CROCHARD, THE INVINCIBLE!
Pachmann jerked round with an oath. At the first glance, he thought it
was the Prince who stood there, though it had not been the Prince's
voice. A second glance undeceived him. There was, it is true, a certain
puzzling resemblance to the Prince, but this man was more strongly
built, more graceful--and the Prince could never smile like that! And
then, with a little bow, the newcomer removed the broad-brimmed hat
which shadowed his face, and, with a sudden feeling of sickness,
Pachmann recognised him.
But the Admiral was a brave man, with a nerve not easily shaken;
besides, the odds were all in his favour! Yet he realised the need for
all his resource, all his self control. At the end of a moment, he rose
slowly, almost carelessly.
"Who are you, sir?" he demanded.
"Do you not know me?" laughed the stranger. "Surely, yes! I saw your
eyes penetrate this slight disguise. I crossed with you on the
_Ottilie_, Admiral, as Andre Chevrial. I believe you even did me the
honour to convince yourself that that was really my name. I am,
however, better known in Paris as Crochard, L'Invincible!"
"Ah," said Pachmann, with a tightening of the brows, "a spy, then?"
"No, Admiral; a patriot like yourself."
"And your business here?"
"I have already stated it: to accept for France the services of this
incomparable man."
Something flashed in Pachmann's hand, but even as he jerked up his arm,
there was a soft impact, and a revolver clattered to the floor. Crochard
sprang for it, seized it, and slipped it into his pocket.
"I was expecting that," he said, still smiling. "Now we can talk more at
our ease," and he came into the bedroom, closed the door, placed a chair
against it, and sat down. "Pray be seated, M. Vard," he added
courteously to the inventor. "And you, Admiral."
Pachmann, white with pain, was nursing a numbed and nerveless hand. He
sat down slowly, his eyes on the face of his antagonist.
"You should admire this weapon, Admiral," Crochard went on, extending
for his inspection what looked like an ordinary revolver. "It is a most
useful toy, of my own invention--or, perhaps, I would better say adapted
by me from an invention of that ingenious Sieur Hyacinthe, who was
pistol-maker to the Great Louis. Should you ever visit Paris, I should
be charmed to show you the original at the Carnavalet. This embodies
some improvements of my own. It can, as you have seen, discharge, almost
noiselessly, a disabling ball; it can also, not quite so noiselessly,
discharge a bullet which will penetrate your body, and which no bone
will stop or turn aside. Should you open your mouth to shout, I can,
still with this little implement, fling into your face a liquid which
will strike you senseless before your shout can come, or a poison a
single breath of which means death. And I assure you, my dear Admiral,
that I shall hesitate no more than you to use any of these Agencies
which may be necessary."
Pachmann listened, glowering; but, he told himself, he was not yet
defeated; and he sat rubbing his hand and measuring his adversary.
"What do you imagine to be the exact nature of the services of which you
speak?" he asked, at last.
"Their nature? Why, their nature will be of the same sort as those
already offered to your Emperor."
"Yes?"
"The position of leader in the movement for world-wide disarmament,"
said Crochard, and smiled as Pachmann's lips whitened. "Ah, my dear
Admiral, your Emperor is too selfish, too ambitious--he has, as an
English poet puts it, that ambition which overleaps itself. He should
have accepted the arrangement which M. Vard proposed. That would have
been glory enough. But no; he must dream of being a greater than
Napoleon, of world-empire; and in consequence he will lose that which he
already has. But I foresaw it; I foresaw it from the moment M. Vard
stipulated that Alsace-Lorraine must be returned to France. I knew that
your Emperor was not great enough--that he has too small a soul--to
consent to that restitution!"
Pachmann raised his head slowly.
"So it was you who listened at the door, that night?" he said.
"Yes, it was I. And it was I who discovered that you and a companion
whom I will not name waited for sunrise, one Monday morning, on the quay
at Toulon. For that, France must have revenge."
Crochard's eyes were gleaming now, and there was no smile upon his lips.
Instead there was in his face a deadly earnestness, a fierce hatred,
before which Pachmann shrank a little.
"She shall have it!" cried a voice from the bed, where Vard had been
bending forward, drinking in every word. "She shall have it!"
"You hear?" said Crochard, and then he smiled again. "Ah, my dear
Admiral, it was a mistake to insist upon that test! It could have been
made, just as well, upon some old hulk of your own--and then France
would have had nothing for which to exact vengeance! I pity you; for it
is you and you alone, who have brought this retribution to your
country. From first to last, you have behaved like a fool in this
affair. It was you who betrayed her!"
"I?" stammered Pachmann. "I? In what way? By what means?"
"By means of the hundred-franc note with which you paid your reckoning
at Toulon. That was careless, Admiral; it was not like you. You should
have carried gold, not paper--that would have told no secrets. But bank
notes are numbered. And then, when you gave our friend here a packet of
similar notes--I do not see how you could expect to escape, after that!"
Pachmann struck his forehead heavily with his open hand.
"So it was that!" he groaned. "So it was that! Yes, I was a fool!"
There was pity in the gaze which Crochard bent upon him. He could guess
what this good German suffered at that moment.
"That was not your fault," he said, "so much as that of the person who
supplied you with those notes, after getting them directly from the Bank
of France. But, at this end of the journey, how clumsy you were! All
that haste, all that circling--and for nothing!"
"You followed us, then?"
"Why no!" laughed Crochard. "I had no need to follow you. I had only to
be at your consulate at seven o'clock."
Pachmann could only stare.
"The appointment was made on the open deck," said Crochard; "I was
expecting it, and my ears are sharp! Well I was there at that hour, as
well as M. Webster--and you led me straight here! That was careless!
That was clumsy! After that, you deserved to fail!"
"How did you enter here?" asked Pachmann, hoarsely. "My men--are they--"
"They are on guard below, no doubt. But their eyes are not so keen as
yours nor their ears so sharp--and then my imitation of the Prince's
voice and manner was very good. I admit I kept my face somewhat in the
shadow. They passed me without question."
Pachmann, with sudden intentness, scanned the other's garments.
"Yes, they, at least, are genuine," laughed Crochard. "The Prince was
most indignant at having to remove them. My heart bled for him--but
there was no other way. Beyond a little tightness across the shoulders,
and a little looseness about the waist, they do very well."
"The Prince is a prisoner?" Pachmann asked.
"A hostage--to be released when I give the word. You should warn him to
choose his cabs more carefully--never, in a strange city, to take the
first that offers!"
"Then," said Pachmann, his face livid, "you have confederates--you are
not alone!"
"I have friends," Crochard assented, "who were happy to oblige me by
taking charge of the Prince. More than that I did not ask of them."
"You mean," asked Pachmann, almost in a whisper, "that you are alone
here?"
"Quite alone, my dear Admiral," Crochard assured him, and smiled
pleasantly.
Pachmann regarded the speaker for another moment; then he drew a deep
breath, and a little colour crept back into his cheeks.
"M. Crochard," he said, "or whatever may be your name, I admire your
dexterity and your daring. I wish Germany possessed a few such men as
you. Nothing, I suppose would tempt you--no wealth, no position?"
"I am a Frenchman, monsieur," answered Crochard, quietly.
Pachmann sighed.
"I see I must abandon that project. I am sorry. For, let me warn you,
all your dexterity, all your daring, cannot get you alive out of this
house. If the Prince is a hostage for your safety, then he must be
sacrificed. So far as my own life is concerned, it is nothing. I have
two men below who, at a shout from me, or at the report of the shot
which kills me, will shoot you down as you attempt to descend the stair.
That is my order. There is from this house but one way out--the door by
which you entered. You may kill me--I shall welcome that!--but you
yourself will infallibly be killed a moment later."
"That may be," said Crochard lightly, "but I am not so sure of it. At
any rate, if M. Vard is ready, I am prepared to make the trial."
"I am ready!" cried the inventor, and sprang to his feet.
Crochard rose and moved the chair from before the door. Pachmann, with a
steady eye, measured the distance between himself and the Frenchman.
But Vard, his eyes blazing, stepped in front of the Admiral.
"So this is your reward!" he sneered. "You, who would have betrayed me,
who would have made me infamous, shall yourself be infamous! Now it is
France's turn--for her I will produce a new instrument--"
"That is not necessary, M. Vard," broke in Crochard. "There need not be
even that small delay. I have the old one here," and he tapped the
pocket of his coat.
"The old one!" echoed Vard. "But Kasia destroyed it!"
"It was not destroyed. I will explain. Are you quite ready? Then pass
out before me and await me in the outer room."
Still staring, Vard opened the door. Then he sprang to the table with a
glad cry, and caught up the box which stood there.
"It is complete again!" he cried. "It is--"
With a hoarse shout, Pachmann leaped at Crochard's throat. But, in
midair, a spatter of liquid broke against his face, and his body hurtled
onward to the floor.
And then, from the floor below, came an answering shout, a shot, the
clatter of heavy feet....
With shining eyes, Crochard dropped on one knee beside his adversary,
and bent for a moment above the body. Then he sprang to his feet and
switched off the light.
"Stand here!" he said, snatched the inventor to one side, and stood
facing the outer door.
But it did not open. No further sound reached them.
"Cowards!" muttered Crochard. "They wait in ambush! Well, let us see,"
and, stealing to the door, he opened it softly, softly, bracing his knee
against it.
Still there was no sound.
Cautiously he peered out. The hall was empty.
Noiselessly he crawled to the stair-head and looked down. He could see
no one. But where were Pachmann's men--hiding somewhere in the hall
below, waiting for him to appear....
He drew back with a little exclamation, for from somewhere below came
the groan of a man in pain.
For a moment Crochard sat with bewildered face, trying to understand.
Then he sprang to his feet and went rapidly from door to door in the
upper hall. All of them were armed with heavy outside bolts, but only
one was fastened. He drew the bolts and opened the door a crack.
"Is any one here?" he asked.
There was no response, and, feeling for the switch, he turned on the
lights and looked in. The room was empty. But in an instant his eye had
seen three details--the shattered furniture, the disordered bed, the
open window.
At the window, the corner of a sheet was tied securely to a hinge of the
heavy shutter, which had been pried open. Crochard touched it
thoughtfully and nodded. Then he peered down into the well-like court on
which the window opened. But he could see no movement there.
He retraced his steps to the hall, and again peered cautiously from the
stair-head, and again heard that dismal groaning.
"Come," he murmured; "there is not much to fear from that fellow!" and
he resolutely descended, eyes alert, pistol in hand. Halfway down, he
stopped in amazement, for the front door swung wide open. But at last he
finished the descent and looked about him.
Against the wall back of the stairs sat a burly figure, one hand pressed
to his shoulder. A red stream oozed between his fingers, and his dull
eyes showed that he was only half-conscious. He was groaning
spasmodically with each breath. Across from him was an open door, and
looking cautiously through it, Crochard perceived on the floor of the
room beyond a second burly figure, motionless on its back.
"Upon my word!" he commented. "That young fellow does his work well! A
charming exploit! But we must not be found here!" And without waiting to
see more, he sprang back up the stair. Vard was standing where he had
left him, his beloved box clasped tightly against his breast, his eyes
staring straight before him, vacant and expressionless.
"Come," said Crochard, and took his hand. "The way is clear. But we must
hasten."
Vard went with him down the stair; but at the foot he paused.
"And Kasia?" he asked.
"She is safe. Come. We will go to her."
Obediently as a child, the white-haired man followed his companion out
into the night.