a risk I shall have to take."
And then a smile spread over the journalist's features.
"What an idiot I am! After all, there's no danger ... it was a happy thought of mine leaving that note for Juve ... he'll come to-morrow at the latest ... that gives me the rest of the night."
Fandor's ruse, its daring and its almost unheard of devotion, appeared to him quite natural. It was simplyto set the King at liberty and remain himself in his place.
While he undoubtedly ran the risk of a bullet in his body, yet the carefully drawn plan he had left in Juve's rooms would enable the detective to find his prison without difficulty.
The first problem that presented itself was to get the drunken King away.
Frederick-Christian lay, an inert mass, quite incapable of rendering any assistance. Fandor began by drawing himself up to the opening and taking a look around. The Place de la Concorde was deserted.
"Well, to work!" he cried. "There is nothing for me to do but to haul him out, then put the body of the statue back in place.... If in three days nothing happens, why I shall be free to leave. The ham will keep me going, and as for the wine ... Ah! an idea!"
The journalist seized half a dozen of the empty bottles, climbed out and filled them with water; returning, he drew from his pocket a thin silk cord he had taken from Juve's room. By its aid and with a strength of which his slender figure gave no evidence, he succeeded in hauling the King up to the open air.
"And now for another foot bath," exclaimed Fandor; "saving Kings is a sorry business."
Having waded again through the icy water of the basin, Fandor carried the unconscious monarch upon his shoulders and deposited his burden on the sidewalk. He was about to regain his dungeon when he suddenly paused:
"The deuce! I was forgetting! When he becomes sober again, he'll have forgotten all about his adventure ... he'll kick up a row at the Royal Palace.... I must warn him."
Fandor took out his notebook, wrote a few lines which he enclosed in an envelope and pinned it upon the King's coat. Upon the envelope was written:
"I am to read this when I wake."
His next proceeding was to blow a shrill whistle.
"It's your turn now, my dear Wulf ... you won't find the fair unknown you expect, but you'll get back your Prince, slightly the worse for wear."
The journalist now swung the statue back in place, exclaiming:
"Au revoir, Monsieur, I'm off to take your place ... sorry I can't stay to see the meeting with Wulf ... he'll find his King somewhat changed.... I ought to have given you my moustache and beard."
Fandor passed a horrible night. He was obliged to economize the use of his electric lamp, which wasonly capable of giving several hours of light, so after a careful survey of his lodging, he extinguished it and lay down to get what rest he could.
"Not much fun for the King here!" he thought, "it's devilish monotonous ... can't see anything, and nothing to hear ... hold on, I can distinguish three separate noises, the plash of the water from the fountains, the rumble of carriages, and that heavy sound can only be the passage of trains from the North-South in the tunnel, which if I mistake not is right under my prison ... and these Singing Fountains ... they are accounted for by the King howling when he got drunk ... but what about the night Susy d'Orsel was killed?... The King wasn't here then, and yet they were heard singing?"
Fandor was not long in reaching the solution of the mystery.
"What a fool I am!... the murder of Susy d'Orsel, the imprisonment of the King, are both the work of Fantômas! Fantômas must have known this hiding place a long time ago.... It was he who tried the experiment of making the statues sing to find out whether the sound could be heard above.... And to think that this monster has been arrested by Juve! And without me, too!... I shall have only the glory of showing up a few of his accomplices, and if theydon't come in two or three days, why, I shall clear out."
Fandor rose and went toward the base of the naiad.
"It's still dark. I might just as well get a breath of fresh air."
With a gymnastic leap, the journalist reached the body of the statue and switched on his electric light. He made a horrible discovery. To reach the King he had maneuvered the statue from the outside. He realized now that it was impossible to open it from the inside. In his daring folly he had shut himself in and possibly condemned himself to the most terrible torture.
Now he began a struggle to regain his liberty. He tore his fingers and broke his nails in vain despairing efforts ... at length he gave up, beaten. He was irrevocably a prisoner. When he realized his situation he sank to the ground, a cry escaping his lips:
"Juve! Juve! If only Juve finds my letter. If only he comes to save me!"
"Another drink, Monsieur Louis?"
"I think I've had about enough."
"No, no ... this is my turn to treat."
"Well, since you put it that way, Monsieur Wulf, I can't refuse."
"Besides," added the barkeeper, "this is some very special vermouth, only served to old clients."
"Ah," laughed Wulf, "I hope we're included in that category, for you certainly have no better client than myself."
"Excuse me," replied the barkeeper, smiling, "we have one, your boss, Monsieur Wulf, the King Frederick-Christian.... And while he doesn't always finish his drinks he always pays for them."
"And that's the important thing," added M. Louis.
It was about ten in the morning, and in the bar of the Royal Palace, deserted at this early hour, were M. Louis, Major-domo of the hotel, Wulf, and the barkeeper, who in his turn offered a round of drinks on the house.
As the glasses were being filled, the telephone rang to say that his Majesty wanted to see Wulf.
"That's all right," replied Wulf condescendingly, "I'll be along by and by."
After several more vermouths, Wulf grew expansive:
"Do you know, Monsieur Louis, that I've actually saved the King's life twice in five days!"
"Pretty good work," commented M. Louis, politely.
"The first time was the day after my arrival in Paris. Your Government wanted to kick up a fuss over the death of the King's little sweetheart; in fact, they went so far as to talk of his arrest." Wulf stopped suddenly, alarmed:
"But that is a state secret which I may not tell you. The second time was yesterday evening, or rather early this morning. You see the King and I had been off on a spree together."
As the barkeeper looked surprised at this announcement, Wulf explained:
"Oh, we're a couple of pals, the King and I ... like two fingers of one hand ... that's why I was in no hurry to answer his call just now.... Well, as I was saying, we were having a little spree, and the King was going to introduce me to a little ... butthat's another secret.... I'll skip the details, it is enough to say that after waiting a while, I found, instead of the girl, the King, my King. And where? Beside the Singing Fountains in the Place de la Concorde. Ah! my dear friends, what a state he was in! I hardly knew him at first; in fact, I shouldn't have known him at all if I were not such a sharp detective. He had removed his false beard and spectacles. I tell you Frederick-Christian has aged ten years, his clothes were torn and covered with mud, and moreover he was dead drunk! How he managed it in the time I don't know, for he wasn't away from me for more than an hour. What would you have done in my place? Left there in that deserted street he would have been at the mercy of the first thief or assassin. Therefore, I say, I saved his life by putting him into a cab and bringing him back to the Royal Palace. While I was helping to put him to bed, I noticed a letter pinned to his coat with this inscription on it, 'I am to read this when I wake.' So I have arranged accordingly. He'll see it the first thing on opening his eyes. Well, what do you think of that? Didn't I save the King's life a second time?"
M. Louis nodded:
"Never twice without the third time."
"I hope so ... well, au revoir, Monsieur...."
"Pardon, Monsieur," interrupted one of the employés, "but his Majesty has asked for you again."
"All right, I'm going," replied Wulf, as he drank his fifth vermouth.
"Whatever happens, whatever you are told, do not show any surprise. Take up your customary life again as though it had never been interrupted, as though nothing had happened since the night of December 31st."
Frederick-Christian, the victim of a racking headache, read and reread these strange mysterious words, without in the least understanding their meaning. After a heavy sleep, he had wakened about nine o'clock to find himself lying comfortably in his own bed at the Royal Palace. At first he thought it was part of his nightmare, that he was dreaming, but as he became more fully awake, he was obliged to admit the evidence of his senses.
At this moment, he suddenly caught sight of the crumpled letter pinned to his counterpane; opening it, he read the lines that Fandor had hurriedly pencilled the night before.
In spite of his exhaustion and stiffness, he sprang out of bed and was about to ring for a servant when a feeling of caution came over him.
It would be better first to take stock of the situation.
What had happened?
Among the newspapers lying on the table, he noticed several copies of theGazetteof Hesse-Weimar.
He glanced over the most recent numbers, but found nothing unusual in their columns. He then went back to the paper dated January 1st and to his amazement saw the following announcement:
"Paris, 1st January. (From our Special Correspondent.) His Majesty Frederick-Christian, contrary to his general custom, did not leave his Hotel during New Year's Day. This may be accounted for by the fact that the streets of Paris are, as a rule, crowded during this holiday and his Majesty would have run the risk of being drawn into promiscuous contact with the common people."
The copy of January 2d also remarked that the King had evinced a desire to attend the Longchamps races, but had been prevented by the possibility of a chance meeting with the President of the Republic, a contingency not foreseen in the protocol. Frederick-Christian, in fact, recalled that he had expressed a wish to attend the Longchamps meet, but he asked himself how it was possible to have notified him of the change of program while at that time he had mysteriously disappeared! But the climax of hisamazement was reached when he came to the following paragraph:
"Paris, 4th January. (From our Special Correspondent.) His Majesty Frederick-Christian II is still held in the French Capital by affairs of the highest importance. His subjects need, however, be under no apprehension, as his Majesty's health is excellent, this information having been received by Hedwige, our well-beloved Queen.
"During his stay in Paris, Frederick-Christian has been especially appreciative of the respectful and devoted services of M. Wulfenmimenglaschk, head of the secret service of Hesse-Weimar, who, by the exercise of his perspicacity and high intelligence, has found in the King not only an able assistant, but a true friend, having the honor to occupy the apartment at the Royal Palace next to his Majesty."
"What's this all about?" exclaimed the King, "what influence have I been under during these last four days?"
It was easy enough to recommend him to show no surprise, but it was also necessary to settle upon some definite attitude to take. And what about this "Wulf"?
Frederick-Christian would have a look at this individualwho claimed to be his friend and his next door neighbor. Accordingly he rang the bell, and sent down the message which Wulf received in the barroom. A wait of twenty minutes followed and then the door opened without ceremony and the King stood rooted in amazement at the appearance of his Secret Service Chief. In the most natural manner in the world, Wulf entered the room and stood looking slyly at the King. Then, smilingly, he said:
"Well, Sire, feel better?"
"What!" stuttered Frederick-Christian, scarcely able to speak for indignation.
"Yes," continued Wulf, "I'm glad to see you up; as for me, I'm all right ... but you must remember that I drank less than you did last night. I tell you they've capital vermouth here ... shall I order your Majesty a bottle?"
"What's your name?" asked the King.
Wulf considered his sovereign with compassion.
"He's still a bit soused," he muttered to himself, then wagging a reproving finger at the King, he continued:
"Who am I? Wulfenmimenglaschk, Sire, at your service, and I've already saved your life twice ... that's why I may be allowed to give you a bit of advice. Cut out the booze, Sire, you're distinctly theworse for wear ... you're so changed that if it wasn't for your dressing-gown...."
Wulf was undoubtedly very drunk; otherwise he could not have failed to notice the difference between the King of the last few days and the present one.
Frederick-Christian held himself in hand as long as possible, then burst out:
"What does this attitude mean?... this familiarity? What makes you speak in French?"
Wulf was first amazed at the change in his beloved master and inclined to weep over his humiliation. He was about to give utterance to his feelings when the King seized him by the arm and pointed to theHesse-Weimar Gazette.
"Read that! Who furnished this information?"
"Why, I did, Sire."
"Then you mean to say you have been continually with me. You occupy the next apartment? You enjoy my friendship?"
"Yes, Sire."
The King, in a burst of rage, now held the unfortunate Wulf by the collar and shoving him toward the door, ejected him onto the landing with a prodigious kick.
Frederick-Christian, more puzzled than ever by theturn of events, now turned his attention to his toilette. He was still in scanty attire and went behind his screen to continue dressing. At this moment a soft and charming voice spoke:
"Sire, are you there? It is I ... Marie Pascal."
Marie Pascal!
Where had he heard that name before? Slowly Frederick-Christian recalled the silhouette of a young woman ... with a fair skin and light hair ...
The voice continued:
"I am glad to know that you are better, Sire. Forgive me for troubling you now but since our last meeting things have happened of a very serious nature ... hidden enemies want to destroy me ... to destroy us.... First of all they accused your Majesty of the murder of Susy d'Orsel, and now after torturing me with questions they have dared to say it was I!... I'm sure they overheard our last conversation and misunderstand our love for each other...."
Frederick-Christian was growing suspicious. What did this extraordinary visit mean? Did they want to trap him into an unwary admission?
"In the name of our love, say you don't believe me guilty!"
The King hesitated.
"I don't know.... I ..."
He stopped short as Marie Pascal with a sudden movement flung down the screen. The King in amaze stood stock still while the young girl looked at him in utter stupefaction, with trembling lips and body shaken by nervous tremors. Then suddenly she turned in terror, screaming:
"Help! Help! The impostor! The murderer!... the King is not the King.... Frederick-Christian has disappeared!... Who is this man?"
The girl's cries brought the Hotel servants quickly to the scene. She continued, pointing to the King:
"Who is this man?... Frederick-Christian has disappeared!... good God, what has happened?"
"Better call the police," suggested some one.
This met with general approval, but proceedings were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Wulf.
"Have you heard?" several voices asked.
"All I know," replied Wulf in a piteous tone, "is that Frederick-Christian or not, he's got a devilish heavy foot, and when he kicks, he kicks royally."
"What has happened to that idiot Juve? Here for three days I've been shut up in this beastly prison and no sign of him."
As the days passed, Fandor gradually lost his buoyancy of spirits and became more and more anxious.
"What can Juve be doing?" he repeated for the hundredth time.
The continual obscurity of the place began to weigh him down. This was relieved each day for a few moments by a thin shaft of light. Fandor was quick to account for the phenomenon.
"It happens exactly at noon when the sun is directly overhead," he reasoned, "and finds an entrance through a crack in the bronze."
Many times he climbed to the body of the naiad in the hope of discovering some method of escape, but at length he realized that the thing was impossible.
He was seated one night deep in thought, puzzling his brains for the reason of Juve's defection, when a voice suddenly broke the silence.
"Can you hear me?"
Fandor bounded to his feet.
"Yes, I hear you."
"You must be getting uneasy?"
"Uneasy! I'm going mad! What a long time you've been!"
"That's true, I am a little late, but it hasn't been very easy."
Now that Fandor's mind was set at rest about his deliverance, he grew curious to know the results of the detective's investigation.
"Well, you were successful?"
"Yes, quite successful."
"Do they know in Glotzbourg?"
"They must have some suspicion by now."
"When did you get back?"
"This morning."
"Only this morning! And did you get my letter?"
"Your what, Sire?... I don't catch."
"I say you must have got my letter, since you are here, and now please get me out of this hole as quickly as possible ... it's awful being shut up here ... you can't imagine how I long for a breath of fresh air."
"Yes, yes, I understand, but I'm wondering how I'm to get you out."
"What's that?"
"Have you thought over a way we can effect the exchange?"
"But, my dear fellow, you must know what to do. I gave you full particulars in my letter."
"In your letter?"
"Yes.... I even enclosed a diagram."
There was a pause, the voice then asked:
"Will you pass me up this letter by ..."
Fandor interrupted:
"Why, it's quite simple! Find the third naiad, counting from the one nearest the bridge."
Suddenly the voice explained:
"Look here, Sire, we are talking at cross purposes. I am asking you where we can exchange the diamond."
"The diamond?"
"Yes! Your diamond."
Fandor's face grew pale.
"My diamond!"
"The diamond I went to Glotzbourg to get ... what's the matter with you, Sire? Don't you remember?... And what's all this about a letter?"
"Why, Juve! I'm talking of the letter I left at your apartment in which I explained how you may reach me!"
"Juve! Juve! Oho!"
A burst of strident laughter, infernal and diabolical, reached Fandor, who now guessed the horrible truth.
"If it isn't Juve who is speaking, who is it?" he cried. "For the love of God, who are you?"
"The person speaking to you ... is Fantômas."
"Fantômas!"
Staggering, terrified, Fandor screamed:
"Fantômas! Fantômas!... It can't be possible! Fantômas has been arrested! Fantômas is in the hands of Juve!"
"Fantômas arrested?... Fantômas can't be arrested! He will never be caught! He is above and beyond every attack, every menace! Fantômas is Death, Eternal Death, Pitiless Death, King Death! Good-bye!"
A long silence followed. Fandor was stunned by the awful reality. He experienced all the sensations of a man buried alive, condemned to death with torture. And then another thought flashed through his mind:
"The papers spoke of Fantômas's arrest. But if Fantômas is at liberty, it must mean that Juve has been beaten! Juve went to Glotzbourg to arrest him. A man has been arrested under the name of Fantômas. That man must be Juve himself!"
And his letter! The first thing Fantômas would do would be to go to Juve's apartment and destroy it.
"He has got me," he exclaimed. "He can choose his own time to kill me. He can send down asphyxiating gas or a deluge of water through the connecting tube, or he can just leave me here to die slowly of hunger and thirst."
The journalist began pacing up and down his prison. He tried to recover his calm and argue the case out:
"Here I am in perfect health, clear in my mind and able to struggle to the bitter end. I have enough food and water to last me about nine or ten days. In my pocket I have my revolver, so that I can blow my brains out if it comes to the worst. But I won't. I'll fight! I'll fight until I drop!"