Loupart was taking a fruit cure. It was about ten in the morning, and along the Rues Charbonnière, Chartres and Goutte d'Or the women hawkers, driven from central Paris by the police, were making for the high ground of the populous quarters.
Loupart strolled along the pavement, making grabs at the barrows, picking a handful of strawberries or cherries as he went by. If by chance the dealer complained, she was quickly silenced by a chaffing speech or a stern glance.
The hooligan stopped at the "Comrades' Tryst," in front of which Mother Toulouche had set out a table with a large basket of winkles.
"Want to try them?" suggested the old woman on catching sight of Josephine's lover.
"Hand me a pin," he answered harshly, and in a few moments had emptied half a dozen shells.
"Friend Square, I've something to say to you."
"Out with it, then."
But before the old woman could reply, a noise of roller skates coming down the pavement made her turn.
Loupart looked round with a smile.
"Why here comes the auto-bus," he cried.
A cripple moving at a great pace came plump into the basket of shell-fish. The speed with which he travelled had earned him the nickname of the Motor. He was said to be an old railway mechanic, who had lost both legs in an accident.
"Motor," cried Mother Toulouche, "I have to be away for ten minutes or so; look after my basket, will you?"
Following the old dame to her den Loupart entered with difficulty, on account of the great quantity of heterogeneous objects with which it was crowded. The product of innumerable thefts lay heaped up pell-mell in this illicit bazaar.
Dame Toulouche, having shut the door, plunged into her subject.
"Big Ernestine is furious with you, Loupart."
"If she's threatening me," the hooligan replied, "I'll soon fix her."
"No, big Ernestine didn't want to fight, butshe was annoyed at the public affront put upon her by Josephine's lover when he drove her from 'The Good Comrades' the evening before last without any reason."
"Without any reason!" growled Loupart. "Then what was her business with those spies, the Sapper and Nonet?"
"That can't be! Not the Sapper!"
"Spies, I tell you; they belong to headquarters."
The old receiver of stolen goods cast up her eyes. "And they looked such decent people, too! Who can one trust?"
Loupart, for reply, suddenly picked up a scarf pin set with a diamond, and, tossing the old Woman a five-dollar piece, said as he left the room: "You can tell Ernestine that I bear her no malice."
Loupart had hardly gone a few steps along the Rue Charbonnière, when, at the corner of the Rue de Chartres, he bumped into a passer-by who was coming down the street.
Loupart burst out laughing: "What! Can this be you, Beard? What's happened to you?"
It certainly needed a practised eye to recognise the famous leader of the Cypher gang. For the Beard, who owed his name to an abnormal hairy development, was clean shaved; in addition, hewore a soft, greenish hat and was clad in a suit with huge checks.
"You told me to make up as an American."
"I did, and you've made yourself look like a hayseed juggins. For Heaven's sake, take it off. By the way, what about young Mimile?"
"He's with us."
"Well, get him the togs of a collegian for the job at the docks. What night do we bring it off?"
"Saturday night, unless the Cooper changes the time."
Loupart bent close to the ear of his lieutenant.
"Is he—easy to recognise?"
"No chance of making an error. Lean, togged in dark clothes and with one goggle eye."
Loupart touched the "Beard's" arm.
"First-class tickets for everybody."
"How many will there be?"
"Five or six."
"Women, too?"
"No, only my girl. But you can bet we shan't be bored!" With these words, Loupart walked away. He stopped a little later at the second house in the Rue Goutte d'Or, a decent-looking house with carpet on the stairs.
On reaching the fifth floor, he knocked several times on the door facing him, but withoutreply. This annoyed him; he didn't like Josephine to sleep late, and he expected her to be always ready when he condescended to come and fetch her.
Josephine was a pretty burnisher from Belleville, and Loupart, who had met her at a ball in that quarter six months ago had made her his favourite mistress.
Among the bullies and drabs that frequented the place, Josephine had appeared to him seductive, charming, almost virginal, and the popular hooligan had promptly chosen her from her sisters of the underworld.
Certainly Josephine had no reason to complain of her lover's conduct, and if at times he demanded of her a blind submission, he never treated her with that fierce brutality which characterised most of his fellows. But if Josephine had felt any leaning toward a good life, or any scruples of conscience, she must necessarily have thrown them overboard as soon as her connection with Loupart began. With a different start in life she might have become an honest little woman, but circumstances made her the mistress of a hooligan ring-leader, and, everything considered, she had a certain pride in being so, without imitating the vulgar and brutal behaviour of her companions.
At the third summons, Loupart, none too patient, drove the door in with a vigorous shove of his shoulders.
Josephine's apartment, a comfortable and spacious room, with a fine bird's-eye view of Paris, was empty.
Fancying his mistress was at some neighbour's gossiping, he bawled: "Josephine! Come here!"
Heads appeared, looking anxiously out of rooms on the same floor.
"Where is Josephine?" Loupart cried.
Mme. Guinon came forward.
"I don't know," she replied, stammering. "She complained of pains in her stomach last evening, and I was told she's gone."
"Gone? Gone where?" stormed Loupart.
"Why, I don't know; it was Julie who told me."
A freckled face, half hidden by a matted shock of hair, appeared. Julie was not reticent like her mother. She explained in a hoarse, alcoholic voice:
"It's quite simple. When I came in last night about four I heard groans in Josephine's room. I went to see and found Josephine writhing in pain as if she had been—poisoned."
"What did you do then?"
"Oh, nothing," declared Julie. "I just trottedaway again; it wasn't my business, but the Flirt came and meddled in it."
"The Flirt! Where is she?"
The Flirt, a faded, wrinkled woman of fifty, appeared from a doorway where she had been listening.
"Where is Josephine?" demanded Loupart.
"At Lâriboisière hospital, ward 22, since you want to know."
After a moment's amazement, Loupart broke out furiously:
"You sent off Josephine in the middle of the night! You took her to a hospital for a little indigestion! Without asking my consent! Why she's no more ill than I am!"
"Have to believe she is," replied the Flirt, "since the 'probes' have kept her."
Loupart turned and tramped downstairs swearing.
"She'll come out of that a damned sight quicker than she went in!"
A few moments later Loupart entered Father Korn's saloon. Having set forth his plans to that worthy, the latter proceeded to demolish them.
"You can't do anything to-day, so there's no use trying. You'll have to wait till to-morrow at midday, the proper visiting hour."
Loupart recognised the truth of the publican's assertion and, calling for writing paper, sat down and scrawled a letter to his mistress.
"Motor," he cried to the cripple who was still at Mother Toulouche's basket, "tumble along with this note to Lâriboisière; look sharp, and when you get back I'll stand you a glass."
As the cripple hurried away he was all but knocked down by a newsboy, running and shouting:
"Extra! Extra! GetThe Capital. Extraordinary and mysterious crime of the Cité Frochot. Murder of a woman."
"Shall I get a copy?" asked the publican.
Loupart stalked out of the saloon without turning.
"Oh, I know all about that," he cried.
Father Korn stood rooted to the spot at Loupart's answer.
"What! He knows already!"
The clerk, who had admitted Juve, withdrew, and M. de Maufil, the amiable director, gave the police officer his most gracious smile.
"When I applied this morning at headquarters for an officer to be sent here, I scarcely expected to receive so celebrated a detective, upon a matter which is really very commonplace."
"Your letter to M. Havard mentioned a person I have been looking for with the greatest interest for the past two days. Loupart, alias 'The Square,'" replied Juve, "that is why I came myself. What is it about, sir?"
"Well, the day before yesterday, we took in at the instance of Doctor Patel, a patient suffering from acute gastric trouble. The woman gave us for identification the name of Josephine, no calling, residing in Paris, Rue de Goutte d'Or, in furnished rooms. Some hours after her admission to the hospital, she received a letter, brought by a messenger, which threw her into a violent state of terror. The nurse on duty sent for me, and I succeeded, after great difficulty, in quieting her; but she insisted most emphatically on leaving the hospital at once. The poor creature was in a high fever, and to grant her request would have been sending her to her death. At length she intrusted me with the letter which had excited her so. Here it is, kindly look it over."
Juve took the letter and read:
"Am just back from the doss. You ain't there, and I don't want any more of these dodges. You are no more ill than I am. See here, you'll either leave the hospital and slope back to the house right off or to-morrow, Friday, at visiting time, as sure as my name's what it is, you'll get two bullets in your hide to teach you to hold your tongue."
"Am just back from the doss. You ain't there, and I don't want any more of these dodges. You are no more ill than I am. See here, you'll either leave the hospital and slope back to the house right off or to-morrow, Friday, at visiting time, as sure as my name's what it is, you'll get two bullets in your hide to teach you to hold your tongue."
Juve gave a grunt of satisfaction.
"You understand what is going on?" asked the director.
"Yes, but please go on with your story."
"Well, sir, you can guess that having read this letter, I easily got from the girl some information as to the writer. According to what she told me this Loupart is her lover, and he seems to have in a high degree that inconceivable pridewhich causes folks of his class, when they have sworn to kill some one, to carry out their threat, no matter what risk they may run themselves. The girl, Josephine, is convinced that to-morrow Loupart will come and kill her."
"You have told her that all precautions will be taken?"
"Of course. I pointed out to her that people do not come in here as they do into a bar; that being warned, I should have all the visitors watched who come here and asked to see her. I repeated to her that her lover probably wanted to frighten her, but that he could not do anything to injure her. I insisted that in the state she was in it was physically impossible for her to obey that wretch's bidding."
"And what was her answer to that?"
"Nothing. Her attack of alarm having subsided she seemed to fall into a condition of extreme prostration. I realised quite well that she regarded herself as condemned, that she had a far higher opinion of Loupart's daring than of my watchfulness, and, lastly, if she stayed it was because she realised that it was out of the question for her, in her weak state, to go back to her home."
While the director was speaking, Juve had retained a smiling and satisfied expression, seemingbut little affected by Josephine's terrible plight.
"I should very much like to know," continued the director, "why you said you knew the reasons for the threat being sent by this man to his mistress?"
Juve hesitated some moments; then, without going into details, said: "It would take too long to recount the motives which prompted Loupart to write that letter. This Josephine whom you see to-day trembling at her lover's threat not so long ago supplied the police with valuable hints concerning him. Has he learned that? Does he know the woman has rounded on him? Did he fear, above all, that she would tell tales again here at the hospital? It is quite possible. You see he must have had very strong reasons for giving her the order to come home——"
Juve here broke off, fingering Loupart's letter; then at length he placed it in his pocketbook.
"I will keep this document, director; it is a tangible proof of Loupart's criminal intentions. If he should put his threats into practice it would be difficult after that to deny premeditation."
"You think that such a thing is possible?"
"Don't you?"
"Loupart declares he will come to the hospital before three and kill his mistress, but surely it must be easy to render that impossible."
"You think the police are all-powerful, that we can arrest would-be murderers and render them incapable of harm? That is an error. We are prevented from taking effective action by a swarm of regulations. If I met Loupart on the street I would not be able to arrest him. I have no warrant. When a man holds his life cheap and is determined to risk everything, he has a pretty good chance of succeeding. Of course I shall take every measure to prevent Loupart killing his mistress, but I'm not at all sure of success."
"But M. Juve, we must have this girl Josephine transferred to another hospital if necessary."
Juve shook his head.
"And show Loupart we are aware of his purpose? Flatter the ruffian's vanity? No, we must let Loupart come, and catch him as he is about to commit the crime."
"What do you propose to do?"
"Study the hospital; arrange where to place my men," replied Juve.
"In that case, I will do everything I can to help you." M. de Maufil rang for an attendant and bade him take Juve to Doctor Patel's department.
Juve thanked the obliging director and tookleave. The attendant pointed to a row of windows under the roof.
"Doctor Patel's division begins at the corner window and runs to the window near the cornice."
"What are the means of access to the female ward?"
"Oh, that's quite simple, sir; you get into the woman's ward either by the door on the staircase or by the door at the back, which leads into the laboratory of the head physician, the room of the house surgeon on duty, and the departmental offices."
"And how do visitors pass in?"
"Visitors always go up the main staircase."
"Now," said Juve, "show me over Doctor Patel's division."
"Very good, sir. It will be all the more interesting to you, as it is just the visiting hour."
When Juve made his way into the woman's ward, Doctor Patel was actually in process of seeing his patients. He was passing from bed to bed, questioning each of the women under treatment and listening to the comments of the house staff who followed him.
"Gentlemen," the doctor was saying as Juve joined the group, "the patient we have just seen affords a very excellent and typical instance ofintermittent fever. The serum tests have not given any appreciable result; it is therefore impossible to arrive at——"
A hand was laid on Juve's shoulder.
"Why, the tests are always absolutely indicative! Palpable typhoid, eh? What do you think?"
Juve turned his head and could not suppress a cry of surprise.
"Doctor Chaleck!"
"What! M. Juve!—You here! Were you looking for me?"
Juve was dumbfounded. He drew Chaleck aside.
"Then you're attached to this hospital?"
"Oh, I have only leave to attend the courses."
"And I came here out of curiosity."
"In any case, allow me to thank you for the service you rendered me the other day. The officer who was with you seemed to take me for the guilty man."
"Well, you see, appearances...."
"But if anyone was a victim it was I. Apart from the finding of the murdered woman in my house, I have been robbed!"
Here the doctor broke off. A house surgeon was beckoning to him.
"Forgive me," he said to Juve. "I cannot keep my colleague waiting."
Leaving Chaleck, Juve went back to the attendant who had patiently waited for him.
"Stranger than ever!" he murmured. "There is no making it all out. Josephine writes that Loupart means to rob Chaleck. I track Loupart and he gives me the slip. I spend a night in a room where I see nothing, and where nevertheless a horrible amazing crime is committed. The murder takes place scarce a yard from me, and the doctor, the tenant of the house, sees nothing either, and does not even know the victim who is found next morning on his premises! Thereupon our informant, Josephine, goes into hospital; pain in the stomach, they say—hem! Poison, maybe? Then she gets a threatening letter from Loupart. And when I come to the hospital to protect her, whom do I meet but Doctor Chaleck!"
Juve, turning to the attendant who was escorting him, asked:
"You know the person I was speaking to just now?"
"Doctor Chaleck? Yes, sir."
"What is his business here?"
"He is a foreign doctor, I believe. I should fancy a Belgian. Anyhow, he is allowed by the authorities to follow the clinical courses and make researches in the laboratory."
Doctor Patel's division presented an unusually animated appearance that afternoon. Not only were the patients allowed to receive visitors, but quite a number of strange doctors had spent the day going from bed to bed, note-books in hand, studying the patients and their temperature charts. The nurses hesitated to call these individuals doctors, and the patients, too, seemed aware of their true status. Whispers were hushed, and all eyes turned toward the far end of the ward.
There, in a bed set slightly apart and near the house staff's quarters, lay Josephine, a prey to a racking fever and breathing with difficulty.
Exactly opposite her was the bed of an old woman who had been admitted that morning. Her face had almost entirely disappeared under voluminous bandages.
As the ward clock struck a quarter to three, an attendant appeared and announced:
"In ten minutes visitors will be requested to leave."
Two of the staff who had paced the ward since early in the day exchanged a smile.
"Here's the end of the farce," remarked one; "Loupart isn't coming."
"He said three; there are still thirteen minutes left," replied the other.
"Well, every precaution is taken."
"Precautions are of no use with men like Loupart."
"Eleven minutes left."
"What the devil could happen? There is no longer admission to the hospital; the visitors are leaving."
"Three minutes!"
"Look here, you'll end by making me think..."
"Two minutes."
"Well, own yourself beaten!"
"One minute."
Bang! Bang! Two shots from a revolver suddenly startled the silent ward.
There was a moment's consternation and uproar. The patients leaped from their beds and sought refuge in the corners of the ward, whilethe two house surgeons and the policemen, passing as doctors, rushed in a body toward Josephine's bed. Doors slammed. People came hurrying from all quarters.
Above the hubbub rose a calm voice.
"What the devil! Here I am drenched! What does that mean?"
The house surgeon reached the bed where the hopeless Josephine lay, white as a corpse, motionless. A large red blood stain was spreading on her sheet. Quickly the doctor uncovered the wounded woman and examined her.
"Fainted, she has only fainted!" And, silencing all comments, he called:
"Monsieur Juve! Monsieur Juve!"
The old woman who, a few moments before, had been dozing, now quickly sprang out of bed, and, tearing off her bandages, revealed the placid features of detective Juve.
"I understand everything except that I'm drenched to the bones," declared Juve, as he crossed to Josephine's bed, oblivious to the amazement his appearance caused.
"That's easily explained," said the house surgeon. "The girl was lying on a rubber mattress filled with water. One of the bullets punctured it."
"What damage did she receive?"
"A contusion on the shoulder. The murderer aimed badly owing to her recumbent position."
Juve beckoned to the officers.
"Your report? You've seen nothing?"
"Nothing."
"That's strange," declared the detective. "I kept an eye on Josephine myself, thinking that a movement on her part would betray the entrance of Loupart. She made no sign; but, however Loupart may have got in, he can't get out without falling into a trap. I have fifty men posted round the building. Now, the first point to clear up is the exact place from where the shot was fired."
"How can we get at that?"
"Very simply. By drawing an imaginary line between the spot where the bullet struck the mattress and where it went into the floor—extend this line and we find the quarter from where the shot was fired." A doctor came forward.
"M. Juve," he said, "that would bring us to the door of the staff's room."
"Ah, it's you, Doctor Chaleck! I'm glad to see you! You are quite right in your surmise. Do you see any objection to my reasoning?"
"I do. I came into the ward barely two seconds before the firing. No one was behind me and no one was walking before me."
Juve crossed to the door.
"It is from here that the shots were fired!"
And the detective added triumphantly as he stooped and picked up an object from the floor:
"And this backs up my assertion!"
He held out a revolver, still loaded in four chambers. "A precious bit of evidence!" He turned to the doctor:
"Can a stranger get into the wards by this door?"
"Utterly impossible, M. Juve! Only those thoroughly familiar with Lâriboisière can get into the ward through the laboratory. You must pass through the surgical divisions."
The detective seated himself at the foot of the sick woman's bed and mechanically laid the revolver beside him. But scarcely had he done so when he sprang up. Upon the sheet was a tiny red speck left by the muzzle of the weapon.
"Ah!—that's very instructive!" he cried. And as the others crowded round, puzzled, Juve added: "Don't you see? The murderer ran his finger along the barrel to steady his aim, and as the barrel is very short, the bullet grazed the tip of his finger which extended slightly beyond it. If I find anyone in the hospital with a wounded finger, I've got the murderer! Gentlemen, I am going to ask the director to issue orders foreveryone within the hospital gates to pass before me. I reckon that in two hours at most the culprit will no longer be at large."
The attempted murder happened at three o'clock; about six o'clock, those who had first been examined by Juve had received permission to leave the hospital and were beginning to depart.
With a careless step Doctor Chaleck made for the exit by which he issued every evening from Lâriboisière. As he was about to pass out, a police inspector barred his way.
"Excuse me, sir. Have you a pass?"
"A pass?"
"Yes, sir; no one is allowed to leave to-day without a pass from M. Juve."
The doctor looked at his watch.
"The deuce," he said. "I'm late as it is. Where am I to get this pass?"
"You must ask M. Juve himself for it. He is in the director's private room."
"All right, I'll go there." And Doctor Chaleck retraced his steps.
"It's astounding!" declared M. de Maufil. "We have already examined nearly two hundred persons and found nothing."
"That may be," replied Juve, "but we may discover the culprit by the two hundred and first hand held out to us."
"There is one thing you forget, M. Juve."
"What is that?"
"If the culprit gets wind of our method of investigation, if he has any notion that you are inspecting the hands of all those who desire to leave the hospital, he won't be such a ninny as to come and submit to your inspection."
Juve nodded approval of the comment.
"You are right; but I have taken means to obviate that difficulty."
Since he had begun his inquiry on the spot, from the very moment when the revolver shotshad rung out, the great detective was growing more and more sure that the arrest of the mysterious offender would be a matter of considerable time. The buildings of the establishment were extensive, and it was easy for a man to move about them without attracting attention. They offered really strange facilities for hiding.
"Mr. Director," said Juve, "I fancy we have inspected pretty well all the persons who leave Lâriboisière as a rule, at this time?"
"That is so."
"Then we must now change our plan. Let us leave a nurse here to detain those who come to ask for passes, and begin a search of the hospital ourselves. I shall post my officers in line, each man keeping in sight the one behind and the one before him. At the foot of every staircase I shall leave a sentry. Then, beginning at the outer wall of the building we will drive everyone on the ground floor toward the other end. If we don't round up our man there, we will proceed to the floor above."
"A good idea," replied M. de Maufil. "We shall catch him in a trap."
When Doctor Chaleck found that the inspector watching the exit leading to the main door in the Rue Ambroise Paré refused him leave to pass out of the hospital without the sanction ofthe great detective, he had perforce to retrace his steps. Skirting the bushes in the courtyard he took his way toward the medical wards, turning his back on the directoral offices, where he might have encountered our friend Juve. He had taken off his white uniform and was dressed in his street clothes. He halted at the entrance to the long glazed gallery which extends to the operating rooms of the surgical department. Turning suddenly, he saw in the distance and coming his way Inspector Juve, accompanied by the director. He noticed at the same time the cordon of officers preparing to sweep the hospital from end to end. Mechanically, and as if bent on putting a certain distance between him and the new-comers, he turned into the glazed gallery, and reached the far end of it. He was about to go into the surgical ward when a nurse stopped him.
"Doctor, you can't go in just now; Professor Hugard is operating and has given express orders that no one is to be admitted."
Chaleck turned up the gallery again, but abruptly swung round again as he caught sight of Juve and the director just entering the gallery, driving before them half a dozen patients and orderlies. Chaleck joined this little group, which had pulled up at the end of the gallery and was making laughing comments on the rigid inspection to which Juve was just about to subject them.
"Now's the time to show clean hands," joked a non-resident, "eh, Miss Victorine?" he added, smiling at a buxom nurse whom the chances of duty had blockaded in the corridor.
"Depend upon it," growled one of the accountants of the administrative department, shrugging his shoulders, "they are making a great fuss over nothing. After all, no one is hurt. Just one more pistol shot; in this neighbourhood we have ceased to count them."
An old man, who had his hand bandaged, suggested: "Perhaps they'll be wanting to arrest me since the culprit is wounded in the fingers, they say."
Dignified and calm, Juve did his best to restore liberty to each of the persons brought together. They had only to show their two hands held up in front of the face, the fingers apart. M. de Maufil, at a sign from Juve, immediately bade the attendant hand the person in question a card bearing his name and description. Armed with this "Sesame" he could come and go unimpeded all over the hospital.
Pointing to a large door at the extreme end of the corridor, Juve asked:
"What exit is that?"
The other smiled. "You want to see everything, don't you?"
The director, opening the heavy door, made room for Juve, who entered a very narrow passage, damp and quite dark. The passage, a short one, opened on a vast apartment, much like a cellar, lighted by air-holes in the ceiling and intensely cold. A noise of running water from open taps broke with its monotonous splash the silence of this place, solely furnished with a huge slab of wood running from one end to the other. Upon the slab dim and lengthy white shapes were outstretched, and when his eyes grew accustomed to the twilight, Juve recognised the vague outline of these weird bundles. They were corpses swathed in shrouds. The heads and shoulders alone were visible, and on the brows of the dead trickled icy water, dispensed sparingly but regularly by duck-billed taps that overhung the inclined plane.
The director explained: "This is the amphitheatre where we keep the bodies for post-mortems. Do you want to stay any longer?"
"There is no access to the room except by the door we came in at?"
"None."
"In that case," rejoined Juve, "and as there is no furniture here for a person to hide in, let uslook elsewhere. It's a rather gruesome place."
"You're not used to the sight, that's all," replied the director, as he led the way back to his office.
Juve looked at his watch. "Well, I must leave you now and make a report to M. Havard. I'm afraid the murderer has slipped through our fingers."
"But you'll come back?"
"Of course."
"What am I to do meanwhile?"
"Nothing, unless you care to go over the hospital again."
"And the passes? Are they to be in force still? We have no one in the place but the staff."
"That is essential," replied Juve. "I must know with certainty who comes in and goes out. However, anyone known to your doorkeeper who wishes to leave need only sign in a register."
It was light in the evening. One by one the rooms in Lâriboisière were being lit up.
The one exception was the grim amphitheatre, whose occupants would never need to see again.
Suddenly—and if anyone had been present, he would have experienced the most frightful impression it is possible to conceive—a corpse stirred.
Having assured himself that the door between the amphitheatre and the gallery was shut, the corpse, shivering with cold, threw off the shroud which enveloped him, and set to work to move his legs and arms about to start up his circulation. Then at the far end of the apartment this living corpse discovered, under a zinc basin attached to the wall, a bundle of linen and garments, which he seized upon.
His body shaking with cold, the man dressedhimself in haste, and then waited until he considered his clothes sufficiently dry not to attract attention.
Carefully ascertaining that the gallery was deserted, he then entered it and walked rapidly to the courtyard. To the right of the main gateway, the smaller gate leading into the Rue Ambroise Paré was open.
The man passed under the archway, and in a moment would have been clear of Lâriboisière, when the doorkeeper barred his way.
"Excuse me, who goes there?"
Then, having looked more closely:
"Why it's Doctor Chaleck! You're late in leaving us this evening, doctor. I suppose you've been kept pretty busy in ward 22?"
"That's so," replied Chaleck, for it was he. "That's why I'm in a hurry, Charles."
And Chaleck, with an impatient gesture, was about to slip out, but the porter stopped him again.
"One moment, doctor; you must register first."
"Is this a new hospital regulation?"
"No, doctor, it's the police who have ordered everyone entering or leaving the hospital to sign his name in this book."
The porter, having taken Doctor Chaleck into his lodge, opened a new register, and pointing tohalf a dozen names already written on the first page, he added:
"You'll not be in bad company; you're to sign just below Professor Hugard."
Chaleck smiled. "Tell me the latest news, Charles. Do they suspect anyone?"
"All I know is that fifty of them came here with dirty shoes, made a hubbub round the patients, put the service out of gear, and in the end caught nobody at all. But if the culprit is still here, he won't get out without the bracelets on his wrists!"
An equivocal smile touched the pale lips of Chaleck. It might be the weird inhabitant of the little house in Cité Frochot was not so sure as the porter was of the astuteness of the police. Perhaps he was thinking that a few hours before a certain Doctor Chaleck, hemmed in a passage with no exits and about to be compelled to show, like everyone else, the tips of his fingers, had, under the nose of the officers, and even of the artful and astute Juve, suddenly vanished, gone out of the world of the living and thought it necessary, for reasons he alone knew, to assume the rigidity of a corpse, the stillness of death. But the smile in a moment became frozen.
The doctor who had kept both hands in hispockets while talking to the porter, suddenly felt a sharp twinge in the fingers of his right hand, and it became moist and lukewarm. This happened as the porter held out the register for him to sign.
"Charles," he cried, "I'm in a great hurry; while I'm signing, please go out and stop the first taxi that passes."
"Certainly, sir," replied the man.
Scarcely had the doorkeeper turned his back when the doctor, with infinite precautions drew out his right hand and with evident difficulty began to write, holding the pen between the third and fourth fingers, as though unable to use the fore and middle ones.
As he was finishing his entry, he made what was doubtless an unintended movement, something unexpected happened, for he suddenly turned pale and repressed a heavy oath. Charles was just coming back to the lodge.
"Your taxi is here, Doctor."
"Right. Thank you."
Chaleck closed the register abruptly, jumped into the motor, threw an address to the driver, who got under way. On seeing the doctor shut the register, Charles cried: "The devil—there's no blotting paper in it, it will be sure to blot!"
And, though it was too late, the careful man rushed to the book and opened it. His eyes became fixed on the page where the signatures were. He stared, wide-eyed.
"Oh!—Oh!—" he murmured.
M. de Maufil was exceedingly nervous.
"As soon as you went back to headquarters," he declared to Juve, some moments after that officer had been shown into his private room, "I continued the search with redoubled efforts. Neither the ward-nurses, in whom I place complete confidence, nor the heads of my staff, whom I have known for ever so long, passed the doors of the hospital. In fact, I took every precaution and obeyed your instructions to the letter—yet all in vain."
"You found nothing?"
"Nothing. Not only did we not discover the criminal, but we did not come upon any trace of him."
"That's strange.".
"It is maddening. It would seem that from the instant the man fired those two shots in thewoman's ward in Patel's department he vanished, unaccountably. Your notion of examining the hands of all those in the hospital was an excellent one, but nothing came of it.
"He must have known the snare we were preparing for him and did not turn up at the hospital exit, so we must naturally conclude he is still inside the gates, hidden in some remote corner, or underground. However, the first thing to do is to protect the girl, Josephine. By the by, she saw nothing, I suppose?"
"She declares she did not see Loupart come in, but she asserts with a sort of perverse pride that it was certainly Loupart who fired at her because he had threatened to do so."
A knock at the door was followed by the timid entrance of the doorkeeper.
"Is that you, Charles? Come in," cried the director. "What do you want?"
"It's about the signature, sir. There is blood on my book."
In a moment Juve leaped from his chair and tore the register out of the porter's hands.
"Blood!"
Feverishly he turned the pages until he came to the writing. Without waiting for de Maufil's permission, he dismissed the porter.
"Very good, I'll see you presently."
Scarcely had the door shut, when Juve pointed to the page. "Look! Doctor Chaleck's signature! And just below it this mark of blood! What do you say to that, sir?"
"But it's sheer madness. Chaleck cannot be guilty!"
"Why not?"
"Because he is known to me. He was recommended to me seven months ago by an old comrade of mine. Chaleck is a man of brains, a foreign physician, a Belgian. He comes here specially to study intermittent fevers. M. Juve, I tell you he has nothing whatever to do with this affair." Juve picked up his hat and stick. He was restless and uneasy; the directors' outburst had not greatly impressed him.
"Doctor Chaleck could not explain how his finger came to be hurt and he did not inform us of the fact."
"A mere coincidence."
"Possibly, but it is a terrible coincidence for that man," replied Juve.
On leaving the director's room, the distinguished detective could not refrain from rubbing his hands. "This time I have him!" he muttered. He went rapidly down the stairs, crossed the great courtyard of the hospital, and proceeded to knock at the porter's lodge.
"Tell me, my friend, precisely how Doctor Chaleck's leaving the hospital came about?"
The worthy man with much detail, for he now felt very proud of having played a part in the affair, related how Doctor Chaleck came to the gate, sent him after a cab while signing his name, then made off, after having, no doubt by an oversight, closed the register.
"Very good! Thank you," was Juve's comment, bestowing a liberal tip on the man.
This time he was leaving Lâriboisière for good.
"Very characteristic, that piece of impudence," he reflected; "very like Doctor Chaleck that device of shutting the register he had just stained with blood in order to give himself time to make off!" On reaching the Boulevard Magenta he hailed a cab.
"Rue Montmartre. Stop at theCapitaloffice. You know it?"
A few minutes later Juve was shown into Fandor's office. But the detective no longer wore a smiling face, and his air of abstraction did not escape his friend.
"Anything fresh?" inquired Fandor.
"Much that is fresh! That's why I came here to see you."
The journalist smiled. "Thanks, Juve. It is,indeed, owing to you that theCapitalis the best posted sheet in town."
Then the detective proceeded to tell the reporter the startling discovery he had just made at Lâriboisière. He concluded:
"There, I suppose you can turn that into a thrilling story, eh?"
"I certainly can."
"The arrest is now scarcely more than a matter of time."
"And how are you going to set about it?"
"I don't quite know. Well, good-bye."
Fandor let the officer reach the door of the office, then called him back.
"Juve!"
"Fandor!"
"You are hiding something from me."
"I? Nonsense."
"Yes," persisted Fandor. "You are concealing something. Don't deny it. I know you too well, my friend, to be content with your reticences."
"My reticences?"
"You didn't come here merely to give me copy."
"Why——"
"No. You had some idea in coming to look me up and then you changed your mind. Why?"
"I assure you you are mistaken."
Fandor rose.
"All right, if you won't tell me, I shall follow you." At the journalist's announcement Juve shrugged his shoulders.
"That's what I feared. But it's absurd to be always dragging you into risky affairs."
"Where are we going?" asked Fandor briefly, as he lit a cigarette.
"We are going to-night to Doctor Chaleck's. If he's there we will force a confession from him; if he's not there, we will ransack his house for clues," and Juve added, smiling, "like good burglars. I have a whole bunch of false keys. We shall be able to get into Doctor Chaleck's without ringing his bell. Here's a snapshot I took of Josephine at the hospital." And throwing the proof on Fandor's desk, he said smilingly:
"The young woman's not bad looking, is she?"
"I'm afraid it's not quite the thing to enter people's houses in this fashion," whispered Juve, as the two men found themselves in the hall of Doctor Chaleck's little house in the Frochot district.
It was about midnight, and through the fan-light of the outer door a dim twilight enabled the detective and the journalist to get an idea of the place in which they stood.
It was a fairly large hall with double doors on either hand, leading into the drawing-and dining-rooms. At the far end rose a winding staircase, and under it a door to the cellar. A hanging lamp, unlit, was suspended from the ceiling and the walls were covered with dark tapestries.
Juve and Fandor remained silent and motionless for some moments. They might well be perturbed, for they had just entered the house in themost unwarrantable manner, and they knew the doctor to be at home. The lodge-keeper of the Cité had seen him return about two hours ago. For one moment Juve had asked himself whether he should not ring in the most natural manner in the world, and afterwards contrive some explanation; but the silence, the peace which prevailed and the conviction that Doctor Chaleck, quite off his guard, must be enjoying deep slumber, prompted him to try and get into the house unannounced. If the door was only bolted, if it was not secured from within by a latch, the officer might reckon on finding among his pass keys one that would allow him to open it. Juve was, indeed, equipped like the prince of burglars.
Well, the attempt had succeeded. Without trouble or noise, journalist and officer had made their way into the place.
Before imparting to Fandor his plan of operations, Juve handed him a pair of rubbers, and then at a signal they both ascended to the first floor.
The detective's plan was to make a sudden incursion into Chaleck's bedroom, and in the surprise of a sudden awakening, question him and inspect the fingers of his right hand, which, presumably, had left on the register a tell-tale trace of blood.
Juve had scarcely entered the room when Fandor switched on the lights; the two men started back in disgust; the room was empty!
Without pause, Juve cried: "To the study!"
A moment later they found themselves in the room they knew so well from having spent a whole night there, behind the window curtains.
Chaleck was not there either. Fandor searched the bathroom near by, careless of the noise he made, then hurried after Juve to the floor below in the fear that the doctor might already have made his escape.
Juve quickly reassured him the windows and shutters of the rooms were hermetically closed; the hall door had not been touched.
Suddenly slight sounds became audible from the floor above. A crackling of the boards, the muffled sounds of hasty footsteps, faint rustlings.
"Chaleck knows we are here," whispered Juve. "We must play with our cards on the table."
The two men cocked their pistols and made a rush upstairs. They had left the electric light burning on the floor above, and at first their eyes were dazzled by the sudden brightness, multiplied by the reflection from the glass which lined the octagonal-shaped landing.
Again the noises were heard. Chaleck or some one else was in the study.
Juve disappeared. In half a minute he returned and bumped into Fandor.
"Where are you coming from?" he cried. "I thought you were behind me."
"So I was," replied Fandor, "but I left you to take a look in the study."
"But it was I who was in the study!"
Fandor stared in amazement. "Are you losing your senses?"
"I've just come from there myself!"
"Well, we weren't there together, that's certain. Let's try again."
The two proceeded in the dark to the head of the staircase. With their heels they verified the last step; then Juve said in a low voice:
"I will go forward four paces. I am now in the middle of the landing; I lift the curtain, turn and go in."
The steady tick of the little Empire clock on the mantelpiece assured Juve that he was indeed in the study.
"Well, here I am," and mechanically he flung his hat on the sofa. But scarcely had he uttered these words when Fandor's voice, very clear, but some way off answered
"I am in the study, too."
Juve now switched on the light. Fandor was not there. Rushing back to the landing he ranfull tilt into his friend and the two gripped each other in amazement.
"Look here," exclaimed Fandor, "if I'm not mistaken, you turned to the right past the curtain while I went to the left; there may be two separate entrances to the study."
"Let us keep together this time," replied Juve; "I propose to get to the bottom of this mystery."
As they came out of the darkness of the passage and plunged into the full light of the room, Juve stopped short. His hat was no longer on the sofa.
Fandor went to the mantelpiece, turned and confronted the detective.
"I stopped the clock some moments ago, and here it is going and keeping exact time! How do you account for it?"
Juve was about to reply, when suddenly with a dry click the light went out.
Fandor, at the same moment, gave a startled cry: "Juve! the door is fastened; we are shut in!"
With one bound Juve leaped for the window; but after opening the casement he perceived that thick iron shutters, padlocked, banished all hope of escape in that quarter. Fandor was ashy pale; Juve staggered as he moved toward him.
"Walled in!" he cried. "We are walled in!"
But a new terror suddenly confronted the two men. The floor appeared to be giving way, and as the descent proceeded regularly, they realised that they were in a strange form of elevator.
The study, however, did not drop very far. With a slight shock it reached the end of the run and stopped short.
Juve cried with an air of relief, "Well, here we are, and it now remains to find out where we are."
The existence of two studies identical in every particular, one of which was housed in an elevator, explained not only the events of the evening, but also the tragedy of two days before.
"Juve! did you feel anything?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
Both had just experienced a weird sensation, impossible to define. Upon their hands and faces slight prickings irritated the skin. The air at the same time seemed heavier and more difficult to breathe. There was, besides, a soft, vague crackling. With some difficulty Juve lighted his pocket-lamp. By its faint glimmer the two men made a discovery. A fine rain of sand was falling from the ceiling.
"It's collapsed!" cried Fandor.
"We're done for!" replied Juve.
They passed through some awful moments. All around the sand gathered and rose.
Juve tried to comfort his friend:
"It would need an enormous amount of sand to fill this room and bury us alive. It will cease to fall presently."
But horrible to relate, as the level of the sand rose on the floor, they observed by the flickering gleam of the lamp, that the ceiling was now being lowered little by little.
Fandor raised his arm and touched it. They were about to be crushed.
"Juve, do not let me die this way. Kill me!"
His comrade made no reply. At first paralysed by the shock he now felt an unspeakable fury rise up in him. He began beating the walls with his fists, shaking the furniture. He seized a chair and drove it against the door. The chair struck with a ring upon metal and broke.
Uttering a loud sigh, the detective drew out his revolver; he would, at least, save his friend the torments of an awful death. Suddenly a fearful crash resounded. The moving mass of sand was falling away from them into some gaping hole below, while at the same time fresh, moist air reached them and refreshed their lungs. Evidently some communication with the outside world had been established.
Juve relit his lamp and was bending over to examine what had taken place when the floor all at once gave way under his feet and he fell, dragging Fandor with him.
They found themselves up to mid-leg in water, but unhurt.
Juve's voice rang out: "We are saved! I see now what happened! Our trap had a thin flooring, and, when down, it rested on a fragile arch. That arch gave way, and with the sand we have tumbled into the sewer of the Place Pigalle, which, if I am not mistaken, connects with the main of the Chaussée d'Autin. Come along, friend Fandor, we'll find means to get out of this before long."
Floundering in the mud, they made their way along the drain until Juve halted and uttered a cry of triumph. On the left wall of the vault his hand encountered iron rings one above the other. It was a ladder leading to one of the manholes in the pavement. He quickly climbed up and, with a vigorous push, raised the heavy slab. In a few moments both men emerged and fell exhausted in the roadway.
When Fandor recovered his senses he was lying in a large, ill-lighted hall. The first soundhe heard was Juve's voice arguing hotly and volubly.
"Why, you're nothing but a pack of idiots! We burglars! It's utter rot. I tell you I'm Juve, Inspector of Public Safety!"