and chance alone allowed the page concealed in the collar of this bodice
to fall into my hands."
Long did the detective still grope and ponder, heedless of the
questions the professor and the magistrate kept asking him. He rose at
last, and with a distracted gesture took the arm of M. Fuselier, and
dragged him before the stone slab on which the corpse, but recently
unknown, smiled a ghastly smile.
"M. Fuselier, the dead woman has spoken. She is Lady Beltham. This is
the body of Lady Beltham!"
The magistrate recoiled in horror. He murmured:
"But who then can Doctor Chaleck be? Who can Loupart be?"
Juve replied without hesitation.
"Ask Fantômas the names of his accomplices!"
And leaving him and Doctor Ardel without any farewell Juve rushed from
the Morgue, his features so distorted that as they passed him people
drew aside, amazed and murmuring:
"A madman or a murderer!"
XVIII
FANTÔMAS' VICTIM
"You understand my object, Fandor? Hitherto I have worked unaided. I
wanted to unearth Fantômas and bring him to Headquarters, saying to my
superiors, 'For three years you have maintained this man was dead; well,
here he is! I have put the darbies on the most terrible ruffian of
modern times.' Well, I must forego my little triumph. We must now work
in the open. Public opinion must come to our aid."
"Then you want me to write my article?"
"Yes, and tell all the details; wind up by putting the question
squarely. 'Is not Fantômas still alive?' Then sum up in the affirmative.
Now, be off. I want to read your article this evening in the _Capital_."
Fandor had just left his detective friend when old Jean, the only
servant that Juve tolerated in his private quarters, entered the room.
"Don't forget the person who is waiting in the parlour, sir."
"Ah, yes, to be sure. A person who comes to see me at home, when nobody
knows my address should be interesting. Show him in, Jean."
Juve placed his revolver in reach of his hand as Jean announced: "Maître
Gérin, notary."
Juve rose, motioned his visitor to a chair and inquired the object of
his visit.
Maître Gérin bowed respectfully to Juve.
"I must apologise," he said, "for coming to disturb you at home, sir,
but it concerns a matter of such importance and it involves names so
terrible that I could not utter them within the walls of the Sûreté.
What brings me here is a crime which must be laid to Fantômas or his
heirs in crime."
Juve was strangely moved.
"Speak, sir, I am all attention."
"M. Juve, I believe that one of my clients, a woman, has been killed. I
have had for some time a certain sympathy, and, I don't disguise it, an
immense curiosity concerning her because she was actually involved in
the mysterious affairs of Fantômas."
"The name of the woman, counsel, her name, I beg of you?"
"The name of the woman who, I fear, has been murdered is--Lady
Beltham!"
Juve gave a sigh of relief. It was the name he wished to hear.
Maître Gérin continued: "I have been Lady Beltham's lawyer for a long
period of time, but since the Fantômas case came to an end in the
sentencing to death of Gurn and the subsequent scandal attached to the
name of Lady Beltham, I have ceased to have any further tidings of that
unhappy woman.
"Indirectly, through the medium of the papers which at times gave out
some echo of her, I knew that she had been travelling, then, that she
was back in Paris, and had gone to live at Neuilly, Boulevard Inkermann.
But I did not see her again. It is true her family matters were settled,
her husband's estate entirely wound up. In short, she had no reason to
appeal to me professionally."
"To be sure."
"Well, some days ago, I was greatly surprised by her visiting my office.
Naturally I refrained from asking her any awkward questions."
Juve interrupted: "In Heaven's name, sir, how long ago is it since Lady
Beltham called on you?"
"Nineteen days, sir."
A sigh of relief escaped Juve. He had feared all his theories regarding
the body at the Morgue the day before were going to collapse. "Go on,
sir," he cried.
"Lady Beltham, on being shown into my private office, appeared to me
much the same physically as I had known her previously, but she was no
longer the great lady, cold, haughty, a trifle disdainful. She seemed
crushed under a terrible load, a prey to awful mental torture. She made
appeal to my discretion, both professionally and as a man of honour.
"She then spoke as follows: 'I am going to write a letter which, if it
fell into the hands of a third person, would bring about a great
calamity. This letter I shall intrust to you together with my Will which
will instruct you what to do with it at my death. I will send you a
visiting card with a line in my own handwriting every fortnight. If ever
this card fails to come, conclude that I am dead, that they have
murdered me, and carry that letter where I tell you--Avenge me!'"
"Well, what then?" cried Juve, anxiously.
"That is all, M. Juve. I have not seen Lady Beltham again, nor had any
news of her. When I called at her residence I was told she was away. I
have come to ask you whether you think she has been murdered."
Juve was pacing his room with great strides.
"Maître," he said at last, "your story confirms all I have suspected.
Yes, Lady Beltham is dead. She has been murdered. That letter contained
her confession and revealed not only her own crimes, but those of her
accomplices, of her master--of--Fantômas. Fantômas killed her to free
himself of a witness to his evil life."
"Fantômas! But Fantômas is dead."
"So they say."
"Have you proofs of his existence?"
"I am looking for them."
"What do you think of doing?"
"I am going to make an investigation. I am going to learn where and how
Lady Beltham was killed. I shall see you again, Maître. Read _The
Capital_ this evening. You will find in it many interesting surprises."
XIX
THE ENGLISHWOMAN OF BOULEVARD INKERMANN
"To sum up what I have just learned."
Juve was seated at his desk, and those who knew the private life of the
great detective would assuredly have guessed that he was gravely
preoccupied. He was trying to extract some useful information from the
notary's visit, some hints essential to the investigation he had taken
in hand, and that at all hazards he meant to pursue to a successful
termination. The task was fraught with difficulties and even peril. But
the triumph would be great if he should succeed in putting the
"bracelets" on the "genius of crime," as he had called him to his friend
Fandor.
"Lady Beltham had gone to visit Gérin. She was an astute woman after
all, and knew how to get her own way. There must have been powerful
motives which urged her to write that confession. What were those
motives?
"Remorse? No. A woman who loves has no remorse. Fear? Probably, but fear
of what?"
Juve, without being aware of it, had just written on the paper of his
note-book the ill-omened name which haunted him.
"Fantômas!"
"Why, of course, Fantômas killed Lady Beltham, and killed her in the
house of Doctor Chaleck, an accomplice. And Loupart, a third accomplice,
got his mistress to write to me, and I believed the denunciation.
Loupart got us to dog him, led me unawares behind the curtains in the
study, and made me witness that Chaleck was innocent. Oh, the ruse was a
clever one. Josephine herself, by the two shots she received some days
later at Lâriboisière, became a victim. In short, the scent was crossed
and broken."
The detective snatched up his hat, saw carefully to the charges of his
pocket revolver, then gravely and solemnly cried:
"It is you and I now, Fantômas!" with which he left his rooms.
* * * * *
Juve and Fandor were entering a taxi-cab.
"To Neuilly Church," cried Juve to the driver. "And, now, my dear
Fandor, you must be thinking me crazy, as less than two hours ago I
sent you off to write an article, and here I come taking you from your
paper and carrying you away in this headlong fashion. But just listen to
the tale of this morning's doings."
Juve then gave a full account of Maître Gérin's visit and wound up by
saying: "It is through Lady Beltham that we must unearth that monster,
Fantômas."
"That's all very well," replied Fandor, "but as the lady is dead, how
are we going to set about it?"
"By reconstructing the last hours of her life. We are now on our way to
Lady Beltham's residence, Boulevard Inkermann."
"And what are we to do when we arrive there?"
"I shall examine the house, which is probably empty, and you are to
'pump' the neighbours, to ask questions of the tradespeople. I should
attract too much attention if I were to do this myself, and that is why
I dragged you away from your work."
Some moments later the taxi pulled up at the corner of Boulevard
Inkermann.
"The house is number--" said Juve as he took Fandor by the arm. "Bless
me, you remember the house! It is the one in which I arrested Gurn
three years ago; that famous day he came to see Lady Beltham, disguised
as a beggar."
The two friends soon found themselves at their destination. Through the
garden railing, which was wholly covered with a dense growth of ivy, the
two saw the house, which now looked very dilapidated.
"It doesn't look as if it had been inhabited for a long while," said
Fandor.
"That's what we want to make sure of. Go and make your inquiries."
Fandor left his companion and made his way back to the commercial
section of Neuilly. He stopped opposite a sign which read:
"Gardening done."
"Anyone there?" he inquired.
An old woman, standing in the doorway, came forward. "What can I do for
you, sir?"
"If I am not mistaken, it was you who attended to Lady Beltham's
garden?"
"Yes, sir, we kept her garden in order. But my husband hasn't worked
there for several months, as Lady Beltham has been away."
"I heard she was coming back to Paris, and called to-day, but found the
house closed up."
"Oh, I am sorry. Lady Beltham's an excellent customer and Mme. Raymond
also bought flowers of us."
"Mme. Raymond. She is a friend of Lady Beltham?"
"Her companion. It is now close to a year that Mme. Raymond has been
living with her. Oh! a very pleasant lady; a pretty brunette, very
elegant and not at all proud."
Fandor thought it well not to seem astonished.
"Oh, yes, of course," he cried, "Mme. Raymond. I remember now. Lady
Beltham's life is so sad and lonely."
"True enough," the woman replied, and, lowering her voice: "And then,
what with all these tales of noises and ghosts, the house can't be too
pleasant to live in, eh?"
Fandor pretended to be well posted. "People still talk of these
incidents?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
Fandor did not venture to press the subject, and, taking leave of the
worthy woman, he made his way back to the Boulevard. As soon as Juve
caught sight of him in the distance he ran up eagerly.
"Well?"
"Well, Juve, what have you found out during my absence?"
"In the first place that it is exactly sixty-four days since Lady
Beltham left Neuilly. I discovered this by the dates on a lot of
circulars in the letter box. I also had a talk with a butcher's man and
learned that Lady Beltham had a companion."
"Oh! I was bringing you that same news!"
"This Mme. Raymond is young, dark, very pretty. Can't you guess who she
is?"
Fandor stared at Juve.
"You mean----"
"Josephine. It's perfectly clear. We know Lady Beltham wrote a
confession, that Fantômas suspected this and murdered her to get hold of
it, and further that in this murder Loupart was involved. Josephine was
introduced to Lady Beltham by Fantômas. A spy going there to betray the
great lady and possibly entice her later to the Cité Frochot. Let us
make haste, lad. We thought we had to follow the trail of Loupart and
Chaleck, but we mustn't lose sight of Josephine. She may be the means of
helping us to the truth."
XX
THE ARREST OF JOSEPHINE
The somewhat grim faces of Mme. Guinon, Julie and the Flirt lit up
suddenly. Bonzille, the tramp set free by the police the day after the
"drive" in the Rue Charbonnière, had opened the bottle of vermouth, and
Josephine bustled around to find glasses to put on the table.
Josephine had visitors in her little lodging. There was to be a quiet
lunch. On the sideboard attractive dishes were ready, a fine savour of
cooking onions came from the dark corner in which Loupart's pretty
mistress was doing hasty cookery over the gas.
"Neat or with water?" asked Bonzille, performing his office of cup
bearer with comical dignity.
Mme. Guinon asked for plenty of water. Julie shrugged her shoulders
indifferently; she didn't care so long as there was drink, while the
Flirt, in her cracked voice, breathed in the loafer's ear: "How about a
sip of brandy to put with it?"
The appetiser loosened tongues: they began to cackle. From a drawer
Josephine got out a pack of cards, which the Flirt promptly seized,
while Julie, leaning familiarly on her shoulder, counselled her:
"Cut with the left and watch what you are doing; we shall see if there's
any luck for us in the pack."
* * * * *
Josephine had now been back three days from her painful journey and had
not seen Loupart. The latter, after having abandoned the motor in some
waste ground among the fortifications, had vanished with the Beard, only
bidding his mistress go home as if nothing had happened and wait for
news of him.
The Simplon Express affair had made a great stir in the fashionable
world, and had produced considerable uneasiness among the criminal
class.
To be sure no name had been mentioned, and apparently the police were
not following any definite clue. Still, in the Chapelle quarter, and
especially in the den of the "Goutte d'Or" and the Rue de Chartres, it
was noticed that the absence of the chief members of the Band of
Cyphers coincided with the date of the tragedy.
At first there had been some slight stand-offishness shown to Josephine
on her return. She was greeted with doubtful allusions, equivocal
compliments, with a touch of coldness, and folks were also amazed at not
seeing Loupart reappear with her.
Josephine told herself that she must at all costs disabuse her
neighbours of this bad impression, and that is why she had decided to
give a luncheon party to her most intimate friends. These might also be
her most formidable opponents, for such damsels as the Flirt and Julie,
even big Ernestine, could not fail to be jealous of the mistress of a
distinguished leader; besides, she was the prettiest woman in the
quarter.
Joining the conversation from time to time, Josephine smiled and
regained confidence. Her manoeuvre bade fair to be crowned with
success.
As they sat down to table the door opened and Mother Toulouche came in,
carrying a capacious basket.
"Well," cried the old fence, "I got wind that something was going on
here, and I said to myself, 'Why shouldn't Mother Toulouche be in it as
well?' One more or less don't matter, eh, Josephine?"
Josephine assented and made room for her. Before sitting down the old
woman put her basket on the floor.
"If I invite myself, Fifine, I bring something to the feast. Here are
some portugals and two dozen snails which will help out."
All at once, Josephine, who, despite the general gaiety, was
absent-minded and preoccupied, rose and ran to the door, answering a
knock. She was at bottom horribly uneasy at hearing nothing of her
lover. She began to fear that the police for once might have got the
upper hand. It was little Paulot, the porter's son, who rushed in quite
out of breath.
"Mme. Josephine, mother told me to come up and warn you that two
gentlemen were asking for you in the lodge just now. Two gentlemen in
special 'rig.'"
"Do you know them, Paulot?"
"I don't, Mme. Josephine."
"What did they want of me?"
"They didn't say."
"What did your mother answer?"
"Don't know. Believe she told 'em you were in your den."
The occurrence cast a chill over the company. Little Paulot was given a
big glass of claret, and when he had left the Flirt observed gravely:
"It's the cops."
"Why should they come and inquire for me?"
Julie tried to console her.
"Anyhow they'll not come up to your place."
Josephine was greatly upset. Were they after her or Loupart? Why had
they withdrawn? Would they come back?
In a flash she burst out, beating her fist on the table:
"Bah! I've had enough of this, not knowing what is going to happen from
one moment to the next. Sooner than stay here, I'll go and find out."
The Flirt suggested, with a spiteful smile.
"Go ahead, my girl, they won't be far away; go and ask them what they
want."
"Very well," cried Josephine, "I will."
And the young girl emptied her glass to give her courage.
"And if you don't come back, we'll set your room to rights," cried the
Flirt after her. "Good luck, try and not sleep in the jug."
Josephine rushed downstairs, and then, after a moment's hesitation,
turned and went down the Rue de Chartres.
At first she noticed nothing unusual or suspicious. The faces of those
she met were mostly familiar to her. But suddenly her heart stopped
beating. Two men accosted her simultaneously, one on her right, the
other on her left.
Her neighbour on the right asked very softly:
"Are you Josephine Ramot?"
"Yes."
"You must come with us."
"Yes," said Josephine, resigned.
A few moments later, Josephine, seated in a cab between the two men, was
crossing Paris. The detectives had given the address: "Boulevard du
Palais."
Loupart's mistress, taken on her arrival to the ante-room adjoining the
private rooms of the examining magistrates, had not much time for
reflection.
To be sure, she was not guilty. Not guilty? Well, at bottom the affair
of the Marseilles train made Josephine uneasy. And the story of the
motor, too, the motor taken by force from unknown travellers. What
knowledge had the police of these events? When questioned, was she to
confess or deny?
A little old man, bald and fussy, appeared at the end of the passage and
called her.
"Josephine Ramot, the private room of Justice Fuselier."
Mechanically she went forward between her two captors, who pushed her
into a well-lit apartment, in the corner of which stood a big desk. A
well-dressed gentleman was sitting there, writing; opposite him, in the
shadow, some one stood motionless. The magistrate raised his head; his
face was cold and contained, but not spiteful.
"What is your name?"
"Josephine Ramot."
"Where were you born?"
"Rue de Belleville."
"What is your age?"
"Twenty-two."
"You live by prostitution?"
Josephine coloured and, with an angry voice, cried:
"No, your honour, I have a calling. I am a polisher."
"Are you working now?"
Josephine felt awkward.
"Well, to say the truth, at the moment I have no work, but they know me
at M. Monthier's, Rue de Malte; it was there I was apprenticed, and----"
"And since you became the mistress of the ruffian Loupart, known as 'The
Square,' you have ceased to practise an honest calling?"
"I won't deny being Loupart's mistress, but as for prostitution----"
The man Josephine had noticed standing in the shadow came forward and
murmured a few words in the magistrate's ear.
"M. Juve," cried Josephine, moving toward the inspector with her hand
out. She stopped short as the detective motioned to her that such a
familiarity was not allowable, and the examination was resumed.
The magistrate, after having by some curt questions brought to light the
salient points of Josephine's life, and clearly mapped out the speedy
development of the honest little work girl into a ruffian's mistress,
and in all probability, accomplice, began the interrogation on the main
point.
At some length he narrated without losing a single change of her
countenance, the various incidents of the evening begun in the railway
which ended with the disaster to the Simplon Express.
Fuselier made Josephine pass again through her headlong exit from
Lâriboisière, her quick passage through Paris when she was barely
convalescent, and still suffering from the effects of the fever, her
departure in the Marseilles Express, where she picked up half a score of
footpads headed by her redoubtable lover; then the waiting in the
silence of the night, the affray, the threats, and lastly, after
breaking the couplings to the train, the dangerous flight of the band,
the headlong rush through the country.
The magistrate wound up:
"You came to town afterwards, Josephine Ramot, in company with Loupart,
called 'The Square,' and his factotum, the ruffian 'Beard.'"
Josephine, embarrassed by the steady glance of the magistrate,
endeavoured to keep her face devoid of expression, but as in his recital
the points of the adventure she had shared grew more definite, she felt
she was constantly changing colour and at certain moments her eyelids
quivered over her downcast eyes.
Evidently he was well posted. That young man who got into the same
compartment as M. Martialle must certainly have belonged to the police.
But for that the judge would never have known precisely what took place.
Decidedly this was a bad beginning.
Josephine now dreaded to see the door open and Loupart appear, the
bracelets on his wrists, followed by the Beard, similarly fettered, for
beyond a doubt the two men had been nabbed.
Hunched up, her nerves tense, Josephine kept her mind fixed on one
point. She was waiting anxiously for the first chance to protest. At a
certain juncture the magistrate declared:
"You three, Loupart, 'The Beard' and yourself, shared between you the
proceeds of the robberies committed."
As soon as she could get a word in, Josephine shouted her innocence.
Oh, as to that, no! She had not touched a cent from the business. She
did not even know what was involved.
The exact truth was this. She was ill in the hospital when all of a
sudden she remembered that Loupart had some days before bidden her be at
all costs at the Lyons Station, on a certain Saturday evening at exactly
seven o'clock. Now that particular Saturday was the day after the
attempt on her life. As she was much better she set off in obedience to
her lover. She knew no more; she had done no more; she would not have
them accuse her of any more.
The young woman had gradually grown warm, her voice rose and vibrated.
The judge let her have her say, and when she had finished there was a
silence.
M. Fuselier slowly dipped a pen in the ink, and in his level voice
declared, casting a glance in Juve's direction:
"After all, what seems clearly established is complicity."
Josephine gave a start--she knew the terrible significance of the term.
Complicity meant joint guilt.
But Juve intervened:
"Excuse me, in place of 'complicity' perhaps we had better say
'compulsion.'"
"I don't follow you, Juve."
"We must bear in mind, your honour, that this girl is to be pardoned to
a certain extent for having obeyed her lover's order, more particularly
at a time when the latter had gained quite a victory over the police.
For in spite of the protection of our people, his attempt against her
partially succeeded."
Taken aback, M. Fuselier looked from the detective to the young woman
whom he regarded as guilty. Juve's outburst seemed to him out of place.
"Your pardon, Juve, but your reasoning seems to me somewhat specious;
however, I will not press this charge against the girl; we have
something better."
Turning to Loupart's mistress, the judge asked abruptly:
"What has become of Lady Beltham?"
Josephine was amazed by the question. She turned inquiring eyes toward
Juve, who quickly said:
"M. Fuselier, this is not the moment----"
The magistrate, dropping this line, again tackled Josephine on her
relations with Loupart.
In a flash Josephine made up her mind. She would simulate innocence at
all costs. With the craft of a consummate actress, she began in a low
voice, which gradually rose and became impressive, insinuating:
"How pitiful it is to think that everyone bears a grudge against a poor
girl who, some day in springtime, has given herself the pleasure of a
lover! Is there any harm in giving oneself to the man who loves you? Who
forbids it? No one but the priests, and they have been kicked out of
doors!"
The magistrate could not help smiling, and Juve showed signs of
amusement.
"But I am honest, and when I understand something of what was going on,
I wrote to M. Juve. And what thanks did I get? Two bullet holes in my
skin!"
M. Fuselier hesitated about turning his summons into a committal.
XXI
AT THE MONTMARTRE FÊTE