must follow him now. I am regularly let in!... As a civilian, as
Fandor the journalist, I might go to the first military depot I can
come at, and state that I had discovered a priest who was going to
hand over to a foreign power an important piece of artillery!... The
pretended Vinson would have done the trick and would then vanish....
But in uniform!... They would certainly accuse me of suspicious
traffic with spies.... They would confine me--cell me.... I should
have the work of the world to obtain a release under six months!...
Another point.... Why had they chosen him, Corporal Vinson as they
believed, for such a mission?... Assuredly the spies possessed a
thousand other agents, capable of carrying triumphantly through this
dangerous mission, this delivery of a stolen piece of ordnance to a
sailor spy in the pay of a foreign power inimical to France!"
It was horrible! Abominable! This spy traffic! Only to think of it
soiled one's soul! Fandor sickened at the realisation of what was
involved--that this betrayal of France was not a solitary
instance--that there must be a hundred betrayals going on at that very
moment! That France was being bought and sold in a hundred ways for
Judas money--France!
His thoughts turned shudderingly away from such hell depths of
treachery.
He brought his mind to bear on other points.
"Why, after so much mystery, such precautions, does this Judas of an
abbe disclose the contents of that damnable package before its
delivery? Why this halt in the outskirts of Rouen when a quick run, a
quick handing over of the package is so essential?... With such a
powerful machine, why this stop in a journey of some 225 kilometres?"
Fandor felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
"Suppose this abbe is playing a trick on me?... If yesterday, to-day, ...
no matter when ... I have betrayed myself? If these people have discovered
my identity? If, knowing that I am not Vinson, but Fandor, they have made
me put on uniform, placed in the car with me a compromising portion of a
gun, and are going to hand me over to the military authorities, either at
Rouen, or elsewhere?"
The abbe, comfortably ensconced in the corner, was slumbering again.
Fandor cast stealthy glances at his companion, considering him
carefully.
Now he came to examine him, surely this priest's face had a queer
look?... The eyebrows were too regular ... painted?... How delicate
his skin?... Not the slightest trace of a beard?... A shoe--the
traditional silver-buckled shoe of the priest--was visible below the
cassock.... That was all right ... but, how slender his ankle?...
Fandor pulled himself up. What would he imagine next? True, he was
wise to suspect everything, everybody--test them, try them--in this
terrible position he had got himself into, nevertheless, he must keep
a clear head.
The car was passing through a village. The abbe opened his eyes.
"Monsieur l'Abbe," declared Fandor, "I am frozen to death. Would you
object to our stopping a minute so that I might swallow a glass of
rum?"
The abbe signalled the driver. The car stopped before a little inn.
The innkeeper appeared.
"Bring the driver a cognac!" ordered the priest. "Give Monsieur a
glass of rum. You may pour me out a glass of aniseed cordial."
"Aniseed cordial!" thought Fandor. "That is a liqueur for priests,
youths, and women!"
"In an hour," said the abbe, "we shall be at Rouen. We shall pass
through the town; a few kilometres further on, at Barentin, we shall
halt for the night.... I know a very good little hotel there!"
Fandor refrained from comment. What he thought was:
"A fig for Barentin!... If I see the least sign that this little
fellow is going to give me the slip, leave me for a minute--if it
looks as though he were going to warn the authorities--I know someone
who will take to flight ... and how!"...
XX
MAN OR WOMAN
Kilometres succeeded kilometres in endless procession. Ceaselessly the
landscapes unrolled themselves like views on a cinema film. Swiftly,
regularly, relentlessly, the car sped forward. Again the priest, with
half-closed eyes, snuggled into his cushions.
Fandor felt strangely drowsy. This was due, he thought, to the long
journey in the open air, and to a nervous fatigue induced by the tense
emotions of the day.
"The nuisance is," thought he, "that no sooner shall I lay my head on
the pillow to-night than I shall be snoring like the Seven Sleepers."
The car continued to advance.
After a sharp descent, the car turned to the right: the road now wound
along the side of a hill, bordered by the Seine on one side, and on
the other by perpendicular cliffs. High in the grey distance,
dominating the countryside, rose the venerated sanctuary of
Rouen--Notre Dame de Bon Secours.
"We have only six more kilometres to cover," remarked the abbe.
Soon they were moving at a slower pace through the outskirts of Rouen.
Jolted on the cobbles of the little street, thrown against each other
every time the car side-slipped on the two rails running along the
middle of the roadway, Fandor and the little abbe were knocked wide
awake.
"We are not going to stop?" asked Fandor.
"Yes. We must recruit ourselves: besides, I have to call at a certain
garage."
"Attention!" said Fandor to himself. "The doings of this little priest
are likely to have a peculiar interest for me! At the least sign of
danger, my Fandor, I give thee two minutes to cut and run!"
Our journalist knew Rouen well. He knew that to reach Barentin, the
car, passing out of the great square, surrounded by the new barracks,
would follow the quay, traverse the town from end to end, pass near
the famous transshipping bridge, and join the high road again.
"If we pull up at one of the garages along the quays, all will be
well," thought Fandor.... "In case of an alarm, a run of a hundred
yards or so would bring me to one of the many electric tramways.... I
should board a tram--devil take them, if they dared to chase and catch
me!"
The car had reached the bridge which prolongs the rue Jeanne d'Arc
across the Seine. They were now in the heart of Rouen. The chauffeur
turned:
"Can I stop, Monsieur? I need petrol and water."
The priest pointed to a garage.
"Stop there!"
The chauffeur began to supply the wants of his machine with the help
of an apprentice. The priest jumped out and entered the garage. Fandor
followed on his heels, saying:
"It does one good to stretch one's legs!"
The abbe seemed in no wise disturbed. He walked up to the owner of the
place.
"Tell me, my friend, have you, by chance, received a telegram
addressed to the Abbe Gendron?"
"That is so, Monsieur. It will be for you?"...
"Yes, for me. I asked that a message should be sent to me here, if
necessary."
Whilst the priest tore open his telegram, Fandor lit a cigarette....
By hook or by crook, he must see the contents of this telegram which
his travelling companion was reading with frowning brows. But Fandor
might squint in the glass for the reflection of the message, pass
behind the abbe to peep over his shoulder while pretending to examine
the posters decorating the garage walls: he had his pains for his
reward: it was impossible to decipher the text.... He must await
developments.
When the car was ready to start he decided to speak.
"You have not received vexatious instructions, I hope, Monsieur
l'Abbe?"
"Not at all!"
"There is always something disquieting about a telegram!"
"This one tells me nothing I did not know already--at least,
suspected! The only result is that instead of going to Havre we shall
now go to Dieppe."
"Why this change of destination?" was Fandor's mental query. "And what
did this precious priest suspect?"
The abbe was giving the chauffeur instructions.
"You will leave Rouen by the new route.... You will draw up at an
hotel which you will find on the right, named, if my memory does not
play me false, _The Flowery Crossways_."
"A pretty name!" remarked Fandor.
"A stupid name," replied the abbe. "The house does not stand at any
cross-roads, and the place is as flowerless as it is possible to be!"
There was a pause. "That matters little, however, Corporal: the
quarters are good--the table sufficient. You shall judge for yourself
now: here is the inn!"
Under the skillful guidance of the chauffeur, the car turned sharply,
and passed under a little arch which served as a courtyard entrance.
The car came to a stand-still in a great yard, crowded with
unharnessed carts, stablemen, and Normandy peasants in their Sunday
best.
A stout man came forward. His head was as hairless as a billiard ball.
This was the hotel-keeper. To every question put by the little abbe he
replied with a broad grin which displayed his toothless gums. His
voice was as odd as his appearance, it was high-pitched and quavering.
"You can give us dinner?"
"Why, certainly, Monsieur le Cure."
"You have a coach-house where the car can be put up?"
With a comprehensive sweep of his arm, mine host of _The Flowery
Crossways_ indicated the courtyard. The carts of his regular clients
were left there in his charge: he could not see why the motor-car of
these strangers could not pass the night there also.
"And you can reserve three rooms for us?" was the little abbe's final
demand.
This time the face of mine host lost its jovial assurance.
"Three rooms? Ah, no, Monsieur le Cure--that is quite impossible!...
But we can manage all the same.... I have an attic for your chauffeur,
and a fine double-bedded room for you and Monsieur the corporal....
That will suit you--I think?"
"Yes, quite well! Very well, indeed!" declared Fandor, delighted at
this opportunity of keeping his queer travelling companion under his
eye.
The little abbe was far from satisfied.
"What! You have not two rooms for us?" he expostulated. "I have a
horror of sharing a room with anyone whatever! I am not accustomed to
it; and I cannot sleep under those conditions!"
"Monsieur le Cure, it's full up here! I have a wedding party on my
hands!"
"Well, then is there no hotel near by, where I can."...
"No, Monsieur le Cure: I am the only hotel-keeper about here!"
"Is it far to the parsonage?"
"But, my dear Abbe!" protested Fandor: "I beg of you to take the room!
I can sleep anywhere ... on two chairs in the dining-room!"
"Certainly not!" declared the little priest. He turned to the
hotel-keeper: "Tell me just how far the parsonage is from here?"
"At least eight kilometres."
"Oh, then, it is out of the question! What a disagreeable business
this is!... We shall pass a dreadful night!"
The abbe was greatly put out.
"No, no! I will leave the room to you!" again protested Fandor.
"Do not talk so childishly, Corporal! We have to be on the road again
to-morrow. What good purpose will it serve if we allow ourselves to be
over-fatigued and so fit for nothing?... After all, a bad night will not
last forever!... We must manage to put up with the inconvenience."
Fandor nodded acquiescence. Things were going as he wished.
"Dinner at once!" ordered the abbe.
An affable Normandy girl laid their table in a small room: a profusion
of black cocks with scarlet combs decorated the paper on its walls.
The effect was at once bewildering and weirdly funereal.
Meanwhile the abbe walked up and down in the courtyard; to judge by
his expression he was in no pleasant frame of mind.
When he came to table, Fandor noticed that he forgot to pronounce the
Benedicite. He was still more interested when the ecclesiastic
attacked a tasty chicken with great gusto.
"This is certainly the 1st of December, therefore a fast day according
to the episcopal mandate, which I have read ... and behold my little
priest is devouring meat! The hotel-keeper offered us fish just now,
and I quite understood why, but it seems fasting is not obligatory for
this priest--unless this priest is not a priest!"
Whilst the abbe was enjoying his chicken in silence, with eyes fixed
on his plate, Fandor once again subjected him to a minute examination.
He noted his delicate features, his slim hands, his graceful
attitudes: he was so impressed by this and various little details,
that when the abbe, after dessert and a last glass of cider, rose and
proposed that they should go up to their room for the night, Fandor
declared to himself:
"My head on a charger for it! I bet that little abbe is a woman, then
more mystery, and a probable husband or lover who may come on the
scene presently! Fandor, my boy, beware of this baggage! Not an eye
must you close this night!"
The priest had had the famous package taken upstairs and placed at the
foot of his bed.
Fandor and the abbe wished each other good night.
"As for me," declared Fandor, unlacing his boots, "I cannot keep my
eyes open!"
"I can say the same," replied his companion.
Fandor's next remark had malice in it.
"I pity you, Monsieur l'Abbe! No doubt you have long prayers to
recite--especially if you have not finished your breviary!"
"You are mistaken," answered the abbe, with a slight smile: "I am
dispensed from a certain number of religious exercises!"
"A fig for you, my fine fellow!" said Fandor to himself. "The deuce is
in if I do not catch you out over one of your lies!"
The little abbe was seated on a chair attending to his nails.
Fandor walked to the door, explaining:
"I have a horror of sleeping in an hotel bedroom with an unlocked
door!... You will allow me to turn the key?"
"Turn it, then!"
Locking the door, Fandor drew the key and threw it on to the priest's
lap.
"There, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you like to put it on your bedside table!"
Fandor's action had a purpose. Ten to one you settle the sex of a
doubtful individual by such a test. A man instinctively draws his
knees together when an object is thrown on them: a woman draws them
apart, to make a wider surface of the skirt for the reception of an
article and thus prevent its fall to the ground.
Fandor was not surprised to see the little priest instinctively act as
would a woman.... But, would not a priest, accustomed to wear a
cassock, act as a woman would? Fandor realised that, in this instance,
the riddle of sex was still unsolved.
Fandor-Vinson began to undress: the priest continued to polish his
nails.
"You are not going to bed, Monsieur l'Abbe?"
"Yes, I am."
The ecclesiastic took off his shoes; then his collar. Then he lay down
on the bed.
"You will sleep with all your clothes on?" asked Fandor-Vinson.
"Yes, when I have to sleep in a bed I am not accustomed to!... Should
I blow out the candle, Corporal?"
"Blow it out, Monsieur l'Abbe."
Fandor felt sure the little priest was a woman disguised. He dare not
take off his cassock because he was she!
Wishing his strange companion a good night's rest, Fandor snuggled
under the bedclothes. Determined to keep awake and alert, he tried to
pass the dark hours by mentally reciting _Le Cid_!
XXI
A CORDIAL UNDERSTANDING
"Let us make peace!"
Juve held out his hand--a firm, strong hand--the hand of a trusty man.
"Let us make peace frankly, sincerely, wholeheartedly!"
Lieutenant de Loubersac signed the pact, without a moment's
hesitation: he put his hand into the hand of Juve, and shook it
warmly.
"Agreed, Monsieur: we are of one mind on that point!"
The two men stood silent, considering each other, despite the violence
of the west wind sweeping across the end of the stockade, bringing
with it enormous foam-tipped waves, rising from a rough, grey sea.
The detective and the officer were on the jetty of Dieppe harbour.
This chill December afternoon, the sea looked dark and threatening.
Since their arrival at Dieppe, Juve and de Loubersac had mutually
avoided each other. Time and again they had come face to face, each
more bored, more cross-looking than the other. This mutual, sulky
avoidance was over: they had made it up.
* * * * *
The evening before, following his arrest under the guise of Vagualame,
Juve had been conducted to the Depot by his colleagues. No sooner were
they seated in the taxi, under the charge of Inspector Michel and his
companion, than Juve made himself known to his gratified, unsuspecting
colleagues. It was a humiliating surprise for the two policemen: they
felt fooled.
Juve, realising that neither Michel nor his colleagues were at
present likely to lend him their generous aid in the carrying out of
certain plans, decided to keep silence: nor would he let them into the
secret of his discoveries regarding Bobinette's highly suspicious
character and conduct: that she was an accomplice, a tool of the real
Vagualame was established beyond a doubt.
The crestfallen Michel had to unhandcuff Juve and restore him to
liberty; but he extracted a promise from his amazing colleague that he
would see Monsieur Havard next morning, and give him an account of all
that had passed.
Accordingly, at seven o'clock next morning, Juve was received by
Monsieur Havard.
Juve had hoped for a few minutes' interview, then a rush to the East
Station, there to await the arrival of Corporal Vinson. The interview
was a long one: Juve was too late.
But he had not lost time at Headquarters. The Second Bureau had
telephoned, warning Police Headquarters that Corporal Vinson, arrived
in Paris, was going to Dieppe very shortly, where a foreign
pleasure-boat would take possession of a piece of artillery, stolen,
and probably being taken care of by the corporal.
This information coincided with what Juve had learned from Bobinette,
and completed it. He must start for Dieppe instanter. If he had any
luck he would arrest the soldier, and Bobinette as well. She would
convey the piece to Vinson in the morning, and would accompany him to
Dieppe. She was daring enough to do it.
At the Saint Lazare station Juve had caught the train for Dieppe which
meets the one o'clock boat, bound for England. He had just settled
himself in a first-class compartment, of which he was the solitary
occupant, when he recognised an officer of the Second Bureau walking
in the corridor--Lieutenant Henri de Loubersac!
The train was barely in motion when de Loubersac seated himself
opposite Juve. The recognition had been mutual.
A few hours before, Henri de Loubersac had learned of the
extraordinary arrest of the false Vagualame. He then understood that
it was with Juve he had talked on the quay near the rue de Solferino.
The officer of the Second Bureau was profoundly mortified: he had been
taken in by a civilian!
He declared:
"It is the sort of thing one does not do! It is unworthy of an
honourable man!"
In the Batignolles tunnel Juve and he began discussing this point: de
Loubersac angry, excited; Juve immovably calm.
The discussion lasted until their train ran into Dieppe station. They
had exhausted the subject, but had scarcely touched on the motives of
their journey to this seaport. The two men separated with a stiff
salute.
Obviously both were keeping a watch on the approaches to the quay:
they encountered each other repeatedly; it became ridiculous. Being
intelligent men devoted to their duty, they determined to act in
concert for the better fulfillment of this same duty--duty to their
respective chiefs--duty to the State--duty to France!
So they made it up!
After their cordial handshake, Juve, wishing to define the situation,
asked:
"Now what are we after exactly--you and I? What is the common aim of
the Second Bureau and Police Headquarters?"
De Loubersac's reply was:
"A document has been stolen from us: we want to find it."
Juve said:
"Two crimes have been committed: we wish to seize the assassin."
"And," continued de Loubersac, with a smile, "as it is probable the
murderer of Captain Brocq and Nichoune is none other than the
individual who stole our document."...
"By uniting our efforts," finished Juve, "we have every chance of
discovering the one and the other."
There was a pause. Then Juve asked:
"Nevertheless, Lieutenant, since I find you here, I fancy there is
some side development--some incident?... In reality, have you not come
to Dieppe to intercept a certain corporal who is to deliver to a
foreign power a piece of artillery of the highest importance?"
"You have hit it!" was de Loubersac's reply. "I see you know about
this gun affair!"
Juve nodded.
The two men were slowly returning towards the town by way of the outer
harbour quays. They approached a dock, in which was anchored a pretty
little yacht flying the Dutch flag. Juve stared hard at this elegant
craft. De Loubersac enquired if yachting was his favourite sport. Juve
smiled.
"Far from it! Nevertheless, when that yacht weighs anchor, it would be
my delight to inspect her from stem to stern, accompanied by the
Custom House officials. It is my conviction that Corporal Vinson will
soon turn up, slip aboard with the stolen gun-piece, conceal it in
some prepared hiding-hole below: his otherwise uninteresting person
will be hidden also."
"I am of the same mind," declared de Loubersac.
As the two men strolled they exchanged information.
De Loubersac told Juve that, according to the latest messages from the
Second Bureau, Vinson had left Paris with a priest, in a hired
motor-car, and had taken the road to Rouen, that in all probability
they would reach Dieppe before nightfall, and when they arrived!...
"It is precisely at that moment we shall arrest them. I have made all
arrangements with the local police," finished de Loubersac.
"Ah!" murmured Juve. "What a pity Captain Loreuil and Inspector Michel
came on the scenes last night and arrested me prematurely, thinking
they had got the real Vagualame, for now I can never make use of the
ruffian's disguise to pump the different members of the great spy
organisation we are on the track of!"
"But what prevents you now from masquerading as Vagualame?" demanded
de Loubersac.
"Why, when no one knew I was a false Vagualame, I could make up in his
likeness: now they know the truth; not only is it known by the
followers of Vagualame by this time, but--I am certain of it--I was
recognised by the real Vagualame himself!"
"Did he see you then?"
"I would stake my life on it!" asserted Juve.
"Just when?... Where?... In the street?" de Loubersac was keenly
interested.
"No--just when I was arrested."
"But, from what I have heard, there were very few of you!" cried de
Loubersac. "Then the real Vagualame must have been at the Baron de
Naarboveck's?"
"Hah!" was Juve's non-committal exclamation.
"Whom do you suspect?"
Juve kept silence.
Suddenly he concealed himself behind a deserted goods waggon. De
Loubersac did the same. Both fixed examining eyes on a couple coming
in their direction. They were not the expected pair of traitors.
"Who?" again asked de Loubersac.
Juve was impenetrable.
"I am inclined to think that the companion, Mademoiselle Berthe,
otherwise Bobinette, has played, and perhaps still plays, an
incomprehensible part in these affairs."
"You find it incomprehensible?" Juve burst into laughter. "I do not!"
"Well then, were I in your place, I should not hesitate to arrest
her!"
"And then?"
"Oh, explanations could follow."
Juve considered his companion a minute: then, taking his arm in
friendly fashion, continued their walk along the quay.
"I have a theory," said Juve; "that when dealing with such complex
affairs as these we are now engaged on, affairs in which the actors
are but puppets, acting on behalf of the prime mover, a master-mind,
ungetatable, or almost so, we should aim at first securing the prime
mover. To secure the puppets and leave the prime mover free is to
obtain but a partial success: the victory is then more apparent than
real.... I might have arrested Bobinette as we shall probably arrest
Corporal Vinson before long; but would her arrest furnish us with the
master key to this problem? Have we not a better chance of
discovering the powerful head of this band if we allow his
collaborators to perform their manoeuvres in a fancied security?"
The prime mover of these mysteries? Juve was convinced that the prime
mover of these nefarious mysteries, the murderous master mind was, and
could be, none other than--Fantomas!
Juve paused abruptly.
A man was coming to meet them--an investigating agent attached to the
general commissariat department at Dieppe.
"They are asking for Monsieur Henri on the telephone," he announced.
De Loubersac rushed to the police station. Over the telephone, a War
Office colleague informed him that the fugitive corporal, accompanied
by a priest, had during the last hour arrived at a garage in Rouen.