"Fantômas."
"What did you say?"
"I said: Fantômas."
"And what does that mean?"
"Nothing.... Everything!"
"But what is it?"
"Nobody.... And yet, yes, it is somebody!"
"And what does the somebody do?"
"Spreads terror!"
* * * * *
Dinner was just over, and the company were moving into the drawing-room.
Hurrying to the fireplace, the Marquise de Langrune took a large log
from a basket and flung it on to the glowing embers on the hearth; the
log crackled and shed a brilliant light over the whole room; the guests
of the Marquise instinctively drew near to the fire.
During the ten consecutive months she spent every year at her château of
Beaulieu, on the outskirts of Corrèze, that picturesque district bounded
by the Dordogne, it had been the immemorial custom of the Marquise de
Langrune to entertain a few of her personal friends in the neighbourhood
to dinner every Wednesday, thereby obtaining a little pleasant relief
from her loneliness and keeping up some contact with the world.
On this particular winter evening the good lady's guests included
several habitués: President Bonnet, a retired magistrate who had
withdrawn to his small property at Saint-Jaury, in the suburbs of
Brives, and the Abbé Sicot, who was the parish priest. A more occasional
friend was also there, the Baronne de Vibray, a young and wealthy widow,
a typical woman of the world who spent the greater part of her life
either in motoring, or in the most exclusive drawing-rooms of Paris, or
at the most fashionable watering-places. But when the Baronne de Vibray
put herself out to grass, as she racily phrased it, and spent a few
weeks at Querelles, her estate close to the château of Beaulieu, nothing
pleased her better than to take her place again in the delightful
company of the Marquise de Langrune and her friends.
Finally, youth was represented by Charles Rambert, who had arrived at
the château a couple of days before, a charming lad of about eighteen
who was treated with warm affection by the Marquise and by Thérèse
Auvernois, the granddaughter of the Marquise, with whom since her
parents' death she had lived as a daughter.
The odd and even mysterious words spoken by President Bonnet as they
were leaving the table, and the personality of this Fantômas about which
he had said nothing definite in spite of all the questions put to him,
had excited the curiosity of the company, and while Thérèse Auvernois
was gracefully dispensing the coffee to her grandmother's guests the
questions were renewed with greater insistence. Crowding round the fire,
for the evening was very cold, Mme. de Langrune's friends showered fresh
questions upon the old magistrate, who secretly enjoyed the interest he
had inspired. He cast a solemn eye upon the circle of his audience and
prolonged his silence, the more to capture their attention. At length he
began to speak.
"Statistics tell us, ladies, that of all the deaths that are registered
every day quite a third are due to crime. You are no doubt aware that
the police discover about half of the crimes that are committed, and
that barely half meet with the penalty of justice. This explains how it
is that so many mysteries are never cleared up, and why there are so
many mistakes and inconsistencies in judicial investigations."
"What is the conclusion you wish to draw?" the Marquise de Langrune
enquired with interest.
"This," the magistrate proceeded: "although many crimes pass unsuspected
it is none the less obvious that they have been committed; now while
some of them are due to ordinary criminals, others are the work of
enigmatical beings who are difficult to trace and too clever or
intelligent to let themselves be caught. History is full of stories of
such mysterious characters, the Iron Mask, for instance, and Cagliostro.
In every age there have been bands of dangerous creatures, led by such
men as Cartouche and Vidocq and Rocambole. Now why should we suppose
that in our time no one exists who emulates the deeds of those mighty
criminals?"
The Abbé Sicot raised a gentle voice from the depths of a comfortable
arm-chair wherein he was peacefully digesting his dinner.
"The police do their work better in our time than ever they did before."
"That is perfectly true," the president admitted, "but their work is
also more difficult than ever it was before. Criminals who operate in
the grand manner have all sorts of things at their disposal nowadays.
Science has done much for modern progress, but unfortunately it can be
of invaluable assistance to criminals at times; the hosts of evil have
the telegraph and the motor-car at their disposal just as authority has,
and some day they will make use of the aeroplane."
Young Charles Rambert had been listening to the president's dissertation
with the utmost interest and now broke in, with a voice that quivered
slightly.
"You were talking about Fantômas just now, sir----"
The president cast a cryptic look at the lad and did not reply directly
to him.
"That is what I am coming to, for, of course, you have understood me,
ladies. In these days we have been distressed by a steady access of
criminality, and among the assets we shall henceforth have to count a
mysterious and most dangerous creature, to whom the baffled authorities
and public rumour generally have for some time now given the name of
Fantômas. It is impossible to say exactly or to know precisely who
Fantômas is. He often assumes the form and personality of some definite
and even well-known individual; sometimes he assumes the forms of two
human beings at one and the same time. Sometimes he works alone,
sometimes with accomplices; sometimes he can be identified as such and
such a person, but no one has ever yet arrived at knowing Fantômas
himself. That he is a living person is certain and undeniable, yet he is
impossible to catch or to identify. He is nowhere and everywhere at
once, his shadow hovers above the strangest mysteries, and his traces
are found near the most inexplicable crimes, and yet----"
"You are frightening us!" exclaimed the Baronne de Vibray with a little
forced laugh that did not ring true, and the Marquise de Langrune, who
for the past few minutes had been uneasy at the idea of the children
listening to the conversation, cast about in her mind for an occupation
more suited to their age. The interruption gave her an opportunity, and
she turned to Charles Rambert and Thérèse.
"You must find it very dull here with all of us grown-up people, dears,
so run away now. Thérèse," she added with a smile to her granddaughter
who had risen obediently, "there is a splendid new puzzle in the
library; you ought to try it with Charles."
The young fellow realised that he must comply with the desire of the
Marquise, although the conversation interested him intensely; but he was
too well bred to betray his thoughts, and the next moment he was in the
adjoining room, sitting opposite the girl, and deep in the intricacies
of the latest fashionable game.
* * * * *
The Baronne de Vibray brought the conversation back to the subject of
Fantômas.
"What connection is there, President, between this uncanny creature and
the disappearance of Lord Beltham, of which we were talking at dinner?"
"I should certainly have agreed with you and thought there was none,"
the old magistrate replied, "if Lord Beltham's disappearance had been
unattended by any mysterious circumstance. But there is one point that
deserves your attention: the newspaper from which I read an extract
just now, _La Capitale_, draws attention to it and regards it as being
important. It is said that when Lady Beltham began to be uneasy about
her husband's absence, on the morning of the day following his
disappearance, she remembered noticing just as he was going out that he
was reading a particular letter, the peculiar, square shape of which
surprised her. She had also noticed that the handwriting of the letter
was very heavy and black. Now, she found the letter in question upon her
husband's desk, but the whole of the writing had disappeared, and it was
only the most minute examination that resulted in the discovery of a few
almost imperceptible stains which proved that it really was the
identical document that had been in her husband's hands. Lady Beltham
would not have thought very much about it, if it had not occurred to the
editor of _La Capitale_ to interview detective Juve about it, the famous
Inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department, you know, who has
brought so many notorious criminals to justice. Now M. Juve manifested
the greatest excitement over the discovery and the nature of this
document; and he did not attempt to hide from his interviewer his belief
that the strange nature of this unusual epistle was proof of the
intervention of Fantômas. You very likely know that Juve has made it his
special business to follow up Fantômas; he has sworn that he will take
him, and he is after him body and soul. Let us hope he will succeed! But
it is no good pretending that Juve's job is not as difficult a one as
can be imagined.
"However, it is a fair inference that when Juve spoke as he did to the
representative of _La Capitale_, he did not think he was going too far
when he declared that a crime lay behind the disappearance of Lord
Beltham, and that perhaps the crime must be laid at Fantômas' door; and
we can only hope that at some not distant date, justice will not only
throw full light upon this mysterious affair, but also rid us for ever
of this terrifying criminal!"
President Bonnet had convinced his audience completely, and his closing
words cast a chill upon them all.
The Marquise de Langrune deemed it time to create a diversion.
"Who are these people, Lord and Lady Beltham?" she enquired.
"Oh, my dear!" the Baronne de Vibray answered, "it is perfectly obvious
that you lead the life of a hermit in this remote country home of yours,
and that echoes from the world of Paris do not reach you often! Lord and
Lady Beltham are among the best known and most popular people in
society. He was formerly attached to the English Embassy, but left Paris
to fight in the Transvaal, and his wife went with him and showed
magnificent courage and compassion in charge of the ambulance and
hospital work. They then went back to London, and a couple of years ago
they settled once more in Paris. They lived, and still live, in the
boulevard Inkermann at Neuilly-sur-Seine, in a delightful house where
they entertain a great deal. I have often been one of Lady Beltham's
guests; she is a most fascinating woman, distinguished, tall, fair, and
endowed with the charm that is peculiar to the women of the North. I am
very distressed at the trouble that is hanging over her."
"Well," said the Marquise de Langrune conclusively, "I mean to believe
that the gloomy prognostications of our friend the president will not be
justified by the event."
"Amen!" murmured the Abbé mechanically, roused from his gentle slumber
by the closing words of the Marquise.
* * * * *
The clock chimed ten, and her duties as hostess did not make the
Marquise forgetful of her duties as grandmother.
"Thérèse," she called, "it is your bed-time. It is very late, darling."
The child obediently left her game, said good night to the Baronne de
Vibray and President Bonnet, and last of all to the old priest, who gave
her a paternal embrace.
"Shall I see you at the seven o'clock mass, Thérèse?" he asked.
The child turned to the Marquise.
"Will you let me accompany Charles to the station to-morrow morning? I
will go to the eight o'clock mass on my way back."
The Marquise looked at Charles Rambert.
"Your father really is coming by the train that reaches Verrières at
6.55?" and when he assented she hesitated a moment before replying to
Thérèse. "I think, dear, it would be better to let our young friend go
alone to meet his father."
But Charles Rambert put in his plea.
"Oh, I am sure my father would be delighted to see Thérèse with me when
he gets out of the train."
"Very well, then," the kind old lady said; "arrange it as you please.
But, Thérèse, before you go upstairs, tell our good steward, Dollon, to
give orders for the carriage to be ready by six o'clock. It is a long
way to the station."
Thérèse promised, and the two young people left the drawing-room.
"A pretty couple," remarked the Baronne de Vibray, adding with a
characteristic touch of malice, "you mean to make a match between them
some day, Marquise?"
The old lady threw up her hands protesting.
"What an idea! Why, Thérèse is not fifteen yet."
"Who is this Charles Rambert?" the Abbé asked. "I just caught sight of
him the day before yesterday with Dollon, and I puzzled my brains
wondering who he could be."
"I am not surprised," the Marquise laughed, "not surprised that you did
not succeed in finding out, for you do not know him. But you may perhaps
have heard me mention a M. Etienne Rambert, an old friend of mine, with
whom I had many a dance in the long ago. I had lost sight of him
completely until about two years ago, when I met him at a charity
function in Paris. The poor man has had a rather chequered life; twenty
years ago he married a woman who was perfectly charming, but who is, I
believe, very ill with a distressing malady: I am not even sure that she
is not insane. Quite lately Etienne Rambert has been compelled to send
her to an asylum."
"That does not tell us how his son comes to be your guest," President
Bonnet urged.
"It is very simple: Etienne Rambert is an energetic man who is always
moving about. Although he is quite sixty he still occupies himself with
some rubber plantations he possesses in Colombia, and he often goes to
America: he thinks no more of the voyage than we do of a trip to Paris.
Well, just recently young Charles Rambert was leaving the _pension_ in
Hamburg where he had been living in order to perfect his German; I knew
from his father's letters that Mme. Rambert was about to be put away,
and that Etienne Rambert was obliged to be absent, so I offered to
receive Charles here until his father should return to Paris. Charles
came the day before yesterday, and that is the whole story."
"And M. Etienne Rambert joins him here to-morrow?" said the Abbé.
"That is so----"
* * * * *
The Marquise de Langrune would have given other information about her
young friend had he not come into the room just then. He was an
attractive lad with refined and distinguished features, clear,
intelligent eyes, and graceful figure. The other guests were silent, and
Charles Rambert approached them with the slight awkwardness of youth. He
went up to President Bonnet and plucked up sudden courage.
"And what then, sir?" he asked in a low tone.
"I don't understand, my boy," said the magistrate.
"Oh!" said Charles Rambert, "have you finished talking about Fantômas?
It was so amusing!"
"For my part," the president answered dryly, "I do not find these
stories about criminals 'amusing.'"
But the lad did not detect the shade of reproach in the words.
"But still it is very odd, very extraordinary that such mysterious
characters as Fantômas can exist nowadays. Is it really possible that a
single man can commit such a number of crimes, and that any human being
can escape discovery, as they say Fantômas can, and be able to foil the
cleverest devices of the police? I think it is----"
The president's manner grew steadily more chilly as the boy's curiosity
waxed more enthusiastic, and he interrupted curtly.
"I fail to understand your attitude, young man. You appear to be
hypnotised, fascinated. You speak of Fantômas as if he were something
interesting. It is out of place, to put it mildly," and he turned to the
Abbé Sicot. "There, sir, that is the result of this modern education and
the state of mind produced in the younger generation by the newspaper
press and even by literature. Criminals are given haloes and proclaimed
from the housetops. It is astounding!"
But Charles Rambert was not the least impressed.
"But it is life, sir; it is history, it is the real thing!" he insisted.
"Why, you yourself, in just a few words, have thrown an atmosphere round
this Fantômas which makes him absolutely fascinating! I would give
anything to have known Vidocq and Cartouche and Rocambole, and to have
seen them at close quarters. Those were men!"
President Bonnet contemplated the young man in astonishment; his eyes
flashed lightning at him and he burst out:
"You are mad, boy, absolutely mad! Vidocq--Rocambole! You mix up legend
and history, bracket murderers with detectives, and make no distinction
between right and wrong! You would not hesitate to set the heroes of
crime and the heroes of law and order on one and the same pedestal!"
"You have said the word, sir," Charles Rambert exclaimed: "they all are
heroes. But, better still, Fantômas----"
The lad's outburst was so vehement and spontaneous and sincere, that it
provoked unanimous indignation among his hearers. Even the indulgent
Marquise de Langrune ceased to smile. Charles Rambert perceived that he
had gone too far, and stopped abruptly.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he murmured. "I spoke without thinking; please
forgive me."
He raised his eyes and looked at President Bonnet, blushing to the tips
of his ears and looking so abashed that the magistrate, who was a
kind-hearted man at bottom, tried to reassure him.
"Your imagination is much too lively, young man, much too lively. But
you will grow out of that. Come, come: that's all right; lads of your
age do talk without knowledge."
It was very late now, and a few minutes after this incident the guests
of the Marquise de Langrune took their departure.
Charles Rambert accompanied the Marquise to the door of her own private
rooms, and was about to bid her a respectful good night before going on
to his bedroom, which adjoined hers, when she asked him to follow her.
"Come in and get the book I promised you, Charles. It should be on my
writing-table." She glanced at that piece of furniture as she entered
the room, and went on, "Or in it, perhaps; I may have locked it away."
"I don't want to give you any trouble," he protested, but the Marquise
insisted.
"Put your light down on that table," she said. "Besides, I have got to
open my desk, for I must look at the lottery tickets I gave to Thérèse a
few weeks ago." She pushed back the roll top of her Empire desk and
looked up at the young fellow. "It would be a piece of good luck if my
little Thérèse won the first prize, eh, Charles? A million francs! That
would be worth winning?"
"Rather!" said Charles Rambert with a smile.
The Marquise found the book she was searching for and gave it to the lad
with one hand while with the other she smoothed out several variegated
papers.
"These are my tickets," she said, and then broke off. "How stupid of me!
I have not kept the number of the winning ticket that was advertised in
_La Capitale_."
Charles Rambert immediately offered to go downstairs again to fetch the
newspaper, but the Marquise would not let him.
"It is no good, my dear boy; it is not there now. You know--or rather
you don't know--that the Abbé takes away all the week's newspapers every
Wednesday night in order to read all the political articles." The old
lady turned away from her writing-table, which she left wide open,
conducted the young man to the door, and held out a friendly hand. "It
is to-morrow morning already!" she said. "So now good night, dear
Charles!"
In his own room, with the lights extinguished and the curtains closed,
Charles Rambert lay wide awake, a prey to strange excitement. He turned
and tossed in his bed nervously. In vain did he try to banish from his
mind the words spoken during the evening by President Bonnet. In
imagination Charles Rambert saw all manner of sinister and dramatic
scenes, crimes and murders: hugely interested, intensely curious,
craving for knowledge, he was ever trying to concoct plots and unravel
mysteries. If for an instant he dozed off, the image of Fantômas took
shape in his mind, but never twice the same: sometimes he saw a colossal
figure with bestial face and muscular shoulders; sometimes a wan, thin
creature, with strange and piercing eyes; sometimes a vague form, a
phantom--Fantômas!
Charles Rambert slept, and woke, and dozed again. In the silence of the
night he thought he heard creakings and heavy sounds. Then suddenly he
felt a breath pass over his face--and again nothing! And suddenly again
strange sounds were buzzing in his ears.
Bathed in cold sweat Charles Rambert started and sat upright in bed,
every muscle tense, listening with all his ears. Was he dreaming, or had
he really waked up? He did not know. And still, still he had a
consciousness of Fantômas--of mystery--of Fantômas!
Charles Rambert heard the clock strike four.