discussion in the vestibule! Yes. Men were arguing with the
porter--insisting.... The porter was coming up. The baron went down to
meet him. Two men, in derby hats and tightly buttoned overcoats,
confronted him. They carried neither stick nor umbrella, their hands
were gloveless. There was an air of suppressed haste about them. They
saluted. One of the two offered his card. The baron read:
_Inspector Michel,
Detective Force,
Police Headquarters._
"Kindly follow me, gentlemen!"
De Naarboveck walked quietly up the grand staircase, his hand on its
superb wrought-iron balustrade.
The two men followed in silence.
The baron opened the smoking-room door, saw it was empty, entered,
signed to the policemen to follow, and closed the door.
"To what do I owe the honour of your visit, gentlemen?"
De Naarboveck's tone was icy.
Inspector Michel spoke.
"You must pardon us, Monsieur. Only a matter of the most serious
importance--exceptionally serious--could have brought us to your house
at so late an hour.... We hold a warrant, and, with your permission,
we shall proceed to make an arrest."
De Naarboveck looked fixedly at the policemen.
"Gentlemen, that you should invade my house at such an hour, this
matter must indeed be of singular importance," he said stiffly. Then,
in a voice quivering with sarcasm, he enquired:
"Am I to be permitted to know what it is all about?"
"There is no harm in asking that, Monsieur," replied Inspector
Michel, in a matter-of-fact tone. "The individual we have come to
arrest here is a ruffian, wanted for a couple of murders: that of a
Captain Brocq, and that of a little music-hall singer called
Nichoune."
That this statement had upset the baron was evident: he had grown
white to the lips. Inspector Michel realised that the idea of this
double-dyed murderer having taken refuge in his house must have given
the rich diplomat a horrid surprise. He continued his statement.
"The individual we have come to arrest is known under the name of
Vagualame!"
"Vagualame!" stammered de Naarboveck. He staggered slightly and caught
at the mantelpiece for support.
"How upset the baron is!" thought Inspector Michel. "Hardly to be
wondered at!" He hurried on with his statement.
"We were on the watch on the Esplanade des Invalides, about half an
hour ago--nothing to do with this affair--when we saw Vagualame
approaching this house."
"You saw Vagualame!" exclaimed the baron, with the amazed, incredulous
look of a man who finds himself suddenly faced by a set of lunatics.
"But--it's--it is ..." he gasped.
"It is so, Monsieur," asserted Inspector Michel. "This old ruffian,
after lingering about a few minutes to assure himself that he was not
being followed--we managed to conceal ourselves sufficiently behind
the trees--Vagualame effected a most suspicious entry into your house,
Monsieur. He climbed the wall with the help of a gutter-pipe, and
entered the house through a half-opened window on the third floor! You
permit, Monsieur, that we take action at once!"
Without waiting for the baron's authorisation, Inspector Michel made a
sign to his colleagues. They removed their overcoats, placed them on a
chair, drew out their revolvers, and left the room.
The detectives were on the first steps of the flight of stairs leading
to the third story, when they heard voices just above them. The
piercing notes of the new groom's mother mingled with the refined
accents of Wilhelmine de Naarboveck, who, in the absence of her
companion, was about to show the new groom the room allotted to him.
In such matters Wilhelmine was more punctilious than most.
* * * * *
"Did you hear, Vagualame?"
Bobinette paled. Could her overstrung nerves be playing her tricks?
No.... There certainly were voices, voices on the floor below, strange
voices!... Whose?... Why?
Vagualame was seated at the foot of the bed, much at his ease. His
accordion lay on the floor. He met Bobinette's urgency with a shrug.
"Bah!"
With a despairing gesture, the terrified girl moved close to the old
man.
"Don't you understand?... They have seen you! They are after you!...
Master!" Bobinette bent forward, looked Vagualame in the eyes ...
started ... drew back with a jerk.
This was not the Vagualame she knew!... Not her master!... Who,
then?... Who but an enemy?... A police spy?... Horror!... She was
trapped!... Lost!
Her heart was beating frightfully--beating to bursting point. Were her
knees going to give way?... They should not!... Play the poltroon?...
Never!... Rage boiled up in her; brain and will were afire.... She
submit to the humiliation of arrest, the long-drawn-out agonies of
cross-examinations, the tortures of imprisonment in Noumea?... Not
Bobinette!... Never, never, never!
Almost simultaneously with her backward jerk from the stranger eyes of
this Vagualame, Bobinette darted to a chiffonier, slipped her hand
into a drawer among ribbons and laces, seized a revolver, and snatched
it out....
Agile as a panther, Vagualame leaped at the girl, caught her wrist in
a grip like a vice. The pain of it was intense--Bobinette dropped her
weapon.
"No more of this nonsense!" commanded Vagualame in a hard voice.
"Keep cool, I tell you!... Go on to the landing. Look over. See what
is happening. You are not to be afraid."
Struck speechless, Bobinette stared at the old man, who commanded her
as a master, and might stand by her as an accomplice--but--those
terrifying eyes were not the eyes of her own Vagualame--no! How to
act?
She was left no choice. The old man was pushing her relentlessly
towards the door. He must be obeyed.
Listening, on the alert, Juve-Vagualame remained in the room, ready to
conceal himself behind the curtains. Who were these mounting the
stairs? Some of the household? Suppose Bobinette's agitation was so
marked that it aroused their suspicions, and his presence was
revealed?... Should the position become untenable, he would leave by
the window, close to which he was standing, make his way over the
roofs to a neighbouring house--but--confound it!... neither the gun
piece would be in his hands, nor would he have learned where Bobinette
had her rendezvous with Corporal Vinson next morning!...
Bobinette was swaying in the doorway, as though the landing were
red-hot ploughshares to be walked on! The ordeal was beyond her!
* * * * *
Four persons set foot on the landing. (A peremptory order from de
Naarboveck had caused Wilhelmine to descend.)
Inspector Michel and his colleague stared at the individuals in whose
company they found themselves--the young groom and his amazing mother!
With a caricatural gesture of disdain, and an off-handed air, this
corpulent personage demanded stridently:
"Who are these gentlemen?"
Inspector Michel looked the outrageous creature up and down.
"Who are you, Madame?... What are you doing here?"
The inspector's tone was severity itself.
Juve, behind his window-curtains, breathed a sigh of relief.
"Ah, Michel has it in hand! That's all right!"
The groom's mother was taken aback--she hesitated; thereupon,
Inspector Michel stated his name and rank! On that, the large body of
this irrepressible personage made straight for him, caught him
familiarly by the neck, and whispered in his ear.
The effect of the whispered words was to put Inspector Michel out of
countenance: he looked abashed. He was annoyed: his tone was one of
protest.
"I recognise you now, certainly--Monsieur!... But since when have you
taken it upon yourself to--to start operations of the kind we have in
hand--_we_, the representatives of Police Headquarters?"
The woman's retort was haughty.
"I belong to the information department of the Second Bureau."
"The Second Bureau does not make arrests--not that I am aware
of--Captain!"
The obstreperous mother of the pretended groom was--Captain Loreuil!
Pointing to his young companion, Captain Loreuil announced:
"This gentleman belongs to the secret service department of the Home
Office!... But what really matters, Inspector, is that we are losing
time! Let us effect a capture--the capture is the thing!"
The distracted Bobinette, still swaying in the doorway, failed to
grasp the full meaning of what these intruders were saying. Inspector
Michel marched up to the trembling girl.
"Mademoiselle! Are you alone in your room?"
Bobinette nodded. She was incapable of speech. The inspector ignored
the nod, brushed past her, stepped into the room and glanced rapidly
round.
Bobinette, wild-eyed with fear, watched the proceedings. She saw the stout
woman moving the chairs, looking under the bed, shaking the hangings. The
fussy, obnoxious creature tore apart the window-curtains.... Vagualame was
exposed to view!... He had not escaped, then!
They dragged the old fellow from his hiding-place: they promptly
handcuffed him.
"Vagualame! In the name of the law I arrest you!" declared Inspector
Michel.
Captain Loreuil shouted in his natural voice, which, issuing from this
apparent woman, had a ludicrous effect:
"Ha! at last we have got him!"
Juve-Vagualame did not budge. With inward joy, he awaited the arrest
of Bobinette.
"Things go well," he thought: "if not so well as old Michel believes.
Comrade Juve in the bracelets, and Vagualame free! But he holds
Bobinette in his hand--the old ruffian's accomplice, unmasked!"
What was this? Could Juve believe his ears?... Michel apologising to
this guilty creature! Felicitating her on her escape from Vagualame's
clutches! What the deuce?...
"Ah, Mademoiselle! You never suspected who was so near you, now did
you?" Inspector Michel was saying to Bobinette, whose self-confidence
was beginning to return.
"You have certainly had a narrow escape," he went on with a
congratulatory smile. "This old ruffian meant to murder you, I am
convinced."
Pointing triumphantly to Juve-Vagualame, he added:
"But Vagualame cannot harm you now! The law has got him! The law has
saved you, Mademoiselle!"
Inspector Michel made a sign. His colleague and the Home Office
detective dragged Juve from the room. Juve offered no resistance.
"That Michel is an idiot--the completest of idiots," he thought.
"Come along, now! We are off to the Depot!" commanded Michel, shaking
Juve-Vagualame by the shoulder.
Juve was about to tear off his false beard, make himself known, and
get Bobinette arrested. He thought better of it. He was pretty sure
the girl doubted his genuineness. This arrest under her eyes would
persuade her that the Vagualame they were taking to prison was the
real Vagualame.... Better that she should cherish this delusion for
the present. Once out of the de Naarboveck house, he could explain
matters to his colleagues.
Thinking thus, Juve-Vagualame, encircled by watchful policemen,
descended the stairs. On the first floor he caught a glimpse of the
baron and his daughter in the ante-room. De Naarboveck's bearing was
dignified: Wilhelmine seemed terribly frightened. There was a scared,
hunted look on her pallid face.
Behind Juve-Vagualame in his handcuffs followed the pseudo-mother.
Judging it unwise to make himself known to the master and mistress of
the house, Captain Loreuil played his part vigorously to the last.
Close on Juve's heels he came, shouting:
"This is a nice kind of shop, this is!... You shall not remain here,
Sosthene, my child! Come, then, with your mother! She will find you a
very different situation to this! My poor Sosthene!"...
Majestically, with a wave of her arm signifying disdainful rejection,
the pseudo-mother drew her shawl of many colours about her corpulent
person and sailed out of the de Naarboveck mansion.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, up on the third floor, a puzzled, confused, battered
Bobinette was recovering from the shocks and terrors of the evening.
She lay back in an arm-chair trying to piece things together.
Two things were clear: Vagualame was arrested; she was free, and with
the famous gun piece still in her possession.... To-morrow, she would
obey orders received: she would take the piece to Havre, accompanied
by Corporal Vinson, who would bring the plan of the apparatus.
Bobinette had bent her head to the storm: she now raised it proudly.
XIX
THE MYSTERIOUS ABBE
Fandor half opened his eyes. Was he dreaming? This was not the barrack
dormitory, with its gaunt white-washed walls and morning clamour....
Of course! He was in a bedroom of a cheap hotel in Paris. Cretonne
curtains shaded the window. A ray of light was reflected in a hanging
mirror of scant dimensions, decidedly the worse for wear. Below it
stood a washstand. On its cracked and dirty marble top could be seen a
chipped and ill-matched basin and soapdish. A lopsided table occupied
the middle of the room. On a chair by his bed lay Fandor-Vinson's
uniform. His valise reposed on a rickety chest of drawers. Fandor was
loath to rouse himself. His bed was warm, while about the room icy
draughts from ill-fitting door and window were circulating freely.
He would have to get up presently, dress, and keep his appointment.
His appointment! Ah! Wide awake now, our journalist considered the
situation.
A couple of days ago the adjutant had announced:
"Corporal Vinson, you have eight days' leave: you can quit barracks at
noon to-morrow."
Fandor had been given leave several times already: he merely replied:
"Thanks, Lieutenant."
He then looked out for a post card from the spies, appointing a
rendezvous. A letter was handed to him by the post sergeant.
The letter commenced:
"_My dearest darling_."...
"Ah!" thought Fandor. "Now I am indeed a soldier. I receive a love
letter!"
His unknown correspondent wrote:
_"It is so long since I saw you, but as you have eight days' leave I
can make up for lost time! Would you not like to arrange a meeting for
your first morning in Paris? You will go as usual, will you not, to
the Army and Navy Hotel, boulevard Barbes? You will find me at
half-past eleven to the minute, in the rue de Rivoli, at the corner of
the rue Castiglione. We might breakfast together. To our early
meeting, then! I send you all my kisses."_
The signature was illegible.
Fandor understood the hidden meaning. He was to hand over the design
as he had promised; but he had decided to put them off with a
concocted design of his own! He must hasten now to the appointed
meeting place.
Fandor rose at once. Whilst dressing he decided:
"I shall go in mufti--be Jerome Fandor, undisguised. Better be on the
safe side--this may be an anti-spy trap. Of course I shall miss my
rendezvous; but _they_ will not be put off so easily. They will write
at once, making a new appointment. Then I shall go as Corporal Vinson,
if I think it the wisest thing to do."
Fandor ran down the rickety stairs. He learned from Octave, the hotel
porter, that his room had been paid for three days in advance. Saying
he would not be back until the evening, probably, Fandor stepped on to
the boulevard Barbes, and hailed a cab.
"Take me to the foot of the Vendome column," he ordered.
* * * * *
Arrived at the rendezvous, Fandor sauntered along, awaiting
developments. Presently he noticed in the distance a figure he seemed
to know. It was moving towards him.
"My word! I was not mistaken," thought Fandor, watching the young
woman. She also was sauntering under the arcades of the rue de Rivoli,
glancing at the fascinating display of feminine apparel in the shop
windows. Fandor drew aside, watching her every movement, and swearing
softly.
The girl came nearer. Fandor's curiosity made him make himself known,
that he might see what she would do. He showed himself, and saluted
with an impressive wave of his hat, exclaiming:
"Why, it is Mademoiselle Berthe!"
The girl stopped.
"Why--yes--it is Monsieur Fandor!... How are you?"
"Flourishing, thanks! I need not ask how you are, Mademoiselle!... You
bloom!"
Bobinette smiled.
"How is it I find you here at this time of day?"
"Why, Mademoiselle, just in the same way as you happen to be here--the
fancy took me to pass this way!... I often do."
"Oh!" cried Bobinette in an apologetic tone. "Now, I am going to ask
you how it is you have never responded to Monsieur de Naarboveck's
invitation to take a cup of tea with us now and then! We were speaking
of you only the other day. Monsieur de Naarboveck said he never saw
your signature in _La Capitale_ now--that most probably you were
travelling."
"I have, in fact, just returned to Paris. Are all well at Monsieur de
Naarboveck's? Has Mademoiselle Wilhelmine recovered from the sad shock
of Captain Brocq's death?... His end was so sudden!"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur."
Fandor would have liked to find out the exact nature of Bobinette's
intimacy with the ill-fated officer, also to what extent she was in
love with Henri de Loubersac; but, as she showed by her manner that
she did not relish this talk, either because of the turn it had taken,
or because it was held in a public place, Fandor had to take his
leave. Bobinette went off. Fandor noted the time as he continued his
saunter. It was a quarter to twelve. Of the few passers-by there was
not one who merited a second glance or thought!... Impatiently he
waited, five, ten minutes: at one o'clock he betook himself to his
hotel. There he found an express message, unsigned. It ran:
"_My darling, my dear love, forgive me for not meeting you
this morning in the rue de Rivoli, as arranged. It was
impossible. Return to the same place at two o'clock, I will
be punctual, I promise you.... Of course you will wear your
uniform. I want to see how handsome you look in it!_"
"I do not like this," thought Fandor, rereading the message. "Why ask
me to come in uniform?... Do they know I came in mufti this
morning?... I shall go again; but I think it is high time I returned
to civilian life!"
* * * * *
It was two by the clock on the refuge, in the rue de Rivoli.
Fandor-Vinson emerged from the Metropolitan and crossed to the corner
of the rue Castiglione. He took a few steps under the arcade, saying
to himself:
"Punctual to the tick and in uniform! The meeting should come off all
right this time!"
A delicately gloved hand was placed on his shoulder, and a voice said:
"My dear Corporal! How are you?"
Fandor-Vinson turned sharply and faced--a priest!... He recognised the
abbe. It was he of the Verdun motor-car.
"Very well! And you, Monsieur l'Abbe?... Your friend? Is he with you?"
"He is not, my dear Corporal!"
"Is he at Verdun?"
The abbe's reply was a look of displeasure.
"I do not know where he is," he said sharply, after a pause.... "But
that is neither here nor there, Corporal," he went on in a more
amiable tone. "We are going to take a little journey together."
This news perturbed Fandor-Vinson: it was not to his liking.
The abbe took him by the arm.
"You will excuse my absence this morning? To keep the appointment was
impossible.... Ah! Hand me the promised document, will you?... That is
it?... Very good.... Thank you!... By the by, Corporal--there you see
our special train." The priest pointed to a superb motor-car drawn up
alongside the pavement. A superior-looking chauffeur was seated at
the wheel.
"Shall we get in? We have a fairly long way to go, and it is important
that we arrive punctually."
Fandor could do nothing but agree. They seated themselves. The abbe
shared a heavy travelling rug.
"We will wrap ourselves up well," said he. "It is far from warm, and
there is no need to catch cold--it is not part of our programme!...
You can start now, chauffeur! We are ready."
Once in motion, the abbe pointed to a voluminous package which
prevented Fandor from stretching his legs.
"We can change places from time to time, for you cannot be comfortable
with this package encumbering the floor of the car like this."
"Oh," replied Fandor-Vinson, "one takes things as they come!... But we
should be much more comfortable if we fastened this rather clumsy
piece of baggage to the front seat, beside the chauffeur, who can keep
an eye on it!"
"Corporal! You cannot be thinking of what you are saying!" The
priest's reply was delivered in a dry authoritative voice.
"I have put my foot in it," thought Fandor. "I should just like to
know how!" He was about to speak: the abbe cut in:
"I am very tired, Corporal, so excuse me if I doze a little! In an
hour or so, I shall be quite refreshed. There will be ample time for a
talk after that."
Fandor could but agree.
The car was speeding up the Avenue des Champs-Elysees. They were
leaving Paris--for what destination?
"Does your chauffeur know the route, Monsieur l'Abbe?"
"I hope so--why?"
"Because I could direct him. I could find my way about any of these
suburbs with my eyes shut."
"Very well. See that he keeps on the right road. We are going towards
Rouen." With that the abbe wrapped himself in his share of the ample
rug and closed his eyes.
Fandor sat still as a mouse, with all the food for thought he
required.
"Why Rouen? Why were they taking him there?... What is this mysterious
package which must remain out of sight at the bottom of the car?"
Fandor tried to follow its outline with the toe of his boot. It was
protected by a thick wrapping of straw.
"Then who was this abbe?" His speech showed he was French. He wore his
cassock with the ease of long habit: he was young. His hand was the
delicate hand of a Churchman--not coarsened by manual labour. Fandor,
plunged in reflections, lost all sense of time.
The car sped on its way, devouring the miles fleetly. No sooner out of
Paris than Saint-Germain was cleared--Mantes left behind! As they were
approaching Bonnieres, Fandor, whose eyes had been fixed on the
interminable route, as though at some turn of the road he might catch
sight of their real destination, now felt that the abbe was watching
the landscape through half-closed eyes.
"You are awake, then, Monsieur l'Abbe?" observed Fandor-Vinson.
"I was wondering where we were."
"We are coming to Bonnieres."
"Good!" The abbe sat up, flung his rug aside.
"Do as I do, Corporal. Do not fold up the rug. Throw it over our
package. Prying eyes will not suspect its presence."
With the most stupid air in the world, Fandor asked:
"Must it not be seen, then?"
"Of course not! And at Bonnieres we must be on guard: the police there
are merciless: they arrest everyone who exceeds the speed limit....
Nor do we wish to arouse their curiosity about us personally. There is
a number of troops stationed here: the colonel is notorious for his
strictness: he is correctness personified."
Fandor-Vinson stared questionably at the abbe.
"But you do not seem to understand anything, Corporal Vinson!" he
cried in an irritated tone. "Whatever I say seems to send you into a
state of stupefaction!... I shall never do anything with you, you are
hopeless!... Ah, here is Bonnieres! Once outside the town, I will give
you some useful explanations."
A bare three minutes after leaving Bonnieres behind, the Abbe turned
to Fandor and asked in a low voice:
"What do you think is in that package, Corporal?"
"Good heavens! Monsieur l'Abbe."...
"Corporal, that contains a fortune for you and for me ... a piece of
artillery ... the mouthpiece of 155-R ... rapid firer!... You see its
importance?... To-night we sleep in the outskirts of Rouen ...
to-morrow, we leave early for Havre.... As I am known there, Corporal,
we shall have to separate.... You will go with the driver to the Nez
d'Antifer.... There you will find a fishing-boat in charge of a
friendly sailor ... all you have to do is to hand over this package to
him.... He will make for the open sea, where he will deliver it--into
the right hands."...
Involuntarily Fandor drew away from the priestly spy. The statements
just made to him were of so grave a nature; the adventure in which he
found himself involved was so dangerous, so nefarious, that Fandor
thrilled with terror and disgust. He kept silence: he was thinking.
Suddenly he saw his way clear.
"Between Havre and the Nez d'Antifer I must get rid of this gun piece.
However interesting my investigations are I cannot possibly deliver
such a thing to the enemy, to a foreign power! Death for
preference!"...
His companion broke in.
"And now, Corporal, I fancy you fully understand how awkward it would
be for you, much more so than for me, if this package were opened,
because you are a soldier, and in uniform."
Fandor showed an unflinching front, but a wave of positive anguish
rushed over him.