"CROCHARD, L'INVINCIBLE!"
It seemed for once that Godfrey was destined to be wrong, for the
days passed and nothing happened--nothing, that is, in so far as the
cabinet was concerned. There was an inquest, of course, over the
victim of the latest tragedy, and once again I was forced to give my
evidence before a coroner's jury. I must confess that, this time, it
made me appear considerable of a fool, and the papers poked sly fun
at the attorney who had walked blindly into a trap which, now that it
was sprung, seemed so apparent.
The Bertillon measurements of the victim had been cabled to Paris,
and he had been instantly identified as a fellow named Morel,
well-known to the police as a daring and desperate criminal; in fact,
M. Lepine considered the matter so important that he cabled next day
that he was sending Inspector Pigot to New York to investigate the
affair further, and to confer with our bureau as to the best methods
to be taken to apprehend the murderer. Inspector Pigot, it was added,
would sail at once for Havre on _La Savoie._
Meanwhile, Grady's men, with Simmonds at their head, strained every
nerve to discover the whereabouts of the fugitive; a net was thrown
over the entire city, but, while a number of fish were captured, the
one which the police particularly wished for was not among them. Not
a single trace of the fugitive was discovered; he had vanished
absolutely, and, after a day or two, Grady asserted confidently that
he had left New York.
For Grady had come back into the case again, goaded by the papers,
particularly by the _Record_, to efforts which he must have
considered superhuman. The remarkable nature of the mystery, its
picturesque and unique features, the fact that three men had been
killed within a few days in precisely the same manner, and the
absence of any reasonable hypothesis to explain these deaths--all
this served to rivet public attention. Every amateur detective in the
country had a theory to exploit--and far-fetched enough most of them
were!
Grady did a lot of talking in those days, explaining in detail the
remarkable measures he was taking to capture the criminal; but the
fact remained that three men had been killed, and that no one had
been punished; that a series of crimes had been committed, and that
the criminal was still at large, and seemed likely to remain so; and,
naturally enough, the papers, having exhausted every other phase of
the case, were soon echoing public sentiment that something was wrong
somewhere, and that the detective bureau needed an overhauling,
beginning at the top.
The Boule cabinet remained locked up in a cell at the Twenty-third
Street station; and Simmonds kept the key in his pocket. I know now
that he was as much in the dark concerning the cabinet as the general
public was; and the general public was very much in the dark indeed,
for the cabinet had not figured in the accounts of the first two
tragedies at all, and only incidentally in the reports of the latest
one. As far as it was concerned, the affair seemed clear enough to
most of the reporters, as an attempt to smuggle into the country an
art object of great value. Such cases were too common to attract
especial attention.
But Simmonds had come to see that Grady was tottering on his throne;
he realised, perhaps, that his own head was not safe; and he had made
up his mind to pin his faith to Godfrey as the only one at all likely
to lead him out of the maze. And Godfrey laid the greatest stress
upon the necessity of keeping the cabinet under lock and key; so
under lock and key it was kept. As for Grady, I do not believe that,
even at the last, he realised the important part the cabinet had
played in the drama.
But while the Boule cabinet failed to focus the attention of the
public, and while most of the reporters promptly forgot all about it,
I was amused at the pains which Godfrey took to inform the fugitive
as to its whereabouts and as to how it was guarded. Over and over
again, while the other papers wondered at his imbecility, he told how
it had been placed in the strongest cell at the Twenty-third Street
station; a cell whose bars were made of chrome-nickle steel which no
saw could bite into; a cell whose lock was worked not only by a key
but by a combination, known to one man only; a cell isolated from the
others, standing alone in the middle of the third corridor, in full
view of the officer on guard, so that no one could approach it, day
or night, without being instantly discovered; a cell whose door was
connected with an automatic alarm over the sergeant's desk in the
front room; a cell, in short, from which no man could possibly
escape, and which no man could possibly enter unobserved.
Of the Boule cabinet itself Godfrey said little, saving his story for
the dénouement which he seemed so sure would come; but the details
which I have given above were dwelt upon in the _Record_, until,
happening to meet Godfrey on the street one day, I protested that he
would only succeed in frightening the fugitive away altogether, even
if he still had any designs on the cabinet, which I very much
doubted. But Godfrey only laughed.
"There's not the slightest danger of frightening him away," he said.
"This fellow isn't that kind. If I am right in sizing him up, he's
the sort of dare-devil whom an insuperable difficulty only attracts.
The harder the job, the more he is drawn to it. That's the reason I
am making this one just as hard as I can."
"But a man would be a fool to attempt to get to that cabinet," I
protested. "It's simply impossible."
"It looks impossible, I'm free to admit," he agreed. "But, just the
same, I wake every morning cold with fear, and run to the 'phone to
make sure the cabinet's safe. If I could think of any further
safeguards, I would certainly employ them."
I looked at Godfrey searchingly, for it seemed to me that he must be
jesting. He smiled as he caught my glance.
"I was never more in earnest in my life, Lester," he said. "You don't
appreciate this fellow as I do. He's a genius; nothing is impossible
to him. He disdains easy jobs; when he thinks a job is too easy, he
makes it harder, just as a sporting chance. He has been known to warn
people that they kept their jewels too carelessly, and then, after
they had put them in a safer place, he would go and take them."
"That seems rather foolish, doesn't it?" I queried.
"Not from his point of view. He doesn't steal because he needs money,
but because he needs excitement."
"You know who he is, then?" I demanded.
"I think I do--I hope I do; but I am not going to tell even you till
I'm sure. I'll say this--if he is who I think he is, it would be a
delight to match one's brains with his. We haven't got any one like
him over here--which is a pity!"
I was inclined to doubt this, for I have no romantic admiration for
gentlemen burglars, even in fiction. However picturesque and
chivalric, a thief is, after all, a thief. Perhaps it is my training
as a lawyer, or perhaps I am simply narrow, but crime, however
brilliantly carried out, seems to me a sordid and unlovely thing. I
know quite well that there are many people who look at these things
from a different angle, Godfrey is one of them.
I pointed out to him now that, if his intuitions were correct, he
would soon have a chance to match his wits with those of the Great
Unknown.
"Yes," he agreed, "and I'm scared to death--I have been ever since I
began to suspect his identity. I feel like a tyro going up against a
master in a game of chess--mate in six moves!"
"I shouldn't consider you exactly a tyro," I said, drily.
"It's long odds that the Great Unknown will," Godfrey retorted, and
bade me good-bye.
Except for that chance meeting, I saw nothing of him, and in this I
was disappointed, for there were many things about the whole affair
which I did not understand. In fact, when I sat down of an evening
and lit my pipe and began to think it over, I found that I understood
nothing at all. Godfrey's theory held together perfectly, so far as I
could see, but it led nowhere. How had Drouet and Vantine been
killed? Why had they been killed? What was the secret of the cabinet?
In a word, what was all this mystery about? Not one of these
questions could I answer; and the solutions I guessed at seemed so
absurd that I dismissed them in disgust. In the end, I found that the
affair was interfering with my work, and I banished it from my mind,
turning my face resolutely away from it whenever it tried to break
into my thoughts.
But though I could shut it out of my waking hours successfully
enough, I could not control my sleeping ones, and my dreams became
more and more horrible. Always there was the serpent with dripping
fangs, sometimes with Armand's head, sometimes with a face unknown to
me, but hideous beyond description; its slimy body glittered with
inlay and arabesque; its scaly legs were curved like those of the
Boule cabinet; sometimes the golden sun glittered on its forehead
like a great eye. Over and over again I saw this monster slay its
three victims; and always, when that was done, it raised its head and
glared at me, as though selecting me for the fourth.... But I shall
not try to describe those dreams; even yet I cannot recall them
without a shudder.
It was while I was sitting moodily in my room one night, debating
whether or not to go to bed; weary to exhaustion and yet reluctant to
resign myself to a sleep from which I knew I should wake shrieking,
that a knock came at the door--a knock I recognised; and I arose
joyfully to admit Godfrey.
I could see by the way his eyes were shining that he had something
unusual to tell me; and then, as he looked at me, his face changed.
"What's the matter, Lester?" he demanded. "You're looking fagged out.
Working too hard?"
"It's not that," I said. "I can't sleep. This thing has upset my
nerves, Godfrey. I dream about it--have regular nightmares."
He sat down opposite me, concern and anxiety in his face.
"That won't do," he protested. "You must go away somewhere--take a
rest, and a good long one."
"A rest wouldn't do me any good, as long as this mystery is
unsolved," I said. "It's only by working that I can keep my mind off
of it."
"Well," he smiled, "just to oblige you, we will solve it first,
then."
"Do you mean you know...."
"I know who the Great Unknown is, and I'm going to tell you
presently. Day after to-morrow--Wednesday--I'll know all the rest.
The whole story will be in Thursday morning's paper. Suppose you
arrange to start Thursday afternoon."
I could only stare at him. He smiled as he met my gaze.
"You're looking better already," he said, "as though you were taking
a little more interest in life," and he helped himself to a cigar.
"Godfrey," I protested, "I wish you would pick out somebody else to
practise on. You come up here and explode a bomb just to see how high
I'll jump. It's amusing to you, no doubt, and perhaps a little
instructive; but my nerves won't stand it."
"My dear Lester," he broke in, "that wasn't a bomb; that was a simple
statement of fact."
"Are you serious?"
"Perfectly so."
"But how do you know...."
"Before I answer any questions, I want to ask you one. Did you, by
any chance, mention me to the gentleman known to you as M. Félix
Armand?"
"Yes," I answered, after a moment's thought; "I believe I did. I was
telling him about our trying to find the secret drawer--I mentioned
your name--and he asked who you were. I told him you were a genius at
solving mysteries."
Godfrey nodded.
"That," he said, "explains the one thing I didn't understand. Now go
ahead with your questions."
"You said a while ago that you would know all about this affair day
after to-morrow."
"Yes."
"How do you know you will?"
"Because I have received a letter which sets the date," and he took
from his pocket a sheet of paper and handed it over to me. "Read it!"
The letter was written in pencil, in a delicate and somewhat feminine
hand, on a sheet of plain, unruled paper. With an astonishment which
increased with every word, I read this extraordinary epistle:--
"_My Dear Mr. Godfrey:_
"I have been highly flattered by your interest in the affaire of
the cabinet Boule, and admire most deeply your penetration in
arriving at a conclusion so nearly correct regarding it. I must
thank you, also, for your kindness in keeping me informed of the
measures which have been taken to guard the cabinet, and which
seem to me very complete and well thought out. I have myself
visited the station and inspected the cell, and I find that in
every detail you were correct.
"It is because I so esteem you as an adversary that I tell you, in
confidence, that it is my intention to regain possession of my
property on Wednesday next, and that, having done so, I shall beg
you to accept a small souvenir of the occasion.
"I am, my dear sir,
"Most cordially yours,
"JACQUES CROCHARD,
"L'Invincible!"
I looked up to find Godfrey regarding me with a quizzical smile.
"Of course it's a joke," I said. Then I looked at him again. "Surely,
Godfrey, you don't believe this is genuine!"
"Perhaps we can prove it," he said, quietly. "That is one reason I
came up. Didn't Armand leave a note for you the day he failed to see
you?"
"Yes; on his card; I have it here!" and with trembling fingers, I got
out my pocket-book and drew the card from the compartment in which I
had carefully preserved it.
One glance at it was enough. The pencilled line on the back was
unquestionably written by the same hand which wrote the letter.
"And now you know his name," Godfrey added, tapping the signature
with his finger. "I have been certain from the first that it was he!"
I gazed at the signature without answering. I had, of course, read in
the papers many times of the Gargantuan exploits of Crochard--"The
Invincible," as he loved to call himself, and with good reason. But
his achievements, at least as the papers described them, seemed too
fantastic to be true. I had suspected more than once that he was
merely a figment of the Parisian space-writers, a sort of reserve for
the dull season; or else that he was a kind of scape-goat saddled by
the French police with every crime which proved too much for them.
Now, however, it seemed that Crochard really existed; I held his
letter in my hand; I had even talked with him--and as I remembered
the fascination, the finish, the distinguished culture of M. Félix
Armand, I understood something of the reason of his extraordinary
reputation.
"There can be no two opinions about him," said Godfrey, reaching out
his hand for the letter and sinking back in his chair to contemplate
it. "Crochard is one of the greatest criminals who ever lived, full
of imagination and resource, and with a sense of humour most acute. I
have followed his career for years--it was this fact that gave me my
first clue. He killed a man once before, just as he killed this last
one. The man had betrayed him to the police. He was never betrayed
again."
"What a fiend he must be!" I said, with a shudder.
But Godfrey shook his head quickly.
"Don't get that idea of him," he protested earnestly. "Up to the time
of his arrival in New York, he had never killed any man except that
traitor. Him he had a certain right to kill--according to thieves'
ethics, anyway. His own life has been in peril scores of times, but
he has never killed a man to save himself. Put that down to his
credit."
"But Drouet and Vantine," I objected.
"An accident for which he was in no way responsible," said Godfrey
promptly.
"You mean he didn't kill them?"
"Most certainly not. This last man he did kill was a traitor like the
first. Crochard, I think, reasons like this; to kill an adversary is
too easy; it is too brutal; it lacks finesse. Besides, it removes the
adversary. And without adversaries, Crochard's life would be of no
interest to him. After he had killed his last adversary, he would
have to kill himself."
"I can't understand a man like that," I said.
"Well, look at this," said Godfrey, and tapped the letter again. "He
honours me by considering me an adversary. Does he seek to remove me?
On the contrary, he gives me a handicap. He takes off his queen in
order that it may be a little more difficult to mate me!"
"But, surely, Godfrey," I protested, "you don't take that letter
seriously! If he wrote it at all, he wrote it merely to throw you off
the track. If he says Wednesday, he really intends to try for the
cabinet to-morrow."
"I don't think so. I told you he would think me only a tyro. And,
beside him, that is all I am. Do you know where he wrote that letter,
Lester? Right in the _Record_ office. That is a sheet of our copy
paper. He sat down there, right under my nose, wrote that letter,
dropped it into my box, and walked out. And all that sometime this
evening, when the office was crowded."
"But it's absurd for him to write a letter like that, if he really
means it. You have only to warn the police...."
"You'll notice he says it is in confidence."
"And you're going to keep it so?"
"Certainly I am; I consider that he has paid me a high compliment. I
have shown it to no one but you--also in confidence."
"It is not the sort of confidence the law recognises," I pointed out.
"To keep a confidence like that is practically to abet a felony."
"And yet you will keep it," said Godfrey cheerfully. "You see, I am
going to do everything I can to prevent that felony. And we will see
if Crochard is really invincible!"
"I'll keep it," I agreed, "because I think the letter is just a
blind. And, by the way," I added, "I have a letter from Armand & Son
confirming the fact that their books show that the Boule cabinet was
bought by Philip Vantine. Under the circumstances, I shall have to
claim it and hand it over to the Metropolitan."
"I hope you won't disturb it until after Wednesday," said Godfrey,
quickly. "I won't have any interest in it after that."
"You really think Crochard will try for it Wednesday?"
"I really do."
I shrugged my shoulders. What was the use of arguing with a man like
that?
"Till after Wednesday, then," I agreed; and Godfrey, having verified
his letter and secured from me the two promises he was after, bade me
good-night.