COMPROMISING DISCOVERIES
Fandor, smoking a good cigar, walked to the Rue Monceau, taking deep
breaths of the fresh air, looking up with delight at the blue sky. After
his imprisonment and slow torture he experienced an extraordinary joy in
living and in his freedom.
When he reached the house he found the concierge's office empty. He
called out several times.
"I'm the concierge, what is it you want?" a voice answered behind him.
Fandor turned sharply:
"Ah, there you are, Madame, I didn't see you."
It would have surprised the journalist had he known that the
extraordinary Mme. Citron a moment before had been comfortably installed
in the Marquis de Serac's apartment, and that hearing herself called,
she had slid down her communicating post to answer the summons. Still
further was he from imagining that the Marquis de Serac and Mme. Citron
were one and the same person.
"Well, now that I'm here, what is it you want?"
Madame Citron recognized Fandor. But she recognized him as being some
one he was not. She had, indeed, only seen him for a few moments
immediately after the murder of Susy d'Orsel.
"I want to see Mlle. Marie Pascal. She lives here, doesn't she?"
"Yes, Monsieur, but ..."
"Is she at home?"
"What is it about?"
Fandor answered casually:
"I have an order to give her."
"Then, if Monsieur will leave it with me..."
"Why? Isn't Mlle. Marie Pascal here?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Will she be long away?"
"I'm afraid she will."
"All right, I'll come back about six o'clock. I must see her personally,
I have a number of details to explain."
Mme. Ceiron shook her head.
"I don't think you'll find her."
"Why not?"
"Well, she's in the country."
"Will she be away for several days?"
"I expect so."
Fandor decided to burn his bridges.
"Look here, it's not about an order; I'm sent here by Juve, you know
him?"
"The detective?"
"Yes, Madame, the detective."
Madame Ceiron appeared to be very disturbed.
"Oh! I shall get jaundice from all this bother. I can't even sleep in
peace. It'll end in them suspecting me, I know it will."
"No, no, Madame, I assure you...."
"After all, I'd rather tell you the exact truth, then you can't complain
of me. You see, it's this way: Yesterday the little girl came and said
to me, 'Madame Ceiron, I'm so upset and unhappy, and I'm bothered to
death with questions, too, and then, this King who isn't a King ... I've
a good mind to pack my trunk and go away.' So I said to her, if that's
the case, go by all means--she had paid a quarter's advance--and when
you are ready just come back--and that's all there is to it, Monsieur."
"You have no idea where she went, Mme. Ceiron?"
"Well, I heard her tell the cab-driver to take her to the Montparnasse
Station."
"Do you know if she has any friends or relations in the country?"
"Ah!--that's a good idea, Monsieur, now I come to think of it, she
always went on her holidays from the same station, probably to visit
some of her family, but where they live I haven't the least idea."
Fandor had an inspiration.
"Maybe she has received letters which will tell us! Have you the key of
her room?"
"Yes, I have the key; would you like to go up?"
"Of course!--I must make a search through her belongings."
* * * * *
Jerome Fandor felt strangely agitated in entering the simple room of the
young lace-maker. It has been frequently said that the souls of people
can be divined from the atmosphere of their homes, and if this is true,
the journalist was surely not mistaken when at the Royal Palace he had
experienced a rather warm feeling for Marie Pascal.
The room showed no sign of precipitate abandonment, nor any preparation
for a long absence. Her work-basket and cushions were all in place, and
one would have expected her return at any moment. But alas! Fandor could
harbor no illusion regarding her. Her flight was evidently to escape a
probable arrest by Juve. A minute inspection of Marie's papers disclosed
nothing of importance; but upon opening the last drawer in her desk he
found, hidden under envelopes and letter paper, a number of small
objects.
"Ah! the devil!" he exclaimed.
The objects were jewels, brooches, rings, earrings and also a large
key, evidently of an apartment door. One glance at the jewels was
enough. Fandor had seen and admired them upon the person of Susy d'Orsel
during the supper which preceded her tragic death.
"My God! there's no doubt now," he muttered, "Marie Pascal is the
accomplice of Fantomas."
And then the journalist decided upon a theory to account for her having
left the jewels behind. She had probably arranged to have them found
among somebody else's things and thus to throw suspicion from herself,
just as she had attempted to leave the famous chemise in the Marquis de
Serac's laundry.
"What will Juve say to this? I must see him right away!"
He turned to the concierge:
"Madame Ceiron, I realize our search here will be without result, so I
will leave you now and probably return about ten to-night with my friend
Juve."
"Very good, Monsieur. You found nothing, I suppose?"
"Nothing at all," declared Fandor.
While Fandor was going downstairs the pseudo Mme. Ceiron made a grimace.
"He's found nothing, hasn't he? And yet he's turned over everything I
left in that drawer! He's not so clever as Juve, although he isn't a
fool.... After all, I don't care, I've got them both where I want
them."
Jerome Fandor shouted an address to his driver:
"Rue Bonaparte, and if you hurry there's a good tip waiting for you."