However far back in our annals you might go, I am convinced you could
not find a precedent for this!"
"Your Majesty will not forget that with his name, a line of his
writing, all difficulties would be cleared away."
"Oh, as to that!... Have you considered that if this decree be
unmerited, this document will be a shameful one, and will reflect
shame not only on me but on my country? Do you not know that a king
has no right to put his signature, his seal to an injustice?"
"Sire, I know that a king should be Justice! Sire, I know I ask
nothing Your Majesty may not grant! Sire, I have urged, entreated! But
Your Majesty must excuse me when I say that I am no longer a
suppliant.... Your Majesty understands me?... It is Juve who requests
the signature of Your Majesty!"
The king was visibly hesitating. At last he replied:
"I understand you, Juve. You would remind me of that official visit to
Paris when you saved my life and the life of my queen at the risk of
your own. I told you then that I should never refuse you anything you
asked of me! It is to that you allude, is it not?"
"Sire, I should never call upon your Majesty to pay a debt you did not
acknowledge.... I did not then foresee that a decree from Your Majesty
would prove the solution of the most formidable problem I have ever
had to solve! I would far rather not recall the debt.... Your Majesty
has forced me to remind you of your given word."...
The king had risen and was pacing the room.
"If I grant you this decree, Juve, will you take it to the
Chancellor's Office as soon as you reach Paris?"
"Yes, Sire!"
"You will not wait, Juve, to have further proofs of what you assert?"
"No, Sire!"
"I must, then, rely solely on your word for it, your certainty, your
conviction?"
"Yes, Sire!"
"Juve! Juve! If you exact this in the name of the promise I once made
you, I will sign this decree for you--but--you will forfeit my
friendship! You will have taken my good faith by storm! Decide then,
Juve! Exact this--I grant it you!"
There was a silence.... Juve broke it.
"Surely Your Majesty does not wish to put me on the horns of such a
dilemma? Lose Your Majesty's friendship, confidence, or let pass a
unique opportunity?"
"Yes, Juve.... That is what I wish."
"In that case, Sire, I do not exact payment! But Your majesty is
breaking to pieces all that my life means! Sire, my own honour wills
it that I bring this business to a conclusion, cost what it may! With
Your Majesty's support it was possible.... With only my own resources
to depend on all is lost!"
It evidently cost the king something not to give Juve the satisfaction
he implored.
"Juve, this is cruel! I would rather you had exacted the decree....
But all is not ended.... I will order an investigation in a
fortnight's time."...
"In a fortnight's time? Your Majesty knows it will be too late."
The king continued his pacing up and down. He was considering the
question.
"Juve, can you bring me face to face with this man? Can you convict
him of his imposture in my presence?"
"What exactly does Your Majesty mean?"
"I mean, Juve, that whatever might be the scandal, the humiliation it
might result in for me, I would grant you here and now the decree you
claim if I were assured that you had not made a mistake.... You bring
me suppositions, Juve, but no proofs! Arrange so that this man throws
off his mask, if but for an instant, and I will allow your justice to
take its course!... Juve, forget that you are speaking to a king:
think of me as your friend!... Whatever the risks to be run, can you
bring us face to face under such conditions that the truth will be
apparent to me?"
Juve reflected. He raised his head and looked at the king.
"Your Majesty," said he slowly: "I am going to ask you to take an
extraordinary step.... I am going to ask Your Majesty to perhaps risk
your life. I am going to ask Your Majesty."...
Juve's emotion was such that he could scarcely speak. Mastering it, he
said in a low voice:
"I am going to ask Your Majesty to accompany me in three days' time ...
when."...
XXXV
AT THE COUNCIL OF WAR
"The Council, gentlemen!... Stand up!"
"Shoulder--arms!"
"Rest--arms!"
The seven military judges of the Council of War advanced solemnly, in
single file. They were in full dress uniform--sabres, epaulettes,
regulation plumes on helmets and caps. With all due ceremony they took
their respective places at a long green-covered table.
This opened at one o'clock, on the afternoon of the twenty-eighth of
December. The president was a colonel of dragoons, a smart,
distinguished-looking man, whose fair hair was slightly tinged with
grey at the temples.
On the right of the tribunal, before a bureau piled with voluminous
case papers, was seated Commandant Dumoulin, redder in the face than
ever. The place next him was filled by Lieutenant Servin, who showed
himself the very pink of correctness and meticulous elegance. Seated
near the lieutenant was a white-haired officer acting as clerk of
court.
The government commissioners had their backs to the court windows
which looked on to a very large garden; facing them was the dock,
guarded by two soldiers with fixed bayonets; behind the dock was the
table which stood for the bar where the counsel for the defence would
plead.
The centre of the room was occupied by an enormous cast-iron stove,
shedding cinders on every side, whose ancient pipes were scaly with
age.
Behind the line of soldiers cutting the room in two were narrow seats
and still narrower desks, where the representatives of the legal
press were seated as best they could.
Behind the journalists pressed a tightly packed crowd, restless,
overflowing with curiosity, leaning on the press-men's shoulders,
peering between their heads, for whom the authorities had shown but
scant consideration, and for whom the poorest accommodation was
provided.
All Paris had done their possible to be present, begging cards of
admittance, a favour which could be granted to a very limited number.
As soon as the interest aroused by the appearance of the members of
the Council of War had died down the crowd's attention was
concentrated on the hero of this sensational adventure: his doings had
been the one prevailing topic of conversation during the past few
days.
Jerome Fandor, modest, reserved, appeared indifferent to the mute
questioning of the hundreds of eyes focussed on him. Our journalist
wore Corporal Vinson's uniform. He had begged the authorities to let
him appear in civilian clothes: demands and entreaties had been so
much breath wasted.
The counsel assigned him was a shining light of the junior bar, Maitre
Durul-Berton.
The audience on the whole was favourably disposed towards this
well-known contributor to _La Capitale_. They knew that on many
occasions this well-informed journalist had rendered immense services
to honest folk and to society in general by placing his intelligence
and energy at the service of every good cause.
Then there was one strong indisputable point in his favour. Though he
had escaped from prison with the help of an unknown person, he had
returned, had given himself up, declaring he would not leave the
Council of War except by the big door with head held high, his
innocence established.
The president announced:
"We shall now call the names of the witnesses."
There was silence in the court-room while a sergeant who filled the
office of crier to the court, read out the names from a list in his
hands. The call-over lasted ten minutes. Most of the witnesses were
officers and men belonging to the garrisons of Verdun and Chalons.
Among these witnesses as they defiled before the tribunal Fandor
recognised some whose faces were graven on his memory during his brief
sojourn in the Saint Benoit barracks.
The first call resounded through the court-room:
"Inspector Juve!"
Juve approached the tribunal, proved he was present, then, in
conformity with the law, left the court-room, as did the other
witnesses called.
The presence of Juve reassured and comforted Fandor. Had not Juve said
to him:
"You must face your judges, little son; but I am greatly deceived if a
certain incident which will occur in the course of the hearing will
not alter the speech for the government from the first to the last!"
More than this Juve could not be got to say: he had put on his most
enigmatic manner and closed his lips.
The president of the Council addressed Fandor:
"Accused! Stand up!"
The president stared hard at the prisoner with his pale clear eyes
like porcelain expressing neither thoughts nor feelings.
Fandor stood erect, waiting.
An hour had gone by.
Juve, the first witness called, was finishing his evidence. Of all the
witnesses, he alone could give precise details which would confirm or
nullify Fandor's statements.
Juve had given a rapid sketch of Fandor's adventurous career, but had
carefully omitted to mention that Fandor's real name was Charles
Rambert.[11]
[Footnote 11: See Fantomas Series: vols. i, ii, iii.]
His defence of his friend was a eulogy.
Nevertheless, the revelations of Juve did not simplify the problem as
regards the grave charges of murder and spying brought against the
prisoner.
When Juve had finished his panegyric, the president spoke to the
point:
"All this is very well, gentlemen, very well--but the affair grows
more and more complicated, and who will come forward to elucidate it?"
From the back of the court came a sound, sharp-cut, clear:
"I!"
The sensation was immense. Members of the Council looked at one
another. There was a disturbance at the back of the room: the crowd
swayed, and peered, and whispered.
The colonel-president frowned. He scrutinised the close-packed swaying
mass. He shot a question at it.
"Who spoke?"
Sharp, distinct, a monosyllable was shot back.
"I!"
Someone, pushing a way through the audience, was approaching the
military tribunal.
A murmur rose from the crowd.
"Silence!" shouted the colonel. He swept the crowd with an angry eye:
he threatened.
"I warn you! At the least manifestation, favourable or otherwise, I
shall have the room cleared: we are not here to amuse ourselves. I do
not authorise anyone, either by gesture or by speech, to comment on
what is taking place within these walls."
Having obtained comparative quiet, the colonel looked squarely at the
person who had approached the witness-stand and was facing the
military tribunal.
This would-be witness was a young woman, elegantly clad. She wore
black furs, and a dark veil partially concealing her features, but
revealing the strange pallor of her face. The audience, who had a view
of the newcomer's back, noted her masses of tawny red hair, set off by
a fur toque.
The colonel put her to the question at once.
"You are the person who said 'I'?"
The young woman was greatly moved, but she answered firmly:
"Yes, Monsieur. That is so."
"Who are you, Madame?"
The witness collected her forces, pressed her hand to her heart as
though to still its frantic beating: paused. In a clear strong voice
she made her declaration:
"I am Mademoiselle Berthe: I am better known as Bobinette."
Exclamations from the crowd, craning necks, peering eyes, murmurs.
When the excitement was suppressed, the colonel interrogated
Bobinette.
"Why have you taken upon yourself to interrupt the proceedings of the
court?"
"You asked, Monsieur, who could clear up this unfortunate affair. I am
ready to tell you everything. Not only is it a duty imposed on me by
my conscience, it is also my most ardent wish."
The judges were in earnest consultation. Commandant Dumoulin was
shaking his head. He was angrily opposed to this witness being heard,
a witness who had appeared so inopportunely to trouble the majesty of
the sitting.
The counsel for the defence intervened.
"Monsieur the president, I have the honour to request an immediate
hearing for this witness.... It is your absolute right, Monsieur the
president: you have full discretionary powers."
"And if I oppose it?" growled the commandant behind his desk, with a
vicious glance at the defender of his adversary.
Maitre Durul-Burton replied with calm dignity:
"If you oppose it, Monsieur the commissaire, I shall have the honour
of immediately deposing on the bureau of this tribunal conclusive
evidence which will bring this sitting to a close forthwith."
An animated discussion ensued between the members of the council. It
resulted in the colonel's announcement:
"We will hear this witness."
He addressed Bobinette:
"You are allowed to speak, mademoiselle. Swear then to speak the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Raise your right
hand and say: 'I swear it!'"
With a certain dignity Bobinette obeyed.
"I swear it!"
Then, in a low trembling voice, trembling from excess of emotion but
not from timidity, Bobinette began her story.
A child of the people, honestly brought up, she had not always
followed the straight path of virtue: there had been lapses.
Intelligent, longing to learn, she had been well educated, and had
intended to take a medical degree.... Again, at the hospital, she had
succumbed to temptations, had led a life of idleness, and had
renounced all idea of working for her doctor's diploma. Instead, she
had become a hospital nurse.[12]
[Footnote 12: See _Fantomas_: vol. i, Fantomas Series.]
Here the colonel interrupted:
"What can these details matter to us, Mademoiselle? What we want to know is
not your own history, but that of the guilty person--information pertinent
to the case in hand."
In a strangely solemn voice, Bobinette replied:
"You would know the history of the guilty person?... Listen!"
The tribunal was impressed: the members, silent, attentive, let the
witness have her way.
Bobinette touched on the various stages of her life up to the day when
she came in contact with the Baron de Naarboveck. The care she had
lavished on the youthful Wilhelmine gained the gratitude of the rich
diplomat and his daughter. From that time they treated her as one of
themselves: she became Mademoiselle de Naarboveck's companion.
"Ah, cursed be that day!" cried Bobinette.... "Misfortunes, tragedies,
date from then. The worst is--I must confess it--I was the cause of
them!"
"What do you mean by that?" interrupted Commandant Dumoulin.
"I mean to say that if Captain Brocq died by an assassin's hand, the
blame is mine!... I mean to say that if a confidential document
disappeared from his rooms, it is because I took it!... I was his
mistress!... I am responsible for his death!"
There was a gasping silence: the sensation was intense. Juve, half
hidden behind the cast-iron stove, alone remained unmoved.
Bobinette continued:
"My evil genius, gentlemen, was a bandit of the worst kind: you know
him under the name of Vagualame. Vagualame, agent of the Second
Bureau, and officially a counter-spy. Quite so. But, gentlemen,
Vagualame was equally spying on France, a traitor in the pay of a
foreign power: worse still, he it was who assassinated Captain Brocq:
you know he was the murderer of the singer, Nichoune!...
"This Vagualame made of me his thing, his slave! Alas! I cannot
pretend that it was under the perpetual menace from this monster I
became a traitor! I have so many betrayals that must count against me:
betrayal of my country, betrayal of Captain Brocq's love for me! I
robbed him in every kind of way: I stole the document referring to the
mobilisation scheme: I stole his money--bank-notes--with the excuse
that it was to put the police on the wrong scent and make them believe
it was an ordinary burglary.
"These notes, gentlemen, were found in the possession of the
unfortunate Jerome Fandor. It seems they constitute an overwhelming
charge against him. Know then, that after having been stolen by my
hands they were given to Jerome Fandor by one of our agents, for the
purpose of compromising the false Corporal Vinson.... But if I have
acted thus, it was not so much through a desire for the money they
gave me for my treachery, not so much for the fallacious promises of
eventual riches which Vagualame was always trying to dazzle me
with--it was through rancour, spite, hate, it was through love!"
Maitre Durul-Burton rose and, bending towards the half-fainting
Bobinette, cried:
"Speak, speak, Mademoiselle!"
Bobinette went on slowly:
"Through love--yes. And it is an avowal which touches me nearly,
wounds me in the depths of my soul, in my most intimate thoughts....
"Yes, I have given away to the vile suggestions of Vagualame, if I
have let myself be drawn by him into horrible by-paths of spying and
treason, it is owing to the spite and rage of an unrequited love, of
an intense passion, intense beyond expression, which I have felt for a
man--a man whose heart was given to another--for the betrothed of
Mademoiselle de Naarboveck--for Lieutenant Henri de Lou----"
The colonel-president, with a brusque gesture, interrupted this
confession.
"Enough, Mademoiselle ... enough!... You are not to mention names
here!... Be good enough to continue your deposition only as it relates
to facts connected with spying."
Bobinette then recounted how she had consented to hide the famous gun
piece brought to her one day by Vagualame; how she had helped the
bandit to concoct the daring plan by which this piece was to be handed
to a foreign power; how she had disguised herself as a priest in order
to take Corporal Vinson to Dieppe. She did not know, at first, that
she was dealing with Jerome Fandor. Enlightenment came through
Vagualame's telegram. She only then realised that the traitor Vinson
and the soldier in her company were two distinct persons.
"And," cried she, "who killed the real Corporal Vinson but a few days
ago in the rue du Cherche-Midi? I know. It was the murderer of Captain
Brocq, the murderer of the singer, Nichoune--it was Vagualame ...
Vagualame!" Bobinette was working herself up to a paroxysm of
exasperation, shouting out her revelations like an apostle who means
to convince, shouting his convictions as a martyr might at the worst
moment of her anguish.
"Vagualame? You ask who he is, and you search among the thieves, the
receivers of stolen goods and light-fingered gentry, you search among
the secret agents, among that low unclean crowd which gravitates to
your Staff Offices and circulates about them, forever on the watch, on
the prowl to surprise some secret, to buy over some conscience, to
sell and bargain over some purloined document!... Look higher than
that, gentlemen--much higher! Look higher than the Staff Offices, than
the leaders in the political world, than members of the Government,
even--fix your attention on the accredited representatives of foreign
powers."...
Bobinette was unable to continue.... Commandant Dumoulin had been too
excited to remain in his seat. He rushed towards the witness, who was
making what he considered to be wild and outrageous statements: he put
his big hand over her mouth, effectually silencing her....
The commandant turned to the colonel, shouting:
"Colonel! Monsieur the president!... I demand that this case be now
heard in camera! Such accusations must not be heard in public!... I
beg you to order that the rest of this case be heard behind closed
doors!"
The counsel for the defence rose in his turn, and in a calm tone,
which contrasted with the violence of Commandant Dumoulin, declared:
"I am in agreement with this demand, Monsieur the President.... Will
you order that the further hearing of this case be in camera?"
Here Commandant Dumoulin, to whom Lieutenant Servin had made a
suggestion, intervened anew:
"Monsieur the President, gentlemen, having regard to the grave
declarations made by this witness, I require her immediate arrest!"
Hardly had this demand been voiced when a loud cry rang out,
electrifying the whole court. Bobinette had swallowed the contents of
a small phial hidden in her muff!
Juve, guessing Bobinette's intention, had rushed to her, but, in spite
of his rapid action, he reached her only in time to receive the
fainting girl in his arms.
"She has poisoned herself!" shouted Juve.
The public broke bounds, knocked over chairs and benches, rolled in a
surge of excited curiosity to the very feet of the Council of War,
crowding round this fresh centre of interest--Bobinette!
Fandor was too stunned by the avalanche of incidents to move.
"The hearing is suspended!" shouted the colonel in an angry voice.
There was nothing else to be done: the court was in an uproar!
It was nine in the evening, and a crowd as large and densely packed as
before awaited the verdict.
Since Bobinette attempted suicide--she had been removed to the
infirmary with the faint hope that life was not extinct and she might
yet be saved--the hearing had been conducted in camera. But the
revelations of the guilty girl had not only upset Dumoulin's course of
procedure, but had also convinced the judges of Fandor's innocence. He
had once more explained why he had concealed his identity beneath the
uniform of Corporal Vinson.
The Council of War had come to the conclusion that they could not
consider Fandor accountable to their tribunal.
At nine o'clock then, after a short deliberation, the Council of War
delivered judgment through the mouth of its president, delivered
judgment according to the solemn formula, commencing thus:
"_In the name of the French People!_"
Jerome Fandor was acquitted.
The news of his acquittal was received with hearty cheers.
* * * * *
Fandor was free.
Congratulations, hand-shakings, questions followed.
Mechanically he responded, though he had a smile for Lieutenant Servin
when he murmured, with a touch of irony:
"The judgment made no mention, Monsieur Fandor, of the clothes--the
borrowed clothes--you are wearing: but it seems to be established that
they do not belong to you. Be kind enough, then, to return them to the
authorities as soon as possible! Otherwise we shall be obliged to
summon you afresh for appropriation of military garments!"
The lieutenant had had his little joke, and departed laughing.
The crowd melted away. Only a few of Fandor's colleagues remained. To
them he talked more freely of his troubles and trials. Then Juve
arrived on the scene again. He was no longer the impassive listener
of the trial: he was friend Juve, beaming and joyous.
He embraced his dear Fandor effusively, murmuring:
"Now, old Fandor, this is not the moment to linger! We must be off
instanter. I shall see you to your flat, where you can change into
clothes of your own; for this evening we have our work cut out for
us!"
"This evening?" Fandor's curiosity was aroused.
Juve, as they went off together, became mysterious.
"Ah! you will understand presently!"
XXXVI
AMBASSADOR!... ?...
"Hurry up, Fandor! We must be off!... We shall be late!"
Jerome Fandor slipped on his overcoat and took the stairs at a rush in
the wake of Juve.
"Well, I like that, old Juve! Here have I been waiting for you a good
quarter of an hour!... You will have to give the coachman an address,
anyhow, and that will tell me where you are taking me, why you have
made me get into evening clothes, and why you are in that unusual
get-up yourself--it's unheard of!"
"It is true, lad! I amuse myself making mysteries!... It is stupid....
Well, Fandor, we are going to a ball."...
"A ball!"
"Yes--and I think we shall lead someone there a fine dance, or I am
much mistaken."
"Who, then?"
"The master of the house!"
"You speak in riddles, Juve!"
"Not at all! Do you know where we are going, Fandor, lad?"
"I ask you that, Juve."
"Well, then--we are going to the house of--Fantomas--to arrest him!"
"Ye gods and little fishes!" cried Fandor.
Juve crossed the pavement and jumped into a carriage, making room for
his dear lad beside him.
"But, Juve," remonstrated Fandor: "You declared to me the other day
that it was impossible to arrest de Naarboveck--that he was
inviolable--but you did not tell me why.... Isn't that true?"
"It is true."
"And it is so no longer."
"It still is so."
After all he had been through, Fandor was in a state of high tension.
He caught Juve's hand and beat it with angry impatience.