de Loubersac, laughing, "... who hesitates to give a definite opinion,
who, nevertheless."...
"Who nevertheless what?... De Loubersac, just forget I am your
colonel--speak out, man!... Have you an idea of where the document was
lost?"
"That?... No."...
"Then what conclusion have you arrived at? Have you further
information about Brocq's death?"
"Hum!"...
"About Nichoune's death, perhaps?"
"Colonel! Have you noticed that for some time past I have not handed
you any report from the agent Vagualame?"
"The deuce.... What do you imagine that means?"
"I do not imagine anything, Colonel--I state facts!... Nichoune is
dead, murdered: there is not a shadow of a doubt about that....
Nichoune was the mistress of Corporal Vinson.... This Vinson was on
the point of playing the traitor, if he had not already done so; he
was also a friend of Captain Brocq, and Brocq died just when the
document disappeared--the document confided to him by our service ...
so much for facts."
The colonel was staring fixedly at de Loubersac.
"I do not see what you are driving at!" said he.
"I am coming to it, Colonel.... Nichoune was found dead on Saturday,
November 19th, but on the evening of November 18th Nichoune received a
visit from our agent, Vagualame, whom I had sent to Chalons by your
own orders to occupy himself with the V. affair."
"Well?"
"Well, Colonel, I do not much like that, but what I like still less
is, that, a few days ago, I had occasion to see Vagualame ... and this
agent far from bringing me details of Nichoune's death, at first go
off wanted to deny that he had been at Chalons! I could swear he was
going to declare he had not been there, when a reply of my own--a
blunder, I confess it--I did not take time to think--informed him that
I knew of his visit to Nichoune."
Colonel Hofferman weighed the gravity of de Loubersac's words; he
strode along, head bent, hands clasped behind his back, gazing with
unseeing eyes at the pebbles on the path. At last he spoke.
"Tell me how you knew for certain that Nichoune had received a visit
from Vagualame!"
"For some time past, Colonel, Vagualame has been under the eye of the
officer charged with the supervision of our spies, de Loreuil. Under
the guise of Aunt Palmyra he discovered that Nichoune had been
murdered. This was the morning after her interview with Vagualame. The
discovery, I may tell you, did not take de Loreuil altogether by
surprise. He had observed Vagualame's attitude towards the girl, and
had considered it queer--suspiciously so."
"This is serious, but it is not sufficiently definite," pronounced
Colonel Hofferman.... "Let us admit that Vagualame has played a
double game, has been at once traitor and spy. That being so, he may
have murdered Nichoune; but as to incriminating this agent whom we
have known a long time ... well ... you have merely a vague indication
to go upon ... the kind of reticence, or what you thought was
reticence, he wished to maintain regarding his journey to Chalons."
"Yes," admitted de Loubersac, "if that were all I had to go upon, it
would amount to little."
"You know something else?"
"I know that I arranged to meet this agent yesterday in the Garden, as
our custom is, that I waited there, that he never turned up."
Colonel Hofferman took de Loubersac's arm as they walked slowly back
to the reception-rooms.
"What you have just told me is exceedingly serious: we must enquire
into this at once--without loss of time. If Vagualame has really fled,
the probability is that he is Nichoune's murderer.... In that case,
there is nothing to prevent our suspecting him of no end of things
which I need not particularise."...
The colonel pointed to an individual standing by a buffet near the
entrance to the great reception-room.
"Let us go the other way," said he. "There is Monsieur Havard! I do
not at all want to meet him!... If we have to arrest Vagualame, it
would be unnecessary to take Police Headquarters into our confidence."
"Undoubtedly, Colonel."
"Then let us keep clear of Monsieur Havard! Devote your whole
attention to clearing up the questions raised by your talk. Find
Vagualame for me in three days. If you have not run him to earth, then
set our special enquiry men on his track.... I shall see you to-morrow
at the Ministry--six sharp."
* * * * *
Whilst Colonel Hofferman and Lieutenant de Loubersac were having their
talk, Jerome Fandor, who was also at the Elysee ball, in his own
proper person, was busying himself with the affairs which had led him
to consider that the murder of Captain Brocq was a crime which must be
imputed to one of those foreign spies with which France was now
swarming. At Verdun, along the entire frontier, there were nests of
these noxious vermin.
Fandor was, of course, still stationed at Verdun. He had arrived early
at the ball, hoping to pick up information from some friend as to how
the Second Bureau was taking the disappearance of Corporal Vinson. Did
the Second Bureau suspect anything?... What?... Had Nichoune's murder
been explained?
Fandor stationed himself near the entrance to the first
reception-room, watching all who entered, seeking the welcome face of
friend or acquaintance.
Someone slapped him on the shoulder.
"Hullo, Fandor! Are you reporting the official fetes nowadays?"
"You, Bonnet? What a jolly surprise! I have heard nothing of you for
ages. How goes it?"
"My dear fellow, good luck has come my way at last!... I am police
magistrate at Chalons! There's news for you!"
"By Jove, Bonnet! That is good hearing! You arrive here in the very
nick of time!"
"Old Bonnet at Chalons and police magistrate!" thought Fandor. "What a
bit of luck for me!"
"I want to ask the police magistrate of Chalons most interesting
things," said Fandor, smiling at his friend.
"Information for a report?" queried Bonnet.
"Just so."
Fandor drew his "old Bonnet" away from the crowd of eyes and ears
around them. They came on an empty little smoking-room. The very
place!
"Now tell me, my dear Bonnet, have you not been engaged on a recent
case--the death of a little singer, called."...
"Nichoune?... That is so. My first case at Chalons."
"Ah!... Now, just tell me!"
The examining magistrate shook his head.
"I cannot tell you much, for the good reason that this affair is as
mysterious as can be, and is giving me no end of trouble.... You knew
Nichoune, Fandor?"
"Yes--and no.... I would give a good deal, though, to know who her
murderer is!"
"I also," said Bonnet, smiling. "Would I not like to put my hand on
the collar of that individual!... Naturally, I want to carry through
the enquiry with flying colours!"
"Have you no idea as to who the murderer might be?"
Police Magistrate Bonnet rose.
"That is as may be!... It seems that on the eve of her death, this
Nichoune received a visit from an old man--a beggar--whom I am unable
to identify--who has vanished into thin air.... Would you like me to
keep you informed? Rue Richer is still your address?"
"Yes. It would be awfully kind of you to write when you have any fresh
facts to disclose about this case. I cannot explain to you all the
importance I attach to that, but it is enormous!"
"It is understood, then! Count on me. I shall tell you all I can
without breaking professional secrecy.... Shall we take a turn through
the rooms, old boy?"
"If you like, my dear Bonnet."
The two men strolled through the thinning rooms, talking of what all
the world might hear.
"Dear boy, I must leave you," said Fandor suddenly.... "An
interview!... Till our next meeting!"
Fandor went up to a man standing in a doorway, gazing disdainfully at
the couples revolving in the centre of the room.
"Will you grant me a word or two, Monsieur Havard?" asked Fandor
respectfully.
The chief of police brightened.
"Four, if you like, my good Fandor, I am bored to death. I would
rather submit to your indiscreet questioning than stick here in a
brown study--black, I might say--with only my own thoughts for
company."
"Good heavens, Chief! What is troubling you to such an extent?"
Monsieur Havard laughed.
"Oh, I will tell you the reason of this melancholy mood!... You are on
pretty intimate terms with Juve, are you not?"
"You have heard from him, Chief?"
"No, it is precisely."...
"You are anxious, then?"
"No, no! Be easy!" smiled Monsieur Havard.
He caught Fandor by the lapel of his coat.
"Look here, my dear fellow! It is precisely because you and Juve are
on such intimate terms--this friendship between you is a fine
thing--that I should like you to use your influence with Juve."
"With Juve?"
"Yes. With Juve. You know how highly I esteem him? He is our best
detective. Very well he is making a thorough mess of his career: he
prevents his own promotion, because he is so obstinately set on
searching for his elusive, fugitive, never-to-be-caught Fantomas!"
"I do not understand you, Chief."
"You soon will. Do you know where Juve is at this moment?"
"No."
"I am as ignorant of his whereabouts as you are!... It is beyond
bearing!... Juve goes his own way beyond what is allowable. He
declared to me, the other day, that he was certain the death of
Captain Brocq must be credited to--whose account do you think?... Why
to Fantomas! And clac! Since then I have not heard a word from him!
Juve is pursuing Fantomas! Now, Fandor, how can I tolerate this?"
Fandor considered Juve had a perfect right to take his own initiative
in this particular matter--he had earned the right if ever a man had.
He answered his aggrieved chief with a question.
"But suppose Juve is right?"
"Right?... But he deceives himself.... I have proof of it!"
"You have proof of it?... But who then, according to you, Chief, has
killed Brocq?"
"My dear fellow," said Monsieur Havard, in a positive tone, "for a
logical mind that reasons coolly, for one who does not bewilder
himself in a network of Fantomas hypotheses, he who killed Brocq is
assuredly he who has killed Nichoune! Brocq, I imagine, was killed by
someone lying in wait on the top of the Arc de Triomphe. An
accomplice, during this time, or some hours before--it matters
little--had stolen the document the Ministry are looking for.... Brocq
knew Corporal Vinson ... you are aware of that, Fandor?"
"Yes, yes! Please continue!"
"Good. Vinson had the murdered Nichoune as his mistress.... Do you not
think the link between these two names is evident?... Brocq and
Nichoune have died by the same hand."...
"But all this does not exclude Fantomas as the guilty person!"
"You go too fast, Fandor. I know who killed Nichoune!"
"Oh! I say!"
"But I do. Deuce take it, you do not suppose I go by what these
officers of the Second Bureau are doing in the way of a search, do
you?... They fancy they are detectives!"
"Oh, that is going too far, surely!" expostulated Fandor.
"No," asserted Monsieur Havard. "Who did the deeds?... I know. The
investigations of my own agents, the information obtained through the
Public Prosecutor and the magistrates, point to one person--Vagualame--an
old sham beggar, who has relations of sorts with the Second Bureau."
Fandor could scarcely keep his countenance: he nearly burst into
derisive laughter. Vagualame guilty! Monsieur Havard evidently had not
all the facts. Could he possibly realise that Vagualame was one of
Colonel Hofferman's most trusted men?
Jealous of the Second Bureau and all its works, Monsieur Havard meant
to carry off the honours this time: he was going to arrest Vagualame
as the murderer of both Captain Brocq and Nichoune! And then what a
jolly blunder Police Headquarters would make! What a fine joke! Fandor
really must help it on! He said to himself:
"Only let the police paralyse the action of the Second Bureau agent,
old Vagualame, and I, the false Corporal Vinson, will be all the more
free to act."
"You have serious circumstantial evidence against this person?" Fandor
asked with a grave face.
"Very serious. I know for certain that he saw Nichoune the evening
before her death: he was even the last person known to have spoken to
the singer. I know that he then left Chalons, and has not returned
there!... I know that he was on good terms with very shady people,
some of whom are suspected of spying; and all that."...
Fandor interrupted:
"If I were in your place, Chief, and knew what you seem to know, I
would not hesitate a moment.... I should arrest Vagualame!"
Monsieur Havard's glance was ironical.
"Who told you that I had not so decided?... At this moment my best
trackers are out on Vagualame's trail.... If I run him to earth, he
will not be at large long, I can promise you! It would end a
bothersome affair, and would open the eyes of Colonel Hofferman who
must be a hundred leagues from imagining that Vagualame is the
murderer of Captain Brocq and Nichoune."
On this Fandor and Monsieur Havard parted. Dancing went gaily on in
the warm, perfumed atmosphere of the ball-rooms; but Fandor and
Monsieur Havard, Colonel Hofferman and Lieutenant de Loubersac had had
their serious interviews and had gone their respective ways.
XVII
IN THE STRONGHOLD OF THE ENEMY
The curtain with its pictured red cock was down, lights were up in the
modern Cinema Concert Hall, rue des Poissonniers. Most of the
spectators were on the move. An old white-bearded man of
poverty-stricken appearance rose from his seat beside a pretty,
red-haired girl, elegantly dressed. He murmured:
"I am going out for a smoke."
The girl nodded. She stared at the spectators with indifferent eyes.
They were mostly women and girls. There was a mingled odour of hot
coffee and orange peel. Drinks and refreshments, for the good of the
house, were now the order of the evening.
The odd-looking old fellow, with a shabby accordion slung over his
bent shoulders, making his way to the exit, was detective Juve,
Juve-Vagualame in fact. He had kept the appointment made with
Bobinette a week ago. This cinema entertainment in an unfashionable
quarter suited his purpose exactly. In such an audience his appearance
would attract but little attention, and the long intervals of darkness
were all in his favour. Bobinette must not have her suspicions
aroused.
Juve-Vagualame marched up and down outside the hall, rubbing his hands
with satisfaction. Things were going well. Bobinette had been with him
less than an hour, but she had given him an almost complete account of
her doings during the past week. She announced that her trip to the
frontier had been crowned with success: that the plan arranged with
Corporal Vinson had proved astonishingly successful. She could not
praise this wonderful Vinson enough. How intelligent he was? Say but
half a word and he understood everything. As cynical as you please,
he would stick at nothing, declaring himself ready for anything,
regardless of consequences!
From this, Juve-Vagualame gathered that Corporal Vinson was a daring
traitor, was the most out-and-out scoundrel imaginable.
Bobinette also told her supposed chief that the moment for the great
stroke was at hand. She whispered low: "To-morrow Vinson will be in
Paris!"
Juve had already learned that Vinson was stationed at Verdun, was
granted frequent leave, and that on the morning of December 1st he
would be in Paris. This was the evening of November 30th! Bobinette
had not said exactly what he was coming to do, and Juve feared to ask
questions that might arouse the red-haired girl's suspicions.
A shrill-sounding bell warned spectators that the interval was over.
Juve-Vagualame returned to his seat. He was saying to himself:
"I must know exactly what Vinson is coming to Paris for."
After several attempts, he drew an important statement from Bobinette.
He played the part of sceptic. The more enthusiastically convinced
Bobinette was that the "great affair" would be successful, the more
sceptical he grew.
She committed herself to a statement of extreme importance.
"Don't I tell you, old unbeliever that you are, that Corporal Vinson
is to bring the plan of the piece in question?"
"The plan!" objected Juve-Vagualame. "That is good, as far as it goes;
but that is not sufficient!"
Bobinette shrugged her plump shoulders. She was exasperated. The noise
of the orchestra covered the sound of her imprudently loud answers.
"Since I tell you I have in my hands the piece of the gun which is to
go to the Havre agent! I expect you have forgotten the details
concerning this object? The manufacture of it is so complicated that,
without the design for its construction, the piece would be much like
any other.... We have the piece--I tell you it is in our hands....
To-morrow we shall possess the design of it, thanks to Vinson--can we
possibly expect anything more complete than that?"
There was a pause. Then Bobinette announced:
"If, after that, you do not pay me what you owe me, you can be sure I
shall not serve you ever again!"
Juve-Vagualame promised immediate payment.
"But," said he to himself, "her remuneration will not take the form
she expects!"
To mislead the curious, the serious talk of this incongruous pair was
punctuated by loud-voiced remarks having no connection with the real
matter in hand.
Juve's one idea now was to see this piece of a gun for himself. When
Bobinette, at last, grasped this, she stared at him with bewildered
eyes.
"But what are you thinking of, Vagualame? I do not carry the thing
about with me."
"I think, on the contrary, that you keep it well hidden in your own
room."
"Assuredly," confirmed Bobinette.
"I mean to see it. I expect you to agree to that," declared
Juve-Vagualame.
"You intend to come to?"... Bobinette looked terrified.
"Exactly."
"But when? Do you recollect, Vagualame, that I shall have to hand it
over early to-morrow morning?"
"There is time for me to see it between then and now! See it, I must!
Examine it, hold it in my hands, I will! I have my most excellent
reasons for this!"
Juve meant to seize the piece of a gun and arrest the guilty girl.
Bobinette dared not openly kick against her chief's iron
determination; but she made another attempt to turn him from his
purpose.
"You know quite well that I am living in the Baron de Naarboveck's
house. The least noise, an alarm raised, and I would not answer for
the consequences: we should almost certainly be caught!"
"We have nothing to fear. An hour from now I wish to be in your
room!"
"But--how shall you get into it?" asked Bobinette, who was giving way
before this persistent attack.
"You will return alone. You will go up to your room. I know
whereabouts it is: you will leave the window half open. I will enter
your room by the window."
Bobinette saw this was possible, though risky. A large gutter pipe ran
up the whole height of the house; it was fastened to the wall by
projecting clamp-hooks of solid iron. For an agile man this was simply
a staircase. Bobinette was aware of this. In the course of her
adventurous life, she had been initiated into all sorts of tricks and
stratagems; she was practiced in every form of gymnastic exercise.
Vagualame could and would reach her room by the gutter-pipe ladder, it
was not too difficult; but it was a risky undertaking, for, and
particularly from the Esplanade des Invalides, a climber might be
seen, an alarm raised, and the police would intervene.
* * * * *
Juve-Vagualame and Bobinette left the "movies" hall at half-past ten.
In a taxi they discussed how best to effect an entrance into the de
Naarboveck mansion. Juve-Vagualame stuck to his original idea.
The taxi drew up at the bridge. Juve-Vagualame paid the driver.
Bobinette hurried away, slipped into the house, and went straight up
to her room. She busied herself with the preparations agreed on,
whereby Vagualame could the more easily effect an entrance in his
turn.
Safe in her room, Bobinette experienced a strange, a penetrating
emotion. She felt as though something around her in which she had
moved safely, was cracking; with a sudden and terrible lucidity she
saw herself marching forward, powerless to draw back, marching
helplessly towards an abyss--an abyss which was about to engulf her!
She trembled, trembled violently. She was encompassed by vague and
agonizing terrors.
* * * * *
Out in the night Juve, wandering restlessly, awaited his hour! This
time! Ah, this time! He murmured:
"I shall be in the stronghold of the enemy at last!"
XVIII
IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!
The Baron de Naarboveck and his daughter, Wilhelmine, were comfortably
seated before a wood fire in the library. So numerous were their
social engagements they rarely had time for a quiet talk together.
Wilhelmine was in good spirits. De Naarboveck listened with an
indulgent smile to her vivacious account of the little happenings and
doings of her day. Presently a more serious subject came up for
discussion. The word "marriage" was mentioned. Wilhelmine blushed and
lowered her eyes, while the baron sounded her teasingly on her
feelings for de Loubersac.
"My dear child," said the baron; "this young officer has a fine future
before him; he is charming; is sufficiently well connected; adequately
endowed with this world's goods; bears a known name; you would find
him a suitable match."
Wilhelmine kept silence. An anxious, preoccupied look replaced her
bright expression: her animation had died down. At last she murmured:
"Dear father, I have nothing to hide from you, and I willingly confess
that I love Henri with my whole heart. I know he loves me also; but I
ask myself whether he will not raise objections when he learns my
life's secret!"
"My dear child, there is nothing in this secret which impugns your
honor: you are not the responsible party. If, up to the present, I
have thought it well to introduce you to my friends as my dau."...
De Naarboveck stopped short; the library door had opened. A footman
appeared and announced:
"A woman has just arrived with her son, and wishes to see
Mademoiselle or Monsieur. She says it is the new groom she has
brought."
The baron looked puzzled. Wilhelmine rose.
"I forgot to tell you I was expecting the stable boy this evening. He
replaces Charles."
She turned to the impassive footman.
"Please ask Mademoiselle Berthe to attend to these persons. They come
late--much too late!"
"Mademoiselle will please excuse me for troubling her," replied the
footman, "but Mademoiselle is still out, and."...
"In that case I will see them myself, though it is an unconscionable
hour--not at all a good beginning."...
* * * * *
The woman and her son had been shown into the smoking-room. When
Wilhelmine entered, the pair bowed respectfully.
The would-be groom was a nice-looking lad, and gave the impression of
being superior to the common run of his class and calling. Agreeably
surprised, Wilhelmine asked to see his references: she wished to make
sure that they were in order; preliminaries, through the medium of an
agent, had been gone into some days before. The woman displayed them,
announcing in a loud, harsh voice:
"I am his mother!"
This mother was as unpleasant to behold as her son was the contrary,
thought Wilhelmine.
She was a stout, vulgar, clumsy creature, enveloped in a large shawl
of many colours which did not hide her obesity. The old termagant's
face seemed all paint and large gold-rimmed spectacles, and peering
eyes. This grotesque visage was shaded by a flowered veil.
"What a horrid old creature!" thought Wilhelmine, as she listened with
scarcely concealed distaste to the woman's voluble praises of her
son's qualities.... According to her, he was a marvel of marvels.
Monsieur de Naarboveck remained in the library pacing up and down,
smoking an expensive cigar. Wilhelmine did not return. Feeling sleepy,
he quitted the room and went down the long gallery at a leisurely
pace. The reception rooms opened on to it. The spacious entrance hall
was visible from the wrought-iron balustrade bordering this gallery.