THROUGH THE AIR.
At these last words Andre turned round, but the door closed, and he
heard the key grate in the lock. He passed through the outer office,
where the superintendent, his two clerks, and his late adversary all
seemed to gaze upon him with a glance of admiration and esteem.
He gained the open street.
What did those last words of Lecoq mean? He was a foundling, it is true;
but what foundling has not had lofty aspirations, and felt that, for all
he knew, he might be the scion of some noble house.
As soon as Lecoq thought that the coast was clear, he opened the door,
and called the agent, Palot.
“My lad,” said the great man, “you saw that young man who went out just
now? He is a noble fellow, full of good feeling and honor. I look upon
him as my friend.”
Palot made a gesture signifying that henceforth his late antagonist was
as something sacred in his eyes.
“You will be his shadow,” pursued Lecoq, “and keep near enough to him to
rush to his aid at a moment of danger. That gang, of which Mascarin is
the head, want his life. You are my right-hand man, and I trust him to
you. I have warned him, but youth is rash; and you will scent danger
where he would never dream that it lurked. If there is any peril, dash
boldly forward, but endeavor to let no one find out who you are. If you
must speak to him--but only do so at the last extremity--whisper my name
in his ear, and he will know you have come from me. Remember, you are
answerable for him; but change your face. La Candele and the others must
not recognize in you the wine-shop bully; that would spoil all. What
have you on under that blouse, a _commissionaire’s_ dress?
“That will do; now change the face.”
Palot pulled out a small parcel from his pocket, from which he extracted
a red beard and wig, and, going to the mirror, adjusted them with
dexterous activity; and, in a few minutes, went up to his master, who
was waiting, saying,--
“How will this do?”
“Not bad, not bad,” returned Lecoq; “and now to your work.”
“Where shall I find him?” asked Palot.
“Somewhere near Mascarin’s den, for I advised him not to give up playing
the spy too suddenly.”
Palot was off like the wind, and when he reached the Rue Montmartre, he
caught sight of the person who had been intrusted to his care.
Andre was walking slowly along, thinking of Lecoq’s cautions, when a
young man, with his arm in a sling, overtook him, going in the same
direction as he was. Andre was sure that it was Paul, and as he knew
that he could not be recognized, he passed him in his turn, and saw that
it was indeed the Paul so much regretted by Zora.
“I will find out where he goes to,” thought Andre.
He followed, and saw him enter the house of M. Rigal. Two women were
gossiping near the door, and Andre heard one of them say,--
“That is the young fellow who is going to marry Flavia, the banker’s
daughter.”
Paul, therefore, was to marry the daughter of the chief of the gang.
Should he tell Lecoq this? But, of course, the detective knew it.
Time was passing, and Andre felt that he had but little space to gain
the house that Gandelu was building in the Champs Elysees, if he wished
to ask hospitality from his friend Vignol.
He found all the workmen there, and not one of them recognized him when
he asked for Vignol.
“He is engaged up there,” said one. “Take the staircase to the left.”
The chief part of the ornamental work was in front, and it was there
that the little hut which Tantaine had pointed out to Toto Chupin was
erected. Vignol was in it, and was utterly surprised when Andre made
himself known, for he did not recognize him under his strange disguise.
“It is nothing,” returned the young man cautiously, as Vignol paused for
an explanation; “only a little love affair.”
“Do you expect to win a girl’s heart by making such a guy of yourself?”
asked his friend with a laugh.
“Hush! I will explain matters later on. Can you give me shelter for a
night or two?”
He stopped himself, turned terribly pale, and listened intently. He
fancied he had heard a woman’s scream, and his own name uttered.
“Andre, it is I--your Sabine; help!”
Quick as lightning Andre rushed to the window, opened it, and leaned out
to discover from whence those sounds came.
The young miscreant, Toto Chupin, had too fatally earned the note with
which Tantaine had bribed him. The whole of the front of the window gave
way with a loud crash, and Andre was hurled into space.
The hut was at least sixty feet from the pavement, and the fall was the
more appalling because the body of Andre struck some of the intervening
scaffolding first, and thence bounced off, until the unhappy young man
fell with a dull thud, bleeding and senseless in the street.
Nearly three hundred persons in the Champs Elysees witnessed this
hideous sight; for, at Vignol’s cry, every one had stopped, and, frozen
with horror, had not missed one detail of the grim tragedy.
In an instant a crowd was collected round the poor, inert mass of
humanity which lay motionless in a pool of blood. But two workmen,
roused by Vignol’s shrieks, were soon on the spot, and pushed their way
through the crowd of persons who were gazing with a morbid curiosity on
the man who had fallen from a height of sixty feet.
Andre gave no sign of life. His face was dreadfully bruised, his eyes
were closed, and a stream of blood poured from his mouth, as Vignol
raised his friend’s head upon his knee.
“He is dead!” cried the lookers on. “No one could survive such a fall.”
“Let us take him to the Hospital Beaujon!” exclaimed Vignol. “We are
close by there.”
An ambulance was speedily procured, and the workmen, placing their
insensible friend carefully in it, asked permission to carry him to the
hospital.
One curious event had excited the attention of some of the lookers on.
Just as Andre fell, a _commissaire_ had rushed forward and seized a
woman. She was one of the class of unfortunates who frequent the Champs
Elysees, and she it was who had uttered the cry that had lured Andre to
destruction. The woman made an effort to escape, but Palot, for it was
he, caught her arm.
“Not a word,” said he sternly. The wretched creature seemed in abject
terror, and obeyed him.
“Why did you cry out?” asked he.
“I do not know.”
“It is a lie!”
“No, it is true; a gentleman came up to me, and said, ‘Madame, if you
will cry out now, Andre, it is I--your Sabine; help! I will give you two
louis.’ Of course I agreed. He gave me the fifty francs, and I did as he
asked me.”
“What was this man like?”
“He was tall, old, and very shabby and dirty, with glasses on. I never
set eyes on him before.”
“Do you know,” returned the _commissaire_ sternly, “that the words
you have uttered have caused the death of the poor fellow who has just
fallen from the house?”
“Why did he not take more care?” asked she indifferently.
Palot, with an angry gesture, handed her over to a police-constable.
“Take her to the station-house,” said he, “and do not lose sight of her,
for she will be a most important witness at a trial that must soon come
on.”
“What the woman says is true,” muttered Palot. “She did not know what
she was doing, and it was Tantaine that gave her the two coins. He shall
pay for this; but certainly, if the whole gang are collared, it won’t
bring the poor young fellow to life.”
He had, however, not much time for reflection, for he had to gather up
every link of evidence. How was it that this accident had occurred? The
frame of the window had fallen out with Andre, and lay in fragments on
the pavement. He picked up one of the pieces, and at once saw what had
been done; the woodwork had been sawed almost in two, and the putty with
which the marks of the cuts had been concealed still clung to the wood.
Palot called one of the workmen, who appeared to be more intelligent
than his fellows, pointed out the marks to him, and bade him gather up
the fragments and put them in some place of security. This duty being
accomplished, Palot joined the crowd; but he was too late, for Andre had
been taken away to the hospital. He looked around to see if there was
any one from whom he could gain information, and suddenly perceived on a
bench some one whom he had often followed. It was Toto Chupin, no
longer clad in the squalid rags of a day or two back. He was dressed in
gorgeous array, but his face was livid, his eyes wild, and his lips kept
moving convulsively, for he was a victim to a novel sensation--the pangs
of remorse--and was meditating whether he should not go to the nearest
police-station and give himself up, so that he might revenge himself
on Tantaine, who had made him a murderer. For a moment the idea of
arresting Toto passed through Palot’s mind, but he, after a moment’s
thought, muttered,--
“No; that would never do. We should risk losing the whole gang. Besides,
he can’t get away. I may even have committed an error in arresting that
woman. My master will say that I am not to be trusted. He placed one of
his friends in my charge, and this is what has happened. I knew that the
young man’s life was in deadly peril, and yet I let him enter a house
in the course of erection; why, I might as well have cut his throat
myself.”
In a terrible state of anxiety, Palot presented himself at the hospital,
and asked for the young man who had just been brought in.
“You mean Number 17?” returned one of the assistant-surgeons. “He is in
a most critical state; we fear internal injuries, fracture of the skull,
and--in fact, we fear everything.”
It was two days before Andre recovered consciousness. It was midnight
when he first woke again to the realities of life. At a glance he
guessed where he was. He felt pain when he endeavored to turn over, but
he could move his legs and one arm.
“How long have I been here, I wonder?” he thought.
He tried to think, but he was weak, and thoughts would not come at his
command, and in a few seconds he dropped off to sleep again; and when
he awoke, it was broad day; the ward was full of life and motion, for
it was the hour of the house surgeon’s visit. He was a young man still,
with a cheerful face, followed by the band of students. He went from bed
to bed, explaining cases, and cheering up the sufferers. When Andre’s
turn came, the surgeon told him that his shoulder was put out, his arm
broken in two places, a bad cut on his head, while his body was one mass
of bruises; but, for all that, he was in luck to have got off so easily.
Andre listened to him with but a vague understanding of his meaning,
for, with the return of reason, the remembrance of Sabine had come, and
he asked himself what would become of her while he was confined to his
bed in the hospital. As this thought passed through his mind, he uttered
a faint groan. One of the students, a stout person, with red whiskers, a
white tie, and a rather shabby hat, who looked as if he had just arrived
from the country, stepped up to his bed, and leaning over the patient,
murmured, “Lecoq.” Andre opened his eyes wide at the name.
“M. Lecoq,” gasped he, wondering at the excellence of the disguise.
“Hush, who knows who is watching us? I come to give your mind ease,
which will do you more good than all the doctor’s stuff. Without in any
way committing you, I have seen M. de Mussidan, and have furnished him
with a valid excuse for postponing his daughter’s marriage for another
month. You must remain here; you could not be in a place of greater
security; but even here you cannot be too cautious. Eat nothing that is
no given you by some one who utters the word ‘Lecoq.’ M. Gandelu will
certainly call to see you. If you want to see or write to me, the
patient on your right will manage that; he is one of my men. You shall
have news every day; but be patient and prudent.”
“I can wait now,” answered the young man, “because I have hope.”
“Ah,” murmured Lecoq, as he moved softly away, “is not hope the true
secret of life and happiness?”