confirming the news, with the addition that, after replenishing the
motor with petrol, they had set off again at once--they had received a
telegram.
Juve and de Loubersac returned to the quay.
"Our beauties will not be so long now," said he.
With twilight the tempest had died down, night was falling fast. The
waters in the docks reflected the light from the quay lamps on their
shining, heaving, surface.
Now, for some time, Henri de Loubersac had been longing to ask Juve a
question, longing yet fearing to voice it--a question relating to his
personal affairs. Had not Juve, as Vagualame, clearly insinuated that
Wilhelmine de Naarboveck must have been the mistress of Captain Brocq?
Had not de Loubersac protested vehemently against such an odious
calumny? But now that he knew this statement was Juve's, he was in a
state of torment--his love was bleeding with the torture of it!
At last he summoned up courage to put the question to Juve.
Juve frowned, looked embarrassed. He had foreseen the question. He did
not believe that Wilhelmine de Naarboveck had been Captain Brocq's
mistress; but he knew there was an undecipherable mystery in this
girl's life, and he had an intuition that the discovery of this
secret would probably throw light on certain points which, as far as
he was concerned, had remained obscure. Was this fair-haired girl
really the baron's daughter? Since he had learned that Wilhelmine
visited Lady Beltham's tomb regularly--this notorious Lady Beltham,
mistress of Fantomas--he had been saying to himself:
"No--Mademoiselle Wilhelmine is not the daughter of de Naarboveck, the
rich diplomat! But who, then, is she?"
Juve knew it was useless to say this to de Loubersac, blinded by love
as he was; but his aim--a rather Machiavellian one--was to sow seeds
of suspicion in the heart of this lover, which would drive him to
provoke an explanation, and force Wilhelmine to speak out, for she
must surely know the facts relating to her identity!
This Machiavellian Juve did not hesitate to say to de Loubersac:
"You remember what the false Vagualame told you when you talked with
him on the banks of the Seine?... You are to-day in the presence of
this false Vagualame--of me, Juve--as you know.... Well, I am sorry to
tell you that, whatever outside appearance I adopt, my way of
thinking, my way of seeing things seldom changes."
Henri de Loubersac understood: he grew pale: his lips were pressed
tightly together: he clenched his fists.
Satisfied with this result, Juve repeated to himself this celebrated
aphorism of the Bastille:
"Slander! Slander! Some of it always sticks!"
It was dark. In a little restaurant near by, the two men dined
frugally: it was a mediocre repast, not too well cooked. Anxious
questionings tormented them. The fugitives were long in coming: had
they got wind of what was afoot? Had Vinson and the priest been warned
that detectives were hot on their trail? If so, it was all up with the
arrest!
De Loubersac remained on the watch. Juve returned to the police
station. He was crossing the threshold when the telephone shrilled.
News from the police sergeant at Rouen!
The corporal and the abbe, leaving Rouen, had taken the road to
Barentin, had dined at _The Flowery Crossways Hotel_, and, according
to the chauffeur's statement, they would pass the night there: they
would reach Dieppe next morning at the earliest possible moment.
Juve hurried with the news to de Loubersac. After a short consultation
they separated: each pretended he was going to his own particular
hotel to get some rest.
* * * * *
Juve did not quit the neighbourhood of the quay. Installed in a custom
house official's sentry box, he stolidly set himself to pass the night
with only his thoughts for company. An hour passed. Juve cocked a
listening ear; there were furtive footsteps--stealthy movements close
by!... Juve thrilled!... If it were the traitor Vinson? The steps came
nearer, nearer. Juve slipped out of his shelter. Someone rose up
before him--and ... mutual recognition, and laughter!
De Loubersac was on the watch as well!
Jovially, Juve summed up the situation:
"Lieutenant, we can truly declare that, civilian or soldier, in
pursuit of our duty we are ever on a war footing!"
Philosophically resigned to a wakeful night, the pair marched
stolidly, persistently, doggedly up and down the Dieppe quay--up and
down--up and down--an interminable up-and-down!
XXII
HAVE THEY BOLTED?
Whilst Juve and Henri de Loubersac were watching through the midnight
hours for the arrival of the traitors, Fandor in his hotel was also on
the alert. He did not mean to sleep a wink. The noise of the
merry-making below helped him in that.... The revellers retired at
last, and silence fell on _The Flowery Crossways_. Fandor, feigning
sleep, lay as still as a mouse; but how interminable seemed the hours!
"Ah!" thought Fandor, "if only my abbe were sleeping, I should decamp;
but that little bundle of mystery is wide awake: I can sense his
wakefulness!"
Fandor lay listening for the next eternity of an hour to strike and
pass into limbo.... At last dawn began to break: the window curtains
became transparent, a cock crowed in the yard below, the voice of a
stable-boy sounded loud in the stillness of early day.
"You are awake, Corporal?" asked the priest in a low voice.
"Quite, Monsieur l'Abbe. You feel rested?"
"I only dosed off a little."
"Liar!" thought Fandor. He replied:
"That is just what I did!" Fandor yawned loudly.
"Will you get up first, Corporal? When you have finished dressing I
will start.... In that way we shall not interfere with each other."
"But, Monsieur l'Abbe, I do not want to keep you waiting.... Do get up
first!"
"Certainly not! No, no! Do not let us stand on ceremony."
Fandor did not insist. He was too pleased with his room-mate's
request.
In next to no time--with a kind of barrack-room lick and
polish--Fandor-Vinson had washed his face, had dressed, was ready.
"My dear Abbe," said he, "if you would like me to, I will ascertain
whether your chauffeur is up, and will tell him to get ready to
start."
"I was going to ask you to do that very thing, Corporal."
As the door closed on him, Fandor turned with an ironic salute towards
the little priest.
"Much pleased!" said he to himself. "And with the hope of never
meeting you on my road without Juve on my heels to offer you a pair of
handcuffs--the right bracelets for you, and richly deserved."
Fandor did not awaken the chauffeur. He went into the yard: there he
encountered the hotel-keeper. A brazen lie was the safe way, he
decided.
"We have passed a very good night," declared he. "My companions are
getting ready.... I am going to see if the car is in order for our
start."
To himself Fandor added: "As my little priest's window looks in the
opposite direction he cannot see what I am up to."
Fandor was an expert chauffeur. The car was fully supplied with petrol
and water--was in admirable order. The hotel-keeper was watching him.
"If they ask for me," said Fandor-Vinson, "tell them I have gone for a
test run, and will be back in three minutes."
With that he jumped into his seat, set the car in motion, passed
beneath the archway and on to the high road. He turned in the
direction of Barentin.
Fandor felt the charm of this early drive through the pastoral lands
of Normandy. Hope rose in him: was he not escaping from the terrifying
consequences of his Vinson masquerade!
"Evidently," thought he, "I must definitely abandon the role of
soldier: the risks are too great: if the military authorities laid me
by the heels, it would be all up with Fandor-Vinson!... The real
Vinson is certainly in foreign parts by now, and safe from arrest....
I know by sight the head spies at Verdun, the Norbet brothers: the
elegant tourist and his car, and that false priest!... I can continue
my investigations better in my own shoes, and I can get Juve to help
me!"
His thoughts dwelt on the mysterious abbe.
"I would give a jolly lot to know who this pretended abbe really is!"
He tore through the village of Barentin at racing speed.
A covered cart full of peasants stopped the way. Fandor drew up. He
addressed the driver:
"Monsieur, I have rather lost my bearings: will you kindly tell me in
which direction the nearest railway station lies?"
The driver, who was the mail carrier for Maronne, answered civilly:
"You must go to Motteville, Corporal. At the first cross-roads you
come to, turn to the right--keep straight on--that will bring you to
the station."
Corporal Fandor-Vinson thanked the man, and started off in the
direction indicated.
"All I have to do now," thought he, "is to discover some nice, lonely
spot for."...
Shortly after this he sighted a grove with a thick undergrowth. It
bordered the road. Fandor rushed his machine into a field, and brought
it to a stand-still in the centre of a clump of trees. He alighted.
"That motor is a good goer," said he, "but it is too dangerous a
companion--too conspicuous a mark."
As he thought of the stranded bundle of mystery at _The Flowery
Crossways_ he laughed. Then he started for the station at a steady
pace.
* * * * *
The chauffeur woke. He saw it was nine o'clock.
"Good lord!... I shall catch it hot! We were to start at eight!"
He dressed hastily; ran down to the yard; stared about him: his car
had vanished. Was he still dreaming?... He ran round to the front of
the hotel--no car! Was the car stolen?... Had they set off without
him?... The hotel-keeper was marketing in Rouen.... The stablemen
could throw no light on this mystery.
"Probably one of your masters has gone for a turn," suggested a man.
The chauffeur's anger grew.
"If they've dared to!" he shouted. "It is not their car!... I'm not in
their service!... That cure came to my garage yesterday and hired my
car for an outing.... What business has this cure or his soldier to
move my car?... I'll teach them who and what I am!"...
The farm boys, stable lads and men were shouting with laughter at the
chauffeur's fury. Said one:
"You know their room, don't you?... Why not see if they are in it?...
Make sure you have cause for all this dust up!"
The chauffeur rushed upstairs four at a time! He banged on the door of
the room taken by his temporary employer and the corporal--banged and
thumped!... No response!... He tried the door--unlocked!... He opened
it, looked in--empty!
Cursing and raging, the chauffeur clattered downstairs and collided
with the hotel-keeper.
"Where is my cure?" shouted the chauffeur.
"Your cure?" echoed the good fellow, staring.
"Yes, my cure. Or his corporal!... Where are they?... Where, I say?"
"Where are they?" gaped the hotel-keeper.
The entire hotel staff was grouped in the background, laughing.
"It's my car! I can't find it!... Do you know where it is?"
"Your car!" exclaimed the hotel-keeper. "But the corporal went off two
hours ago and more! He was going for a 'trial spin,' was what he told
me!"
"Was the cure with him?"
"No. The cure left just after him, saying he was going to send off a
telegram. Was it not true?"
The chauffeur sank on a chair.
"Here's a low-down trick!... Those dirty thieves have cut off with my
car! Let me catch them! I'll give them beans and a bit!"
The hotel was in an uproar; the wildest suggestions rained on the
distracted chauffeur. He pulled himself together; rose; called to the
hotel-keeper, who was mechanically searching the yard for the vanished
car:
"Where is the police station? I must warn the police. That priest and
corporal cannot have got so very far in two hours! They did not leave
together: they had to meet somewhere: they may not know how to manage
the car ... that means delay--a breakdown, perhaps!"
Mine host of _The Flowery Crossways_ was all the more ready to help
the chauffeur in that he had been cheated! Such fugitives would never
pay him the eighteen francs they owed him for bed and board unless
they were caught and made to disgorge.
"I will come with you to the police station," he announced. "I have my
complaint to make also!"
At the police station they saw the police sergeant himself. The
chauffeur had barely begun his tale of woe when the sergeant
interrupted with the smile of one imparting good news:
"You state that you have lost a motor-car. Does it happen to be red,
and will seat four persons?"
"Yes. That's it! Have you seen it?"
"Does it happen to have for number 1430 G-7?"
"Exact!... Has it passed this way?"
"Wait!... Were there not goatskin wraps inside?"
"Yes!... Yes!"
The sergeant laughed silently.
"Very well, then! I should say you were in luck! Now I am going to
tell you where your car is!"
The chauffeur beamed. "You know where my car is?"
"I do--a bare fifteen minutes ago it was found in the--open fields, on
Father Flory's land, some seventeen hundred yards from the Motteville
station.... Father Flory saw it when driving his cattle to pasture: he
asked himself if the car had not fallen from the skies during the
night!"
The hotel-keeper and chauffeur stared at each other. What had
possessed the fugitives to steal the car and then cast it away in the
open fields, so near the scene of their theft?... The devil was in it?
The hotel-keeper had an idea they had fled to avoid paying his bill.
The chauffeur cared only to get to the car as quickly as possible, to
assure himself that it was his car, and was not injured beyond repair.
After much haggling it was arranged that a little cart and horse
should take him to the desired spot. Meanwhile the hotel-keeper was to
go about his duties at _The Flowery Crossways_. The chauffeur must
needs return and telegraph to his garage in Paris for funds: he
declared he had not a sou on him.
Finally the chauffeur set off; perched on a big white mare which had
been rejected time and again by the Remount Department, he took the
road at a galloping trot. When he reached Father Flory's field he gave
a sigh of satisfaction. He recognised his car. It proved to be in good
condition. Whoever had driven it knew what he was about.
"It was the corporal," decided the joyful chauffeur. "That little cure
would be afraid of spoiling his little white hands!"
Surrounded by a crowd of peasants who had hurried from all the farms
in the neighbourhood, to see the motor-car which had grown up in a
single night in Father Flory's field, the chauffeur set his car in
motion. Hard work! The car had been driven deep into the soft soil....
At last he got to the road.
"A very good evening to you, ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted to the
peasants who, with ironic grins and hands in pockets, had watched him
at work. Not one had come forward to help him!
He set off at top speed for _The Flowery Crossways_.
* * * * *
Meanwhile the police sergeant, important, in full official uniform,
had started for _The Flowery Crossways_, accompanied by the
hotel-keeper.
"This affair requires looking into," he announced. "The law will have
more than a word to say about it. I must get further information and
make notes."
He, with the hotel-keeper at his heels, mounted to the little room
where Fandor and the little priest had passed the night. The policeman
uncovered on entering what he considered a sumptuous, superbly
decorated room. He had not the least idea how to set about his
investigations in order to get the best results. He seated himself in
an arm-chair. He fixed his eyes on the hotel-keeper.
"Do you know the name of these individuals?"
The hotel-keeper, thinking of the eighteen francs he had lost, and of
how he could indemnify himself, paid scant attention to the sergeant's
so-called investigations.
"Look here!" he cried. "That's a good thing! In their haste they have
forgotten to take this package!... There may be things of value in
it!... I may be able to pay myself out of them!"
The policeman rose: he also examined the package.
"In the name of the law I shall open this package to ascertain exactly
what is in it."
The two men undid the rope tightly bound round the covering; but
whilst mine host of _The Flowery Crossways_ had no idea of what the
contents of the package signified, the sergeant, who had formerly
served in the artillery, went white: his voice was stern.
"This is serious--very serious--it is the mouthpiece of a large
gun--larger than any I have come across!"
* * * * *
The recovered motor-car drew up before _The Flowery Crossways_ with a
flourish. The beaming chauffeur jumped down and went towards the
hotel-keeper and the police sergeant.
"It was my car all right!" he cried. "And I believed that never again
should I set eyes on it!... When I think."...
The chauffeur stopped short; the unresponsive hotel-keeper and the
police sergeant were staring at him fixedly. Not a word did they
utter.
The chauffeur stared in turn: then he asked:
"Well?... What is it?... Are you frozen, you two?... What's the matter
with you?... I inform you that I have found my motor, and that's how
you take it!"
The police sergeant answered:
"I must ask you to give us some highly necessary information and
explanations.... Do you know anything about the priest and the soldier
who hired your car and you?"
There was a questioning pause. The chauffeur broke it.
"I have already told you that I do not know them.... If I did, things
would not have happened as they have!... Now, why have you asked me
that question?"
The policeman's reply was another question: his tone was stern.
"Then you declare you had no idea of what they were taking with them
in your car?"
"What they were taking with them in my car?" repeated the chauffeur in
a tone of bewildered interrogation.
The police sergeant marched up to him.
"Look here, now! It is incredible that you do not know what is in that
corded-up package you carried in your car! And now your masters have
disappeared; we are to believe that you know nothing about that
either!... And now you return!... What is the reason of that?... And
is it to be supposed that I am going to allow you to make off again
without asking you to explain yourself and this extraordinary
situation?"
The chauffeur saw that the hotel-keeper sided with the police
sergeant: there was no support to be got in that quarter.
"Explain yourself, policeman!" burst out the chauffeur. "What's all
this humbugging claptrap you are giving me?"
"In the name of the law!" declared the offended police officer, in
solemn tones: "I think it advisable to arrest you!... You may consider
yourself my prisoner!"...
As the astounded chauffeur could not find words to answer this, the
sergeant added:
"Ah! My fine fellow! This is the way, then, you steal guns to help
the Germans to shoot the French? It's a mercy I spotted you!"
"But you are mad!--mad!--mad!" protested the chauffeur.... "You."...
The police sergeant cut him short.
"That is enough!... I am going to take you to Rouen!... You can
account for yourself to the magistrates!"
XXIII
LONDON AND PARIS
Juve and Henri de Loubersac passed the night on the quay. Daybreak
found them marching side by side, keeping their weary watch and ward.
De Loubersac had fallen silent; monosyllabic replies to Juve's remarks
had given place to no remarks at all. Juve looked at Henri and smiled.
"He has gone to the country of dreams: he sleeps standing."
In brotherly fashion, the policeman guided the young man towards the
shelter: settled him in, and left him. He was within call if needed;
meanwhile, he could have his sleep out.
Filling his pipe afresh, Juve resumed his walk along the quay. He was
uneasy; he was also in a bad humour. Why did Vinson and this priest
tarry on the way? Why should Corporal Vinson, bearer of this
compromising artillery piece, plant himself at a little hotel in Rouen
for the night? Had they been warned and stopped? Juve feared so.
"Evidently these men are acting for Fantomas," said he to himself:
"Fantomas must be watching the police: he knows them, but they do not
know him.... Suppose he knows of our arrival at Dieppe?... Suppose the
two traitors, being warned, have given our men the slip on the way?
Suppose this stop at Rouen was caused by the telegram they received at
the garage?... If our arrival here has been signalled, our watch will
be fruitless: neither Vinson nor the priest will show themselves on
this quay!"
As he kept his tireless vigil. Juve eyed the yacht swinging gently on
the rising tide. Could he find a pretext which would take him
aboard--justify a thorough investigation of boat and crew?... The
answer to more than one tormenting problem might lie hidden there!
Then Juve recalled his talk with de Loubersac. Had he been happily
inspired to speak so to him of the girl he loved, the enigmatic
Wilhelmine? Suppose de Loubersac, instead of questioning her, broke
with her?
"It would be abominable of me to spoil this child's love affair for
what are less than suspicions on my part--only the vaguest
hypothesis!"
Juve smoked and ruminated as he paced the lonely quay.
"I need not worry," concluded he at last. "Granting that we shall
clear up all these mysteries, Wilhelmine's innocence, her candour,
will be made manifest; that being so, Henri de Loubersac will be the
first to acknowledge it, the first to beg her forgiveness!... Lovers'
quarrels are not serious quarrels--so!"...
Juve continued his tireless promenade.
Sailors seeking their fishing-boats swung past him in the growing
light of day.
Juve looked at his watch.
"I told them to put on a special for the night, and they have
instructions to send me any telegrams.... Still, it is six o'clock....
I will see if there is anything fresh!"
Juve found de Loubersac fast asleep in the sentry box, and shook him
by the shoulder.
"Lieutenant!... Lieutenant!" he shouted: "Wake up! I want you to keep
watch while I run to Headquarters here.... There may be news!"
De Loubersac jumped up, wide awake in a moment. He took his turn on
the quay at once. Juve hurried to the police station. He was on the
doorstep when a telegraph boy rode up with a telegram. It was for our
detective. The paper shook in Juve's hands as his eyes devoured the
message: it was in cypher.
_"Corporal Vinson taken refuge in London--recognised and
identified by me this morning at four o'clock when leaving
Victoria Station. I followed him and know where he is. What
to be done next? Awaiting your orders."_
Juve wondered whether he was on his head or his heels. Vinson in
London! Left Victoria Station this morning! What did it mean?
"The wire is precise in its details. The man who sends it is a sharp
police spy--never hesitates, never makes a blunder!... It seems
evident that Vinson has given us the slip! He must have reached the
coast at some point, and, in an unnoticed boat, has passed under our
noses this very night!... Here's a go! The very deuce of a go!"
Intensely irritated, excited, Juve read and reread the telegram,
fussed and fumed about the police station under the scared eyes of the
policeman on guard duty. That worthy began to think the detective from
Paris was an unmitigated nuisance.
Juve did not take this humble colleague into his confidence. He issued
orders.
"You must not stir from here till the superintendent arrives. You will
hand him this telegram addressed to me here. I will wire instructions
in the morning where they are to be forwarded to me in England."
"In England!"
"Yes, I am crossing immediately by a Cook's excursion steamer, which
goes in an hour, unless I am mistaken!"
Juve found de Loubersac pacing the quay. He had been smoking cigar
after cigar to clear his head. Juve handed him a sheet of paper; on it
he had copied the text of the telegram.
"Read that!" he cried.... "These confounded spies have found means to
escape our attentions--but this is not the end of the game!"
Lieutenant Henri was thunderstruck.
"What are you going to do, Juve?"
"Reach London with all speed. Will you come, Lieutenant?"
De Loubersac considered.
"No," he decided.... "In the first place, I have no right to leave
the country unless authorised to do so. I am not free to act according
to my own good will and pleasure: besides, I have an idea there is
work for me in Paris.... To watch that little intriguer, Bobinette,
will be an interesting task: from what you told me yesterday, she is
up to the neck in those villainous plots and plans! While you
investigate in London, Paris shall be my field of operations. You
approve of this, Juve?"
"I think you are right."