THE BELLE HÉLÈNE
"There's no mistake about it," said Patrice. "The information conveyed
to M. Masseron that the gold had been sent away; the speed with which
the work was carried out, at night, mechanically, by the people
belonging to the boat; their alien nationality; the direction which they
took: it all agrees. The probability is that, between the cellar into
which the gold was shot and the place where it finished its journey,
there was some spot where it used to remain concealed . . . unless the
eighteen hundred bags can have awaited their despatch, slung one behind
the other, along the wire. But that doesn't matter much. The great thing
is to know that the _Belle Hélène_, hiding somewhere in the outskirts,
lay waiting for the favorable opportunity. In the old days Essarès Bey,
by way of precaution, used to send her a signal with the aid of that
shower of sparks which I saw. This time old Siméon, who is continuing
Essarès' work, no doubt on his own account, gave the crew notice; and
the bags of gold are on their way to Rouen and Le Hâvre, where some
steamer will take them over and carry them . . . eastwards. After all,
forty or fifty tons, hidden in the hold under a layer of coal, is
nothing. What do you say? That's it, isn't it? I feel positive about it.
. . . Then we have Mantes, to which he took his ticket and for which
the _Belle Hélène_ is bound. Could anything be clearer? Mantes, where
he'll pick up his cargo of gold and go on board in some seafaring
disguise, unknown and unseen. . . . Loot and looter disappearing
together. It's as clear as daylight. Don't you agree?"
Once again Don Luis did not answer. However, he must have acquiesced in
Patrice's theories, for, after a minute, he declared:
"Very well. I'll go to Mantes." And, turning to the chauffeur, "Hurry
off to the garage," he said, "and come back in the six-cylinder. I want
to be at Mantes in less than an hour. You, captain . . ."
"I shall come with you."
"And who will look after . . . ?"
"Coralie? She's in no danger! Who can attack her now? Siméon has failed
in his attempt and is thinking only of saving his own skin . . . and his
bags of gold."
"You insist, do you?"
"Absolutely."
"I don't know that you're wise. However, that's your affair. Let's go.
By the way, though, one precaution." He raised his voice. "Ya-Bon!"
The Senegalese came hastening up. While Ya-Bon felt for Patrice all the
affection of a faithful dog, he seemed to profess towards Don Luis
something more nearly approaching religious devotion. The adventurer's
slightest action roused him to ecstasy. He never stopped laughing in the
great chief's presence.
"Ya-Bon, are you all right now? Is your wound healed? You don't feel
tired? Good. In that case, come with me."
He led him to the quay, a short distance away from Berthou's Wharf:
"At nine o'clock this evening," he said, "you're to be on guard here, on
this bench. Bring your food and drink with you; and keep a particular
look-out for anything that happens over there, down stream. Perhaps
nothing will happen at all; but never mind: you're not to move until I
come back . . . unless . . . unless something does happen, in which case
you will act accordingly."
He paused and then continued:
"Above all, Ya-Bon, beware of Siméon. It was he who gave you that wound.
If you catch sight of him, leap at his throat and bring him here. But
mind you don't kill him! No nonsense now. I don't want you to hand me
over a corpse, but a live man. Do you understand, Ya-Bon?"
Patrice began to feel uneasy:
"Do you fear anything from that side?" he asked. "Look here, it's out of
the question, as Siméon has gone . . ."
"Captain," said Don Luis, "when a good general goes in pursuit of the
enemy, that does not prevent him from consolidating his hold on the
conquered ground and leaving garrisons in the fortresses. Berthou's
Wharf is evidently one of our adversary's rallying-points. I'm keeping
it under observation."
Don Luis also took serious precautions with regard to Coralie. She was
very much overstrained and needed rest and attention. They put her into
the car and, after making a dash at full speed towards the center of
Paris, so as to throw any spies off the scent, took her to the home on
the Boulevard Maillot, where Patrice handed her over to the matron and
recommended her to the doctor's care. The staff received strict orders
to admit no strangers to see her. She was to answer no letter, unless
the letter was signed "Captain Patrice."
At nine o'clock, the car sped down the Saint-Germain and Mantes road.
Sitting inside with Don Luis, Patrice felt all the enthusiasm of victory
and indulged freely in theories, every one of which possessed for him
the value of an unimpeachable certainty. A few doubts lingered in his
mind, however, points which remained obscure and on which he would have
been glad to have Don Luis' opinion.
"There are two things," he said, "which I simply cannot understand. In
the first place, who was the man murdered by Essarès, at nineteen
minutes past seven in the morning, on the fourth of April? I heard his
dying cries. Who was killed? And what became of the body?"
Don Luis was silent; and Patrice went on:
"The second point is stranger still. I mean Siméon's behavior. Here's a
man who devotes his whole life to a single object, that of revenging his
friend Belval's murder and at the same time ensuring my happiness and
Coralie's. This is his one aim in life; and nothing can make him swerve
from his obsession. And then, on the day when his enemy, Essarès Bey, is
put out of the way, suddenly he turns round completely and persecutes
Coralie and me, going to the length of using against us the horrible
contrivance which Essarès Bey had employed so successfully against our
parents! You really must admit that it's an amazing change! Can it be
the thought of the gold that has hypnotized him? Are his crimes to be
explained by the huge treasure placed at his disposal on the day when
he discovered the secret? Has a decent man transformed himself into a
bandit to satisfy a sudden instinct? What do you think?"
Don Luis persisted in his silence. Patrice, who expected to see every
riddle solved by the famous adventurer in a twinkling, felt peevish and
surprised. He made a last attempt:
"And the golden triangle? Another mystery! For, after all, there's not a
trace of a triangle in anything we've seen! Where is this golden
triangle? Have you any idea what it means?"
Don Luis allowed a moment to pass and then said:
"Captain, I have the most thorough liking for you and I take the
liveliest interest in all that concerns you, but I confess that there is
one problem which excludes all others and one object towards which all
my efforts are now directed. That is the pursuit of the gold of which we
have been robbed; and I don't want this gold to escape us. I have
succeeded on your side, but not yet on the other. You are both of you
safe and sound, but I haven't the eighteen hundred bags; and I want
them, I want them."
"You'll have them, since we know where they are."
"I shall have them," said Don Luis, "when they lie spread before my
eyes. Until then, I can tell you nothing."
At Mantes the enquiries did not take long. They almost immediately had
the satisfaction of learning that a traveler, whose description
corresponded with old Siméon's, had gone to the Hôtel des
Trois-Empereurs and was now asleep in a room on the third floor.
Don Luis took a ground-floor room, while Patrice, who would have
attracted the enemy's attention more easily, because of his lame leg,
went to the Grand Hôtel.
He woke late the next morning. Don Luis rang him up and told him that
Siméon, after calling at the post-office, had gone down to the river and
then to the station, where he met a fashionably-dressed woman, with her
face hidden by a thick veil, and brought her back to the hotel. The two
were lunching together in the room on the third floor.
At four o'clock Don Luis rang up again, to ask Patrice to join him at
once in a little café at the end of the town, facing the Seine. Here
Patrice saw Siméon on the quay. He was walking with his hands behind his
back, like a man strolling without any definite object.
"Comforter, spectacles, the same get-up as usual," said Patrice. "Not a
thing about him changed. Watch him. He's putting on an air of
indifference, but you can bet that his eyes are looking up stream, in
the direction from which the _Belle Hélène_ is coming."
"Yes, yes," said Don Luis. "Here's the lady."
"Oh, that's the one, is it?" said Patrice. "I've met her two or three
times already in the street."
A dust-cloak outlined her figure and shoulders, which were wide and
rather well-developed. A veil fell around the brim of her felt hat. She
gave Siméon a telegram to read. Then they talked for a moment, seemed to
be taking their bearings, passed by the café and stopped a little lower
down. Here Siméon wrote a few words on a sheet of note-paper and handed
it to his companion. She left him and went back into the town. Siméon
resumed his walk by the riverside.
"You must stay here, captain," said Don Luis.
"But the enemy doesn't seem to be on his guard," protested Patrice.
"He's not turning round."
"It's better to be prudent, captain. What a pity that we can't have a
look at what Siméon wrote down!"
"I might . . ."
"Go after the lady? No, no, captain. Without wishing to offend you,
you're not quite cut out for it. I'm not sure that even I . . ."
And he walked away.
Patrice waited. A few boats moved up or down the river. Mechanically, he
glanced at their names. And suddenly, half an hour after Don Luis had
left him, he heard the clearly-marked rhythm, the pulsation of one of
those powerful motors which, for a few years past, have been fitted to
certain barges.
At the bend of the river a barge appeared. As she passed in front of
him, he distinctly and with no little excitement read the name of the
_Belle Hélène_!
She was gliding along at a fair pace, to the accompaniment of a regular,
throbbing beat. She was big and broad in the beam, heavy and pretty deep
in the water, though she appeared to carry no cargo. Patrice saw two
watermen on board, sitting and smoking carelessly. A dinghy floated
behind at the end of a painter.
The barge went on and passed out of sight at the turn. Patrice waited
another hour before Don Luis came back.
"Well?" he asked. "Have you seen her?"
"Yes, they let go the dinghy, a mile and a half from here, and put in
for Siméon."
"Then he's gone with them?"
"Yes."
"Without suspecting anything?"
"You're asking me too much, captain!"
"Never mind! We've won! We shall catch them up in the car, pass them
and, at Vernon or somewhere, inform the military and civil authorities,
so that they may proceed to arrest the men and seize the boat."
"We shall inform nobody, captain. We shall proceed to carry out these
little operations ourselves."
"What do you mean? Surely . . ."
The two looked at each other. Patrice had been unable to dissemble the
thought that occurred to his mind. Don Luis showed no resentment:
"You're afraid that I shall run away with the three hundred millions? By
jingo, it's a largish parcel to hide in one's jacket-pocket!"
"Still," said Patrice, "may I ask what you intend to do?"
"You may, captain, but allow me to postpone my reply until we've really
won. For the moment, we must first find the barge again."
They went to the Hôtel des Trois-Empereurs and drove off in the car
towards Vernon. This time they were both silent.
The road joined the river a few miles lower down, at the bottom of the
steep hill which begins at Rosny. Just as they reached Rosny the _Belle
Hélène_ was entering the long loop which curves out to La Roche-Guyon,
turns back and joins the high-road again at Bonnières. She would need at
least three hours to cover the distance, whereas the car, climbing the
hill and keeping straight ahead, arrived at Bonnières in fifteen
minutes.
They drove through the village. There was an inn a little way beyond it,
on the right. Don Luis made his chauffeur stop here:
"If we are not back by twelve to-night," he said, "go home to Paris.
Will you come with me, captain?"
Patrice followed him towards the right, whence a small road led them to
the river-bank. They followed this for a quarter of an hour. At last Don
Luis found what he appeared to be seeking, a boat fastened to a stake,
not far from a villa with closed shutters. Don Luis unhooked the chain.
It was about seven o'clock in the evening. Night was falling fast, but a
brilliant moonlight lit the landscape.
"First of all," said Don Luis, "a word of explanation. We're going to
wait for the barge. She'll come in sight on the stroke of ten and find
us lying across stream. I shall order her to heave to; and there's no
doubt that, when they see your uniform by the light of the moon or of my
electric lamp, they will obey. Then we shall go on board."
"Suppose they refuse?"
"If they refuse, we shall board her by force. There are three of them
and two of us. So . . ."
"And then?"
"And then? Well, there's every reason to believe that the two men
forming the crew are only extra hands, employed by Siméon, but ignorant
of his actions and knowing nothing of the nature of the cargo. Once we
have reduced Siméon to helplessness and paid them handsomely, they'll
take the barge wherever I tell them. But, mind you--and this is what I
was coming to--I mean to do with the barge exactly as I please. I shall
hand over the cargo as and when I think fit. It's my booty, my prize. No
one is entitled to it but myself."
The officer drew himself up:
"Oh, I can't agree to that, you know!"
"Very well, then give me your word of honor that you'll keep a secret
which doesn't belong to you. After which, we'll say good-night and go
our own ways. I'll do the boarding alone and you can go back to your own
business. Observe, however, that I am not insisting on an immediate
reply. You have plenty of time to reflect and to take the decision which
your interest, honor and conscience may dictate to you. For my part,
excuse me, but you know my weakness: when circumstances give me a little
spare time, I take advantage of it to go to sleep. _Carpe somnum_, as
the poet says. Good-night, captain."
And, without another word, Don Luis wrapped himself in his great-coat,
sprang into the boat and lay down.
Patrice had had to make a violent effort to restrain his anger. Don
Luis' calm, ironic tone and well-bred, bantering voice got on his nerves
all the more because he felt the influence of that strange man and fully
recognized that he was incapable of acting without his assistance.
Besides, he could not forget that Don Luis had saved his life and
Coralie's.
The hours slipped by. The adventurer slumbered peacefully in the cool
night air. Patrice hesitated what to do, seeking for some plan of
conduct which would enable him to get at Siméon and rid himself of that
implacable adversary and at the same time to prevent Don Luis from
laying hands on the enormous treasure. He was dismayed at the thought of
being his accomplice. And yet, when the first throbs of the motor were
heard in the distance and when Don Luis awoke, Patrice was by his side,
ready for action.
They did not exchange a word. A village-clock struck ten. The _Belle
Hélène_ was coming towards them.
Patrice felt his excitement increase. The _Belle Hélène_ meant Siméon's
capture, the recovery of the millions, Coralie out of danger, the end of
that most hideous nightmare and the total extinction of Essarès'
handiwork. The engine was throbbing nearer and nearer. Its loud and
regular beat sounded wide over the motionless Seine. Don Luis had taken
the sculls and was pulling hard for the middle of the river. And
suddenly they saw in the distance a black mass looming up in the white
moonlight. Twelve or fifteen more minutes passed and the _Belle Hélène_
was before them.
"Shall I lend you a hand?" whispered Patrice. "It looks as if you had
the current against you and as if you had a difficulty in getting
along."
"Not the least difficulty," said Don Luis; and he began to hum a tune.
"But . . ."
Patrice was stupefied. The boat had turned in its own length and was
making for the bank.
"But, I say, I say," he said, "what's this? Are you going back? Are you
giving up? . . . I don't understand. . . . You're surely not afraid
because they're three to our two?"
Don Luis leapt on shore at a bound and stretched out his hand to him.
Patrice pushed it aside, growling:
"Will you explain what it all means?"
"Take too long," replied Don Luis. "Just one question, though. You know
that book I found in old Siméon's room, _The Memoirs of Benjamin
Franklin_: did you see it when you were making your search?"
"Look here, it seems to me we have other things to . . ."
"It's an urgent question, captain."
"Well, no, it wasn't there."
"Then that's it," said Don Luis. "We've been done brown, or rather, to
be accurate, I have. Let's be off, captain, as fast as we can."
Patrice was still in the boat. He pushed off abruptly and caught up the
scull, muttering:
"As I live, I believe the beggar's getting at me!"
He was ten yards from shore when he cried:
"If you're afraid, I'll go alone. Don't want any help."
"Right you are, captain!" replied Don Luis. "I'll expect you presently
at the inn."
* * * * *
Patrice encountered no difficulties in his undertaking. At the first
order, which he shouted in a tone of command, the _Belle Hélène_
stopped; and he was able to board her peacefully. The two bargees were
men of a certain age, natives of the Basque coast. He introduced himself
as a representative of the military authorities; and they showed him
over their craft. He found neither old Siméon nor the very smallest bag
of gold. The hold was almost empty.
The questions and answers did not take long:
"Where are you going?"
"To Rouen. We've been requisitioned by the government for transport of
supplies."
"But you picked up somebody on the way."
"Yes, at Mantes."
"His name, please?"
"Siméon Diodokis."
"Where's he got to?"
"He made us put him down a little after, to take the train."
"What did he want?"
"To pay us."
"For what?"
"For a shipload we took at Paris two days ago."
"Bags?"
"Yes."
"What of?"
"Don't know. We were well paid and asked no questions."
"And what's become of the load?"
"We transhipped it last night to a small steamer that came alongside of
us below Passy."
"What's the steamer's name?"
"The _Chamois_. Crew of six."
"Where is she now?"
"Ahead of us. She was going fast. She must be at Rouen by this time.
Siméon Diodokis is on his way to join her."
"How long have you known Siméon Diodokis?"
"It's the first time we saw him. But we knew that he was in M. Essarès'
service."
"Oh, so you've worked for M. Essarès?"
"Yes, often. . . . Same job and same trip."
"He called you by means of a signal, didn't he?"
"Yes, he used to light an old factory-chimney."
"Was it always bags?"
"Yes. We didn't know what was inside. He was a good payer."
Patrice asked no more questions. He hurriedly got into his boat, pulled
back to shore and found Don Luis seated with a comfortable supper in
front of him.
"Quick!" he said. "The cargo is on board a steamer, the _Chamois_. We
can catch her up between Rouen and Le Hâvre."
Don Luis rose and handed the officer a white-paper packet:
"Here's a few sandwiches for you, captain," he said. "We've an arduous
night before us. I'm very sorry that you didn't get a sleep, as I did.
Let's be off, and this time I shall drive. We'll knock some pace out of
her! Come and sit beside me, captain."
They both stepped into the car; the chauffeur took his seat behind them.
But they had hardly started when Patrice exclaimed:
"Hi! What are you up to? Not this way! We're going back to Mantes or
Paris!"
"That's what I mean to do," said Luis, with a chuckle.
"Eh, what? Paris?"
"Well, of course!"
"Oh, look here, this is a bit too thick! Didn't I tell you that the two
bargees . . . ?"
"Those bargees of yours are humbugs."
"They declared that the cargo . . ."
"Cargo? No go!"
"But the _Chamois_ . . ."
"_Chamois_? Sham was! I tell you once more, we're done, captain, done
brown! Old Siméon is a wonderful old hand! He's a match worth meeting.
He gives you a run for your money. He laid a trap in which I've been
fairly caught. It's a magnificent joke, but there's moderation in all
things. We've been fooled enough to last us the rest of our lives. Let's
be serious now."
"But . . ."
"Aren't you satisfied yet, captain? After the _Belle Hélène_ do you want
to attack the _Chamois_? As you please. You can get out at Mantes: Only,
I warn you, Siméon is in Paris, with three or four hours' start of us."
Patrice gave a shudder. Siméon in Paris! In Paris, where Coralie was
alone and unprotected! He made no further protest; and Don Luis ran on:
"Oh, the rascal! How well he played his hand! _The Memoirs of Benjamin
Franklin_ were a master stroke. Knowing of my arrival, he said to
himself, 'Arsène Lupin is a dangerous fellow, capable of disentangling
the affair and putting both me and the bags of gold in his pocket. To
get rid of him, there's only one thing to be done: I must act in such a
way as to make him rush along the real track at so fast a rate of speed
that he does not perceive the moment when the real track becomes a false
track.' That was clever of him, wasn't it? And so we have the Franklin
book, held out as a bait; the page opening of itself, at the right
place; my inevitable easy discovery of the conduit system; the clue of
Ariadne most obligingly offered. I follow up the clue like a trusting
child, led by Siméon's own hand, from the cellar down to Berthou's
Wharf. So far all's well. But, from that moment, take care! There's
nobody at Berthou's Wharf. On the other hand, there's a barge alongside,
which means a chance of making enquiries, which means the certainty that
I shall make enquiries. And I make enquiries. And, having made
enquiries, I am done for."
"But then that man . . . ?"
"Yes, yes, yes, an accomplice of Siméon's, whom Siméon, knowing that he
would be followed to the Gare Saint-Lazare, instructs in this way to
direct me to Mantes for the second time. At Mantes the comedy continues.
The _Belle Hélène_ passes, with her double freight, Siméon and the bags
of gold. We go running after the _Belle Hélène_. Of course, on the
_Belle Hélène_ there's nothing: no Siméon, no bags of gold. 'Run after
the _Chamois_. We've transhipped it all on the _Chamois_.' We run after
the _Chamois_, to Rouen, to Le Hâvre, to the end of the world; and of
course our pursuit is fruitless, for the _Chamois_ does not exist. But
we are convinced that she does exist and that she has escaped our
search. And by this time the trick is played. The millions are gone,
Siméon has disappeared and there is only one thing left for us to do,
which is to resign ourselves and abandon our quest. You understand,
we're to abandon our quest: that's the fellow's object. And he would
have succeeded if . . ."
The car was traveling at full speed. From time to time Don Luis would
stop her dead with extraordinary skill. Post of territorials. Pass to be
produced. Then a leap onward and once more the breakneck pace.
"If what?" asked Patrice, half-convinced. "Which was the clue that put
you on the track?"
"The presence of that woman at Mantes. It was a vague clue at first. But
suddenly I remembered that, in the first barge, the _Nonchalante_, the
person who gave us information--do you recollect?--well, that this
person somehow gave me the queer impression, I can't tell you why, that
I might be talking to a woman in disguise. The impression occurred to me
once more. I made a mental comparison with the woman at Mantes. . . .
And then . . . and then it was like a flash of light. . . ."
Don Luis paused to think and, in a lower voice, continued:
"But who the devil can this woman be?"
There was a brief silence, after which Patrice said, from instinct
rather than reason:
"Grégoire, I suppose."
"Eh? What's that? Grégoire?"
"Yes. Yes, Grégoire is a woman."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, obviously. Don't you remember? The accomplice told me so, on the
day when I had them arrested outside the café."
"Why, your diary doesn't say a word about it!"
"Oh, that's true! . . . I forgot to put down that detail."
"A detail! He calls it a detail! Why, it's of the greatest importance,
captain! If I had known, I should have guessed that that bargee was no
other than Grégoire and we should not have wasted a whole night. Hang it
all, captain, you really are the limit!"
But all this was unable to affect his good-humor. While Patrice,
overcome with presentiments, grew gloomier and gloomier, Don Luis began
to sing victory in his turn:
"Thank goodness! The battle is becoming serious! Really, it was too easy
before; and that was why I was sulking, I, Lupin! Do you imagine things
go like that in real life? Does everything fit in so accurately?
Benjamin Franklin, the uninterrupted conduit for the gold, the series of
clues that reveal themselves of their own accord, the man and the bags
meeting at Mantes, the _Belle Hélène_: no, it all worried me. The cat
was being choked with cream! And then the gold escaping in a barge! All
very well in times of peace, but not in war-time, in the face of the
regulations: passes, patrol-boats, inspections and I don't know what.
. . . How could a fellow like Siméon risk a trip of that kind? No, I had
my suspicions; and that was why, captain, I made Ya-Bon mount guard, on
the off chance, outside Berthou's Wharf. It was just an idea that
occurred to me. The whole of this adventure seemed to center round the
wharf. Well, was I right or not? Is M. Lupin no longer able to follow a
scent? Captain, I repeat, I shall go back to-morrow evening. Besides, as
I told you, I've got to. Whether I win or lose, I'm going. But we shall
win. Everything will be cleared up. There will be no more mysteries, not
even the mystery of the golden triangle. . . . Oh, I don't say that I
shall bring you a beautiful triangle of eighteen-carat gold! We mustn't
allow ourselves to be fascinated by words. It may be a geometrical
arrangement of the bags of gold, a triangular pile . . . or else a hole
in the ground dug in that shape. No matter, we shall have it! And the
bags of gold shall be ours! And Patrice and Coralie shall appear before
monsieur le maire and receive my blessing and live happily ever after!"
They reached the gates of Paris. Patrice was becoming more and more
anxious:
"Then you think the danger's over?"
"Oh, I don't say that! The play isn't finished. After the great scene of
the third act, which we will call the scene of the oxide of carbon,
there will certainly be a fourth act and perhaps a fifth. The enemy has
not laid down his arms, by any means."
They were skirting the quays.
"Let's get down," said Don Luis.
He gave a faint whistle and repeated it three times.
"No answer," he said. "Ya-Bon's not there. The battle has begun."
"But Coralie . . ."
"What are you afraid of for her? Siméon doesn't know her address."
There was nobody on Berthou's Wharf and nobody on the quay below. But by
the light of the moon they saw the other barge, the _Nonchalante_.
"Let's go on board," said Don Luis. "I wonder if the lady known as
Grégoire makes a practise of living here? Has she come back, believing
us on our way to Le Hâvre? I hope so. In any case, Ya-Bon must have been
there and no doubt left something behind to act as a signal. Will you
come, captain?"
"Right you are. It's a queer thing, though: I feel frightened!"
"What of?" asked Don Luis, who was plucky enough himself to understand
this presentiment.
"Of what we shall see."
"My dear sir, there may be nothing there!"
Each of them switched on his pocket-lamp and felt the handle of his
revolver. They crossed the plank between the shore and the boat. A few
steps downwards brought them to the cabin. The door was locked.
"Hi, mate! Open this, will you?"
There was no reply. They now set about breaking it down, which was no
easy matter, for it was massive and quite unlike an ordinary cabin-door.
At last it gave way.
"By Jingo!" said Don Luis, who was the first to go in. "I didn't expect
this!"
"What?"
"Look. The woman whom they called Grégoire. She seems to be dead."
She was lying back on a little iron bedstead, with her man's blouse open
at the top and her chest uncovered. Her face still bore an expression of
extreme terror. The disordered appearance of the cabin suggested that a
furious struggle had taken place.
"I was right. Here, by her side, are the clothes she wore at Mantes. But
what's the matter, captain?"
Patrice had stifled a cry:
"There . . . opposite . . . under the window . . ."
It was a little window overlooking the river. The panes were broken.
"Well?" asked Don Luis. "What? Yes, I believe some one's been thrown out
that way."
"The veil . . . that blue veil," stammered Patrice, "is her nurse's veil
. . . Coralie's. . . ."
Don Luis grew vexed:
"Nonsense! Impossible! Nobody knew her address."
"Still . . ."
"Still what? You haven't written to her? You haven't telegraphed to
her?"
"Yes . . . I telegraphed to her . . . from Mantes."
"What's that? Oh, but look here. This is madness! You don't mean that
you really telegraphed?"
"Yes, I do."
"You telegraphed from the post-office at Mantes?"
"Yes."
"And was there any one in the post-office?"
"Yes, a woman."
"What woman? The one who lies here, murdered?"
"Yes."
"But she didn't read what you wrote?"
"No, but I wrote the telegram twice over."
"And you threw the first draft anywhere, on the floor, so that any one
who came along. . . . Oh, really, captain, you must confess . . . !"
But Patrice was running towards the car and was already out of ear-shot.
Half an hour after, he returned with two telegrams which he had found on
Coralie's table. The first, the one which he had sent, said:
"All well. Be easy and stay indoors. Fondest love.
"CAPTAIN PATRICE."
The second, which had evidently been despatched by Siméon, ran as
follows:
"Events taking serious turn. Plans changed. Coming
back. Expect you nine o'clock this evening at the
small door of your garden.
"CAPTAIN PATRICE."
This second telegram was delivered to Coralie at eight o'clock; and she
had left the home immediately afterwards.