At the bottom of his trunk Jérôme Fandor was foaming with rage, furious at being caught in the trap and uneasy as to how this adventure would end.
Whilst he was realising that his unknown porters were carrying their heavy weight with difficulty to the pavement of rue Raffet, he made up his mind to a definite course of action: regardless of consequences, he was going to shout, move about, make a regular disturbance, rouse the attention of the passers-by—if there happened to be any—but, at all costs, he meant to get out of the trap!... He saw a ray of hope: Madame Bourrat had accompanied her visitors as far as the gate. In presence of such a witness, they would, at least, hesitate to do him serious bodily harm when he made his presence unmistakably known, furious though they would be. He would take every advantage of the situation....
Fandor was about to act: a second more and he would have started, when he heard them speaking. He kept quiet.
"We must have a taxi, or at the very least a cab to transport this big trunk. Do you know where one is likely to be found?"
"I doubt if one will be passing at this hour, monsieur. We retire early in these parts; but, if you like, Jules can go to the station."
"That's settled. Let him go as fast as he can!"
"Well, that is reassuring," thought Fandor. "If these fine fellows take a cab, it is not with the intention of chucking my cage and me into the river—and that is what I feared most. They may be going to leave me in a cloak-room till called for; or they may pack us off as luggage to some destination unknown! ... Oh, well, I shall only be a traveller without a ticket and I shall be sure to find some way out of the difficulty! And then, what stuff for an article I shall have when I get back toLa Capitale!... What must they be thinking at the offices! It's forty-eight hours since I put foot in them! Never mind! When they know!..."
Fandor was listening with all his ears; but the bandits had little to say; and, when they did speak, their voices were plainly disguised. Was it as a general precaution, or was it on account of Madame Bourrat?... But, unless they were known to her, why the necessity? If, however, she knew one or more of them personally, why, they must have disguised their faces and figures as well as their voices!... If only he could have a peep at them!
The sound of wheels made him suppose that Jules had succeeded in getting a cab at the Auteuil station. Then the trot-trot-trot of a horse became audible: a few moments later a cab drew up at the edge of the pavement.
A hoarse voice was heard.
"It's not a long journey, I hope!" said the hoarse, grumbling voice of the cabman.
"To Police Headquarters," replied the pretended police inspector.
"We shall see about that!" thought Fandor. "That address is to throw dust in Madame Bourrat's eyes. They will change their destination on the way. I bet on it!..."
"The brutes! Are they going to jam my cage and me on to the seat?" Fandor asked himself, for they had seized the trunk and were beginning to lift it up. ... "Am I to be stuck upside down beside the driver? I don't fancy so!... We must weigh at least ninety kilos, as I weigh seventy myself!"
Fandor's mind was soon made easy on that score. After a fruitless attempt to hoist the trunk to the box seat, they decided to put it on to the back seat of the Victoria. One of the bandits planted himself on the little folding seat opposite the trunk: the other bandit mounted to the box seat next the driver.
The two bandits took leave of Madame Bourrat. The rickety old vehicle started off. Presently, Fandor heard what he had expected to hear: one of his captors told the driver to take them to some other address than Police Headquarters. Owing to the rattling of the ramshackle cab—it lacked rubber tyres—Fandor, though listening with ears astretch, could not hear one word distinctly.
Soon pale gleams of light began to filter through the wickerwork: dawn was near.
"Ah, we shall soon reach our destination," thought Fandor. "I don't fancy my trunk lifters will wish to be seen with this turnout in broad daylight! Now, where the deuce are we going?"
In vain did Fandor strive to follow the route taken by the bandits! He had noted each shock and counter-shock produced by cobbled streets and smooth roads, by bumping against pavements, by crossed tram lines and sharp turnings!...
The cab stopped with a jolt and a jerk. The two men got out. The trunk was lifted down to the pavement. The driver was paid. He rattled off.
"Now trunk and I are in for it!" thought Fandor.
A bell pealed. A courtyard entrance gate was thrown open. The two men lifted the trunk, cursing under their breath at its weight.
In passing under the archway they called some name unknown to Fandor and so unintelligible that he could not remember it; then it was a painful ascension: up a staircase they went with prodigious effort, stopping on two landings.
"Two floors," counted Fandor. "We are coming to the end, and, all said and done, I would rather be in a house than at the bottom of the river!"
A key turned in a lock; the trunk was pushed rapidly inside; then the noise of a door being shut.
Fandor was in a room; no doubt, alone with the two bandits, and at their mercy! He was plunged into complete darkness. Evidently the shutters were still closed. The noise made by footsteps on the floor showed that it was uncarpeted. Judging from the sound, there seemed to be little furniture and no hangings in the room.
"Am I and my cage in an ordinary room, in a studio, or in a hall?" wondered Fandor. In any case, the fellows who had brought him there seemed anxious to avoid making a noise.
Then he felt the cover of the wickerwork trunk bend slightly and heard it creak. For a moment, he thought the two men were about to open his prison. He had his revolver ready: every inch of him was on the defensive! Then he realised that his captors had merely seated themselves on the trunk to rest!
They began to talk.
"This," thought Fandor, "is splendid! I shall hear everything they say. Why, it is a conversation in my honour! What luck!"
Fandor was delighted: thanks to his position he would hear some interesting secrets. He listened. Alas! He could hear every word they uttered, but he could not understand what they were saying! Fandor swore strictly to himself. The two wretches were conversing in German.
To the best of his judgment, a good hour had passed since the false police inspector and his acolyte had left the room. They had simply drawn to the door behind them, not troubling to lock it, much to the joy of Jérôme Fandor.
Absolute silence reigned.
Fandor attempted some discreet movements as a test. The wickerwork creaked as he gently shook the trunk at short intervals. Not an answering sound came from outside! Menaced with cramp, Fandor felt that the moment of escape had arrived.
He was, certainly, the only living soul in the place: listen as he might, and his sense of hearing was acute, he could not hear any sound of breathing. Yes, the time to quit his prison had come!
Fandor had with him, besides his revolver, a box of matches, and a hunter's knife consisting of several blades, and a little saw. Getting out his knife with some difficulty, he began to hack at the wickerwork. Dry and pliant, the interlaced rods did not long resist the saw's steel teeth. It took him a bare ten minutes to make an opening, sufficiently large to push his head and shoulders through: the rest of his body followed easily. Such was his haste to be free, that he tore, not only his clothes, but his elbows and hands, on the jagged ends of the broken wickerwork: large drops of blood fell on the flooring.
"Bah! I've got off cheaply!" cried Fandor, standing up to relax his cramped muscles and stretching his aching legs and arms.
"Unless I am jolly well mistaken, I am lord of all I survey. I am alone in my glory! There's not a soul in the place! Good luck indeed!"
He turned for a last look at his broken prison house, the cage in which he had spent such exciting hours. He suddenly stiffened and drew back: a nervous trembling seized him—the nervous trembling due to sudden shock. Between the trunk which had been dumped down in the centre of a large square room, without a scrap of furniture in it, and the window, through whose shutters the rays of morning sunshine shone, Fandor had caught sight of a body lying on the floor—a man's body! Fandor leapt forward. Was this same cunning criminal feigning sleep for some evil purpose? Standing over that motionless figure, Fandor bent and touched one of the man's hands: it was ice-cold and rigid. The man was dead!
To see his face was imperative: it was turned towards the floor. With difficulty Fandor raised the head and shoulders, for they were unusually large and strongly built. Fandor glanced at the face and suddenly withdrew his hand: the corpse fell back on the floor with a thud!
"Thomery!" murmured Fandor. "Why, it's Thomery!"
It was the well-known sugar refiner's body. The face was purple, the tongue protruding. Round his neck was tied a tricoloured scarf, the scarf of a police inspector! Was this the murderer's ironic touch?
Fandor sank down quite overcome. He tried to collect his thoughts.
"A disgusting joke this! If someone should take into his head to enter the room at this moment, what kind of explanation could I give? Here I am, alone with the dead body of a man I know, and in a room I don't know, in a neighbourhood whose whereabouts I know no more than the man in the moon."
"Where am I?... In whose house?... For what purpose?... Have those beauties of last night no suspicion of the truth?... Did they leave me in this lair of theirs of set purpose, knowing I was cooped up inside the trunk?"
Just then, Fandor felt a slight moisture on the palm of his hand: it was all red: the scratches, made by the jagged edges of the wickerwork, were still bleeding.
"Better and better I declare!" murmured Fandor. "If I don't look like a little holy Saint John! A corpse, and a man with blood on his hands seated beside the dead body of this murdered man! Nothing more is required to jail me with all the power of the law!... To go to prison under such suspicious circumstances is serious!... The police, who are floundering about in a maze of investigations, without any result so far, will be only too delighted to kill two birds with one stone—to suppress a journalist and discover a criminal!... I have got to get out of here; that is plain as a pikestaff!... Get away? Yes, but with the honour of war!... I must establish an alibi—that is absolutely necessary.... I like to think that my false police inspector and his accomplice have cut and run for some time; at any rate, that they will be in no hurry to come back to see what is happening where they have so neatly and nicely left the corpse of this Thomery.... What part did this fellow play in the drama?... Criminal or victim?"
Fandor had reached the door of the hall opening on to the main staircase. He was listening.... He had explored the flat. It was empty. He had found water in the kitchen, had washed his face, and removed every trace of blood from his person. It was a flat suitable for a middle-class household. There were three large rooms, decorated with a certain amount of luxury.
Fandor looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. He stood listening. Someone, a man, was coming downstairs: someone, a woman, was coming up. They met on the landing just outside.
"Monsieur Mercadier, here are your letters! I was bringing them up to you!"
"It was hardly worth while, my good lady. I have to come down, you see, so you can save yourself five flights of stairs!"
"Oh, no, monsieur! I have to come up to go down my stairs."
Monsieur Mercadier continued to descend, and the portress continued to mount.
Fandor's heart beat faster when he realised that she was approaching the door. Would she come in and find him there? Had the new tenants left a key of the flat with her? No, the portress dusted the landing quickly and continued her ascent: he heard her going up and up....
He made up his mind to slip out on to the landing. Despite his efforts, he could not prevent his shoes creaking: it was spring-time, and already the stair carpet had been taken up. He was on the point of going downstairs, when he heard the portress calling from above:
"Who's there?... What do you want?"
Had she heard him leave the flat? Was he to be stupidly caught, just as he was escaping?... He must act at once. He went up a step or two of the next flight of stairs and called out:
"Is Monsieur Mercadier at home?"
"Ah, no, monsieur! He has just this minute gone out! I am surprised you did not meet him!..."
"Very good, madame. I will come another time!"
Fandor turned on his heel, and, whistling, with hands in pockets, he gained the ground floor, passed the entrance gate, and found himself in the street. He mingled with the passers-by, and learned from the first plaque he came to with the name of the street on it, that he was in rue Lecourbe, Vaugirard....
What had happened? By way of what mysterious adventures had the corpse of sugar refiner Thomery reached that empty room in rue Lecourbe, where Jérôme Fandor had come across it?
Two days previous, on the afternoon of Elizabeth Dollon's arrest, Monsieur Thomery was working in his study, when a servant came to tell him that a lady wished to speak to him.
"Did she give you her name?" asked Thomery.
"No, monsieur, this person said her name would tell you nothing; but she was sure monsieur would see her, for she would only detain him a minute or two...."
Piles of papers were stacked on the great sugar refiner's study table: typists were laying numerous letters before him, which awaited his signature. Thomery thought to himself:
"I have still a good half-hour's work before me ... deuce take this importunate visitor!" He was on the point of saying he could not see any one, when the servant added:
"This person declares she comes with reference to Madame the Princess Danidoff."
Though he was a man of business, Thomery was a gallant man also; and very much in love; his approaching marriage with the Princess, which had been kept secret, was now known. The name of Princess Danidoff settled the question.
"Very well, let her come in!"
The manservant disappeared a minute, then ushered into the study a very unassuming woman of uncertain age and quite ordinary looking.
Thomery rose to meet her, pointing pleasantly to one of the large arm-chairs in the room. The visitor was profusely apologetic.
"I am so exceedingly sorry, Monsieur Thomery, to disturb you at such an hour, when you must certainly have a great deal to occupy your attention; but the matter I have come about will not wait, and I am sure it will interest you...."
This little person seemed very intelligent, and Thomery was favourably impressed by her manner, which was both simple and decided.
"Madame, I am listening to you. In what way can I be of service to you?"
"I am not here, monsieur," she protested, "to pester you with any wants and wishes for myself. I am a diamond broker and ..."
She had not finished her sentence when Thomery, smiling but firm, rose, and said sharply:
"In that case, madame, I can guess the motive of your call...."
"But, monsieur ..."
"Yes!... That is so!... Ever since my approaching marriage has been announced, I have received, every day, a dozen visits from jewellers, goldsmiths, upholsterers, and so on ... I regret to have to tell you that you will not be able to persuade me to buy ... that my betrothed has received so many wedding presents that there is no room for more.... I do not require one single thing...."
Although Thomery had spoken in a tone which did not admit of any reply, although he had risen the better to mark his intention of cutting short the call, the diamond broker had remained seated, leaning back in her arm-chair.... She gave no sign of being ready to go away.
"Consequently, madame," continued Thomery....
His visitor laughed.
"Monsieur, you have very quickly made up your mind that I have nothing interesting to offer you! I have not come to offer you ordinary jewels...."
It was Thomery's turn to smile slightly.
"I quite understand, madame, that you should think your merchandise exceptional.... But once more ..."
The broker interrupted the sugar refiner with a movement of her hand.
"Do listen to me a moment, monsieur!... Though I am a diamond broker, diamonds are not what I have come to ask you to purchase ... it is a question of something quite different...."
She paused deliberately: Thomery gazed at her without saying a word.
"You know, monsieur," continued the broker, "that in such a business as mine, one is obliged to see a great many jewellers every day; well, in the course of my peregrinations, I found at a jeweller's—you must allow me to withhold his name—some pearls, which I am certain you will find are a wonderful bargain...."
"For the last time, madame, I do not want a wonderful bargain!"
The agent smiled curiously.
"There are some things which simply do not allow themselves to be refused," she declared.... She now drew from her pocket a little jewel-case; and, notwithstanding Thomery's unconcealed impatience, opened it, and selected two pearls which she held out to him.
"Do examine these jewels! You are going to tell me that they are perfectly beautiful, are you not, Monsieur Thomery?"
The diamond broker offered them so naturally that Thomery gave way. He examined the pearls: he was a connoisseur.
"In truth, madame, these pearls are superb; unfortunately I am not enough of an expert to buy them without taking competent advice, that is if I thought of acquiring them eventually, but I repeat, I have no wish to acquire such things!"
"Deuce take it!" thought Thomery. "This broker won't take 'no' for an answer! Since I cannot rid myself of her by being pleasant, I shall make myself disagreeable!"
But the would-be seller still insisted.
"Monsieur, you really cannot be a connoisseur, otherwise I am sure you would not return these pearls to me."
"But, madame!..."
"And I am convinced that if Princess Sonia Danidoff had had them in her hand instead of you, she would have been greatly taken with them!"
The broker had emphasised her words so strangely that, suddenly, Thomery hesitated.
What did this mysterious visitor mean? What was it she considered so "extraordinary" about the jewels she had just submitted to him?... A suspicion flashed across his mind.
"Whence come these pearls, madame?"
But, at this question, the broker got up.
"Monsieur Thomery," declared she, "I should be very vexed with myself were I to make you lose your evening ... your time is precious; besides, in order to give you a proper answer to your question, I should have to make certain of facts I only now guess at.... Still, I think that without having told you anything definite, I have made you sufficiently understand what is in my mind,... you will not now doubt the interest that the Princess Sonia Danidoff would have, were she able to examine these jewels...."
"Is that so?"
"Consequently, Monsieur Thomery, I am going to ask you if you will kindly show these pearls to the Princess; and then if you will be good enough to let me know what decision you come to, jointly with her.... If you were a buyer, I fancy I might let you have these jewels on quite exceptional terms."
Thomery visibly hesitated.... He was looking at the pearls, which he was still holding in his hand, and he thought.
"One might swear that these are two of the pearls stolen from Sonia at my ball!"
Thomery did not reply at once. The broker was looking at him with a smile; she seemed to guess his thoughts. Thomery, on his side, was examining the woman.
"Is she simply a police informer?" he asked himself. "One of these women who apparently are dealers, but are really in the pay of the police, and frequent jewellers for the purpose of tracing stolen jewels?"
He was on the verge of asking her who she was, but he refrained.
If this woman had not presented herself under her true colours, evidently she wished to pass for an ordinary dealer. It was possible that she was really a receiver of stolen goods!
Thomery came to a decision.
"I shall have the privilege of seeing the Princess Danidoff to-morrow afternoon; will you therefore leave the pearls with me?... I will show them to her. Should she express the slightest wish to possess them, I might possibly come to terms with you...."
"Dearest, it is sweet of you to make no objection to the way in which I obtained this jewel for you to see, and to choose for your own, if you will.... The correct thing would have been to ask you to accompany me to some well-known jeweller, instead of which, I frankly confess, that these pearls were offered to me on very advantageous terms. If they please you, it will give me the greatest pleasure to see them adorning your graceful neck."
Princess Sonia laughed.
"My dear, for Heaven's sake, don't worry about such a thing as that!... A pearl is not less beautiful because it comes from some unpretentious jeweller's shop. I am too fond of jewels for their own sake, to trouble about the casket that enshrines them!"
Thomery bowed, well pleased.
"Here then, dear Sonia, are the two pearls entrusted to me as samples ... please, dearest, examine them carefully, very carefully ... and if you like them, tell me so frankly...."
The Princess took the two pearls from the betrothed, and, crossing the great drawing-room, she approached one of the bay windows, lifting the thin hangings that she might the better examine the pearls.
"They are marvellous!" she cried.
"Dear Sonia, you think these gems rarely beautiful?"
"Indeed I do! Their lustre is superb; their quality, their shape, perfect!... Why, my dear, these are the most splendid pearls I have ever seen—with one exception—the only pearls to equal them are those that were stolen from me!... The loss of them has been a bitter grief ... they came to me, you know, from my dear mother!... I never thought to find pearls of such quality again...."
"You consider these to be of as pure a quality then, dear?"
Sonia Danidoff continued to examine the two pearls.
"It is really extraordinary," she cried suddenly. "Do you know, my dear, there are certain peculiarities about their lustre,... yes ... I could swear that these very pearls you are offering me are two of those stolen from me!..."
Thomery appeared to have been impatiently awaiting these very words.
"You really, truly believe, Sonia, that they resemble the pearls stolen from you that unlucky evening?"
"I repeat—they are identical!"
Thomery looked smilingly at Sonia.
"Well, then, my dear one, I do not think you are mistaken!... I have all sorts of reasons for supposing that they really are two of your own pearls you are now holding in your hand...." And, then and there, Thomery told his fiancée all about the strange visit he had received the evening before, as well as his hope that he would be able to recover the stolen triple collar in its entirety.
"That intriguing dealer," said he finally, "must be a police informer.... In any case, I am persuaded that, before long, she will take me to some receiver or other who is in possession of your pearl collar."
"Oh, tell me you are not going among such people, all alone?" cried Sonia, with a note of sharp anxiety in her voice.
"But, why not?"
"If they are, as you think, thieves?"
"Well?"
"Well! Don't you see, my dear, that if you go to buy the pearls, they will count on your bringing a large sum of money with you!... Why, it would be a most imprudent thing to do!..."
Thomery shrugged his shoulders.
"Really, that's nonsense, Sonia! If these assassins meant to set a trap for me, they have a thousand other means of doing so ... besides, it would be remarkably daring of them to advise me to show you these pearls, and draw my attention to the question of their being stolen ones!... No, Sonia, this dealer is not the emissary of a band of robbers and assassins: she is a police informer, who has taken precautions. I run no dangerous risks by accompanying her! Reassure yourself on that point!..."
But Sonia Danidoff was not reassured by Thomery's arguments.
"All that only frightens me!" said she.... "If you do not really think you are running any risk, will you let me go with you?... My dear, we will go together to identify those pearls, will we not?"
Thomery rose to take his leave, laughing and protesting.
"Why, dear Sonia, it would be in the highest degree improper on my part, were I to agree to such a proposition!... One of two things: either there is no danger, and I should be very sorry that I had let you go out in such shocking weather; or, if there is danger, I should be still more distressed were I to drag you into it with me.... I do beg of you, Sonia, do not insist on it.... I am not a child!... And I will be very careful—very wary!..."
Shortly after this, Thomery took leave of Sonia Danidoff. He went straight to the Café de la Paix, where he had arranged to meet the diamond broker....
She was punctual. She greeted Thomery with her most winning smile.
"I am persuaded, monsieur, that Madame Sonia Danidoff was interested by the offer you made her?"
"Quite so," replied Thomery.... "Should we go to your jeweller's, without further loss of time?"
"If you really wish to do so, monsieur! Indeed it would be the best thing to do...."
Thomery hailed a cab. He and the diamond agent entered it together, and she gave the driver an address. Twenty minutes later they left the cab and were standing before the house where the present possessor of the pearls was to be found. Thomery knew no more now about the person he had come to interview, than he did when he started: that is to say, practically nothing.
The diamond broker had cleverly evaded giving any direct answers to the sugar refiner's questions: she had confined herself to stating what would be the probable price demanded for the pearl collar—which question interested Thomery least of all!
They mounted, in single file, a rather poor sort of staircase: on the second floor the woman stopped. A narrow door faced them.... The woman rang.... They waited....
"Someone is coming!" said the woman. "I hear footsteps."
The door was opened half-way.
"Who is it?" asked a man's voice.
"I, dear friend," answered the woman.
The door opened wide: the same voice said:
"Come in, monsieur."
Thomery had barely stepped inside the room, when the diamond broker, who was close behind, flung a long silk scarf round his neck, and, pushing his knee into his victim's back for a support, he attempted to give, with Herculean force, the famous stroke of Father Francis Vigozous; energetic, Thomery did not lose his presence of mind.... He knew that to resist such a pull by simple force was impossible.... Quickly he threw himself backwards, thus giving to the strangling pull and falling on top of the woman, who had played this dastardly trick on him. From his constricted throat came a hoarse "Ah!" like a death rattle.
As he was falling, for one flashing second, it seemed as though he were going to escape from the vise which was crushing in his throat... then, out of the shadow, there had appeared the fantastic vision of a man in a tight fitting sort of black jersey, which covered him from head to foot.... His face was concealed by a hooded mask....
This man had leapt out of the shadow.
He held a dagger in his hand.
Before Thomery had time to make a movement, the masked man had pierced his chest with a single stroke!... The sugar refiner was naught but a convulsive corpse.
"Ah, well!" declared the so-called diamond broker, who had got to his feet and was kicking Thomery's body aside. "Ah, well, he is a dead weight this fellow!... By Jove, master, I fancied he was going to crush me, and that I should have to let him free!... You did well to come to the rescue!"
The masked man remarked in an indifferent tone:
"It really does not matter in the slightest!... Tell me, does anyone suspect?"
"No one, master. He came like a sheep to the slaughter."
"Princess Danidoff?"
"Ah, as for her—she must be waiting for the return of her beloved friend.... I do not advise you to pay her a visit!"
"Be silent, chatter-box!" ordered the masked assassin sharply. "Get rid of your clothes.... We must hurry!... We have work to do!"
"This evening?"
"This evening!"
And, whilst the diamond broker rid himself rapidly of skirt and bodice and regained his masculine appearance—for this diamond broker was a man—the masked assassin added:
"Nibet, you have played your part perfectly, and I will pay you to-morrow the sum we agreed on; but, I repeat, we have work before us this evening—so, be quick!"
There was a short silence, then the bandit asked:
"You have arranged to put among this fool's papers the rent receipts, which will enable the police to find this flat?"
"Yes, master!"
"Good! Now all we have to do, is to get away from this room, which we shall not see again ... until this evening at any rate!"
In one of the rooms reserved for readers ofLa Capitale, Jérôme Fandor was gravely listening to Madame Bourrat's account of what had occurred at her boarding-house during the night. She had rushed off to tell him and to ask his advice.
"What you tell me, madame, is truly extraordinary!" said Fandor, with an air of profound astonishment....
"How did you discover that the police inspector who seized the trunk and carried it away was not a genuine policeman?"
"Why, through the arrival of Monsieur Xavié, the police inspector of our district! I know him.... There was no mistaking who and what he was; and when I told him that the trunk had been carried off the preceding evening, rather in the dead of night, he guessed everything...."
"And what did he say?..."
"Oh, he made us all come to the police station; and I can assure you that he looked far from pleased!"
"You must admit, dear madame, that his annoyance was not without reason!... The police were made fine fools of in this affair.... But afterwards?... Whom did he take back with him to the police station?"
"He took me and my manservant."
"And when you got to the police station?"
"Well, Monsieur Fandor, when we reached the police station, he made us come into his office, and there he put us through a regular examination,... just as though he suspected us!"
"But there must have been an accomplice in your house who let the robbers in," said Fandor. "I do not suppose the false police inspector forced the door open!"
"Ah, but, Monsieur Fandor, here is something I do not understand, nor does anybody else!... No, they did not try to hide themselves—not the least in the world! They rang the bell; they asked to see me; they told me what they had come for; and, accompanied by my manservant, carried away the trunk, and had it put on the cab—all in the most open and bare-faced manner!"
"It was your manservant who accompanied them?"
"But most certainly ... and that very fact turned against Jules, in a very nasty manner.... Poor Jules! Just imagine, the police inspector finished by ordering my house to be thoroughly searched from top to bottom! And when the policemen returned, without a why or wherefore, they took Jules away to another part of the police station!"
"I say! I say!"
"Oh, it was all explained! As soon as Jules had gone, the police inspector told me that they had found keys in his rooms, keys which could be made to fit any kind of lock whatever. Monsieur Xavié was convinced that my poor Jules was a burglar—imagine it!"
"And you, yourself, madame, are convinced of the contrary?"
"Oh, assuredly! Why, I have known Jules a very long time! And in many little ways on many occasions, he has shown himself to be strictly honest."
"But those false keys?"
"Those false keys, Monsieur Fandor, why I myself made Jules buy them, hoping to find among them one that would open my coach-house."
"So that?..."
"So that, Monsieur Fandor, the police inspector was obliged to agree with me that Jules was honest!"
"And he released this servant of yours?" asked Fandor.
His tone expressed annoyance.
"No, and that is why I am so distressed. He said, that provisionally, at least, my servant, Jules, was to be considered as under arrest! What ought to be done to get him let out?"
"But, madame!... He will be set free to-morrow, you may be certain of it!..."
"No doubt he will!... All the same, there is my house turned upside down, and I need Jules to help me to-night!... I really do not know what I shall do without him! Poor fellow!... I simply cannot imagine how it is they suspect him!"
Fandor said, with mock gravity:
"Ah, madame, Justice is sometimes so stupid—so wrongheaded!... Look here now, would you like a bit of good advice?... Telephone to Messieurs Barbey-Nanteuil. They are well known and powerful—perhaps they would exert their influence in your servant's favour? He might be set free this evening! I, you see, am but a journalist, and without a scrap of influence!"
Madame Bourrat thought this a good idea. Fandor rang for an attendant.
"Take madame to the telephone!"
Left to himself, the reporter could not help rubbing his hands.
"I must get rid of this excellent woman, who is certainly the most foolish person it has ever been my lot to meet. Good hearing! That servant of hers is under lock and key—things are going in the right direction ... but they are not going well for me!... If he confesses, to-morrow, when he is had up for examination, then the police will have the information before me!... Then, too, they are such duffers—such bunglers—that they are quite capable of giving that Jules his liberty!... What the deuce must I do to prevent his being let loose, and how am I to stop the judicial interrogation?... What a dog's life a journalist's is!"
Madame Bourrat reappeared.
"Monsieur Nanteuil is not there," she said. "But I got into communication with Monsieur Barbey.... He advised me to wait till to-morrow: he said it was too late in the day to do anything...."
"But, will he not intervene to-morrow?"
"I don't know. To tell the truth, I am sure Monsieur Barbey thought it very inconsiderate of me to disturb him about a matter in which he takes not the slightest interest."
"That's a fact. What possible interest can the bankers take in such a matter?... My advice was absurd!"
Fandor rose. As he was seeing his visitor out, he said:
"In any case, dear madame, count on me to-morrow morning. I shall call at your house about eleven. If there is anything fresh, we can talk it over!..."
"Oh, here's Janson-de-Sailly College!... Oh, what detestable remembrances you conjure up!... But—this won't do!... Go it, my boy!... I must play the part!"
The plumber, who had just given utterance to these remarks, glanced sharply about him. When he had made sure that there was no one close on his heels, he stepped into the roadway, and started on a zigzag course which seemed likely to upset his balance. Crossing the avenue Henri-Martin, going straight, towards the town hall at the corner of the rue de la Pompe, the good plumber, who was staggering more than a little, began to stutter and stammer in a drunken voice:
"It is the final struggle!"
The passers-by looked round.
"They sing theInternationalein the streets now, it seems!" remarked a severe-looking gentleman.
The workman turned to this correct personage.
"What of it?... Don't you think it a jolly fine thing then?"
In a thick voice he continued to sing:
"Let us gather, and on the morrow..."
The severe and correct personage spoke.
"My friend, you would do better to hold your tongue!... You forget that there is a police station close by!..."
But the incorrigible plumber caught the correct personage by his coat tails.
"If I sing theInternationale, it's because I'm a free man—ain't I?... A free man can sing if he likes, can't he? Eh!... Why don't you sing then?... Eh!..."
The correct personage drew himself up stiffly: tried to push the obnoxious plumber away.... The workman had now reached that stage of drunkenness when discussions tend to become interminable.
The gentleman pushed the drunken man aside, saying:
"Come! Come! Go away!... Leave me alone!"
But the maudlin plumber was attracting the attention of the passers by his gestures. He addressed the world at large.
"Would you believe it—that fellow there don't want me to sing!... No! Well, I'm going to!" and he started triumphantly.
"It is the—the—final ... strug-gle!"
A policeman came out of the station with a solemn air. He put his hand on the tipsy plumber's shoulder in paternal fashion.
"Go along with you, my friend!... Come now—pass along—pass along!" But he could not make the plumber budge before he had finished his verse, any more than he could teach him to walk straight on the spur of the moment!... Leaving hold of the gentleman's coat tails, the worthy plumber seized the policeman's arm.'
"Oh, you, you're a brother!... I have education, I have! You're a workman too, I know!..."
As the police inspector pushed him off, trying to make him go on his way, the plumber put his arm round him.
"No! No!... show you're a workman! Sing with me!"
"It is the final ..."
The scandal could no longer be tolerated! Street-corner idlers were gathering, people were laughing at the policeman: strong measures were necessary.
"Come now," said the policeman. "Yes, or no! Will you be off, and go home?... Eh!... Or shall I take you to the station?..."
"You take me?... You take me?... Why, it would take four of you to take me!..."
There was no shilly-shallying after this! Wounded in his vanity, the servant of the law did not hesitate.
"All right!" said he; and seizing the plumber by the collar, although there was no attempt at resistance, he dragged his prisoner towards the town hall of the district, for the police station was there also.
"Some more game for the Dépôt!" said the policeman as he passed the guard.... "A fellow I can't get rid of! Are the cells full up?"
Other policemen came up. An arrest in a peaceful district gives interest to the dull routine of the men on duty.
"The cells full? Go along with you! There's only a small shopkeeper who had no papers."
Thereupon the unfortunate singer, who continued to stagger about, was quickly pushed into the dark room called "the detention room."
An ordinary every day incident of the streets, this arrest of a drunkard!
"I shall have to write out a report for this fellow!" said the policeman, who had arrested the songster... "and the 'Salad Basket'[10]passes in an hour's time! ... I shall just do it!"
"Have you anyone for the Dépôt to-day?" asked the driver from his high seat on the prison van. He was on a collecting journey as is usual every evening, when the Salad Baskets, as they are vulgarly called, pass to the various police stations of Paris to pick up the individuals arrested during the day.
"Two of 'em," answered the police sergeant on duty. Whilst official papers were being interchanged and forms were being filled in according to rule, policemen went to the cells to bring out the two prisoners to be despatched to the Dépôt.
The first to pass out was the costermonger. He was straightway put into one of the narrow compartments in the Salad Basket. Then it was the turn of the tipsy and obstreperous workman, who was now silent, moody, and apparently sober.
"Hop it now!" cried the policeman. "Come along with you, you miserable drunk!... March now!... Foot it!"
As the "drunk" hit against the partition of the narrow passageway running up the middle of the Salad Basket, the policeman, with a shove, pushed him into one of the compartments, carefully shutting the little door on him and fastening it.
"My word!" he exclaimed. "That fellow wouldn't have been capable of walking three steps in an hour's time!"
As the driver climbed to his seat on the van, the policeman called out, with a laugh:
"You have a traveller inside who doesn't detest wine!... It's a pity to see a man in such a hoggish state!"
This same policeman would have been surprised, could he have seen the bibulous one's face when the Salad Basket cast loose from her moorings and started off in the direction of the Point-du-Jour police station, the last on the round to be visited!
The "drunk" whom one push had sufficed to plant on his seat, had briskly drawn himself upright and was smiling broadly, a wide, noiseless smile!
"What a joke!... And what a jolly good actor I should have made!" thought Jérôme Fandor, giving himself a mental hug of satisfaction.... "Ah! They arrest the individuals I want to set talking!... The police imagine they are going to push in first and find out the answer to the riddle!... We shall see!"
Fandor was listening intensely and trying to discover from the movements of the Salad Basket what street they were passing along.
"Smooth going ... evidently we are still in the rue de la Pompe, so I have about a quarter of an hour more of it!"
Fandor examined the tiny cell in which he had been imprisoned of his own free will.
"Not much to be said for it!" ran his thoughts. "There is scarcely room to sit ... impossible to stand up or turn around ... nearly dark ... and precious little air comes in through those wooden shutters!... I shouldn't think there ever had been an escape from these vans!..."
Fandor smiled broadly.
"Even if I don't succeed, it is worth while making the attempt!... But I shall succeed—see if I don't!... I settled it in my mind that I was to leave the cells after this costermonger: he is in front of me, therefore the cell behind me is empty. It will be deucedly queer if, at Auteuil police station, they don't put that confounded Jules in it, whom I intend to interview under the nose of the police!... I shall start talking to him by tapping on the partition in prisoner's language. The fellow is pretty sure to be an old offender, so he will know the system.... If he doesn't, when we get to the Dépôt, I will push up to him somehow and get a few words with him.... If the Dépôt is full, we shall be stuck into the common cell until morning.... So, I take it as certain that my interview with this true and faithful servant will come off, and I shall get to know a good deal about the mystery!..."
As an afterthought, it occurred to Fandor that probably there had never been such a light-hearted occupant of this cell as he....
"Ah, that's the sound of the trams!... One jolt! Two jolts! Good!... The rails!... We are crossing rue Mozart! We are going faster—in five minutes we shall be at the Auteuil police station, and there we can start our little operations!"
There was one thing that attracted Fandor's attention, which was keenly on the alert. There was a violent jolt, and he had a distinct impression that the vehicle turned to the right.
"Why, where the deuce are they taking us?" Fandor asked himself. "To the boulevard Exelmans station?... We had not reached the end of the rue Mozart, surely!... Where did we turn then? Rue du Ranelagh?... No, there is a channel stone at the entrance, and I should have felt it!... Rue de l'Assomption!... Again no. The roadway is up: I should be knocked about more than this on my wooden seat. We are going over a perfectly kept road, which cannot have much traffic!... Why, of course, it is rue du Docteur-Blanche!... Isn't rue Mozart barred at the end? Yes. The driver must be going round by the boulevard Montmorency.... Ah, well! I am in no hurry! There will be time enough for me to pay my respects to the illustrious Jules!"
Just as Fandor was thus congratulating himself, he was thrown against the side of his cell! The van seemed to have come into violent collision with some object and had tilted over to a considerable extent.
Muffled oaths came from neighbouring cells; a stifled exclamation reached Fandor's ears; then louder still, came the intermittent humming and snorting of a motor-car.
"Confound you!... can't you pay attention to where you are going?... Keep to your right!"
Slightly stunned, Fandor heard some one knocking.
A voice asked:
"Are you hurt?"
"No, but ..."
Already the questioner had moved away.
"Evidently," thought Fandor, "the driver wants to know whether his human packages are damaged or not! We have collided with another vehicle!... Cheerful!"
Fandor's cell was now at such an angle that he could only suppose that the Salad Basket had had one of its wheels broken.
"What a nuisance!" he murmured. "Before they have finished their palaver as to how the accident happened and have repaired the damage, we shall have been here a full half-hour.... Jules will be in a temper!"
Minute succeeded minute, long, interminable minutes, and Fandor could not hear clearly what was said, what was being done to put the Salad Basket on its legs again.... The atmosphere in the little cell was becoming intolerable; for the movement of the vehicle had driven fresh air inside the shutter, and now that the Salad Basket was stationary, the air was becoming almost unbreathable.
Fandor's nerves were on edge.
"It cannot be that they are going to leave us stranded here!" thought he.... "Ah, now they have started repairs!" Fandor noticed that his cell was gradually regaining its ordinary level.... A lifting-jack must have been slipped under the vehicle, for there was a melancholy creaking sound. They must be putting the wheel on again!...
"No," thought Fandor, after some time had passed. "Never would I have supposed that it could have taken so much time to repair a Salad Basket!... Why we shall soon have been stuck here for two mortal hours!... I hope it won't make any difference to our going to the Dépôt, nor stop my getting into close touch with that villain Jules!"
There was a further period of waiting. Then our exasperated journalist heard the driver pass down the centre of the van. The van door slammed.... Once more the Salad Basket was loosed from its moorings.
"Something queer is going on!" said Fandor suddenly. He felt certain the van had turned completely round and was going in the direction it came from.
"Now where in the world are we going?... By what kind of a route are we making for that blessed police station?"
There were spaces of asphalt, succeeded by wood pavement, then by hard stones, then asphalt and wood again, and turning succeeded turning, whilst a new Tom Thumb was doing his possible to guess the route the Salad Basket was taking. Presently Fandor gave it up. He had to admit that he was completely lost.... Which way the Salad Basket was going he knew no more than the Man in the Moon!
"We have been trotting along for more than half an hour; therefore we cannot be going to the boulevard Exelmans police station ... the distance from the rue du Docteur-Blanche to the Point-du-Jour is not great...."
As Fandor was murmuring these words, the van slowed down, turned round; then, with a bump and a jolt, it mounted the footpath.
"Now for it," said Fandor. "This is certainly not the Point-du-Jour station!... We are passing under an archway—now we are turning again.... Ah, we draw up, at last!... Not too soon!"
The van did stop.
Again a wait. Fandor cocked both ears; he wondered who was going to enter the cell next his. Then a man approached the door of his little cell, where he was indeed "cribbed, cabined and confined"; inserted a key in the lock, opened, and shouted in a brutal tone:
"Out with you!... March! Quick now!"
Fandor had no choice but to obey the orders hurled at him. But no sooner had he descended the steps of the prison van than he exclaimed:
"By Jove! The Dépôt!"
This was not the moment to express all the surprise he felt at being landed at Police Headquarters in this fashion.... All round the Salad Basket the police were ranged in irregular order. They shouted to him to be quick.
"Come on with you! Hurry there!"
Fandor, followed by the costermonger, was pushed towards a little open door in the grey wall which led into a kind of office, where an old frowning man was already looking through the papers, which had been respectfully handed to him by a warder.
"So you have brought only two of the birds?" remarked the frowning official.
"Yes, superintendent."
"Good, that will do!..."
Turning to the warders, the frowning little superintendent ordered: "Take them away!... Cell 14.... Useless to rouse the whole place!"
Once more the warders pushed Fandor before them, as well as the poor costermonger: they were driven into a dark corridor on to which a row of cells opened.
The head warder opened a door.
"In with you, my merry men! You will be put through your paces to-morrow!"
As the door fell to with a resounding clang, Jérôme had inspected the place by the light of a lantern.
"Empty!... No luck!... My plan has been spoiled: I shall not be able to interview Jules!"
Philosophically, Jérôme Fandor was preparing to go to sleep on the plank bed which decorated one end of the cell, when the little costermonger, roused from his torpid condition, began to moan and groan.
"Oh, what a misfortune!... To think I am innocent! Innocent as an unborn babe!... What's to be done!... Oh, what's to be done!"
The last thing Fandor wished to do was to start a conversation with his lamenting companion. He tapped the costermonger on the shoulder.
"Good Heavens, man, the best thing you can do is to go to sleep! Take my word for it!"
Without puzzling his brains any further over the enigmas he wished to get to the bottom of, Fandor stretched himself on his plank bed, and was soon sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
Monsieur Fuselier looked perplexed.
"You, Fandor! You arrested!... But am I going mad?"
Our journalist had been taken from his cell at eight in the morning, and had been conducted to the office of the Public Prosecutor. Here, the acting magistrate, in conformity with the law, wished to put him through the examination which would establish his identity. All arrested persons have to submit to this interrogation within twenty-four hours of their arrival at the Dépôt.
Jérôme Fandor had given his name at once, and, in order to prove the truth of his statements, he had asked that Monsieur Fuselier should be sent for, so that the magistrate might vouch for his identity and say a word in his favour.
Monsieur Fuselier had hastened to the Dépôt, had taken Fandor to his office, and had anxiously questioned him. Why, he asked, had the police been obliged to arrest him for drunkenness in the open thoroughfare?
When Fandor had concluded his statement, the magistrate exclaimed:
"Your ruse is inconceivable!... I must compliment you highly on your ability and your detective gifts!"
"I wish I could agree with you," replied Fandor in a depressed tone. "In spite of everything, I have not got into communication with Jules. But, Monsieur Fuselier, have you interrogated him yet?"
The magistrate shook his head.
"Alas, my poor friend, you have no idea of the extraordinary events of the past night; evidently, notwithstanding the fact that you played a passive part in them!"
"I played a part?... Extraordinary events?... What the deuce do you mean?"
"I mean, dear Fandor, that all Paris is laughing over it. The police have been tricked! You have been tricked! Did you not tell me, just now, that your prison van had had an accident? Do you know what really happened?"
"I ask you to tell me."
"Your vehicle was run into by a motor-car. The driver was extremely clumsy ... or very capable!"
"What's that?" Fandor leaned forward, keen as a pointer on the scent.
"It was like this," replied Monsieur Fuselier. "Your Salad Basket was very badly knocked about by the collision. The driver could not possibly repair it single-handed. He telephoned to Headquarters. Help was sent at once, and he had orders to drive to the Dépôt as soon as he could: he was not to trouble about the boulevard Exelmans station; that, for once, could be cleared the following morning. Unfortunately the telephone messages and replies had taken up a certain amount of time. When they telephoned to the boulevard Exelmans station, from Headquarters, to warn them not to expect the injured Salad Basket, the Dépôt man who was telephoning was extremely surprised to hear that the Salad Basket had already passed on to the Auteuil station and had taken away the arrested individuals there, notably this famous Jules!..."
"I never calculated on this!" cried Fandor.
"The truth is, my dear fellow, that Salad Basket of yours was not knocked out of action by an unlucky accident—the knock-out was intentional—was carefully planned! It was done to stop your van from reaching the Auteuil station!... While your Basket was being repaired, another Basket appeared at the Auteuil clearing station! This, if you please, had been stolen! It was standing before the Palais de Justice. Two accomplices took possession of it and drove away. The daring rascals were suitably disguised, of course! They produced false papers at Auteuil, got them endorsed, went through the regular forms, and carried off the men from the detention cells, under the very nose and eyes of the superintendent himself!"
"What became of the stolen Basket?" snapped Fandor.
"It was found at dawn near the fortifications, and, need I say—empty!"
"So that Jules has escaped?"
"As you say!..."
"And the car which intentionally knocked my Salad Basket out of action—whose was it?"
Monsieur Fuselier smiled.
"Oh, it's a queer affair, in fact, it may lead to the wind-up of all the Dollon business—we may now get to the bottom of that series of crimes!... You will never guess who is the owner of that car, Fandor?..."
"No, I am no good at guessing riddles just now ... besides, I hate them!" Fandor was nettled, exasperated!
"We got the number of the car from a witness of the smash-up; and we have verified its correctness. Well, my dear fellow, the owner of that car is—Thomery!"
"Thomery!" gasped Fandor.
"Yes. I have summoned him to appear before me—the summons has just been issued. Between you and me, I think Thomery is guilty. When he appears here, in, say an hour from now, I shall issue a writ of arrest against this sugar refiner financier, and we don't know what else!"
But, no sooner had Monsieur Fuselier finished his statement—a statement which he fully expected would strike his young reporter friend dumb with amazement—than Fandor threw himself back in his chair and roared with laughter.
The magistrate was taken aback!...
"But ... what the devil do you find to laugh at in that?"
Fandor had already checked his hilarity.
"Oh, it's nothing! Only, Fuselier, I ask myself, if really and truly, Monsieur Thomery, who is a very big fellow solidly built, has been able to discover a dodge, by means of which he can leave Jacques Dollon's imprints here, there and everywhere!"
"But he does not leave Jacques Dollon's imprints, because Dollon is living, because he came to see his sister—why, you admitted that yourself!"
"Why, of course! It's true!... Jacques Dollon is alive.... I had forgotten.... Thomery can only be his accomplice then!" declared Fandor. And as Monsieur Fuselier stared at him, astonished at the way he had received the sensational news of the night, Fandor rose to take his leave.
"My dear Fuselier, will you allow me to express my opinion?..."
Monsieur Fuselier nodded.
"Well, I am sure, that with regard to this affair, there are more surprises in store for us: you have not got the answer to the riddle—not yet!"
With that, Fandor smiled and bowed, and left the magistrate's room. He quitted the Palais, half-smiling, half-serious.... What was he going to do next?