quarter were at their lowest ebb of animation. The bookshops had long
since released their employees, the cafés were giving up their
customers. Fandor, having recognised Josephine, followed her closely as
she passed the outer boulevards, then by Boulevard Barbès.
"Beyond a doubt she is bound for the Goutte d'Or," he muttered.
Some minutes later, sure enough, she reached her home.
"Very good! The bird is back in the nest: My job is now to watch the
visitors who come to call on her."
Opposite Josephine's door there was a wine-shop. This Fandor entered.
"Writing materials, please," he ordered. "I must drop a line to Juve,"
he thought. "We must begin to set the trap."
He was busy drawing up a detailed plan of the neighbourhood when, on
raising his head, he gave a violent start, and, throwing a coin on the
table, rushed out of the shop.
"She is well disguised, but there's no mistaking her!"
Without losing sight of the woman he was watching, Fandor reached the
Metropolitan Station.
"Good Lord! What does this mean?" he muttered. "Where is she off to?
She's taking a first-class ticket. Can she have an appointment with
Chaleck?" He also took a ticket behind the young woman and reached the
platform.
"I'm going where she goes," he thought. "But where the devil are we
bound for?"
Loupart's mistress was the embodiment of a charming Parisian.
Her gown was tailor-made, of navy blue, plain but perfectly cut; she
wore little shoes with high heels, and no one would have recognised in
the well-dressed woman, who got out of the Metropolitan at the Lyons
Station, the burnisher, who, a little while ago, had left Lâriboisière.
Josephine had scarcely taken a few steps on the great Square which
divides Boulevard Diderot from the Lyons Station, when a young man,
quietly dressed, came toward her. He ogled her, then in a voice of
marked cordiality, said:
"Can I say a few words to you?"
"But, sir----"
"Two words, mademoiselle, I beg of you."
"Speak," she said at last, after seeming to hesitate, halting on the
edge of the pavement.
"Oh, not here; surely you will accept a glass?"
The young woman made up her mind:
"Very well, if you like."
The couple directed their steps toward a neighbouring "brasserie," and
neither the young man nor Josephine dreamed of noticing that a passer-by
entered the place in their wake.
Fandor did not take a seat at one of the little tables outside, but made
for the interior, cleverly finding means to watch the two in a glass.
"Is this the person Josephine was to meet?" he wondered. "Can he be a
messenger of Loupart's? Yet she did not seem to know him. Hullo!"
Just as the waiter was bringing two glasses of wine to the table where
Josephine and her partner had seated themselves, the young woman
suddenly arose, and, without taking leave, made for the door.
Fandor managed to pass close to the deserted man. He heard the waiter
jokingly say:
"Not very kind, the little lady, eh?"
"I should think not! Didn't take her long to give me the slip."
Then in a tone of regret the young man added: "Pity, she was a nice
little thing."
"That's all right," thought Fandor. "Now I know that Josephine accepted
the drink because she thought he was sent by Loupart or one of the gang.
Once enlightened as to his real object, she left him abruptly."
Tracking the young woman, Fandor now felt sure he was going to witness
an interesting meeting. Josephine, however, seemed in no hurry. She
inspected the illustrated papers in the kiosks, and presently reached
the box where platform tickets are distributed; having taken one, she
sat down near the foot of the staircase which leads to the refreshment
rooms. Behind her Fandor also took a ticket, and, going up the stairs,
leaned against the balustrade.
"I am waiting for some one," he said to the waiter who appeared. "You
may bring me a cup of coffee."
Scarcely five minutes had passed, when Fandor saw a shabby looking man
approach Josephine and begin an earnest conversation.
The man drew from his pocket a greasy note-book. From it he took a paper
which he handed to the young woman, who promptly put it away in her
handbag.
Fandor was puzzled.
"Where was she going? Why did this person hand her a ticket?"
The man pointed to a train where passengers were already taking their
seats.
"The Marseilles train! So Loupart has left Paris!"
Then he called a messenger.
"Go and get me a first-class ticket to Marseilles. Here is money. Is
there a telegraph office near at hand?"
"On the arrival platform, sir."
"Right. I will give you a message to take; go and hurry back."
Fandor took out his note-book and scrawled a message:
"Juve, Prefecture of Police, Room 44.
"Have met Josephine and followed her. She is off first class, by
Marseilles train. Don't know her destination. Will wire you as soon
as there's anything fresh.
"Fandor."
XIII
ROBBERY; AMERICAN FASHION
"Tickets, please."
The guard took the one offered by Fandor.
"Excuse me, sir, there's a mistake here," he said.
"This train doesn't go to Marseilles?"
"The train, yes, but not the last carriage in which you are, for it is
bound for Pontarlier, and will be slipped at Lyons from this express."
Fandor was nonplussed. The essential was to follow Josephine, ensconced
in the compartment next to his.
"Well, I'll get into another carriage when we are off; it's so easy with
the corridors."
"You can't do that, sir," insisted the guard. "While all the carriages
for Marseilles in the front of the train communicate, this one is
separated from them by a baggage car."
"Then I'll change later, during the night. I have till Dijon, haven't
I?"
"You have."
The guard went away. Fandor suddenly asked himself:
"Has Josephine made a mistake, too? Or has she a definite purpose in
being in a carriage which is to be slipped from the Southern Express at
Dijon to go on toward the Swiss frontier?"
The guard was looking at tickets in Josephine's compartment. Fandor went
near to listen; he heard the tail of a conversation between the fair
traveller, her companion and the guard. The latter declared as he
withdrew:
"Exactly so, you shall not be disturbed."
When Josephine had boarded the train, Fandor had not ventured to watch
her too closely, nor the companion she had met on the platform at the
last moment. He now decided to take advantage of the corridor to take a
look at the man.
He was quite stout, rather common in appearance, although with a
prosperous air. A man of middle age, whose jolly face was framed in a
beard, giving him the look of an old mariner. Moreover, he was one-eyed.
Josephine was playful, full of smiles and amiability, but also somewhat
absent-minded.
The pair had decidedly the appearance of being lovers.
Although it was quite early, passengers were arranging to pass the night
as comfortably as possible. The lamps had been shaded with their little
blue curtains, and the portières, facing the corridors, had been drawn.
Fandor returned to his compartment. Two corners of it were already
occupied--the two furthest away from the corridor. One was in possession
of a man about forty, with a waxed moustache, having the air of an
officer in mufti, the other was taken by a young collegian with a waxen
complexion.
The journalist determined to keep awake, but scarcely had he settled
himself when drowsiness crept over him. Rocked by the regular motion of
the train he sank into a slumber troubled by nightmares. Then suddenly
he sprang up. He had the clear impression of some one brushing by him
and opening the door to the corridor.
"Who is there?" he murmured in a voice thick with sleep and drowned by
the rush of the train. No one answered him. He staggered out into the
corridor. At the far end of the carriage a passenger, with a long black
beard, was standing smoking a cigar, and apparently studying the murky
country. Not a sound came from Josephine's apartment. With a shrug of
his shoulders and cursing his fears, Fandor returned to his own seat.
Why should he fancy, because he was following Josephine, that all the
passengers in the train were cut-throats and accomplices of Loupart's
mistress? Yet, five minutes after these sage reflections, Fandor started
again; he had distinctly seen, passing along the corridor, two fellows
with villainous faces and suspicious demeanour. One of them cast into
Fandor's compartment such a murderous glance that it made the
journalist's heart palpitate.
Fandor glanced at his companions. The officer was sleeping soundly, but
the young fellow, although keeping perfectly still, opened his eyes from
time to time and cast uneasy glances about him, then pretended to sleep
as soon as he caught Fandor watching him.
The train slackened speed; they were entering Laroche Station; there was
a stop to change engines. The officer suddenly awoke and got out. The
compartment holding Josephine and her companion was thrown open, and,
strange to say, his neighbour, the collegian, had moved into it, sitting
just opposite the stout gentleman.
Fandor, with a view to keeping awake, abandoned his comfortable seat and
settled himself in one of the hammocks in the corridor. He chose the
one just opposite Josephine's door. But so great was his weariness that
he quickly fell into a deep sleep. Suddenly a violent shock sent him
rolling to the cross-seat in Josephine's compartment. As he picked
himself up in a dazed condition, a cry of terror broke from his lips.
Three inches from his head was the muzzle of a revolver held by a big
ruffian wearing a mask, who cried:
"Hands up, all!"
Fandor and his companions were too amazed to immediately obey, and the
command came again, more forcible.
"Hands up, and don't stir or I'll blow out your brains."
And now a gnome-like individual appeared, also masked.
The first one turned to Josephine: "You, woman, out of here!"
Without betraying by her expression whether or no she was his
accomplice, Josephine hurriedly left her place and, slipping between the
gnome and the colossus, went and cowered down at the end of the
carriage.
"Go on!" suddenly commanded the big ruffian, who seemed to be the
leader. "Go on! rifle 'em!"
The gnome, with wonderful adroitness, ransacked the coat and waistcoat
pockets of the traveller. The stout man, shaking with alarm, made no
resistance. After relieving him of his watch and pocketbook, they forced
him to undo his shirt. Around his waist he wore a broad leather belt.
"Go it, Beaumôme, relieve him of his burden, the fat jackass!"
From the body of the traveller, the stolen belt passed to the big masked
robber, who weighed the prize complacently. The belt contained pockets
stuffed with gold and bank notes. The two robbers then moved away toward
the further end of the carriage.
Fandor, furious at being tricked like the simplest of greenhorns,
determined to seize the occasion to give the alarm.
The emergency bell was immediately above the pale-faced collegian. With
a bound the journalist sprang for it, but fell back with a loud cry as
he felt a sharp pain in his hand. The collegian had leaped up and
cruelly bitten his finger. So great was the pain that Fandor swooned for
a few seconds, and that gave his assailant time to cross the compartment
and reach the corridor. At this moment the express slackened its speed
and slowly came to a standstill.
"Is it too high to jump?"
Fandor knew the voice: it was Josephine's.
"No," answered some one. "Let yourself go. I'll catch you."
The sound of heavy shoes on the footboard told him that the robbers were
making off. Josephine went with them, so she was their accomplice. The
journalist sprang into the corridor to rush in pursuit. But he recoiled.
A shot rang out, the glass fell broken before him, and a bullet
flattened above his head in the woodwork.
It now seemed to him that the train was gradually gathering way again.
Fandor put his head through the broken glass and searched the darkness
outside.
"Ah!" he cried in amazement. There was no longer a train on the track,
or rather, the main body of the train was vanishing in the distance,
while the carriage in which he was and the rear baggage car had pulled
up. Apparently the robbers had broken the couplings.
At the moment, the stout man, having quite recovered, drew near Fandor
and observed the situation.
"Why, we're backing! We're backing!" he bellowed with alarm.
"Naturally, we're going down a slope," calmly replied Fandor. The other
groaned and wrung his hands.
"It's appalling! The Simplon express is only twelve minutes behind us!"
Fandor now realized the frightful danger. Without delay he made for the
carriage door, ready to jump and risk breaking his bones rather than
face the terrible crash which seemed inevitable. But before he could
make up his mind to the leap, a grinding noise became audible. The guard
in the baggage car had applied the Westinghouse brakes and in a few
minutes they came to a stop.
Fandor and the stout gentleman sprang frantically out of the carriage,
and two brakemen jumped from the baggage car, crying: "Get away! Save
yourselves!"
Clambering over the ties, they jumped a hedge, floundered in a hole full
of water, scratching their hands and tearing their clothes; they rolled
down a grassy slope, stuck in a ploughed field, then dropped to the
ground, motionless, as a fearful din burst like thunder on the hush of
the night. The Simplon express, racing at full speed, had crashed into
the two carriages left on the rails and smashed them to bits, while the
engine and forward carriages of the train were telescoped.
XIV
FLIGHT THROUGH THE NIGHT
Scarcely had Loupart received Josephine in his arms, as she jumped from
the carriage, than he strenuously urged his companions to make haste.
"Now, then, boys, off we go, and quickly, too! Josephine, pick up your
skirts and get a move on!"
It was a dark night, without moon, favourable to the robber's plans. For
a good fifteen minutes the ill-omened crew continued their retreat by
forced march. From time to time Loupart questioned the "Beard":
"This the way?"
The other nodded assent: "Keep on, we'll get there."
At length they descried the white ribbon of a road winding up the side
of the low hill and vanishing in the distance into a small wood.
"There's the track," declared the Beard.
"To Dijon?"
"No, to Verrez."
"That's a good thing; now, stop and listen to me."
Loupart sat down on the grass and addressed them.
"It's been a good stroke, friends, but unfortunately it's not finished
yet. They took precautions we couldn't foresee. We have only part of the
fat. We share up to-morrow evening."
He was answered by growls of disappointment.
"I said to-morrow evening," he repeated. "Those who aren't satisfied
with that can stay away. There'll be all the more for the others. Now,
we must separate. Josephine, you, the Beard and I will get back
together. There's work for us in Paris. The others scatter and take care
not to get pinched; be back in the nest by ten."
Loupart motioned to the Beard and Josephine to follow him.
"Show us the way, Beard."
"Where to?"
"The telegraph office."
"What's up?"
"Why, you idiot," replied Loupart, "we've been robbed! The wine-dealer's
notes are only halves! The swine insured himself for nothing."
The Beard broke out into recriminations.
"To have a hundred and fifty notes in your pocket, and they good for
nothing! There was no such thing as Providence! It was sickening."
"Come, don't get angry, two halves will make a whole."
"You know where to lay hands on the rest?"
"Yes, old man."
"That's our job to-morrow evening? That's why you're chasing to the
telegraph office?"
Loupart clenched his fists.
"That and something else; there's bigger game afoot."
"What?"
"Juve."
"Oh, the devil!" murmured the Beard, divided between pleasure and fear.
"You've got the beggar?"
"I have."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
The little group moved forward in silence. At length Josephine began to
tire.
"Say, have we much further to go?"
"No," replied the Beard. "Verrez village is behind that hill. The main
road runs by the row of poplars."
"All right. Go and wait there with Josephine. I'll catch you up in a
quarter of an hour," ordered Loupart. "I've a wire to send off."
His acolytes gone, Loupart resumed his way. As a measure of precaution,
he took off his jacket, turned it inside out and put it on again. The
jacket was a trick one: the lining was a different colour and the
pockets differently placed.
On reaching Verrez, Loupart turned round. From the top of the little
hill he could see, in the distance, the reddening flames.
"That's going all right," thought the wretch; "the Simplon express has
run into the cars. There must be a fine mix-up there."
Reaching the post-office at last, he seized a blank and wrote on it
hastily:
"Juve, Inspector of Safety, 142 Rue Bonaparte, Paris. All is well;
found gang complete, including Loupart. Robbery committed but
failed. Cannot give details. Be at Bercy Stores alone, but armed,
to-morrow at eleven at night, near the Kessler House cellars.
"Fandor."
The clerk held out her hand to take the message. The bandit was
extremely polite.
"Be so good as to pay special attention to this message. Read it over,
madam. You grasp the importance of it? You see it must be kept
absolutely secret. I rely on you."
Ten minutes' quick walking brought Loupart once more to Josephine and
the Beard.
"Hullo!" he cried. "Anything new?"
"Nothing."
"Josephine, go down the hill and the first motor that passes, set to and
howl; call 'help' and 'murder'; got to stop it. Be off! Look sharp!"
Some minutes passed. The two men watched Josephine go down the road and
hide in one of the ditches.
"Your barker is ready, Beard?"
"Six plugs, Loupart."
"Good! You go to the right, I to the left."
Loupart had scarcely given these orders, when, on the horizon, a bright
gleam became visible, growing larger every minute, while the noise of a
motor broke the silence of the open country.
Loupart laughed.
"Look, Beard. Acetylene lamps, eh? That car will do our job splendidly."
An automobile was fast nearing them. As it passed by Josephine, she
rushed into the road, uttering piercing cries.
"Help! Murder! Have pity! Stop!"
With a hasty movement the chauffeur, taken aback by the sight of a woman
rising unexpectedly on the lonely road, made a dash at his brakes.
Meanwhile from the inside of the car a traveller leaned out.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
As the car was about to stop, Loupart and the Beard rushed out.
"You take the passenger!" cried the former; "I'll attend to the
chauffeur."
The two brigands sprang on the footboards.
"No tricks, or I'll shoot! Josephine, truss these fowls for me!" cried
Loupart.
Josephine took a roll of cord from her lover's pocket and tied the two
victims firmly while Loupart gagged them.
"Now, Beard, take them into the field and give them a rap on the head to
keep them quiet."
Then he got into the car and skilfully turned it round. When Josephine
and the Beard were on board, he got under way at full speed with a grim
smile.
"And, now, Juve, it's between us two!"
XV
THE SIMPLON EXPRESS DISASTER
While Loupart and his mates were making off across country the disaster
occurred. At a curve in the track the Simplon Express coming at full
speed charged the cars and crushed them, then, lifted by the shock, the
engine reared backwards on its wheels and fell heavily, dragging down in
its fall a baggage car and the first two carriages coupled behind it.
Then rose in the night cries of terror and the frantic rush of the
passengers who fled from the luxurious train.
Fandor picked himself up and went forward. From the tender of the engine
a cloud of steam escaped with hoarse whistlings.
The driver held out his two broken arms.
"Give me a hand, for God's sake! Open the tap! There, that hoisted bar.
Lift it up. Quick, the boiler is going to burst."
Fandor was still engaged in carrying out this manoeuvre when succour
began to arrive.
The stoker, less seriously hurt than the driver, had managed to drag
himself clear of the wreckage, which was beginning to catch fire. The
head guard, and those passengers whose seats had been at the rear of the
train, hurried up and the combined effort at rescue began. They searched
for the injured and put out the incipient blazes.
Instinctively those who had fled from the train followed in a frantic
stampede the road at the foot of the embankment, reached Verrez village
out of breath and gave the alarm.
The countryside was soon in an uproar. Lights flashed, torches and lamps
of vehicles harnessed in haste: a quarter of an hour after the disaster
half the neighbourhood was afoot from all quarters.
"A bit of luck, sir," remarked the conductor, still pallid with horror,
to Fandor, "that the collision happened at the curve where our speed was
slackened. Ten minutes sooner and all the carriages would have been
telescoped."
"Yes, it was luck," replied the journalist, as he wiped his face,
covered with soot and coal dust. "The two carriages telescoped were
almost empty."
From a neighbouring way-station the railway officials had telephoned
news of the accident. The section of line was kept clear by telegraph.
Word came that a relief train was being made up, and would arrive in an
hour.
Fandor had quickly regained his coolness, and was one of the first to
lend a hand in the rescue, turning over the wreckage and setting free
the injured.
As he passed along the track, he was attracted by the appeals of a stout
man, who hurried toward him, wailing:
"Sir! Sir! What a terrible calamity!"
Fandor recognised his fellow-passenger, Josephine's lover.
"Yes, and we had a lucky escape. But what has become of your wife?"
In using the word "wife" Fandor was under no illusion; he merely wanted
to interview the other.
"My wife? Ah, sir, that's the terrible part of it. She's not my
wife--she's a little friend, and now it's all bound to come out. My
lawful wife will hear everything. As for the girl, I don't know what has
become of her."
"She knew that you were carrying money?"
"Yes, sir. I am an agent for wines at Bercy, and I was going to pay over
dividends to stock-holders, one hundred and fifty thousand francs. I
recognised one of my men among the robbers, a cooper. He knew that every
month I travel, carrying large sums of money. I am quite sure this
robbery was planned beforehand."
"And who are you, sir?"
"M. Martialle, of Kessler & Barriès. Fortunately the money is not lost."
"Not lost! You know where to find the robbers?"
"That I do not, but they have only the halves of the notes. These are
worth nothing to them unless they can lay their hands on the
corresponding halves. It's a way of cheap insurance."
"And where are the other halves of the notes?"
"Oh, in a safe place, in the office of the firm at Bercy."
Fandor abruptly left M. Martialle and approached an official.
"When will the line be cleared?"
"In an hour's time, sire."
"There'll be no train for Paris till then?"
"No, sir."
Fandor moved off along the track.
"That's all right, I can make it. I'll have time to send a wire to _The
Capital_."
The journalist sat down on the grass, took out his writing-pad and began
his article. But he had overrated his strength. He was worn out, body
and soul. He had not been writing ten minutes when he dropped into a
doze, the pencil slipped from his fingers and he was fast asleep.
* * * * *
When Fandor opened his eyes, the twilight was beginning to come down. It
was between five and six o'clock.
"What a fool I've been! I've made a mess of the whole business now," he
cried as he ran frantically to the nearest station.
"How soon the first train to Paris?"
"In two minutes, sir: it is signalled."
"When does it arrive?"
"At ten o'clock."
Fandor threw up his hands.
"I shall be too late. I haven't time to wire Juve and warn him. Oh! what
an idiot I was to sleep like that!"
XVI
A DRAMA AT THE BERCY WAREHOUSE