crowd was pressing round a booth of huge dimensions, splendidly lighted.
On the stage a cheap Jack, decked out in many-coloured frippery, was
delivering his patter:
"Walk in, ladies and gentlemen; it's only ten cents, and you won't
regret your money! The management of the theatre will present to you,
without delay, the prettiest woman in the world and also the fattest,
who weighs a trifle over 600 pounds and possibly more; as no scale has
yet been found strong enough to weigh her without breaking into a
thousand pieces.
"You will also have the rare and weird sight of a black from Abyssinia
whose splendid ebony hide has been tattooed in white. Furthermore, a
young girl of scarcely fourteen summers will astound you by entering
the cage of the ferocious beasts, whose terrible roarings reach you
here! The programme is most interesting, and after these incomparable
attractions, you will applaud the cinema in colours--the last exploit of
modern science--showing the recent tour of the President of the
Republic, and himself in person delivering his speech to an audience as
numerous as it is select. You will also see, reproduced in the most
stirring and life-like manner, all the details of the mysterious murder
which at this moment engages public interest and keeps the police on
tenter-hooks. The crime at the Cité Frochot, with the murdered woman,
the Empire clock, and the extinguished candle: all the accessories in
full, including the collapse of the elevator into the sewer. The show is
beginning! It has begun!"
Among the throng surrounding the mountebank three persons seemed
especially amused by the peroration. They were two gentlemen, very
elegant and distinguished, in evening clothes, and with them a pretty
woman wearing a loose silk mantle over her low dress.
She put her lips to the ear of the older of her companions, who, with
his turned-up moustache and grey hair, looked like a cavalry officer.
She murmured to him these strange words:
"Squint at the guy on the left, the one passing before the
clock-seller's booth. That's one of the gang. He was in the Simplon
affair."
The pretty Parisian, so smartly dressed, was no other than Josephine.
The young man with the fair beard was Fandor and the cavalry officer was
Juve. The three now "worked" together. The partnership dated from the
afternoon that Josephine escaped arrest, thanks to the lucky
intervention of Juve.
The latter had little belief in the young woman's innocence, but by
getting her on his side, he hoped to secure information as to Loupart's
doings.
Juve was talking to a ragged Arab selling nougat to the passers-by.
"Ay, sir," explained the Arab. "I have been dogging little Mimile since
two this afternoon."
"Bravo, my dear Michel, your disguise is a perfect success."
Josephine came suddenly close and pulled Juve by the sleeve, and then
pointed to a group of persons who were crossing the Place Blanche.
Without troubling further about the Arab, Juve at once began to follow
this group, motioning to Josephine and Fandor to follow him closely. The
three threaded their way through the crowd with a thousand precautions,
seeking to avoid attention, yet not losing sight of their quarry. All
three had recognised Loupart!
The outlaw, dressed in a long blouse, with a tall cap, and armed with a
stout cudgel, was walking among half a dozen individuals similarly
attired. By their garb they would be taken for cattle-herders from La
Villette.
This group proceeded slowly in the direction of Place Pigalle, and Juve,
who was pressing hard on his quarry, slackened his pace in order to let
them forge ahead a little. The square, which was surrounded by
brilliantly illuminated restaurants, was a flood of light, and the
detective did not want people to notice him. Moreover, the
pseudo-cattle-drivers had stopped, too: gathering round Loupart they
listened attentively to his remarks, made in a low tone. Clearly they
were accomplices of the robber, who, perhaps, realised that they were
being followed.
Fandor, who had put his arm through Josephine's, felt the young woman's
heart beating as though it would burst. They were all playing for high
stakes. Josephine, especially, was in a compromising and dangerous
plight. Not only had she to fear the wrath of her lover, but she ran the
risk of being "spotted" by one of the many satellites of the gang of
Cyphers, in which case her condemnation would be certain.
Fandor encouraged her with a few kind words:
"You know, mademoiselle, you mustn't be frightened. If I am not greatly
mistaken, Loupart is about to be nabbed, and once in Juve's hands he
won't get out of them in a hurry."
Josephine's perturbation was scarcely quieter, and Fandor, a trifle
skeptical, asked himself whether in reality the girl was on their side
or if she were not playing the game of false information. Suddenly
something fresh happened.
Loupart, separating himself from his companions, entered a restaurant
upon which the words
"The Crocodile"
were inscribed in dazzling letters on its front. The Crocodile
comprised, like most night resorts, a large saloon on the ground floor
and a dining-room on the first floor which was reached by a little
stairway and guarded by a giant clad in magnificent livery. Above this
were apartments and private rooms.
Just then, as it was near midnight, a number of carriages were bringing
couples in evening dress, who mounted the staircase. To their great
surprise, Fandor and Josephine saw Loupart make for this staircase. The
long smock of the seeming cattle-driver would certainly make a queer
showing. What was the formidable robber's game? Juve gave hasty
directions:
"It's all right. I know the house. It has only one exit. You, Ramot," he
went on, addressing the young woman, "go up to the first floor and take
your place at a table; here are ten dollars, order champagne and don't
be too stiff with the company."
Josephine nodded and went upstairs.
Juve and Fandor followed a few minutes later and took up a strategic
position at a table near the doorway. Fandor had a view of the room and
Juve commanded the hall and stairway. From the room came a confused hum
of laughter, cries and doubtful jokes. A negro, clad in red and armed
with a gong, capered among the tables, dancing and singing.
Fandor caught sight of Josephine, who appeared to be carrying out Juve's
instructions. Beside her was a fair giant of red complexion and
clean-shaven face, whose Anglo-Saxon origin was beyond doubt. Fandor
knew the face; he had seen the man somewhere; he remembered his square
shoulders and bull-like neck, and the enormous biceps which stood out
under the cloth of his sleeves.
"By Jove!" he cried suddenly. "Why it's Dixon, the American heavyweight
champion!"
Juve signalled to the waiter to bring him the bill as he fitted a
monocle into his right eye.
Fandor stared at him, surprised.
"Well, Juve, when you get yourself up as a man of the world, you omit no
detail."
Juve made no reply for some moments, then turned to his companion.
"Who else do you see in the room?"
Fandor looked carefully, and then made a gesture of amazement.
"Chaleck! Chaleck is over there eating his supper!"
"Yes," said Juve simply, "and you are stupid not to have seen him
before."
The profile of the mysterious doctor was in fact outlined very sharply
at a table, amply served and covered with bottles and flowers, around
which half a score of persons, men and women, had taken their places.
Without turning his head, Juve remarked:
"Judging by the action of the person who is at this moment lighting a
cigar the supper is not far from coming to an end."
"Come, now, Juve, have you eyes in your back? How can you know what is
going on at Doctor Chaleck's table, while you are looking in the
opposite direction?"
Juve handed his eye-glass to the journalist.
"Ah! Now I see! A trick eye-glass, with a mirror in it--not a bad idea."
"It is quite simple," murmured Juve. "The main thing is to have thought
of it. Come, let us go down."
"What? And desert the doctor?"
"An arrest should never be made in a public place when it can be
avoided. Here, give me your card that I may send it up with mine."
Juve called M. Dominique, the manager, and, pointing out Chaleck to him,
said:
"M. Dominique, please give our cards to that gentleman and say that we
are waiting outside to speak to him."
In a few moments Chaleck came out of the saloon to the Place Pigalle.
His face was calm and his glance unmoved. Juve laid his hand upon the
doctor's shoulder, and, signalling to a subordinate in uniform, cried:
"Doctor Chaleck, I arrest you in the name of the law."
Chaleck quietly flicked off his cigar ash and smiled:
"Do you know, M. Juve, I am not pleased with you. I read in the papers,
during a recent holiday abroad, that you had pulled my house absolutely
to pieces! That was not nice of you, when we had been on such good
terms."
This speech was so startling, so unlooked for, that Juve, though not
easily surprised, had nothing to answer for the moment.
Meanwhile, Chaleck tamely let himself be dragged toward the station in
the Rue Rochefoucauld.
"The fine fellow," thought Juve, "must have got his whole case
prepared--he will give us a run for our money; still it must----"
The detective gave vent to a loud yell. They had just got to the point
where the Rue Rochefoucauld is intersected by the Rue Notre Dame de
Lorette: a cab drawn by a big horse was moving in one direction and a
motor-bus coming from another. It had already cleared the Rue Pigalle,
and in a second would cut across the Rue Rochefoucauld, when Chaleck,
literally coming out of the Inverness coat he wore, leaped ahead of
Juve, dodged under the cab horse and boarded the bus, which rapidly went
on its way. All this had been accomplished in an instant.
Left dumbfounded, face to face, Juve and Fandor, together with the
officer, contemplated the only token left them by Chaleck. An elegant
Inverness cloak with capes, which, oddly enough, had shoulders and
arms--arms of India-rubber, so well imitated that through the cloth they
distinctly gave the impression of human arms.
Juve let fly a tremendous oath, then turned to Fandor and cried:
"How about Loupart?"
The two men hastily reascended the Rue Pigalle. They counted on standing
sentry again before the "Crocodile." But as they reached the square Juve
and Fandor were faced by fresh surprises. A powerful motor-car was
slowly getting under way. In it was the American Dixon, with Josephine
beside him.
Was the girl playing them false? That was the most important thing to
ascertain.
The car made off at a good pace toward the Place Clichy. Half a moment
later Juve was bowling after them in a taxi, calling to Fandor as he
left:
"Look after the other."
Fandor understood "The other" referred to Loupart, and carefully pumped
M. Dominique, but could get no further news from him, so, after waiting
an hour for Juve to return, he went home to bed far from easy in his
mind.
* * * * *
Juve followed the American through Billancourt, past Sèvres Bridge, and
finally into the Bellevue District, when, opposite Brimboison Park,
Dixon, with the air of a proprietor, took his motor into a fine looking
estate. Then, having housed the car, the pugilist, with Loupart's
mistress, went into the house, which was lit up for half an hour, after
which all was plunged again into darkness.
Juve had left his taxi at the bottom of the hill, and, having cleared
the low wall of the grounds, hid himself in view of the house. He waited
until daybreak, but nothing occurred to trouble the peace and hush of
the night. And then, unwilling to be seen in his evening clothes by
chance passers-by, he regretfully returned to the Rue Bonaparte.
XXII
THE PUGILIST'S WHIM
An old servant had brought out the early coffee to the arbour in the
garden. It was about eight o'clock, and in the shady retreat the
freshness of springtime reigned. Soon down the gravel walk appeared the
well-built figure of Dixon, dressed in white flannels. He bent under the
arch of greenery that led to the arbour, and seemed vexed to find that
it was empty.
Clearly the pugilist was not going to breakfast alone and, to while away
the time until his companion should appear, he lighted a cigarette.
Suddenly the door of the house opened to give passage to a gracious
apparition--Josephine. Wrapped in a kimona of bright silk and smiling at
the fine morning, the young woman came slowly down the steps and then
stopped short, blushing. Some one came to meet her--it was Dixon.
The giant, too, seemed moved. Lowering his eyes he asked:
"How are you this morning, fair lady?"
"And you, M. Dixon?"
"Mlle. Finette, the coffee is served, won't you join me?"
The two young people broke their fast in silence, exchanging only
monosyllables, to ask for a napkin, a plate, the sugar. At last,
overcoming his bashfulness Dixon asked in a voice full of entreaty:
"Will you always be so hard-hearted?"
Josephine, embarrassed, evaded the question, and with a show of gaiety
to hide her confusion, remarked:
"This is an awfully nice place of yours."
The pugilist answered her by describing the calm and simple delights of
a country life in the springtime, and, slipping his arm round her supple
waist, asked her softly:
"As you consented to come this far with me, why did you repel me
afterwards? Why resist me so stubbornly?"
"I was a trifle tipsy yesterday," she replied. "I don't know what I did
or why I came here with you." And then, with a touch of sadness:
"Naturally, finding me in such a place you took me for a----"
"Sure enough," replied the American, "but I can see you are not like the
others."
"And what attracts me to you," continued Josephine, "is that you are not
a brute. Why, yesterday evening, if you had wanted, when we were alone
together, eh?"
And she gave Dixon such a queer look that he asked himself whether she
did not regard him as absurd for having respected her.
"I like you very much," he said, "more than any other woman. In a month
from now I shall be off to America. I have already a good deal of money
and I shall earn much more out there. If you will come with me, we won't
part any more. Do you agree?"
Josephine was at first amused by this downright declaration, but
gradually she took it more seriously. She would see the world, be
elegant, rich, well dressed. She would have her future secured and no
more bother with the police. But, on the other hand, it might become
terribly boring after the exciting life she had led. And there was
Loupart. Certainly he was often repellant to her, but he had only to
come back and speak to her to be again submissive, loving and tractable.
And, strange to say, there was also--just of late--at the bottom of
Josephine's heart, a feeling of friendship, almost affection, for the
stern and thorough-going detective, for Juve, to whom she owed her
escape from a very bad fix. Fandor, too, she liked pretty well. She
valued the daring journalist, quick, full of courage, and yet a good
sort, free from prejudice. The more she thought about it, the more
Josephine felt herself to be strikingly complex: she felt that she could
not analyse her feelings, she was incomprehensible even to herself.
"Let me think it over a little longer," she asked. Dixon rose
ceremoniously.
"Dear friend," he declared, "you are at home here, as long as you care
to stay, and I hope you will consent to lunch with me at one o'clock.
From now till then I shall leave you alone to think at your leisure."
The old servant, too, having gone off shopping, Josephine remained alone
in the place, and after visiting the charming villa from top to bottom
strolled delightedly amid the lovely scenery of the park. As she was
about to turn into a narrow path, she uttered a loud cry. Loupart was
before her. The leader of the Gang of Cyphers had his evil look and
savage smile.
"How goes it?" he cried, then queried, sardonically: "Which would madame
prefer, the pig-sticker or the barker?"
Josephine, in terror, stepped backwards till she rested against the
trunk of a great tree.
Loupart carelessly got out his revolver and his knife: he seemed to
hesitate which weapon to use.
"Loupart," stammered Josephine, in a choking voice, "don't kill me--what
have I done?"
The ruffian snarled.
"Not only do you peach to M. Juve, but you let yourself be carried off
by the first toff that comes along; you don't stick at making me a
cuckold! That's very well!"
Josephine fell on her knees in the thick grass. Sure enough she had
played Loupart false, and suddenly a wave of remorse rose in her heart.
She was overcome at the thought that she could have endangered her lover
even for a moment, that she could have informed the police. She was
honestly maddened by the thought that Loupart had all but been arrested
through her fault. Yes, he was right in reproaching her, she deserved to
be punished. As for having wronged him, that was not true. She protested
with all her might against his accusation of unfaithfulness.
"I was wrong in listening to the pugilist, in coming here, but in spite
of appearances--Loupart, believe me, I am still worthy of you."
Loupart shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, we'll leave that for the moment. Just now you are going to obey
me without a word or protest."
Josephine's heart stopped; she knew these preambles. She tried to turn
the conversation.
"And how did you get here?"
"How did you get here yourself?"
"M. Dixon's motor-car."
"And who tracked you?"
"Why--no one."
"No one?" jeered the ruffian. "Then what was Juve doing in the taxi
which was rolling after you?"
Josephine uttered an exclamation of surprise. Loupart went on, greatly
satisfied with himself:
"And what was Loupart up to? That crafty gentleman was cosily ensconced
on the springs behind the taxi in which the worthy inspector was
riding."
The ruffian was teasing, and that showed he was in good humour again.
Josephine put her arms round his neck and hugged him.
"It's you that I love and you alone--let's go, take me away, won't you?"
Loupart freed himself from the embrace.
"Since you are at home here--the American said as much--I must see to
profiting by it. You will stay here till this evening: at five you will
be at the markets, and so shall I. You won't recognise me, but I shall
speak to you, and then you will tell me exactly where this pugilist
locks up his swag. I want a full plan of the house, the print of the
keys, all the usual truck. This evening I shall have something new for
Juve and his crew, an affair in which you will serve me."
Josephine, panting, did not pay heed to this last sentence. She flushed
crimson, perspiration broke out on her forehead, a great agony tightened
her heart. She, so docile till then, so devoted, suddenly felt an
immense scruple, an awful shame at the thought of being guilty of what
her lover demanded. Against any other man, she would have obeyed, but to
act in that way toward Dixon, who had treated her so considerately, she
felt was beyond her powers. Here Josephine showed herself truly a woman.
While determined not to be false to Loupart, she would not leave the
pugilist with an evil memory of her. She hesitated to betray him and
unwittingly proved the truth of the philosopher's dictum: "The most
honest of women, though unwilling to give hope, is never sorry to leave
behind her a regret!"
But Loupart was not going to stay discussing such subtleties with his
mistress. He never gave his orders twice. To seal the reconciliation he
imprinted a hasty kiss on Josephine's cheek and vanished. A sound of
crackling marked his passage through the thickets. Josephine was once
more alone in the great park around the villa.
* * * * *
Fandor and Dixon were taking tea in the drawing-room. The journalist
came, he alleged, to interview Dixon about his fight with Joe Sans, the
negro champion of the Soudan, which was to come off next day. After
getting various details as to weight, diet and other trifles, Fandor
inquired with a smile:
"But to keep in good form, Dixon, you must be as sober as a camel, as
chaste as a monk, eh?"
The American smiled. Fandor had told him a few moments before that he
had seen him supping at the "Crocodile" with a pretty woman.
At Juve's instigation Fandor had alleged a sporting interview, in order
to get into the American's house and discover if Josephine was still
there. He meant to ascertain what the relations were between the
pugilist and the girl.
The allusion to that evening loosened the American's tongue. Absorbed by
the pleasing impression which his pretty partner had made on him, Dixon
began talking on the subject. He belonged to that class of men who, when
they are in love, want the whole world to know it.
The American set the young woman on such a pedestal of innocence and
purity--that Fandor wondered if the pugilist were not laughing at him.
But Dixon, quite unconscious, did not conceal his intention to elope
with Josephine and shortly take her to America. Suddenly he rose.
"Come," he said, "I will introduce you to her."
Fandor was about to protest, but the American was already scouring the
house and searching the park, calling:
"Finette, Mlle. Finette, Josephine!"
Presently he returned, his face distorted, unnerved, dejected, and in a
toneless voice he ejaculated painfully:
"The pretty little woman has made off without a word to me. I am very
much grieved!"
Five minutes later, Fandor jumped into a train which took him back to
Paris.
XXIII
"STATES EVIDENCE"
"Juve, I've been fooled." The journalist was resting on the great couch
in his friend's study, Rue Bonaparte, and wound up with this assertion
the long account of the fruitless inquiry he had made at Dixon's.
"I'm played out! For two days I haven't stopped a minute. After the
night at the "Crocodile," which I spent for the most part, as I told
you, in search of Loupart, yesterday my day went in fruitless trips; my
mind is made up; to-night I shall do no more!"
"A cigarette, Fandor?"
"Thanks."
From the crystal vase where Juve, an inveterate smoker, always kept an
ample stock of tobacco, he chose an Egyptian cigarette.
"My dear Juve, it is absolutely necessary to go again to Sèvres and draw
a close net round Dixon. He needs watching. Isn't that your opinion?"
"I'm not sure."
Juve thought for a few moments, then:
"After all, what grounds have you for thinking that Dixon should be
watched?"
"Why, any number of reasons."
"What are they?"
It was Fandor's turn to be surprised. He had given Juve the account of
his visit, supposing that would bring him to his way of thinking, and
now Juve doubted Dixon being a suspect.
"You ask me for particulars. I am going to reply with generalisations.
Taking it all in all, what do we know of Dixon? That he was in a certain
place and carried off Josephine under our very eyes. Hence he is a
friend of Josephine's, which in itself looks compromising."
"Oh!" protested Juve. "You arrive at your conclusions very quickly,
Fandor. Josephine is not an honest woman. She may know the type of
people that haunt the night resorts, yet who, for all that, need not be
murderers."
"Then, Juve, how do you account for it that during my visit Dixon
tricked me and kept me from meeting Josephine while making believe to
look for her? Is not that again a sign of complicity? Does not that show
clearly that Josephine, realising that she is suspected in our eyes,
has decided to evade us?"
Juve smiled.
"Fandor, my lad, you are endowed with a prodigious imagination. You
impute to Dixon the worst intentions without any proof. He got Josephine
away, you say? What makes you think so? If you did not see her it was
due to collusion between them both. Why? As far as I can see, Josephine
simply picked up an old lover of hers at the 'Crocodile' and went off
with him as naturally as possible, preferring not to see the arrest of
Loupart or of Chaleck. I admit that next day she simply took French
leave of the worthy American, and you may be sure he knew nothing about
her going."
Fandor was silent and Juve resumed:
"That being so, what can we bring against Dixon? Merely that he knows
Josephine."
"You are right, Juve; perhaps I went too far with my deductions, but to
speak frankly, I don't see clearly what we are to do now. All our trails
are crossed. Loupart is in flight, Chaleck vanished, and as for
Josephine, I doubt our finding her again for ever so long."