WHICH CONTAINS SOME PAGES FROM THE HISTORY OF JEAN ROUSSEL-LARSAN
BALLMEYER
An hour later, we were all at our posts, passing along the parapets
in the moonlight, keeping close watch upon the land, the sky and
the water, and listening anxiously to the slightest sounds of the
night--the sighing of the sea and the voices of the birds which began
to sing at about three o’clock in the morning. Mme. Edith, who said
that she could not sleep, came out and talked to Rouletabille at his
postern. The lad called me, placed me in charge of his postern and
of Mrs. Rance, and made his rounds. The fair Edith was in the most
charming humor. She looked as fresh as a rose washed in dew, and she
seemed to be greatly amused at the wan countenance of her husband, to
whom she had brought out a glass of whisky.
“It’s the funniest thing I ever heard of,” she exclaimed, clapping her
tiny hands. “All of you keeping watch out here like this! How I wish I
knew your Larsan! I’m sure I should adore him!”
I shuddered involuntarily at the words she uttered so lightly. Beyond
a doubt there do exist romantic little creatures who fear nothing, and
who in their carelessness jest at fate. Ah! if the unhappy girl had
only realized what was to come!
I spent two delightful hours with Mme. Edith, during the greater
part of which I related to her some facts regarding the history of
Ballmeyer. And since this occasion presents itself, I will at this time
relate to the reader, in historical order--if I may use an expression
which perfectly interprets my meaning--the characteristics and
circumstances in the career of Larsan-Ballmeyer, some of which had been
sufficient to make it doubtful whether he still lived at the time that
he appeared to play so unexpected a part in “The Mystery of the Yellow
Room.” As this man’s powers will be seen to extend in “The Perfume of
the Lady in Black” to heights which some may believe inaccessible, I
judge it to be my duty to prepare the mind of the reader to admit in
the end that I am only the transcriber of an affair the like of which
never has been known before, and that I have invented nothing. And,
moreover, Rouletabille, in the event that I might have the hardihood to
add to such a wonderful and veracious history any rhetorical ornaments
or exaggerations, would certainly contradict me and riddle my story as
with bullets. The great interests at stake are such that the slightest
exaggeration would assuredly entail the most terrible consequences, so
that I shall keep strictly to the exact details of my narrative, even
at the risk of making it seem a little dry and methodical. I will refer
those who believe in actual records to the stenographic reports of the
trial at Versailles. M. Andre Hesse and M. Henri-Robert, who appeared
for M. Robert Darzac, made admirable addresses, to which the public
may easily obtain access. And it must not be forgotten that before
destiny had brought Larsan-Ballmeyer and Joseph Rouletabille into
contact, the elegantly mannered bandit had given considerable trouble
to the authorities. We have only to open the files of the _Gazette
les Tribuneaux_ and to read the account of the day when Larsan was
condemned by the Court of Assizes to ten years at hard labor, to be
assured on this score. Then, one will understand that there is no need
of inventing anything about a man concerning whom one can with truth
relate such a history: and thus the reader, knowing the sort of man
that he is--that is to say, his manner of working and his incredible
audacity--will refrain from smiling because Joseph Rouletabille placed
a drawbridge between Larsan-Ballmeyer and Mathilde Darzac.
* * * * *
M. Albert Bataille of _le Figaro_, who has published an admirable
work on “Criminal and Civil Causes,” has devoted some interesting pages
to Ballmeyer.
Ballmeyer had a happy childhood and youth. He did not become a criminal
as so many others have done because driven to evil doing by the hard
blows of poverty and misery. The son of a rich broker in the Rue Molay,
he might have chosen any vocation that he desired, but his preferred
calling was to lay hands upon the money of other people. At an early
age, he decided to become a swindler, just as another lad might have
decided to become an engineer. His debut was a stroke of genius, and
the history of it is almost incredible. Ballmeyer stole a letter
addressed to his father containing a considerable sum of money. Then he
took the train for Lyons and from there wrote his parent as follows:
“Monsieur, I am an old soldier, retired and with a medal of honor to
show that I have served my country. My son, a postoffice clerk, has
stolen in the mails a letter addressed to you and containing money, to
pay a gambling debt. I have called the members of the family together.
In a few days we shall be able to raise the sum necessary to repay you.
You are a father. Have pity upon a father. Do not bring me down in
sorrow and shame to my grave.”
M. Ballmeyer willingly granted the petition. He is still waiting for
his first remittance--or, rather, he has ceased to expect it, for the
law apprised him ten years ago of the identity of the culprit.
Ballmeyer, relates M. Albert Bataille, seems to have received from
nature all the gifts which go to make the successful swindler: a
wonderful diversity, the talent of persuading new acquaintances to
believe in him, the careful attention to the smallest details, the
genius for completely disguising himself (he even took the precaution
along this line of having his linen marked with different initials
every time that he judged it expedient to change his name). But his
strongest characteristic of all was his astonishing aptitude for
evasion--for coquetting with fraud, for mocking at and defying justice.
This was evinced in the malignant pleasure which he took in speaking of
himself at Parquet as among those who might have been guilty, knowing
how little importance would be attached by the magistrate by the clues
which he gave.
This delight in jesting at the judges was apparent in every act of his
life.
While he was doing military duty, Ballmeyer stole his companion’s box
and accused the captain.
He committed a theft of forty thousand francs from the Maison Furet,
and immediately afterward denounced M. Furet as having stolen it
himself.
The Furet affair remained for a long time celebrated among judicial
records under the appellation of “the coup of the telephone.” Science,
applied as an aid to knavery, has never given anything better.
Ballmeyer appropriated a draft for six thousand livres sterling from
the messenger of Messrs. Furet, brothers, who were note brokers in the
Rue Poissoniere, and who allowed him desk room in their offices.
He went to the Rue Poissoniere, into the house of M. Furet, and,
imitating the voice of M. Edouard Furet, asked over the telephone of
M. Cohen, a banker, whether he would be willing to discount the draft.
M. Cohen replied in the affirmative, and ten minutes later, Ballmeyer,
after having cut the telephone wire to prevent further communication
and possible explanations, sent for the money by a companion named
Rigaud, whom he had known not long before in the African battalion,
where their common interests had made them useful to each other.
Ballmeyer kept the lion’s share for himself: then he rushed to the
court to denounce Rigaud, and, as I have said, M. Furet himself.
A dramatic scene took place when accuser and accused were confronted
with each other in the cabinet of M. Espierre, the judge of instruction
who had charge of the affair.
“You know, my dear Furet,” said Ballmeyer to the amazed broker, “I am
heart-broken at being obliged to expose you, but you must tell the
Justice the truth. It is not an affair from which you need fear serious
consequences. Why don’t you confess? You needed forty thousand francs
to pay a little debt incurred at the race track and you intended to pay
back the sum. It was you who telephoned?”
“I! I!” stammered M. Edouard Furet, almost breathless with rage and
astonishment.
“You may as well confess,” said Ballmeyer. “No one could mistake your
voice.”
The bold thief was detected within eight days and was caught; and the
police furnished such a report upon him that M. Cruppi, then attorney
general, now Minister of Commerce, presented to M. Furet the most
humble excuses of the Department of Justice. Rigaud was also tried and
condemned to twenty years at hard labor.
One might go on relating this kind of stories about Ballmeyer
indefinitely. At that time, before he had entered upon the darker and
more horrible pages of his career, he played a comedy--and what a
comedy! It may be as well to give in detail the history of one of his
escapes. Nothing could be more immensely comical than the adventure of
the prisoner composing a long memorial during his trial for the sole
purpose of hanging over the table of the judge, M. Villars, and of
turning over the papers in order to obtain a glimpse of the formula of
orders of discharge.
When he was sent back to jail at Mazas, the fellow wrote a letter
signed “Villars,” in which, according to the prescribed formula, M.
Villars requested the superintendent of the prison to set the prisoner,
Ballmeyer, at liberty without delay. But he had no paper of the kind
used by the Judge for such matters.
However, so small a thing as that scarcely embarrassed Ballmeyer. He
went back to the courthouse in the morning, hiding the letter in his
sleeve, protested his innocence and feigning great indignation and
anger. He picked up the seal that lay on the table and gesticulated
with it in expressing his wrath, and he knocked the inkstand over on
the blue trousers of his guard. While the poor fellow, surrounded by
the inmates of the court-room, who condoled with him on his ill luck,
was sadly sponging off his “Number One,” Ballmeyer profited by the
general diversion to apply a strong pressure of the stamp upon the
order of discharge, and then began loudly excusing himself to the
soldier.
The trick succeeded. The thief made his way out amid the confusion,
and, negligently tossing the signed and sealed paper to the guards,
remarked carelessly:
“What is M. Villars thinking of to order me to carry his papers? Does
he take me for his servant?”
Then he went back to his seat. The guards picked up the paper, and one
of them carried it to the warden at Mazas, to whom it was addressed.
It was the order to set Ballmeyer at liberty without delay. The same
night, Ballmeyer was free.
This was his second escape. Arrested for the Furet affair, he had
gotten away once by throwing pepper in the eyes of the guard who was
taking him to the station, and that same evening he was present in
evening dress at a first night at the Comedie Française. Prior to this,
at the time when he had been sentenced by court martial to five years’
imprisonment because he had robbed his companion, he had made his way
out of the Cherche Midi by having one of his comrades forge an order of
release for him. A variation of the same plan had served him well once
more.
But one would never finish if one tried to relate all the amazing
adventures of Ballmeyer.
Known at various times as the Count de Maupas, Vicomte Drouet d’erion,
Comte de Motteville, Comte de Bonneville, and under many other aliases,
as an elegant man about town, setting the fashion, he frequented
the summer resorts and watering places--Biarritz, Aix les Bains,
Luchon, losing in play at the club as much as ten thousand francs in
one evening, surrounded by pretty women, who envied each other his
attentions--for this fellow was extremely popular with the fair sex.
In his regiment, he had made a conquest--happily platonic--of the
Colonel’s daughter. Do you know the type now?
Well, it was with this man that Joseph Rouletabille was going to fight.
I thought that morning that I had sufficiently informed Mme. Edith in
regard to the personality of the bandit. She listened so silently that
my attention was finally drawn to the fact that she had not uttered a
remark in some time, and, bending down, I saw that she was fast asleep.
This circumstance should not have given me a very good opinion of the
little creature. But, as I watched her sleeping face at my leisure, I
felt springing up in my soul feelings which I later endeavored in vain
to chase away from my mind.
The night passed without any event. When the day dawned, I saluted
it with a deep sigh of relief. Nevertheless, Rouletabille did not
permit me to retire until eight o’clock in the morning, after he had
settled on how matters should go on through the day. He was already in
the midst of the workmen whom he had summoned, and who were laboring
actively in repairing the breaches of the tower B. The work was done so
expeditiously and so promptly that the strong château of Hercules was
soon sealed as hermetically close as it was possible for a building
to be. Seated on a big boulder in the bright sunlight, Rouletabille
began to draw upon his note book the plan which I have submitted to the
reader, and he said to me while I, worn out with my vigil, was making
absurd efforts to keep my eyes open:
“You see, Sainclair, these people believe that I am fortifying the
place to defend myself. Well, that is merely a small part of the truth,
for I am fortifying the place because reason bids me do so. And, if I
close up the breaches, it is less in order that Larsan cannot get in
than for the sake of depriving my reason of any chance of accusing me
of carelessness. For instance, I can never reason in a forest. How will
you reason in a forest? There, reason flies away on every side. But in
a closed up château! My friend, it is like a sealed casket. If you are
inside and are not insane, your reasoning powers must come back to you.”
“Yes, yes,” I murmured sleepily, nodding. “That’s it--your reason will
come back to you----”
“Well, well, never mind!” answered Rouletabille. “Go to bed, old
fellow. You are walking in your sleep now.”