"Hullo! Hullo!"
Waking with a start, Juve rushed to the telephone. It was already broad daylight, but the detective had gone to bed very late and had been sleeping profoundly.
"Yes, it's I, Juve. The Sûreté? It's you, M. Havard? Yes, I am free. Oh! That's strange. No signs? I understand. Count on me. I'll go there and keep you informed."
Juve dressed in haste, went down to the street and hailed a taxi.
"To Sèvres, the foot of the hill at Bellevue, and look sharp about it!"
Juve left his taxi-cab, and mounted the slope on foot to the elegant villa inhabited by Dixon. All was quiet, and if he had not had word, the detective would have doubted that he was closeto the scene of a crime, or at least of an attempted one.
Scarcely had he entered the grounds when a sergeant came toward him and saluted. Juve inquired:
"What has happened?"
"M. Dixon is resting just now, and the doctor has forbidden the least noise."
"Is his condition serious?"
"I think not from what Doctor Plassin says."
"Now, Sergeant, tell me everything from the beginning."
The sergeant drew Juve to the arbour, where a policeman was seated making out a report. Juve took the paper and read:
"We, the undersigned, Dubois, Sergeant in the second squad of foot-police, quartered at Sèvres, together with Constable Verdier, received this morning, June 28th, at 6.35 from M. Olivetti, a business man, living in Bellevue, the following declaration:
"We, the undersigned, Dubois, Sergeant in the second squad of foot-police, quartered at Sèvres, together with Constable Verdier, received this morning, June 28th, at 6.35 from M. Olivetti, a business man, living in Bellevue, the following declaration:
"'Having left my home at 6.15 and being on the way to the State Railway to take the 6.42 train, by which I go every day to my work, I was passing the slopes of Bellevue, when, being level with Brimborion Park, a little short of the villa number 16, which I hear belongs to M. Dixon, an American pugilist, I heard a revolver shotfollowed by the noise of breaking glass, the pieces falling on to a hard ground, most likely stone."'Having halted for a moment through caution, I looked to see if anyone was hiding near by. I saw nothing but heard three more revolver shots in quick succession, seeming to come from Dixon's house. After some minutes I went near the house and ascertained that the panes of the window on the right side of the front were broken, and the pieces strewed the asphalt terrace in front of the house."'I made up my mind to ring, but no one opened the door. I then thought that some prowlers had amused themselves by making a shindy, and I was about to continue to the train when I thought I heard faint cries coming from the inside of the house. Then, fearing there was a mishap or a crime, I ran to the police station and made the above statement in presence of the sergeant.'"
"'Having left my home at 6.15 and being on the way to the State Railway to take the 6.42 train, by which I go every day to my work, I was passing the slopes of Bellevue, when, being level with Brimborion Park, a little short of the villa number 16, which I hear belongs to M. Dixon, an American pugilist, I heard a revolver shotfollowed by the noise of breaking glass, the pieces falling on to a hard ground, most likely stone.
"'Having halted for a moment through caution, I looked to see if anyone was hiding near by. I saw nothing but heard three more revolver shots in quick succession, seeming to come from Dixon's house. After some minutes I went near the house and ascertained that the panes of the window on the right side of the front were broken, and the pieces strewed the asphalt terrace in front of the house.
"'I made up my mind to ring, but no one opened the door. I then thought that some prowlers had amused themselves by making a shindy, and I was about to continue to the train when I thought I heard faint cries coming from the inside of the house. Then, fearing there was a mishap or a crime, I ran to the police station and made the above statement in presence of the sergeant.'"
Juve turned to the sergeant, who gave further details.
"Constable Verdier and I immediately hastened here. We reached the terrace of the house, but there we came to a closed door we could not break in. Having shouted loudly we were answered by groans and cries for help which came from the room on the first floor ofwhich the windows were broken. We then got a ladder and climbed up. I passed my hand inside and worked the hasp of the window. We went in and found ourselves in a bedroom in apple-pie order and in which nothing appeared to have been disarranged."
"And on a second inspection?" queried Juve.
"I went to the far end of the room and found stretched on the bed a man in undress, who seemed a prey to violent pains. I learned afterwards that this was M. Dixon, the tenant of the house. He could scarcely utter a word or move. His shoulders and arms were out of the clothes, and I could discern that the skin of his chest and shoulders bore traces of blood effusion. On a bracket to the right of the bed lay a revolver, the six cartridges of which had been recently fired."
"Ah!" cried Juve. "And then?"
"I thought the first thing to do was to call in a doctor. M. Olivetti consented to go and call Doctor Plassin, who lives near by. Five minutes later the doctor came, and I took advantage of his presence to send my man to the Station."
"Have you been over the house?"
"Not yet, Inspector, but nothing will be easier, for in turning out the pockets of the victim's clothes we found his bunch of keys."
"To bring the doctor into the house, you musthave opened the door to him, and therefore had a glimpse of the other rooms in the house, the lobby, the staircase?"
The sergeant shook his head.
"No, Inspector. We went up the ladder. I tried to get out of the door of M. Dixon's room, but found it was locked. This seemed strange, for the assailant presumably entered by the door."
"By the by, Sergeant, are there no servants here? The place seems deserted."
Constable Verdier put in his word:
"The American lives here alone except for an old charwoman who comes in before nine. She will probably be here in half an hour, for she can have no idea of what has happened."
"Good," said Juve. "You will let me know as soon as she comes; wait for her in the garden. As for us," and he turned to the sergeant, "let us make our way inside."
The two, armed with Dixon's keys, opened without difficulty the main entrance door to the ground floor. There they found nothing out of the way, but on reaching the first floor, the marks of some one's passage was clearly visible.
The door of a lumber room stood wide open, and on its floor sheets of paper, letters and documents lay scattered about. Juve took a candle and, after a brief investigation, exclaimed:
"They were after the strong box."
A large steel safe, built into the wall, had been burst open, and the workman-like manner in which it had been done showed clearly the hand of an expert. Juve carefully examined the floor, picked up two or three papers that had evidently been trodden on, took some measurements which he jotted down in his note-book, and, without telling the sergeant his conclusions, went downstairs again, paying no heed to the next room in which Dixon lay, watched over by Doctor Plassin.
Verdier, who was mounting guard before the house, came forward and said:
"Mr. Inspector, the doctor says M. Dixon is awake. Do you care to see him?"
Juve at once had the ladder put to the first story window and made his way into the pugilist's room. The men's description was correct. No disorder reigned in the chamber, at the far end of which, on a great brass bed, a sturdy individual, his face worn with suffering, lay stretched.
In two words Juve introduced himself to the doctor; then expressed his sorrow for Dixon's plight.
"These are only contusions, M. Juve. Serious enough, but nothing more. By the by, M. Dixon may congratulate himself upon owning muscles of exceptional vigour. Otherwise, from the griphe must have undergone, his body would be no more than a shapeless pulp."
Juve pricked up his ears. He had heard before of bones snapped and broken under a strain that neither flesh nor muscle could resist. The mysterious death of Lady Beltham at once occurred to his memory.
"Mr. Dixon, you will tell me all the details of the tragic night you have passed through. You probably dined in Paris last evening?"
The sick man replied in a fairly firm voice:
"No, sir, I dined at home alone."
"Is that your usual habit?"
"No, sir, but between five and seven I had been training hard for my match which was to have come off to-morrow with Joe Sans."
"Do you think your opponent would have been capable of trying to injure you to keep you out of the ring?"
"No, Joe Sans is a good sportsman; besides, he lives at Brussels, and isn't due in Paris till to-morrow."
"And after dinner, what did you do?"
"I fastened the shutters and doors, came up here and undressed."
"Are you in the habit of bolting yourself into your room?"
"Yes, I lock my door every evening."
"What time was it when you went to bed?"
"Ten at latest."
"And then?"
"Then I went fast asleep, but in the middle of the night I was waked by a strange noise. It sounded like a scratching at my door. I gave a shout and banged my fist on the partition."
"Why?" asked Juve, surprised.
The American explained:
"I thought the scratching came from rats, and I simply made a noise to frighten them away. Then, the sound having ceased, I fell asleep again."
"And afterwards?"
"I was waked again by the sound of stealthy footsteps on the landing of the first floor."
"This time you went to see?"
"I meant to do so, I was about to get up. I had put out my arm to get my matches and revolver, when suddenly I felt a weight on my bed and then I was corded, bound like a sausage, my arms tight to my body! For ten minutes I struggled with all the power of my muscles against a frightful and mysterious grip which continually grew tighter."
"A lasso!" suggested Doctor Plassin in a low voice.
"Were you able to determine the nature ofthe thing that was gripping you?" asked Juve.
"I don't know. I remember feeling at the touch of the thing a marked sensation of dampness and cold."
"A wetted lasso, exactly. A rope dipped in water tautens of itself," remarked the doctor.
"You had to make a great effort to prevent being crushed or broken?"
"A more than human effort, Mr. Inspector, as the doctor has witnessed; if I had not muscles of steel and exceptional strength I should have been flattened."
"Good—good," applauded Juve. "That's exactly it!"
"Really! You think so?" queried the American with a touch of sarcasm.
Juve smilingly apologised. His approval meant no more than that the statements of the victim coincided with the theories he had formed. And indeed he saw clearly in the unsuccessful attempt on the American and the achieved killing of Lady Beltham a common way of going to work, the same process. Undoubtedly the American owed it to his robust physique that he got off but slightly scathed, whereas the hapless woman had been totally crushed.
The similarity of the two crimes allowed Juve to make further inductions. He reckoned that itwas not by chance that Dixon had met Josephine at the "Crocodile" two nights before, while the presence of both Chaleck and Loupart in that establishment was still less accidental. And already he felt pleased at the thought that he knew almost to a certainty the villains to whom this fresh crime must be ascribed. They had wanted to get rid of Dixon, that was sure, and by a process still unknown to Juve, but which he would soon discover. They had rendered the pugilist helpless while they were robbing him.
"Had you a large sum of money in your safe?" he asked.
The American gave a violent start.
"They've burgled me! Tell me, sir, tell me quickly!"
Juve nodded in the affirmative. Dixon stammered feebly:
"Four thousand pounds! They've taken four thousand pounds from me! I received the sum a few days ago!"
"Gently, gently!" observed the doctor. "You will make yourself feverish and I shall have to stop the interview."
Juve put in:
"I only want a few moments more, doctor. It is important." Then, turning to Dixon, he resumed: "How did your struggle with the mysterious pressure end?"
"After about ten minutes I felt my bands relaxing. In a short while I was free; I heard no more, but suffered such great pain that I fell back in bed and either slept or fainted."
"Then you did not get up at all?"
"No."
"And the door of your room to the landing remained locked all night?"
"Yes, all night."
"How about this broken glass in your window? Those revolver shots at six in the morning?"
"It was I, firing from my bed to make a noise and bring some one here."
"I thought as much," said Juve, as he went down on all fours and proceeded to examine the carpeting of the room between the bed and the door, a distance of some seven feet. The carpet, of very close fabric, afforded no trace, but on a white bearskin rug the detective noted in places tufts of hair glued together as if something moist and sticky had passed over it. He cut off one of these tufts and shut it carefully in his pocketbook. He then went to the door which was hidden by a velvet curtain. He could not suppress a cry of amazement. In the lower panel of the door a round hole had been made about six oreight inches in diameter. It was four inches above the floor, and might have been made for a cat.
"Did you have that hole made in the door?" asked Juve.
"No. I don't know what it is," replied the American.
"Neither do I," rejoined Juve, "but I have an idea." Doctor Plassin was jubilant.
"There you are!" he cried. "A lasso! And it was thrust in by that hole."
Through the window, Verdier called:
"M. Inspector, the charwoman is coming."
Juve looked at his watch.
"Half-past nine. I will see her in a minute."
"Twelve o'clock! Hang it! I've just time to get there to keep my engagement with Josephine."
Juve was going down Belleville hill as fast as his legs could take him by a short cut past the Sèvres school. He cast a mocking glance toward the little police station which stands smart and trim at one side of the high road.
"Pity," he murmured, "that I can't escort my friends to that delightful country house."
Then he hastened his pace still more. He was growing angry.
"I told Fandor to be at Nogent Station exactly at 1.30. It is now five past twelve and I am still at Sèvres. Matters are getting complicated. Oh, I'll take the tramway to Versailles' gate. From there I'll drive to Nogent Station in a taxi."
He put this plan into execution, and was luckyenough to find a place in the Louvre-Versailles' tram.
"All things considered, I have not wasted my morning. Poor Dixon! He was lucky to get off so cheaply. It would seem now that Josephine told the truth in saying he is not an accomplice of the Gang."
Juve reflected a while, then added:
"Only it looks as if that accursed Josephine had put her friends up to the job."
At the St. Cloud gate the tram came to a stop and Juve got down, hailed a taxi, and told the driver:
"To Nogent Station and look sharp. I'm in a terrible hurry."
The driver nodded assent, Juve got in, and the vehicle started. The taxi had hardly been going five minutes when Juve became impatient.
"Go quicker, my man! Don't you know how to drive?"
The man replied, nettled:
"I don't want to get run in for breaking the regulations."
Juve laughed.
"Never mind the regulations, I'm from Police Headquarters."
The magical word took effect. From that moment, heedless of the frantic signals of policemen,the driver tore along at full speed and reached the square in front of Nogent Station.
"It is only 1.45—Fandor should just have got here."
Juve, indeed, had only just settled with his driver when Fandor popped up from the waiting-room.
"Well, Juve! Anything fresh this morning?"
The detective smiled.
"Any number of things. But I'll tell you later. Where is Josephine?"
"Not here yet."
"The deuce!"
"That confirms my suspicions; eh, Juve?"
"Somewhat. I should be astonished if we did see her."
The detective led the journalist away, and the two went for a turn beside the railway-line on the deserted boulevard.
"Fandor, this is the time to draw up a plan of action. Do you remember the directions Josephine gave us?"
"Vaguely."
"Well, we are now going to the neighbourhood of the Rue des Charmilles. It is number 7 that Loupart and his gang are to loot, according to Josephine. Yesterday afternoon I sent my men to look at the street; this is how they described it to me. It is a sort of lane with no issue; the house which we are concerned with is the last, standing on the right. It is a lodge of humble aspect, the tenants of which are really away. There are not many people living in this Charmilles Lane, and the place is well chosen for such a job, at least that is Michel's opinion.
"Oh, I forgot one thing, round the house is a fairly large garden of which the walls are luckily high. So it is likely that even if the burglars should discover our presence they could not get off the back way."
"And what is your plan of action, Juve?"
"A very simple one. We are going to the entry of the Rue Charmilles and wait there. When our men come up with us I shall try to pick out Loupart and fly at his throat. There will be a struggle, no doubt, but in the meantime you must bellow with all your might: 'Murder' and 'Help.' I trust that succour will reach us."
"Then you haven't any plain-clothes men here?"
"No. I don't want to let my superiors know about this expedition."
The two men went forward some paces in silence along an empty side street, till Juve halted in a shady corner and drew out his Browning, carefully seeing to the magazine.
"Do as I do, Fandor"; he prepared for a tussle. "I smell powder in the air."
Juve was about to start forward again when suddenly a tremendous uproar broke out: "Help! Help!"
Juve seized Fandor by the arm.
"Take the left-hand pavement!"
The two had just reached the corner of the street where the house spoken of by Josephine should stand, when a jostling crowd of people came in sight, rushing toward them, uttering shouts and yells. Juve and Fandor recognised a man fleeing at full speed in front of them, whose face was hidden by a black mask! Behind him two other men were running, also masked, but with grey velvet. In the crowd following were grocers' assistants, workmen of all kinds, even a Nogent policeman.
"Help! Murder! Arrest him!"
The fleeing man was threatening his pursuers with an enormous revolver.
"Look out!" shouted Juve. "Loupart is mine! You tackle the others!"
But suddenly catching sight of the detective Loupart slackened his pace.
"Get out of the way!" he cried, flourishing his revolver.
"Stop, or I fire!" returned Juve.
"Fire then! I, too, shall fire!" And, leaping toward the detective, the outlaw pointed his revolver at him and fired twice.
With a quick movement Juve leaped aside. The bullets must have brushed him, but luckily he was not touched. The plucky detective again flung himself on Loupart, seized him by the collar and tried to throw him down.
"Let me go! I'll do for you——"
For a moment Juve felt the cold muzzle of the weapon on his neck. Then, with a supreme effort, he forced the outlaw's hands down and, aiming his revolver, fired.
"Help! I—I——"
A gush of blood welled up from the ruffian's collar. He turned twice, and then fell heavily on the ground.
In the meantime Fandor was struggling with the two men in the grey masks. Juve was about to go to his assistance, when the crowd now made a rush and the detective became the central point of a furious encounter: blows and kicks rained on him. He succumbed to numbers.
It was now Fandor's turn to help his friend, and he was about to join the fight when he stood rooted to the spot in utter amazement. A little beyond the groups of struggling men he caught sight of an individual standing beside a tripodon which was placed a contrivance he did not at once identify. The man seemed greatly amused, and was watching the scene laughing and showing no desire to intervene.
"Very good! Very good! That will make a splendid film!"
Fandor understood——
His head bandaged and his arm in a sling, Juve was replying in a shaky voice to the Superintendent of Police of Nogent.
"No, Superintendent, I realised nothing. It is monstrous! I asked in the most perfect good faith. I did not fire till I had been fired at three times."
"You didn't notice the strange get-up of the burglars? And of the policemen? Of that poor actor, Bonardin, you half killed?"
Juve shook his head.
"I hadn't time to notice details. I want you to understand, Superintendent, how things came about, to realise how the trap was laid for me.... I came to Nogent, assured that I was about to face dangerous ruffians. I was to encounter them at such an hour, in such a street. I was given their description: they would have their faces masked and come out of a certain house. And it all happened as described. I hadn't gone ten paces in the said street when sure enough I saw people rushing toward me bawling 'Help.'I recognised men in masks: had I time to look at the details of their costumes? Certainly not! I spring at the throat of the fugitive. He has a revolver and fires. How could I know the weapon was only loaded blank? He, an actor in a cinematograph scene, takes me for another, acting the part of a policeman. He fires at me and I retaliate."
"And you half kill him."
"For which I am exceedingly sorry. But nothing could lead me to suspect a trap."
"It's lucky you didn't wound anyone else. How did matters end?"
"The actors, naturally enough, were furious with me, and I was being roughly handled when the real policemen arrived and rescued me. All was explained when I brought out my card of identity. While they were taking me to the station, the actor Bonardin was being carried to the nearest house, a convent, I believe."
"Yes, the Convent of the Ladies of St. Clotilde."
The trap had been well devised, and Juve was not wrong in saying that anyone in his place would have been taken in by it. And so while the detective was detained at the station, Fandor, after a long and minute interrogation, returned to Paris in a state of deep dejection.
In the Place d'Anvers, Fandor was passing Rokin College. He heard some one calling him. "Monsieur Fandor! Monsieur Fandor!"
It was Josephine, breathless and panting, her bright eyes glowing with joy.
Fandor turned, astonished.
"What is up?"
Josephine paused a second, then taking Fandor's hand familiarly drew him into the square, which at this time of day was almost deserted.
"Oh, it's something out of the common, I can assure you. I am going to astonish you!"
"You've done that already. The mere sight of you——"
"You thought I was arrested, didn't you?"
Fandor nodded.
"Well, it's your Juve who is jugged!"
Contrary to Josephine's expectation, Fandor did not appear very astonished.
"Come now, Miss Josephine, that's a likely tale! Juve arrested? On what grounds?"
Josephine began an incoherent story.
"I tell you they squabbled like rag-pickers! 'You make justice ridiculous,' shouted Fuselier. 'No one has the right to commit such blunders!' Well, they kept going on like that for a quarter of an hour. And then Fuselier rang and two Municipal guards came and he said: 'Arrest that man there!' pointing to Juve. And your friend the detective was obliged to let them do it. Only as he left the room he gave Fuselier such a look! Believe me, between those two it is war to the death from now."
When she had ended Fandor asked in a calm voice:
"And how did you get away, Josephine?"
"Oh, M. Fuselier was very nice. 'It's you again?' said he when he saw me. 'To be sure it is,' answered I, 'and I'm glad to meet you again, M. Magistrate.' Then he began to hold forth about the cinema business. I told him what I knew about it, what I told you. Loupart stuffed me up with his tale of a trap. As sure as my name's Josephine I believed what my lover told me."
Fandor gave her a penetrating glance.
"And how about the Dixon business?"
Josephine coloured, and said in a low tone:
"Oh, the Dixon business, as to that—we are very good pals, Dixon and I. Just fancy, I went to see him yesterday afternoon. He has taken a fancy to me. He promised to keep me in luxury. Ah, if I dared," sighed the girl.
"You would do well to leave Loupart."
"Leave Loupart? Especially now that Juve is in quod, Loupart will be the King of Paris!"
"Do you think your lover will attach much weight to the arrest of Juve? Won't he fancy it's a put-up job?"
"A put-up job! How could it be? Why, I saw with my two eyes Juve led away with the bracelets on his wrists."
The growing hubbub of the newsboys crying the evening papers drew near the Place d'Anvers. Instinctively Fandor, followed by Josephine, went toward them. On the boulevard he bought a paper.
"There you see!" cried Josephine triumphantly. "Here it is in print, so it is true!"
In scare headlines appeared this notice—"Amazing development in the affair of the Outlaws of La Chapelle. Detective Juve under lock and key."
Fandor, when he met Josephine in the Place d'Anvers, was on his way to the Rue des Abesses where Bonardin occupied a nice little suite of three rooms, tastefully decorated and comfortably furnished.
The actor had his shoulder in plaster—Juve's bullet had broken his clavicle, but the doctor declared that with a few days' rest he would be quite well again.
"M. Fandor, I am very sorry for what is happening to M. Juve. Do you think if I were to declare my intention not to proceed against him——"
Fandor cut his companion short.
"Let justice take its course, M. Bonardin. There will always be time later on."
Although M. Bonardin was only twenty-five, he was beginning to have some reputation. By hard work he had come rapidly to the front, and was fast gaining a position among the best interpreters of modern comedy.
"My dream," he exclaimed to Fandor, "is one day to attain to the fame of my masters, of such men as Tazzide, Gémier, Valgrand and Dumény."
"You knew Valgrand?" asked Fandor.
Bonardin smiled.
"Why, we were great friends. When I firstmade my appearance at the theatre, after the Conservatoire, Valgrand was my model, my master. You certainly don't recollect it, M. Fandor, but I played the lover in the famous play 'La Toche Sanglante,' for which Valgrand had made himself up exactly like Gurn, the murderer of Lord Beltham. You must have heard of the case?"
Fandor pretended to tax his memory.
"Why, to be sure I do recall certain incidents, but won't you refresh my memory?"
Bonardin asked no better than to chatter.
"Valgrand, on the first night of his presentation of Gurn,[B]was quite worn out and left the theatre very late. He did not come again! For the second performance, his understudy took his part. The following day they sent to Valgrand's rooms; he had not been there for two days. The third day from the 'first night' Valgrand came among us again."
"Pray go on, you interest me immensely!"
"Valgrand came back, but he had gone mad. He managed to get to his dressing-room after taking the wrong door. 'I don't know a single word of my part,' he confessed to me. I comforted him as best I could, but he flung himself down on his couch and shook his head helplesslyat me. 'I have been very ill, Bonardin,' then suddenly he demanded: 'Where is Charlot?'
"Charlot was his dresser. I remembered now that Charlot had not returned to the theatre since his master's disappearance. His body was found later in the Rue Messier. He had been murdered. I did not want to mention this to him for fear it might upset him still more, so I advised my old friend to wait for me till the end of the play and let me keep him company. I intended to take him home and fetch a doctor. Valgrand assented readily. I was then obliged to leave him hurriedly: they were calling me—it was my cue. When I returned Valgrand had vanished: he had left the theatre. We were not to see him again!"
"A sad affair," commented Fandor.
Bonardin continued his narrative:
"Shortly afterwards in a deserted house in the Rue Messier, near Boulevard Arago, the police found the body of a murdered man. The corpse was easily identified; it was that of Charlot, Valgrand's dresser."
"How did he come there? The house had no porter: the owner, an old peasant, knew nothing."
"Well, what do you conclude from this?" asked Fandor.
"My theory is that Valgrand murdered his dresser, for some reason unknown to us. Then, overcome by his crime, he went mad and committed suicide. Of that there is no doubt."
"Oh!" muttered Fandor, a little taken aback by this unexpected assertion.
The journalist, though he had closely followed the actor's account, was far from drawing the same conclusions. For in fact, Gurn, Lord Beltham's murderer, whom Fandor believed to be Fantômas, had certainly got Valgrand executed in his stead. The Valgrand who came back to the theatre, three days after the execution, was not the real one, but the man who had taken his place—Gurn, the criminal, Gurn—Fantômas. Ah! that was a stroke of the true Fantômas sort! It was certain that if Valgrand's disappearance had been simultaneous with Gurn's execution, there might have been suspicions. Gurn—Fantômas then found it necessary to show Valgrand living to witnesses, so that these could swear that the real Valgrand had not died instead of Gurn.
But Valgrand was an actor, Gurn—Fantômas was not! Not enough of one at least to venture to take the place on the boards of such a consummate player, such a famous tragedian.
"And that was the end?" asked Fandor.
"The end, no!" declared the actor. "Valgrand was married and had a son. As is often the case with artists, the Valgrand marriage was not a success, and madame, a singer of talent, was separated from her husband, and travelled much abroad.
"About a year after these sad occurrences I had a visit from her. On her way through Paris, she had come to draw the allowance made her by her husband, to supply not only her own wants, but also those of her son, of whom she had the custody. Mme. Valgrand chatted with me for hours together. I recounted to her at length what I have had the honour of telling you, and it seemed to me that she gave no great credence to my words.
"Not that she threw doubts on my statements, but she kept reiterating, 'That is not like him; I know Valgrand would never have behaved in such a way!'
"But I never could get her to say exactly what she thought. Some weeks after this first visit I saw her again. Matters were getting complicated. There was no certificate of her husband's death. Her men of business made his 'absence' a pretext: she no longer drew a cent of her allowance, and yet people knew that Valgrand had left a pretty large amount, and it was in the bank or with a lawyer, I forget which. You are aware,M. Fandor, that when the settling of accounts, or questions of inheritance or wills, come to the fore there is no end to them."
"That's a fact," replied Fandor.
"We must believe," went on Bonardin, "that the matter was important in Mme. Valgrand's eyes, for she refused fine offers from abroad, and planted herself in Paris, living on her savings. The good woman evidently had a double object, to recover the inheritance for her son, little René, and also to get at the truth touching her husband's fate.
"She evidently cherished the hope that her husband was not guilty of the dresser's murder, that perhaps he was not even dead, that he would get over his madness if ever they managed to find him. In short, M. Fandor, some six or seven months ago, when I had quite ceased to think of these events, I found myself face to face with Mme. Valgrand on the Boulevard. I had some difficulty in recognising her, for my friend's widow was no longer dressed like the Parisian smart woman. Her hair was plastered down and drawn tightly back, her garments were plain and humble, her dress almost neglected. No doubt the poor woman had experienced cruel disappointments.
"'Good day, Mme. Valgrand,' I cried, moving toward her with outstretched hands. She stopped me with a gesture.
"'Hush,' she breathed, 'there is no Mme. Valgrand now. I am a companion.' And the unhappy woman explained that to earn her living she had to accept an inferior position as reader and housekeeper to a rich lady."
"And to whom did Mme. Valgrand go as companion?"
"To an Englishwoman, I believe, but the name escapes me."
"Mme. Valgrand wished, you say, that her identity should remain unknown? Do you know what name she took?"
"Yes—Mme. Raymond."
Some moments later Fandor left the actor and was hastening down the Rue Lepic as fast as his legs would take him.
"The Mother Superior, if you please?"
The door shut automatically upon Fandor. He was in the little inner court of the small convent, face to face with a Sister, who gazed in alarm at the unexpected guest. The journalist persisted:
"Can I see the Mother Superior?"
"Well, sir, yes—no, I think not."
The worthy nun evidently did not know what to say. Finally making up her mind she pointed to a passage, and, drawing aside to let the journalist pass, said:
"Be good enough to go in there and wait a few moments."
Fandor was ushered into a large, plain and austere room—doubtless the parlour of the community. At the windows hung long, white curtains, while before the half-dozen armchairs laytiny rugs of matting; the floor, very waxed, was slippery to the tread. The journalist regarded curiously the walls upon which were hung here and there religious figures or chromos of an edifying kind. Above the chimney hung a great crucifix of ebony. But for the noise from without, the passing of the trains and motors, and were it not also for the fine savour of cooking and roast onions, one might have thought oneself a hundred leagues from the world in the peaceful calm of this little convent.
Fandor, on leaving Bonardin, had decided to fulfill without delay a pious mission given him by Juve's victim.
Taken in at the time of his accident by the Sisters of the Rue Charmille, Bonardin had received from them the first aid his condition required, and as he had left them without a word of thanks, he had begged Fandor to return and hand them on his behalf a fifty-franc bill for their poor.
After some minutes the door opened and a nun appeared. She greeted Fandor with a slight movement of the head; while the journalist bowed deferentially before her.
"Have I the honour of speaking to the Mother Superior?"
"Our Mother sends her excuses," murmuredthe nun, "for not being able to receive you at this moment. However, I can take her place, sir. I am in charge of the finances of the house."
"I bring you news, Sister."
The nun clasped her hands.
"Good news, I hope! How is the poor young man doing?"
"As well as can be expected; the ball was extracted without trouble by the doctors."
"I shall thank St. Comus, the patron saint of surgeons. And his assailant? Surely he will be well punished?"
Fandor smiled.
"His assailant was the victim of a terrible misconception. He is a most upright man."
"Then I will pray to St. Yves, the patron saint of advocates, to get him out of his difficulty."
"Well," cried Fandor, "since you have so many saints at command, Sister, you would do well to point out to me one who might favour the efforts of the police in their struggle with the ruffians."
The nun was a woman of sense who understood a joke. She rejoined: "You might try St. George, sir, the patron saint of warriors." Then becoming serious again, the Sister made an end of the interview. "Our Mother Superior will be much touched, sir, when I report the kind step you have taken in coming here to us."
"Allow me, Sister," broke in Fandor, "my mission is not over yet."
Here the journalist discreetly proffered the note.
"This is from M. Bonardin, for your poor."
The nun was profuse in her thanks, and looking at Fandor with a touch of malice:
"You may perhaps smile, sir, if I say I shall thank St. Martin, the patron saint of the charitable. In any case I shall do it with my whole heart."
The soft sound of a bell came from the distance; the Sister instinctively turned her head and looked through the windows at the inner cloister of the convent.
"The bell calls you, no doubt, Sister?" he inquired.
"It is, indeed, the hour of Vespers."
Fandor, followed by the Sister, left the parlour and reached the outer gate. Already the porter was about to open it for him when he pulled up short. Moving at a measured pace, one behind the other, the ladies of the community crossed the courtyard, going toward the chapel at the far end of the garden.
"Sister," Fandor inquired anxiously, "who is that nun who walks at the head?"
"That is our holy Mother Superior."
Fandor was lucky enough to find a taxi as he left the little convent, into which he jumped: he was immersed in such deep reflections that when the taxi stopped he was quite surprised to find himself in Rue Bonaparte, when he had meant to go up to Bonardin's and expected to reach Montmarte.
"Where did I tell you to go?" he asked the driver.
The man looked at his fare in amazement:
"To the address you gave me, I suppose."
Fandor did not reply, but paid his fare.
"Heaven inspires me," he thought. "To be sure I wanted to see Bonardin to tell him I had done his commission, but it was to prove I should have gone after what I found out at the convent."
The journalist remained motionless on the pavement without seeming to feel the jostling of the passers-by. He stood there with his eyes fixed on the ground, his mind lost in a dream. He had unconsciously gone back several years, to his mysterious childhood, stormy and restless. He went over again in thought, this last affair, which had once more brought him so intimately into Juve's life: the abominable crime in the Cité Frochot, in which Chaleck and Loupart were involved, and behind them Fantômas—the crime ofwhich the victim—as Juve had clearly established—was no other than Lady——
He quickly entered the house and rushed up the stairs, but halted on the landing.
"What have I come here for? If I am to believe the papers, Juve is under lock and key: It must be instinct that guides me. I feel that I am going to see Juve: besides, I must."
He did not ring, for he enjoyed the unique favour of a key which allowed him to enter Juve's place at will. He entered and went straight to the study: it was empty. He then cried out:
"Juve! Many things have happened since I had the pleasure of seeing you! Be good enough to let me into your office. I have two words to say to you."
But Fandor's words fell dead in the silence of the apartment. After this summons he made his way into the office, and ensconced himself in an armchair: clearly Fandor was assured his friend had heard him. And he was not wrong! Two seconds later, lifting a curtain that hid a secret entrance to the study, Juve appeared.
"You speak as if you knew I was here!"
The two men looked at each other and burst into shouts of laughter.
"So you understood it was all a put-up affairintended to make our opponents believe that for a time I was powerless to hurt them. What do you think of my notion?"
"First rate," replied Fandor. "The more so that the fair Josephine 'saw with her own eyes' some of the force taking you off to prison."
"Everybody believe it, don't they?"
"Everybody."
"Look here. You spoke just now as though you knew I was here?"
Fandor smiled.
"The odour of hot smoke is easily distinguished from the dankness of cold tobacco."
Juve approved.
"Well done, Fandor. Here, for your pains, roll a cigarette and let's talk. Have you anything fresh?"
"Yes—and a lot, too!"
Fandor related the talk he had had with Bonardin touching Valgrand, the actor, and Mme. Valgrand, alias—Mme. Raymond.
Juve uttered his reflections aloud.
"This is one riddle the more to solve. I still adhere to the theory that Josephine, some months ago, was brought into intimate relations with Lady Beltham, whose body I discovered at Cité Frochot and later identified."
Fandor sprang up and placed both of his hands upon Juve's shoulders.
"Lady Beltham is not dead: She is alive! As surely as my name's Fandor, the Superior of the Convent at Nogent is—Lady Beltham."
At the far end of the Rue de Rome Fandor halted. "After all," he thought, "maybe I am going straight into a trap. Who sent me the letter? Who is this M. Mahon? I never heard of him. Why this menacing phrase, 'Come, if you take any interest in the affairs of Lady B—— and F——.' Oh, if only I could take counsel of Juve!"
But for the last fortnight, since the ill-starred affair of Nogent and the almost incredible discovery he had made that Lady Beltham was still alive, Fandor had not seen Juve. He had been to the Sûreté a number of times, but Juve had vanished.
Fandor stopped before a private house on the Boulevard Pereire North. He passed in through the outer hall and reached the porter's lodge.
"Madame, have you a tenant here named Mahon?"
The porteress came forward.
"M. Mahon? To be sure—fifth floor on the right."
"Thank you. I should like to ask a few questions about him. I have come—to negotiate an insurance policy for him and I should like to know about the value of the furniture in his rooms. What sort of a man is this M. Mahon? About how old is he?"
Fandor had, by pure professional instinct, found the best device in the world. There is not a porteress who has not many times enlightened insurance agents.
"Why, sir, M. Mahon has lived here only a month or six weeks. He can scarcely be very well off, for when he moved in I did not see any fine furniture go up. I believe for that matter he is an old cavalry officer, and, in the army nowadays, folks scarcely make fortunes."
"That's true enough," assented Fandor.
"Anyhow he is a very charming man, an ideal lodger. To begin with, he is infirm, almost paralysed in both legs. I believe he never goes out of an evening. And then he never has any visitors except two young fellows who are serving their time in the army."
"Are they with him now?"
"No, sir, they never come till three or four in the afternoon."
Fandor slipped a coin into the woman's hand and went upstairs. He rang at the door and was surprised at a strange, soft rolling sound.
"Oh, I know," he thought; "the poor man must move about his rooms in a rubber-tired wheel chair."
He was not mistaken. Scarcely was the door opened when he caught sight of an old man of much distinction seated in a wheel chair. This invalid greeted the journalist pleasantly.
"M. Fandor?"
"The same, sir."
M. Mahon pushed forward his chair and motioned to his visitor to come in.
Fandor entered a room in which the curtains were closely drawn and which was brilliantly illuminated with electric lights, although it was the middle of the afternoon. Was it a trap? The journalist instinctively hesitated in the doorway. But behind him a cordial voice called:
"Come in, you all kinds of an idiot!"
The door clicked behind him and the invalid, getting out of his chair, burst into a fit of laughter.
"Juve! Juve!"
"As you see!"
"Bah, what farce are you playing here? Why this lit-up room?"
"All for very good reasons. If you will be kind enough to take a seat, I will explain."
Fandor dropped into a chair staring at Juve, who continued:
"When you came back the other day and told me that unlikely yarn about Lady Beltham being alive, I decided to try new methods. First of all, I became a cavalry officer, then I got this wheel chair and moved into this apartment."
As Juve paused, Fandor, more and more amazed, inquired:
"But your reason for all this!"
"Just wait! The day after the Dixon business, I put three of my best men on the track of the American. I had a notion he would want to see Josephine again, and I was not mistaken. She came back to justify herself in his eyes. The story ended as might have been foreseen. Michel, who brought me the news, said that Josephine had agreed to become Dixon's mistress."
"The deuce!"
"Oh, there is nothing to be surprised at that. Michel made arrangements to learn all the details. Josephine is to live at 33 C in Boulevard Pereire South; that is, to the right of the railwayline, fourth floor. Here we are at 24 B Boulevard Pereire North, to left of the railway, fifth floor, and just opposite."
"And what does this old M. Mahon do, Juve?"
Juve smiled.
"You are going to see, my lad."
He settled himself again in the wheel chair, drew a heavy rug over his knees and became once more the old invalid.
"My dear friend, will you open the door for me?"
Fandor laughingly complied, and Juve wheeled himself into another room.
"You see I have plenty of air here thanks to this balcony upon which I can wheel my chair. Would you be good enough to pass me that spy-glass?"
Juve pointed the glass toward the far end of Boulevard Pereire, in the direction of Poste Maillot.
"Mlle. Josephine has lately had a craze for keeping her nails polished."
"But you are not looking toward the house opposite, you are looking in a contrary direction!"
Juve laid his spy-glass on his knees and laughed.
"I expected you to make that remark. See, those glasses at the end are only for show, inside is a whole system of prisms. With this perspective you see not in front of you, but on one side. In other words, when I point it at the far end of the boulevard, what I am really looking at is the house opposite."
Fandor was about to congratulate his friend on this new specimen of his ingenuity, but Juve did not give him time. He startled the journalist by suddenly asking him:
"Tell me, do you love the army?"
"Why?"
"Because I think those two soldiers you see over there are coming."
"To see you," added Fandor.
"How do you know?"
"From your porteress."
"You pumped her?"
"I did. I got her to talk a bit about that excellent M. Mahon."
Juve laughed:
"Confound you!"
With a quick movement Fandor, at the detective's request, drew back the wheel chair and shut the window.
"You understand," explained Juve, "there is nothing to surprise my neighbours in my havingtwo soldiers to visit me. But I don't care for third persons to hear what they say to me." There was a ring at the apartment door. "Go and open, Fandor. I don't leave my cripple's chair for them; people can see through the curtains."
Shown in by Fandor, the soldiers shook hands with Juve and took seats opposite him.
"Do you recognise Michel and Léon?"
"Oh, perfectly!" cried Fandor, "but why this disguise?"
"Because no heed is paid to uniforms, there are soldiers everywhere, and also it is not easy to recognise a civilian suddenly appearing in uniform. What is fresh, Michel?"
"Something pretty serious, sir. According to your instructions we have been shadowing the Superior of the Nogent Convent."
"Well, what have you discovered?"
"Every Tuesday evening the Superior leaves Nogent and goes to Paris."
"Where?"
"To one of the branches of her religious house in the Boulevard Jourdan."
"No. 180?"
Michel was dumbfounded.
"Yes, sir, you knew?"
"No," said Juve, coldly. "What does she do at this branch?"
"There are four or five old nuns there. The Superior spends Tuesday night there and on Wednesday goes back to Nogent about one in the afternoon."
"And you know no more than that?"
"No, sir. Must we go on with the shadowing?"
"No, it is not worth while. Return to the Prefecture and report to M. Havard."
When the two men had left, Fandor turned to Juve.
"What do you make of it?"
Juve shrugged his shoulders.
"Michel is an idiot. That house has two exits; one to the Boulevard, the other to waste ground that leads to the fortifications. The Superior, or Lady Beltham, goes there to change her dress, and then hastens to some prearranged meeting elsewhere. The house at Neuilly will bear watching."
"What a splendid fellow! One can count on him at any time. A friendship like his is rare and precious."
Fandor had just left Juve, and the detective could not help being strangely moved as he thought of the devotion shown him by the journalist.
The detective was still in his wheel chair; with a skilful turn he went back to the balcony and his post of observation.
Evening was coming on. After a fine day the sky had become leaden and overcast with great clouds: a storm was threatening. Juve swore.
"I shan't see much this evening; this confounded Josephine is so sentimental that she loves dreaming in the gloaming at her window without lighting up. Devil take her!"
Juve had armed himself with his spy-glass;he apparently levelled it at Porte Maillot, and in that way he could see something of the movements of Josephine in the rooms opposite him.
"Flowers on the chimney and on the piano! Expecting her lover probably!"
Suddenly he started up in his chair.
"Ah! some one has rung her bell. She is going toward the entrance door."
A minute passed; in the front rooms Juve no longer saw anyone. Josephine must be receiving a visitor.
Some minutes more went by; a heavy shower of rain came down and Juve was forced to leave his balcony.
When he resumed his watching he could not suppress an exclamation of surprise.
"Ah, if he would only turn! This cursed rain prevents me from seeing clearly what is afoot. The brute! Why won't he turn! There, he has laid his bag on a chair, his initials must be on it, but I can't read them. Yet the height of the man! His gestures! It's he, sure enough, it's Chaleck!"
Juve suddenly abandoned his post of observation, propelled his chair to the back room of the suite and seized the telephone apparatus.
"Hello! Give me the Prefecture. It is Juve speaking. Send at once detectives Léon and Michel to No. 33 C Boulevard Pereire South. They are to wait at the door of the house and arrest as they come out the persons I marked as numbers 14 and 15. Let them make haste."
"Assuredly Chaleck won't leave at once if he has come to see Josephine; no doubt he has important things to say. Léon and Michel will arrive in time to nab him first and Josephine after. And to-morrow, when I have them handcuffed before me, it's the deuce if I don't manage to get the truth out of them."
Juve went back to his look-out.
"Oh, they seem very lively, both of them; the talk must be serious. Josephine doesn't look pleased. She seems to disagree with what Chaleck is saying. One would think he was giving her orders. No! she is down on her knees. A declaration of love! After Loupart and Dixon it's that infernal doctor's turn!"
Juve watched for a moment longer the young woman and the mysterious and elusive Chaleck.
"Ah! that's what I feared! Chaleck is going and Léon and Michel haven't come!"
Juve hesitated. Should he go down, rush to the Boulevard and try to collar the ruffian? That wasn't possible. Juve lived on the fifth floor, so that he had one more story to get down than Chaleck, then there was the railway line betweenhim and Josephine's house. Chaleck would have ample time to disappear. But Juve reassured himself.
"Luckily he has left his hold-all, and if I mistake not, that is his stick on the chair. Therefore he expects to come back."
Powerless to act, Juve witnessed the exit of Chaleck, who soon appeared at the door of Josephine's house and went striding off. Juve followed him with his eyes, intensely chagrined. Would he ever again find such a good opportunity of laying hands on the ruffian?
Chaleck vanished round the corner of the street, and Juve again took to watching Josephine! The young woman did not appear to be upset by her late visitor. She sat, her elbows on the table, turning with a listless finger the pages of a volume.
"Clearly he is coming back," thought Juve, "or he would not have left his things there. I shall nab him in a few days at latest."
Juve was about to leave his post of observation when he saw Josephine raise her head in an attitude of listening to an indefinable and mysterious noise.
"What is going on?" Juve asked himself. "She cannot be already watching for Chaleck's return."
Then Juve started.
"Oh! oh!"
He had just seen Josephine at a single bound spring toward the window. The young woman gazed steadily in front of her, her arms outstretched in a posture of horror. She seemed in a state of abject terror. There was no mistaking her motions. She was panic-stricken, panting, trembling in all her limbs. Juve, who lost no movement of the hapless woman, felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead.
"What's the matter with her? There is nobody in the room, I see nothing! What can frighten her to that extent? Oh, my God!"
Forgetting all precautions, all the comedy he was preparing so carefully for the neighbour's benefit, he sprang to his feet, deserting his wheel chair. His hands clenched on the rail of the balcony while spellbound by the sight he beheld, he leaned over the rail as if in a frantic desire to fling himself to the young woman's help. Josephine had bestridden the sash of her window. She was now standing on the ledge, holding with one hand to the rail of her balcony and her body flung backwards as if mad with terror.
"What is happening? Oh, the poor soul!"
Josephine, uttering a desperate cry, had let go of the supporting rail and had flung herselfinto space. Juve saw the young woman's body spin in the air, heard the dull thud that it made as it crashed against the ground.
"It is monstrous!"
Juve beside himself tore down the stairs full tilt, passed breathlessly the porteress, who seemed likely to faint at the sight of the headlong pace of the supposed paralytic.
He went round Boulevard Pereire, darted along the railway line, and, panting, got to the side of the ill-starred Josephine. At the sound of her fall and the cries she uttered people had flown to the windows, passers-by had turned round: when Juve got there a ring of people had already formed round the unfortunate woman. The detective roughly pushed some of them aside, knelt down beside the body and put his ear to the chest.
"Dead? No!"
A faint groan came from the lips of the poor sufferer. Juve realised that by unheard-of luck, Josephine, in the course of her fall, had struck the outer branches of one of the trees that fringed the Boulevard. This had somewhat broken the shock, but her legs were frightfully broken and one of her arms hung lifeless.
"Quick!" commanded Juve. "A cab; take her to the hospital."
As soon as help was forthcoming, Juve, recalled to the duties of his profession, asked himself:
"What can have occurred? What was it she tried to escape by throwing herself into space? I saw the whole room, there was no one with her. She must have been the victim of a delusion."