"You understand my object, Fandor? Hitherto I have worked unaided. I wanted to unearth Fantômas and bring him to Headquarters, saying to my superiors, 'For three years you have maintained this man was dead; well, here he is! I have put the darbies on the most terrible ruffian of modern times.' Well, I must forego my little triumph. We must now work in the open. Public opinion must come to our aid."
"Then you want me to write my article?"
"Yes, and tell all the details; wind up by putting the question squarely. 'Is not Fantômas still alive?' Then sum up in the affirmative. Now, be off. I want to read your article this evening in theCapital."
Fandor had just left his detective friend when old Jean, the only servant that Juve tolerated in his private quarters, entered the room.
"Don't forget the person who is waiting in the parlour, sir."
"Ah, yes, to be sure. A person who comes to see me at home, when nobody knows my address should be interesting. Show him in, Jean."
Juve placed his revolver in reach of his hand as Jean announced: "Maître Gérin, notary."
Juve rose, motioned his visitor to a chair and inquired the object of his visit.
Maître Gérin bowed respectfully to Juve.
"I must apologise," he said, "for coming to disturb you at home, sir, but it concerns a matter of such importance and it involves names so terrible that I could not utter them within the walls of the Sûreté. What brings me here is a crime which must be laid to Fantômas or his heirs in crime."
Juve was strangely moved.
"Speak, sir, I am all attention."
"M. Juve, I believe that one of my clients, a woman, has been killed. I have had for some time a certain sympathy, and, I don't disguise it, an immense curiosity concerning her because she was actually involved in the mysterious affairs of Fantômas."
"The name of the woman, counsel, her name, I beg of you?"
"The name of the woman who, I fear, has been murdered is—Lady Beltham!"
Juve gave a sigh of relief. It was the name he wished to hear.
Maître Gérin continued: "I have been Lady Beltham's lawyer for a long period of time, but since the Fantômas case came to an end in the sentencing to death of Gurn and the subsequent scandal attached to the name of Lady Beltham, I have ceased to have any further tidings of that unhappy woman.
"Indirectly, through the medium of the papers which at times gave out some echo of her, I knew that she had been travelling, then, that she was back in Paris, and had gone to live at Neuilly, Boulevard Inkermann. But I did not see her again. It is true her family matters were settled, her husband's estate entirely wound up. In short, she had no reason to appeal to me professionally."
"To be sure."
"Well, some days ago, I was greatly surprised by her visiting my office. Naturally I refrained from asking her any awkward questions."
Juve interrupted: "In Heaven's name, sir, how long ago is it since Lady Beltham called on you?"
"Nineteen days, sir."
A sigh of relief escaped Juve. He had feared all his theories regarding the body at the Morguethe day before were going to collapse. "Go on, sir," he cried.
"Lady Beltham, on being shown into my private office, appeared to me much the same physically as I had known her previously, but she was no longer the great lady, cold, haughty, a trifle disdainful. She seemed crushed under a terrible load, a prey to awful mental torture. She made appeal to my discretion, both professionally and as a man of honour.
"She then spoke as follows: 'I am going to write a letter which, if it fell into the hands of a third person, would bring about a great calamity. This letter I shall intrust to you together with my Will which will instruct you what to do with it at my death. I will send you a visiting card with a line in my own handwriting every fortnight. If ever this card fails to come, conclude that I am dead, that they have murdered me, and carry that letter where I tell you—Avenge me!'"
"Well, what then?" cried Juve, anxiously.
"That is all, M. Juve. I have not seen Lady Beltham again, nor had any news of her. When I called at her residence I was told she was away. I have come to ask you whether you think she has been murdered."
Juve was pacing his room with great strides.
"Maître," he said at last, "your story confirmsall I have suspected. Yes, Lady Beltham is dead. She has been murdered. That letter contained her confession and revealed not only her own crimes, but those of her accomplices, of her master—of—Fantômas. Fantômas killed her to free himself of a witness to his evil life."
"Fantômas! But Fantômas is dead."
"So they say."
"Have you proofs of his existence?"
"I am looking for them."
"What do you think of doing?"
"I am going to make an investigation. I am going to learn where and how Lady Beltham was killed. I shall see you again, Maître. ReadThe Capitalthis evening. You will find in it many interesting surprises."
"To sum up what I have just learned."
Juve was seated at his desk, and those who knew the private life of the great detective would assuredly have guessed that he was gravely preoccupied. He was trying to extract some useful information from the notary's visit, some hints essential to the investigation he had taken in hand, and that at all hazards he meant to pursue to a successful termination. The task was fraught with difficulties and even peril. But the triumph would be great if he should succeed in putting the "bracelets" on the "genius of crime," as he had called him to his friend Fandor.
"Lady Beltham had gone to visit Gérin. She was an astute woman after all, and knew how to get her own way. There must have been powerful motives which urged her to write that confession. What were those motives?
"Remorse? No. A woman who loves has no remorse. Fear? Probably, but fear of what?"
Juve, without being aware of it, had just written on the paper of his note-book the ill-omened name which haunted him.
"Fantômas!"
"Why, of course, Fantômas killed Lady Beltham, and killed her in the house of Doctor Chaleck, an accomplice. And Loupart, a third accomplice, got his mistress to write to me, and I believed the denunciation. Loupart got us to dog him, led me unawares behind the curtains in the study, and made me witness that Chaleck was innocent. Oh, the ruse was a clever one. Josephine herself, by the two shots she received some days later at Lâriboisière, became a victim. In short, the scent was crossed and broken."
The detective snatched up his hat, saw carefully to the charges of his pocket revolver, then gravely and solemnly cried:
"It is you and I now, Fantômas!" with which he left his rooms.
Juve and Fandor were entering a taxi-cab.
"To Neuilly Church," cried Juve to the driver. "And, now, my dear Fandor, you must be thinking me crazy, as less than two hours ago I sent you off to write an article, and here I come taking you from your paper and carrying you away in this headlong fashion. But just listen to the tale of this morning's doings."
Juve then gave a full account of Maître Gérin's visit and wound up by saying: "It is through Lady Beltham that we must unearth that monster, Fantômas."
"That's all very well," replied Fandor, "but as the lady is dead, how are we going to set about it?"
"By reconstructing the last hours of her life. We are now on our way to Lady Beltham's residence, Boulevard Inkermann."
"And what are we to do when we arrive there?"
"I shall examine the house, which is probably empty, and you are to 'pump' the neighbours, to ask questions of the tradespeople. I should attract too much attention if I were to do this myself, and that is why I dragged you away from your work."
Some moments later the taxi pulled up at the corner of Boulevard Inkermann.
"The house is number—" said Juve as he took Fandor by the arm. "Bless me, you remember the house! It is the one in which I arrestedGurn three years ago; that famous day he came to see Lady Beltham, disguised as a beggar."
The two friends soon found themselves at their destination. Through the garden railing, which was wholly covered with a dense growth of ivy, the two saw the house, which now looked very dilapidated.
"It doesn't look as if it had been inhabited for a long while," said Fandor.
"That's what we want to make sure of. Go and make your inquiries."
Fandor left his companion and made his way back to the commercial section of Neuilly. He stopped opposite a sign which read:
"Gardening done."
"Anyone there?" he inquired.
An old woman, standing in the doorway, came forward. "What can I do for you, sir?"
"If I am not mistaken, it was you who attended to Lady Beltham's garden?"
"Yes, sir, we kept her garden in order. But my husband hasn't worked there for several months, as Lady Beltham has been away."
"I heard she was coming back to Paris, and called to-day, but found the house closed up."
"Oh, I am sorry. Lady Beltham's an excellent customer and Mme. Raymond also bought flowers of us."
"Mme. Raymond. She is a friend of Lady Beltham?"
"Her companion. It is now close to a year that Mme. Raymond has been living with her. Oh! a very pleasant lady; a pretty brunette, very elegant and not at all proud."
Fandor thought it well not to seem astonished.
"Oh, yes, of course," he cried, "Mme. Raymond. I remember now. Lady Beltham's life is so sad and lonely."
"True enough," the woman replied, and, lowering her voice: "And then, what with all these tales of noises and ghosts, the house can't be too pleasant to live in, eh?"
Fandor pretended to be well posted. "People still talk of these incidents?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
Fandor did not venture to press the subject, and, taking leave of the worthy woman, he made his way back to the Boulevard. As soon as Juve caught sight of him in the distance he ran up eagerly.
"Well?"
"Well, Juve, what have you found out during my absence?"
"In the first place that it is exactly sixty-four days since Lady Beltham left Neuilly. I discovered this by the dates on a lot of circulars in theletter box. I also had a talk with a butcher's man and learned that Lady Beltham had a companion."
"Oh! I was bringing you that same news!"
"This Mme. Raymond is young, dark, very pretty. Can't you guess who she is?"
Fandor stared at Juve.
"You mean——"
"Josephine. It's perfectly clear. We know Lady Beltham wrote a confession, that Fantômas suspected this and murdered her to get hold of it, and further that in this murder Loupart was involved. Josephine was introduced to Lady Beltham by Fantômas. A spy going there to betray the great lady and possibly entice her later to the Cité Frochot. Let us make haste, lad. We thought we had to follow the trail of Loupart and Chaleck, but we mustn't lose sight of Josephine. She may be the means of helping us to the truth."
The somewhat grim faces of Mme. Guinon, Julie and the Flirt lit up suddenly. Bonzille, the tramp set free by the police the day after the "drive" in the Rue Charbonnière, had opened the bottle of vermouth, and Josephine bustled around to find glasses to put on the table.
Josephine had visitors in her little lodging. There was to be a quiet lunch. On the sideboard attractive dishes were ready, a fine savour of cooking onions came from the dark corner in which Loupart's pretty mistress was doing hasty cookery over the gas.
"Neat or with water?" asked Bonzille, performing his office of cup bearer with comical dignity.
Mme. Guinon asked for plenty of water. Julie shrugged her shoulders indifferently; she didn't care so long as there was drink, while theFlirt, in her cracked voice, breathed in the loafer's ear: "How about a sip of brandy to put with it?"
The appetiser loosened tongues: they began to cackle. From a drawer Josephine got out a pack of cards, which the Flirt promptly seized, while Julie, leaning familiarly on her shoulder, counselled her:
"Cut with the left and watch what you are doing; we shall see if there's any luck for us in the pack."
Josephine had now been back three days from her painful journey and had not seen Loupart. The latter, after having abandoned the motor in some waste ground among the fortifications, had vanished with the Beard, only bidding his mistress go home as if nothing had happened and wait for news of him.
The Simplon Express affair had made a great stir in the fashionable world, and had produced considerable uneasiness among the criminal class.
To be sure no name had been mentioned, and apparently the police were not following any definite clue. Still, in the Chapelle quarter, and especially in the den of the "Goutte d'Or" and the Rue de Chartres, it was noticed that the absence of the chief members of the Band ofCyphers coincided with the date of the tragedy.
At first there had been some slight stand-offishness shown to Josephine on her return. She was greeted with doubtful allusions, equivocal compliments, with a touch of coldness, and folks were also amazed at not seeing Loupart reappear with her.
Josephine told herself that she must at all costs disabuse her neighbours of this bad impression, and that is why she had decided to give a luncheon party to her most intimate friends. These might also be her most formidable opponents, for such damsels as the Flirt and Julie, even big Ernestine, could not fail to be jealous of the mistress of a distinguished leader; besides, she was the prettiest woman in the quarter.
Joining the conversation from time to time, Josephine smiled and regained confidence. Her man[oe]uvre bade fair to be crowned with success.
As they sat down to table the door opened and Mother Toulouche came in, carrying a capacious basket.
"Well," cried the old fence, "I got wind that something was going on here, and I said to myself, 'Why shouldn't Mother Toulouche be in it as well?' One more or less don't matter, eh, Josephine?"
Josephine assented and made room for her.Before sitting down the old woman put her basket on the floor.
"If I invite myself, Fifine, I bring something to the feast. Here are some portugals and two dozen snails which will help out."
All at once, Josephine, who, despite the general gaiety, was absent-minded and preoccupied, rose and ran to the door, answering a knock. She was at bottom horribly uneasy at hearing nothing of her lover. She began to fear that the police for once might have got the upper hand. It was little Paulot, the porter's son, who rushed in quite out of breath.
"Mme. Josephine, mother told me to come up and warn you that two gentlemen were asking for you in the lodge just now. Two gentlemen in special 'rig.'"
"Do you know them, Paulot?"
"I don't, Mme. Josephine."
"What did they want of me?"
"They didn't say."
"What did your mother answer?"
"Don't know. Believe she told 'em you were in your den."
The occurrence cast a chill over the company. Little Paulot was given a big glass of claret, and when he had left the Flirt observed gravely:
"It's the cops."
"Why should they come and inquire for me?"
Julie tried to console her.
"Anyhow they'll not come up to your place."
Josephine was greatly upset. Were they after her or Loupart? Why had they withdrawn? Would they come back?
In a flash she burst out, beating her fist on the table:
"Bah! I've had enough of this, not knowing what is going to happen from one moment to the next. Sooner than stay here, I'll go and find out."
The Flirt suggested, with a spiteful smile.
"Go ahead, my girl, they won't be far away; go and ask them what they want."
"Very well," cried Josephine, "I will."
And the young girl emptied her glass to give her courage.
"And if you don't come back, we'll set your room to rights," cried the Flirt after her. "Good luck, try and not sleep in the jug."
Josephine rushed downstairs, and then, after a moment's hesitation, turned and went down the Rue de Chartres.
At first she noticed nothing unusual or suspicious. The faces of those she met were mostly familiar to her. But suddenly her heart stoppedbeating. Two men accosted her simultaneously, one on her right, the other on her left.
Her neighbour on the right asked very softly:
"Are you Josephine Ramot?"
"Yes."
"You must come with us."
"Yes," said Josephine, resigned.
A few moments later, Josephine, seated in a cab between the two men, was crossing Paris. The detectives had given the address: "Boulevard du Palais."
Loupart's mistress, taken on her arrival to the ante-room adjoining the private rooms of the examining magistrates, had not much time for reflection.
To be sure, she was not guilty. Not guilty? Well, at bottom the affair of the Marseilles train made Josephine uneasy. And the story of the motor, too, the motor taken by force from unknown travellers. What knowledge had the police of these events? When questioned, was she to confess or deny?
A little old man, bald and fussy, appeared at the end of the passage and called her.
"Josephine Ramot, the private room of Justice Fuselier."
Mechanically she went forward between her two captors, who pushed her into a well-lit apartment, in the corner of which stood a big desk. A well-dressed gentleman was sitting there, writing; opposite him, in the shadow, some one stood motionless. The magistrate raised his head; his face was cold and contained, but not spiteful.
"What is your name?"
"Josephine Ramot."
"Where were you born?"
"Rue de Belleville."
"What is your age?"
"Twenty-two."
"You live by prostitution?"
Josephine coloured and, with an angry voice, cried:
"No, your honour, I have a calling. I am a polisher."
"Are you working now?"
Josephine felt awkward.
"Well, to say the truth, at the moment I have no work, but they know me at M. Monthier's, Rue de Malte; it was there I was apprenticed, and——"
"And since you became the mistress of the ruffian Loupart, known as 'The Square,' you have ceased to practise an honest calling?"
"I won't deny being Loupart's mistress, but as for prostitution——"
The man Josephine had noticed standing inthe shadow came forward and murmured a few words in the magistrate's ear.
"M. Juve," cried Josephine, moving toward the inspector with her hand out. She stopped short as the detective motioned to her that such a familiarity was not allowable, and the examination was resumed.
The magistrate, after having by some curt questions brought to light the salient points of Josephine's life, and clearly mapped out the speedy development of the honest little work girl into a ruffian's mistress, and in all probability, accomplice, began the interrogation on the main point.
At some length he narrated without losing a single change of her countenance, the various incidents of the evening begun in the railway which ended with the disaster to the Simplon Express.
Fuselier made Josephine pass again through her headlong exit from Lâriboisière, her quick passage through Paris when she was barely convalescent, and still suffering from the effects of the fever, her departure in the Marseilles Express, where she picked up half a score of footpads headed by her redoubtable lover; then the waiting in the silence of the night, the affray, the threats, and lastly, after breaking the couplings to the train, the dangerous flight of the band, the headlong rush through the country.
The magistrate wound up:
"You came to town afterwards, Josephine Ramot, in company with Loupart, called 'The Square,' and his factotum, the ruffian 'Beard.'"
Josephine, embarrassed by the steady glance of the magistrate, endeavoured to keep her face devoid of expression, but as in his recital the points of the adventure she had shared grew more definite, she felt she was constantly changing colour and at certain moments her eyelids quivered over her downcast eyes.
Evidently he was well posted. That young man who got into the same compartment as M. Martialle must certainly have belonged to the police. But for that the judge would never have known precisely what took place. Decidedly this was a bad beginning.
Josephine now dreaded to see the door open and Loupart appear, the bracelets on his wrists, followed by the Beard, similarly fettered, for beyond a doubt the two men had been nabbed.
Hunched up, her nerves tense, Josephine kept her mind fixed on one point. She was waiting anxiously for the first chance to protest. At a certain juncture the magistrate declared:
"You three, Loupart, 'The Beard' and yourself, shared between you the proceeds of the robberies committed."
As soon as she could get a word in, Josephine shouted her innocence.
Oh, as to that, no! She had not touched a cent from the business. She did not even know what was involved.
The exact truth was this. She was ill in the hospital when all of a sudden she remembered that Loupart had some days before bidden her be at all costs at the Lyons Station, on a certain Saturday evening at exactly seven o'clock. Now that particular Saturday was the day after the attempt on her life. As she was much better she set off in obedience to her lover. She knew no more; she had done no more; she would not have them accuse her of any more.
The young woman had gradually grown warm, her voice rose and vibrated. The judge let her have her say, and when she had finished there was a silence.
M. Fuselier slowly dipped a pen in the ink, and in his level voice declared, casting a glance in Juve's direction:
"After all, what seems clearly established is complicity."
Josephine gave a start—she knew the terrible significance of the term. Complicity meant joint guilt.
But Juve intervened:
"Excuse me, in place of 'complicity' perhaps we had better say 'compulsion.'"
"I don't follow you, Juve."
"We must bear in mind, your honour, that this girl is to be pardoned to a certain extent for having obeyed her lover's order, more particularly at a time when the latter had gained quite a victory over the police. For in spite of the protection of our people, his attempt against her partially succeeded."
Taken aback, M. Fuselier looked from the detective to the young woman whom he regarded as guilty. Juve's outburst seemed to him out of place.
"Your pardon, Juve, but your reasoning seems to me somewhat specious; however, I will not press this charge against the girl; we have something better."
Turning to Loupart's mistress, the judge asked abruptly:
"What has become of Lady Beltham?"
Josephine was amazed by the question. She turned inquiring eyes toward Juve, who quickly said:
"M. Fuselier, this is not the moment——"
The magistrate, dropping this line, again tackled Josephine on her relations with Loupart.
In a flash Josephine made up her mind. Shewould simulate innocence at all costs. With the craft of a consummate actress, she began in a low voice, which gradually rose and became impressive, insinuating:
"How pitiful it is to think that everyone bears a grudge against a poor girl who, some day in springtime, has given herself the pleasure of a lover! Is there any harm in giving oneself to the man who loves you? Who forbids it? No one but the priests, and they have been kicked out of doors!"
The magistrate could not help smiling, and Juve showed signs of amusement.
"But I am honest, and when I understand something of what was going on, I wrote to M. Juve. And what thanks did I get? Two bullet holes in my skin!"
M. Fuselier hesitated about turning his summons into a committal.
The fête of Montmartre was at its height. In the Place Blanche a joyous crowd was pressing round a booth of huge dimensions, splendidly lighted. On the stage a cheap Jack, decked out in many-coloured frippery, was delivering his patter:
"Walk in, ladies and gentlemen; it's only ten cents, and you won't regret your money! The management of the theatre will present to you, without delay, the prettiest woman in the world and also the fattest, who weighs a trifle over 600 pounds and possibly more; as no scale has yet been found strong enough to weigh her without breaking into a thousand pieces.
"You will also have the rare and weird sight of a black from Abyssinia whose splendid ebony hide has been tattooed in white. Furthermore, a young girl of scarcely fourteen summers willastound you by entering the cage of the ferocious beasts, whose terrible roarings reach you here! The programme is most interesting, and after these incomparable attractions, you will applaud the cinema in colours—the last exploit of modern science—showing the recent tour of the President of the Republic, and himself in person delivering his speech to an audience as numerous as it is select. You will also see, reproduced in the most stirring and life-like manner, all the details of the mysterious murder which at this moment engages public interest and keeps the police on tenter-hooks. The crime at the Cité Frochot, with the murdered woman, the Empire clock, and the extinguished candle: all the accessories in full, including the collapse of the elevator into the sewer. The show is beginning! It has begun!"
Among the throng surrounding the mountebank three persons seemed especially amused by the peroration. They were two gentlemen, very elegant and distinguished, in evening clothes, and with them a pretty woman wearing a loose silk mantle over her low dress.
She put her lips to the ear of the older of her companions, who, with his turned-up moustache and grey hair, looked like a cavalry officer.
She murmured to him these strange words:
"Squint at the guy on the left, the one passing before the clock-seller's booth. That's one of the gang. He was in the Simplon affair."
The pretty Parisian, so smartly dressed, was no other than Josephine. The young man with the fair beard was Fandor and the cavalry officer was Juve. The three now "worked" together. The partnership dated from the afternoon that Josephine escaped arrest, thanks to the lucky intervention of Juve.
The latter had little belief in the young woman's innocence, but by getting her on his side, he hoped to secure information as to Loupart's doings.
Juve was talking to a ragged Arab selling nougat to the passers-by.
"Ay, sir," explained the Arab. "I have been dogging little Mimile since two this afternoon."
"Bravo, my dear Michel, your disguise is a perfect success."
Josephine came suddenly close and pulled Juve by the sleeve, and then pointed to a group of persons who were crossing the Place Blanche. Without troubling further about the Arab, Juve at once began to follow this group, motioning to Josephine and Fandor to follow him closely. The three threaded their way through the crowd with a thousand precautions, seeking to avoid attention, yet not losing sight of their quarry. All three had recognised Loupart!
The outlaw, dressed in a long blouse, with a tall cap, and armed with a stout cudgel, was walking among half a dozen individuals similarly attired. By their garb they would be taken for cattle-herders from La Villette.
This group proceeded slowly in the direction of Place Pigalle, and Juve, who was pressing hard on his quarry, slackened his pace in order to let them forge ahead a little. The square, which was surrounded by brilliantly illuminated restaurants, was a flood of light, and the detective did not want people to notice him. Moreover, the pseudo-cattle-drivers had stopped, too: gathering round Loupart they listened attentively to his remarks, made in a low tone. Clearly they were accomplices of the robber, who, perhaps, realised that they were being followed.
Fandor, who had put his arm through Josephine's, felt the young woman's heart beating as though it would burst. They were all playing for high stakes. Josephine, especially, was in a compromising and dangerous plight. Not only had she to fear the wrath of her lover, but she ran the risk of being "spotted" by one of the many satellites of the gang of Cyphers, in which case her condemnation would be certain.
Fandor encouraged her with a few kind words:
"You know, mademoiselle, you mustn't be frightened. If I am not greatly mistaken, Loupart is about to be nabbed, and once in Juve's hands he won't get out of them in a hurry."
Josephine's perturbation was scarcely quieter, and Fandor, a trifle skeptical, asked himself whether in reality the girl was on their side or if she were not playing the game of false information. Suddenly something fresh happened.
Loupart, separating himself from his companions, entered a restaurant upon which the words
"The Crocodile"
were inscribed in dazzling letters on its front. The Crocodile comprised, like most night resorts, a large saloon on the ground floor and a dining-room on the first floor which was reached by a little stairway and guarded by a giant clad in magnificent livery. Above this were apartments and private rooms.
Just then, as it was near midnight, a number of carriages were bringing couples in evening dress, who mounted the staircase. To their great surprise, Fandor and Josephine saw Loupart make for this staircase. The long smock of the seeming cattle-driver would certainly make aqueer showing. What was the formidable robber's game? Juve gave hasty directions:
"It's all right. I know the house. It has only one exit. You, Ramot," he went on, addressing the young woman, "go up to the first floor and take your place at a table; here are ten dollars, order champagne and don't be too stiff with the company."
Josephine nodded and went upstairs.
Juve and Fandor followed a few minutes later and took up a strategic position at a table near the doorway. Fandor had a view of the room and Juve commanded the hall and stairway. From the room came a confused hum of laughter, cries and doubtful jokes. A negro, clad in red and armed with a gong, capered among the tables, dancing and singing.
Fandor caught sight of Josephine, who appeared to be carrying out Juve's instructions. Beside her was a fair giant of red complexion and clean-shaven face, whose Anglo-Saxon origin was beyond doubt. Fandor knew the face; he had seen the man somewhere; he remembered his square shoulders and bull-like neck, and the enormous biceps which stood out under the cloth of his sleeves.
"By Jove!" he cried suddenly. "Why it's Dixon, the American heavyweight champion!"
Juve signalled to the waiter to bring him the bill as he fitted a monocle into his right eye.
Fandor stared at him, surprised.
"Well, Juve, when you get yourself up as a man of the world, you omit no detail."
Juve made no reply for some moments, then turned to his companion.
"Who else do you see in the room?"
Fandor looked carefully, and then made a gesture of amazement.
"Chaleck! Chaleck is over there eating his supper!"
"Yes," said Juve simply, "and you are stupid not to have seen him before."
The profile of the mysterious doctor was in fact outlined very sharply at a table, amply served and covered with bottles and flowers, around which half a score of persons, men and women, had taken their places.
Without turning his head, Juve remarked:
"Judging by the action of the person who is at this moment lighting a cigar the supper is not far from coming to an end."
"Come, now, Juve, have you eyes in your back? How can you know what is going on at Doctor Chaleck's table, while you are looking in the opposite direction?"
Juve handed his eye-glass to the journalist.
"Ah! Now I see! A trick eye-glass, with a mirror in it—not a bad idea."
"It is quite simple," murmured Juve. "The main thing is to have thought of it. Come, let us go down."
"What? And desert the doctor?"
"An arrest should never be made in a public place when it can be avoided. Here, give me your card that I may send it up with mine."
Juve called M. Dominique, the manager, and, pointing out Chaleck to him, said:
"M. Dominique, please give our cards to that gentleman and say that we are waiting outside to speak to him."
In a few moments Chaleck came out of the saloon to the Place Pigalle.
His face was calm and his glance unmoved. Juve laid his hand upon the doctor's shoulder, and, signalling to a subordinate in uniform, cried:
"Doctor Chaleck, I arrest you in the name of the law."
Chaleck quietly flicked off his cigar ash and smiled:
"Do you know, M. Juve, I am not pleased with you. I read in the papers, during a recent holiday abroad, that you had pulled my house absolutely to pieces! That was not nice of you, when we had been on such good terms."
This speech was so startling, so unlooked for, that Juve, though not easily surprised, had nothing to answer for the moment.
Meanwhile, Chaleck tamely let himself be dragged toward the station in the Rue Rochefoucauld.
"The fine fellow," thought Juve, "must have got his whole case prepared—he will give us a run for our money; still it must——"
The detective gave vent to a loud yell. They had just got to the point where the Rue Rochefoucauld is intersected by the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette: a cab drawn by a big horse was moving in one direction and a motor-bus coming from another. It had already cleared the Rue Pigalle, and in a second would cut across the Rue Rochefoucauld, when Chaleck, literally coming out of the Inverness coat he wore, leaped ahead of Juve, dodged under the cab horse and boarded the bus, which rapidly went on its way. All this had been accomplished in an instant.
Left dumbfounded, face to face, Juve and Fandor, together with the officer, contemplated the only token left them by Chaleck. An elegant Inverness cloak with capes, which, oddly enough, had shoulders and arms—arms of India-rubber, so well imitated that through the cloth they distinctly gave the impression of human arms.
Juve let fly a tremendous oath, then turned to Fandor and cried:
"How about Loupart?"
The two men hastily reascended the Rue Pigalle. They counted on standing sentry again before the "Crocodile." But as they reached the square Juve and Fandor were faced by fresh surprises. A powerful motor-car was slowly getting under way. In it was the American Dixon, with Josephine beside him.
Was the girl playing them false? That was the most important thing to ascertain.
The car made off at a good pace toward the Place Clichy. Half a moment later Juve was bowling after them in a taxi, calling to Fandor as he left:
"Look after the other."
Fandor understood "The other" referred to Loupart, and carefully pumped M. Dominique, but could get no further news from him, so, after waiting an hour for Juve to return, he went home to bed far from easy in his mind.
Juve followed the American through Billancourt, past Sèvres Bridge, and finally into the Bellevue District, when, opposite Brimboison Park, Dixon, with the air of a proprietor, took his motor into a fine looking estate. Then, having housed the car, the pugilist, with Loupart's mistress, went into the house, which was lit up for half an hour, after which all was plunged again into darkness.
Juve had left his taxi at the bottom of the hill, and, having cleared the low wall of the grounds, hid himself in view of the house. He waited until daybreak, but nothing occurred to trouble the peace and hush of the night. And then, unwilling to be seen in his evening clothes by chance passers-by, he regretfully returned to the Rue Bonaparte.
An old servant had brought out the early coffee to the arbour in the garden. It was about eight o'clock, and in the shady retreat the freshness of springtime reigned. Soon down the gravel walk appeared the well-built figure of Dixon, dressed in white flannels. He bent under the arch of greenery that led to the arbour, and seemed vexed to find that it was empty.
Clearly the pugilist was not going to breakfast alone and, to while away the time until his companion should appear, he lighted a cigarette.
Suddenly the door of the house opened to give passage to a gracious apparition—Josephine. Wrapped in a kimona of bright silk and smiling at the fine morning, the young woman came slowly down the steps and then stopped short, blushing. Some one came to meet her—it was Dixon.
The giant, too, seemed moved. Lowering his eyes he asked:
"How are you this morning, fair lady?"
"And you, M. Dixon?"
"Mlle. Finette, the coffee is served, won't you join me?"
The two young people broke their fast in silence, exchanging only monosyllables, to ask for a napkin, a plate, the sugar. At last, overcoming his bashfulness Dixon asked in a voice full of entreaty:
"Will you always be so hard-hearted?"
Josephine, embarrassed, evaded the question, and with a show of gaiety to hide her confusion, remarked:
"This is an awfully nice place of yours."
The pugilist answered her by describing the calm and simple delights of a country life in the springtime, and, slipping his arm round her supple waist, asked her softly:
"As you consented to come this far with me, why did you repel me afterwards? Why resist me so stubbornly?"
"I was a trifle tipsy yesterday," she replied. "I don't know what I did or why I came here with you." And then, with a touch of sadness: "Naturally, finding me in such a place you took me for a——"
"Sure enough," replied the American, "but I can see you are not like the others."
"And what attracts me to you," continued Josephine, "is that you are not a brute. Why, yesterday evening, if you had wanted, when we were alone together, eh?"
And she gave Dixon such a queer look that he asked himself whether she did not regard him as absurd for having respected her.
"I like you very much," he said, "more than any other woman. In a month from now I shall be off to America. I have already a good deal of money and I shall earn much more out there. If you will come with me, we won't part any more. Do you agree?"
Josephine was at first amused by this downright declaration, but gradually she took it more seriously. She would see the world, be elegant, rich, well dressed. She would have her future secured and no more bother with the police. But, on the other hand, it might become terribly boring after the exciting life she had led. And there was Loupart. Certainly he was often repellant to her, but he had only to come back and speak to her to be again submissive, loving and tractable. And, strange to say, there was also—just of late—at the bottom of Josephine's heart, a feeling of friendship, almost affection, for the sternand thorough-going detective, for Juve, to whom she owed her escape from a very bad fix. Fandor, too, she liked pretty well. She valued the daring journalist, quick, full of courage, and yet a good sort, free from prejudice. The more she thought about it, the more Josephine felt herself to be strikingly complex: she felt that she could not analyse her feelings, she was incomprehensible even to herself.
"Let me think it over a little longer," she asked. Dixon rose ceremoniously.
"Dear friend," he declared, "you are at home here, as long as you care to stay, and I hope you will consent to lunch with me at one o'clock. From now till then I shall leave you alone to think at your leisure."
The old servant, too, having gone off shopping, Josephine remained alone in the place, and after visiting the charming villa from top to bottom strolled delightedly amid the lovely scenery of the park. As she was about to turn into a narrow path, she uttered a loud cry. Loupart was before her. The leader of the Gang of Cyphers had his evil look and savage smile.
"How goes it?" he cried, then queried, sardonically: "Which would madame prefer, the pig-sticker or the barker?"
Josephine, in terror, stepped backwards till she rested against the trunk of a great tree.
Loupart carelessly got out his revolver and his knife: he seemed to hesitate which weapon to use.
"Loupart," stammered Josephine, in a choking voice, "don't kill me—what have I done?"
The ruffian snarled.
"Not only do you peach to M. Juve, but you let yourself be carried off by the first toff that comes along; you don't stick at making me a cuckold! That's very well!"
Josephine fell on her knees in the thick grass. Sure enough she had played Loupart false, and suddenly a wave of remorse rose in her heart. She was overcome at the thought that she could have endangered her lover even for a moment, that she could have informed the police. She was honestly maddened by the thought that Loupart had all but been arrested through her fault. Yes, he was right in reproaching her, she deserved to be punished. As for having wronged him, that was not true. She protested with all her might against his accusation of unfaithfulness.
"I was wrong in listening to the pugilist, in coming here, but in spite of appearances—Loupart, believe me, I am still worthy of you."
Loupart shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, we'll leave that for the moment. Just now you are going to obey me without a word or protest."
Josephine's heart stopped; she knew these preambles. She tried to turn the conversation.
"And how did you get here?"
"How did you get here yourself?"
"M. Dixon's motor-car."
"And who tracked you?"
"Why—no one."
"No one?" jeered the ruffian. "Then what was Juve doing in the taxi which was rolling after you?"
Josephine uttered an exclamation of surprise. Loupart went on, greatly satisfied with himself:
"And what was Loupart up to? That crafty gentleman was cosily ensconced on the springs behind the taxi in which the worthy inspector was riding."
The ruffian was teasing, and that showed he was in good humour again. Josephine put her arms round his neck and hugged him.
"It's you that I love and you alone—let's go, take me away, won't you?"
Loupart freed himself from the embrace.
"Since you are at home here—the American said as much—I must see to profiting by it. You will stay here till this evening: at five you will beat the markets, and so shall I. You won't recognise me, but I shall speak to you, and then you will tell me exactly where this pugilist locks up his swag. I want a full plan of the house, the print of the keys, all the usual truck. This evening I shall have something new for Juve and his crew, an affair in which you will serve me."
Josephine, panting, did not pay heed to this last sentence. She flushed crimson, perspiration broke out on her forehead, a great agony tightened her heart. She, so docile till then, so devoted, suddenly felt an immense scruple, an awful shame at the thought of being guilty of what her lover demanded. Against any other man, she would have obeyed, but to act in that way toward Dixon, who had treated her so considerately, she felt was beyond her powers. Here Josephine showed herself truly a woman. While determined not to be false to Loupart, she would not leave the pugilist with an evil memory of her. She hesitated to betray him and unwittingly proved the truth of the philosopher's dictum: "The most honest of women, though unwilling to give hope, is never sorry to leave behind her a regret!"
But Loupart was not going to stay discussing such subtleties with his mistress. He never gave his orders twice. To seal the reconciliation heimprinted a hasty kiss on Josephine's cheek and vanished. A sound of crackling marked his passage through the thickets. Josephine was once more alone in the great park around the villa.
Fandor and Dixon were taking tea in the drawing-room. The journalist came, he alleged, to interview Dixon about his fight with Joe Sans, the negro champion of the Soudan, which was to come off next day. After getting various details as to weight, diet and other trifles, Fandor inquired with a smile:
"But to keep in good form, Dixon, you must be as sober as a camel, as chaste as a monk, eh?"
The American smiled. Fandor had told him a few moments before that he had seen him supping at the "Crocodile" with a pretty woman.
At Juve's instigation Fandor had alleged a sporting interview, in order to get into the American's house and discover if Josephine was still there. He meant to ascertain what the relations were between the pugilist and the girl.
The allusion to that evening loosened the American's tongue. Absorbed by the pleasing impression which his pretty partner had made on him, Dixon began talking on the subject. He belonged to that class of men who, when they are in love, want the whole world to know it.
The American set the young woman on such a pedestal of innocence and purity—that Fandor wondered if the pugilist were not laughing at him. But Dixon, quite unconscious, did not conceal his intention to elope with Josephine and shortly take her to America. Suddenly he rose.
"Come," he said, "I will introduce you to her."
Fandor was about to protest, but the American was already scouring the house and searching the park, calling:
"Finette, Mlle. Finette, Josephine!"
Presently he returned, his face distorted, unnerved, dejected, and in a toneless voice he ejaculated painfully:
"The pretty little woman has made off without a word to me. I am very much grieved!"
Five minutes later, Fandor jumped into a train which took him back to Paris.
"Juve, I've been fooled." The journalist was resting on the great couch in his friend's study, Rue Bonaparte, and wound up with this assertion the long account of the fruitless inquiry he had made at Dixon's.
"I'm played out! For two days I haven't stopped a minute. After the night at the "Crocodile," which I spent for the most part, as I told you, in search of Loupart, yesterday my day went in fruitless trips; my mind is made up; to-night I shall do no more!"
"A cigarette, Fandor?"
"Thanks."
From the crystal vase where Juve, an inveterate smoker, always kept an ample stock of tobacco, he chose an Egyptian cigarette.
"My dear Juve, it is absolutely necessary to go again to Sèvres and draw a close net roundDixon. He needs watching. Isn't that your opinion?"
"I'm not sure."
Juve thought for a few moments, then:
"After all, what grounds have you for thinking that Dixon should be watched?"
"Why, any number of reasons."
"What are they?"
It was Fandor's turn to be surprised. He had given Juve the account of his visit, supposing that would bring him to his way of thinking, and now Juve doubted Dixon being a suspect.
"You ask me for particulars. I am going to reply with generalisations. Taking it all in all, what do we know of Dixon? That he was in a certain place and carried off Josephine under our very eyes. Hence he is a friend of Josephine's, which in itself looks compromising."
"Oh!" protested Juve. "You arrive at your conclusions very quickly, Fandor. Josephine is not an honest woman. She may know the type of people that haunt the night resorts, yet who, for all that, need not be murderers."
"Then, Juve, how do you account for it that during my visit Dixon tricked me and kept me from meeting Josephine while making believe to look for her? Is not that again a sign of complicity? Does not that show clearly that Josephine, realising that she is suspected in our eyes, has decided to evade us?"
Juve smiled.
"Fandor, my lad, you are endowed with a prodigious imagination. You impute to Dixon the worst intentions without any proof. He got Josephine away, you say? What makes you think so? If you did not see her it was due to collusion between them both. Why? As far as I can see, Josephine simply picked up an old lover of hers at the 'Crocodile' and went off with him as naturally as possible, preferring not to see the arrest of Loupart or of Chaleck. I admit that next day she simply took French leave of the worthy American, and you may be sure he knew nothing about her going."
Fandor was silent and Juve resumed:
"That being so, what can we bring against Dixon? Merely that he knows Josephine."
"You are right, Juve; perhaps I went too far with my deductions, but to speak frankly, I don't see clearly what we are to do now. All our trails are crossed. Loupart is in flight, Chaleck vanished, and as for Josephine, I doubt our finding her again for ever so long."
All the while the journalist was speaking, Juve had remained leaning against the window, watching the passers-by.
"Fandor, come and see! By the omnibus, there. The person who is going to cross."
The journalist burst out:
"Well, I'm damned!"
"You see, Fandor, you must never swear to anything."
"Well, ain't we going to catch and arrest her?"
"Why? Do you think her being in this street is due to chance? Look, she is crossing; she is coming straight here. She is entering the house. I tell you in a few moments Josephine will have climbed my stairs and will be seated cosily in this armchair, which I get ready and set full in the light."
Fandor could not get over his astonishment.
"Did you make an appointment with her?"
"Not at all."
Jean, the detective's servant, came into the room and announced:
"There is a lady waiting in the sitting-room. She would not give her name."
"Show her in, Jean."
A few moments later Josephine entered.
"Good day, Mademoiselle," cried Juve in a cordial tone. "What fresh news have you to tell us?"
Loupart's mistress stood in the middle of theroom, somewhat taken aback. But Juve set her at ease.
"Sit down, Josephine. You mustn't mind my friend Fandor. He has just been telling me about your friend Dixon."
"You know him, sir?"
"A little," said Fandor. "And you, Mademoiselle, have been seeing something of him lately?"
"I happened to meet him at the 'Crocodile.'"
"And took a liking to him?"
"We took a liking to each other." She turned to Juve. "I suppose you distrust me for giving you the slip with another man?"
Juve smiled. "You found a good companion and forgot us. There is really nothing to be angry about. Now, won't you tell us what brings you here?"
"Yes, but M. Juve, you must swear to me that you will never repeat what I am going to tell you."
"It is very serious then?"
"M. Juve, I am going to put you in the way of arresting Loupart."
"You are very kind, my dear Josephine, but if the attempt is to succeed no better than that we made at the 'Crocodile'——"
"No, no, this time you'll be sure to nab him. Day after to-morrow at 2 o'clock, Loupart isgoing with some of his gang to Nogent, 7 Rue des Charmilles. He has a job there under way."
Juve laughed. "They've been fooling you, Josephine. Isn't that your view, Fandor? Do you think that Loupart would try a stroke in broad daylight?"
Josephine gave more details, eager to persuade him.
"There will be fifteen of them outside a little house whose tenants are away. Some of them will make a crowd to help their mates in case of danger. The Beard is to be in it, too."
"And Loupart?"
"Yes, Loupart, I tell you. He will wear a black mask by which you can identify him."
"Very well, if we have nothing better to do we will take a trip to Nogent day after to-morrow; eh, Fandor?"
"As you like, Juve."
"Only, remember this, my dear Josephine, if you are putting up a game on us you'll be sorry for it. There is a way, to be sure, in which you can prove your good faith. Be at Nogent Station at half-past one. If we find Loupart where you say he will be, we shall arrest him; if we don't find him——"
The detective paused, significantly.
"You will nab him. Only we mustn't look asif we met by appointment. No one must suspect that I gave you the tip."
Hereupon, Josephine started to go. Her man[oe]uvre had succeeded, and Loupart's business would go ahead safely. She turned at the door and nodded, looking at Fandor.
"Another thing; Loupart doesn't love you; you had better be on your guard."
Juve turned thoughtfully to Fandor:
"Strange! Is this woman playing with us, or is she in earnest, and how she looked at you when telling us to be on our guard!"