At this question the girl's eyes flashed:
"They have put into print shameful things about this poor dear Baroness,
and about my brother also. The papers have represented her as eccentric,
as mad; they have said worse things than that, you know that, don't
you?... They have declared that there was a very intimate relation
between her and my brother--I cannot say more--it is too hateful! It is
all false--as false as false can be! The Baroness was particularly
interested in Jacques, but assuredly that was owing to the long standing
relations between her family and ours.... The suicide of the Baroness
has been a sad addition to my grief, for I was very fond of her!..."
Fandor had been listening attentively to Elizabeth's story. He now said:
"You have used the word 'suicide,' mademoiselle: do you then really
think, as everyone seems to do, that your patroness killed herself of
her own free will?"
Elizabeth reflected a minute before replying:
"That was what she wrote--and one must believe that, nevertheless ..."
"Nevertheless?"
Elizabeth hesitated, passed her hand over her forehead, then said:
"Nevertheless, Monsieur Fandor, the more I think over this death, the
more remarkable it seems. The Baroness de Vibray was not the kind of
person to commit suicide, even if she were unhappy, even if she were
ruined. I have often heard her speak of her money affairs; she even used
to joke about the expostulations of her bankers, Messieurs
Barbey-Nanteuil, because she was too fond of gambling. That was our poor
friend's weakness: she was a dreadful gambler: she was always betting on
horses and gambling on the Bourse."[8]
[Footnote 8: Stock Exchange.]
"Do you know the Barbey-Nanteuils at all, mademoiselle?"
"A little. I have met them once or twice at Madame de Vibray's--when she
had one of her little evenings. Once or twice my brother has asked their
advice about investments--very modest investments I can assure you--and
they got one of their friends, a Monsieur Thomery, to buy some of my
brother's art pottery."
"Have you many acquaintances in Paris, mademoiselle?"
"Besides the Baroness we hardly saw anyone except Madame Bourrat, a very
nice, kind woman, widow of an inspector of the City of Paris; she keeps
a boarding-house at Auteuil, rue Raffet. In fact, I am staying with her
now, for I had not the courage to go back to my brother's place: too
many dreadful memories are connected with his studio there. I am lucky
to find such a sympathetic friend in Madame Bourrat, and such a warm
welcome.... I am alone now, and life is sad."
Fandor went on with his cross-examination:
"Nevertheless, mademoiselle, I must ask you to return in thought to that
tragic home of yours. Please tell me what people you knew in your
immediate neighbourhood? Acquaintances?"
Elizabeth considered:
"Acquaintances is the word, because we were not on really intimate terms
with our neighbours in the Cite; for the most part they are either art
students or work-people. However, we saw fairly often a nice man, a
stranger, a Dutchman I think he was, called Monsieur Van Hoeren; he
manufactures accordions; and lives in a little house opposite ours, with
six children; he has been a widower for years! Also there was a Monsieur
Louis, an engraver, who used to take tea with us in the evening
sometimes, his wife also: he is employed in the Posts and Telegraphs. We
had practically no other acquaintances."
Elizabeth stopped. There was a silence. Fandor asked another question:
"Tell me, mademoiselle, when you entered the studio for the first time
after the tragedy, did you notice anything abnormal?"
The poor girl shuddered at the appalling picture before her mind's eye:
"Good Heavens, monsieur," she cried, "I did not examine the studio
minutely! I had only one thought--to be with my brother, who had been so
unjustly accused, so ..."
Fandor interrupted to ask:
"Do you not know that at his preliminary examination your brother
declared that he had not received a single visitor during the evening
preceding the tragedy? How then do you explain the fact that the
Baroness de Vibray was found dead in his studio, and at his side, when
no one had seen her enter it? Did your brother make a mistake? Please
tell me what you think about it!"
Elizabeth gazed anxiously at the young journalist, then fixed her eyes
on the floor. Her hands twitched; she began to twist her fingers
feverishly:
"Do trust me!" begged Jerome Fandor. "Please tell me what you think!"
Elizabeth rose, took several steps, and placed herself in front of the
journalist:
"Ah, monsieur, there is something mysterious, which I cannot explain! As
a matter of fact, someone must have come to see my brother that evening:
I cannot assert it as a fact beyond dispute certainly: but in my own
mind I feel quite sure about it."
"But you must have more proof of it than that?" cried Fandor.
"But--there is more!" cried Elizabeth, as if enlightened by a sudden
discovery: "There is a fact!..."
"Tell me, do!" cried Fandor, intensely interested.
"Well, just imagine, then! Among the papers scattered over his table,
and close to his book, which was open, I noticed a sort of list of names
and addresses, written on our own note-paper, and in the kind of green
ink we use--so--well ..."
"So," interrupted the journalist, "you came to the conclusion that this
list had been written at your brother's house?"
"Yes, and it was not my brother's handwriting."
"Nor that of the Baroness de Vibray?"
"Nor that of the Baroness de Vibray!"
"And what did this list contain?"
"Names, addresses, I tell you, of persons we knew. There were also two
or three dates...."
"And is that all?"
"That is all, monsieur: I saw nothing else!"
"Little enough," murmured Fandor, disappointed. "Still no detail,
however slight, must be ignored!... What have you done with that list,
mademoiselle?"
"I must have taken it with me when I collected all the papers I could
find the day before yesterday, before going to the boarding-house at
Auteuil."
"When you have an opportunity, will you bring me that list?" requested
Fandor.
* * * * *
The conversation was interrupted. A boy came to tell Fandor that he was
wanted on the telephone by someone in the Public Prosecutor's Office.
* * * * *
Later on in the day Jerome Fandor sent the following express message to
Elizabeth Dollon:
_"Do not believe a word of the Police Headquarters' version which
you will read in this evening's 'La Capitale.'"_
This despatched, our journalist commenced his article entitled:
STILL THE AFFAIR OF THE RUE NORVINS
_Police Headquarters takes a view of this affair which is the very
reverse of that taken by our contributor, Jerome Fandor._
_By the Seine sewer, the roofs of the Palace, and the chimney of
Marie Antoinette, an inspector has succeeded in reaching the
Depot._
_Police Headquarters is convinced that Jacques Dollon escaped
alive!_
VII
PEARLS AND DIAMONDS
"Nadine!"
"Princess!"
"Nadine, what time is it?"
The young Circassian, with hair as black as ink, souple and slender,
rose from her chair and was hastening from the bedroom to ascertain the
time when her mistress recalled her:
"Don't go away, Nadine! Stay with me!"
The dusky Circassian obeyed: she stared with big, astonished eyes into
those of her mistress:
"But, Princess, why don't you wish me to go?"
The Princess stammered in a mysterious tone:
"Don't you know then, Nadine, that to-day is the anniversary?... and I
am frightened!"
* * * * *
Princess Sonia Danidoff was in her bath robe. It must have been a
quarter past eleven, or even nearer midnight than that. Although she had
lived in Paris for years, she had never been able to make up her mind to
settle in a flat of her own. Possessing an immense fortune, she much
preferred the American way of living, and had taken a suite of rooms in
one of those great palace-hotels near the place de l'Etoile. Though a
very smart staff of servants was reserved for her exclusive use, her
favourite attendant was a pretty Circassian, in whom she had absolute
confidence. This Nadine was a native of Southern Russia. The movement of
city life and civilised manners and customs had at first terrified this
little savage; but she had learned to adapt herself to her changed
surroundings, and was now high in the favour of Princess Sonia. She, and
she alone, was authorised to be present when the beautiful great lady
took her daily baths. For some years past the Princess had insisted on
the presence of a maid when she took her baths: without fail they must
either be in the bathroom itself, or in the room next to it, within
reach or call. But on this particular evening Sonia Danidoff, more
nervous and restless than usual, would not allow Nadine to leave her for
a second. As to the time--well, if she did not know the exact time it
could not be helped! Really it did not matter to her whether she were
half an hour or no, for the ball given in her honour by Thomery, the
millionaire sugar refiner: in fact, it would be much better to make her
appearance after all the guests had assembled--her arrival would give
the crowning touch of brilliancy to this society function.
Sonia Danidoff had pronounced the word "anniversary" in a tone of
anguish so sincere that Nadine was genuinely alarmed. She knew, only too
well, what this fatal word meant to her mistress.
She had not forgotten that five years ago to the day, just when the
Princess was enjoying her evening bath, a mysterious individual had
appeared before her, who, after frightening her, had robbed her of a
large sum of money. The adventure would have been little out of the
ordinary, for hotel robberies are frequent, had not the audacious bandit
been quickly identified as the enigmatic and elusive Fantomas, whose
prodigious reputation had only increased with the passage of the years.
Sonia Danidoff, who was not ignorant of the dramatic adventures imputed
to this legendary hero, could not bear to think of the position she had
been placed in that awful night, when, threatened and robbed by
Fantomas, she had escaped death by a series of unknown and unguessable
circumstances: the tormenting mystery of it all had preyed insistently
upon her mind. Since then Sonia Danidoff had never taken a bath without
thinking of Fantomas; and every year when the anniversary of his
aggression came round she suffered cruelly: she was seized with wild,
unreasoning fears at the idea that she might see this terrifying bandit
appear before her again, and that this time he would be merciless.
Nadine knew all this. She also shuddered at the vision this horrible
anniversary evoked, but controlling herself, she was anxious to change
the current of her dear mistress's thoughts:
"Forget, try to forget, Sonia Danidoff," she counselled in her melodious
voice: "You are going to a ball--at Monsieur Thomery's--at your fiance's
house!"
The Princess shuddered:
"Ah, Nadine, my Nadine!" she cried, raising herself, and regarding her
maid with a strange look: "I cannot overcome my uneasiness--my
alarms!... This coincidence of date agitates me.... You know how
superstitious we are at home--in our Russia--and the life I lead in
Paris has not destroyed in me the simplicity of soul of a daughter of
the Steppes!"
Nadine did not know what reply to make to this pathetic outburst. The
Princess went on:
"And then, do you see, I think it wrong of Monsieur Thomery to even want
to give this ball, only a fortnight after the tragic death of that poor
Baroness de Vibray!... I tried to dissuade him from it.... I think the
Baroness was his most intimate friend once!..."
"So it is said," murmured Nadine.
Sonia Danidoff went on, as if speaking to herself:
"I am not sure of it ... it is precisely to remove this suspicion from
my mind that Thomery was determined to have his ball to-night at all
costs!... The Baroness de Vibray, so he told me, was no more than a good
old friend.... I cannot make her death an excuse for putting off the
announcement of our marriage ... that would be to give colour to
scandal."
Sonia Danidoff shrugged her beautiful shoulders:
"Hand me a mirror!"
Nadine obeyed. The Princess gazed long and complacently at the
marvellously lovely face reflected in the glass.
"Princess," cried Nadine, "you must leave the bath, you will be late
otherwise!"
In the adjacent dressing-room, brilliantly illuminated by electric
light, the Princess dressed with the aid of Nadine, proud and happy to
be the sole assistant of her beloved mistress. The toilet was a triumph:
silk of an exquisite blue, draped with silk muslin incrusted with pointe
de Venise and bands of ermine: a costly masterpiece of the dressmaker's
art. It enhanced the brilliant beauty of Sonia Danidoff, and threw
Nadine into raptures.
The Princess opened her jewel-box:
"This evening, Nadine, I shall be pearls and diamonds!" cried the lovely
creature, as she fixed two large grey pearls in her ears.
"Oh, how beautiful you are, Princess! And what a lot they must have
cost!" cried Nadine.
"Ten thousand francs, my child, on each side of my head!"
Sonia slipped on her fingers three diamond rings set in platinum:
"And here are eight or nine thousand francs more," continued she, as
Nadine's eyes grew round with wonder: her mind could hardly grasp all
these thousands of francs-worth of diamonds and pearls. There were still
more to come; for, rejecting a magnificent bracelet, on the plea that
one no longer wore them at balls, the Princess smilingly bade her
Circassian fasten round her neck a superb triple collar of pearls. To
this was added a sparkling cascade of diamonds. Never had Nadine seen
her beautiful mistress so richly dressed. Thus adorned, in Nadine's
eyes, Sonia Danidoff was dazzlingly beautiful, exquisitely lovely.
"You look like the Holy Virgin on the icons!" stammered Nadine,
kneeling before her mistress, quite overcome by emotion.
"Good Heavens! That is blasphemy! I am only a humble human creature!"
said the Princess smiling. Then she once more looked at herself in the
mirrors, well satisfied with her appearance, certain of the effect she
would produce on her future husband Thomery. She threw over her
shoulders a superb mantle of zibeline which was quite needed, for,
though it was the middle of April, it was quite cold.
Then, ready at last, she descended to her motor-car, and was whirled
away to the ball.
* * * * *
"Cranajour!... Cranajour!"
Mother Toulouche shouted herself breathless: she tried to shout louder
and louder. It was in vain. She might shout herself hoarse--there was no
reply.
The old termagant, who had left the front of her hovel and had gone to
call her assistant, shouting in the passage at the back of the store,
returned cursing and swearing, and seated herself near the store in the
lean-to which did duty as a kitchen:
"Where in the devil's name has that imbecile got to?" she grumbled,
whilst sipping with gusts from the bottom of a cup, into which she had
poured a small allowance of coffee and a copious ration of rum. It was
about eleven in the evening. There was not a sound to be heard.
Having finished her rum and tea the old receiver of stolen goods went to
the entrance of the passage:
"Cranajour!... Cranajour!" yelled the old termagant.
There was no answer.
"He can't possibly be in his canteen," said Mother Toulouche to herself.
"If he was he'd have answered, fool though he is, and would have come
down!... Sure he's gone to drag his old down-at-heels somewhere--but
where?... Oh, well, we can manage to do without him!"
The old receiver went back to her store, and was starting on a queer
sort of job when the door, which led on to the quay, burst open before a
panting, breathless individual. He ran right up the store and stopped
short. Mother Toulouche had seized the first thing she could find, and
had taken up a defensive attitude. Her weapon was a great ancient
cavalry sabre!
But the newcomer intended no harm--quite the contrary! After an
instinctive recoil, he leaned against a table and wiped his forehead,
breathing in gasps, incapable of pronouncing a syllable.
Mother Toulouche had recognised him:
"Ah! It's you, Redhead!... And not a bit too soon either! I've been
waiting for you this last half-hour! Ernestine will be there in ten
minutes' time! However is it you are so late?"
Redhead was well named! His bullet-head was covered with russet-red
hair, cut very short; his complexion was a good match; his bloated
cheeks and his potato-shaped nose were covered with red patches; his
shaven chin was a tawny red; round his little gimlet eyes was a fringe
of red lashes: it was a bestial face.
He was hatless; above his waistcoat with metal buttons he wore a black
coat; his trousers had a yellow line down them: he was evidently a
servant, wearing the livery of some big house. The fellow was slowly
recovering his breath; but he continued to wipe great drops of sweat off
his narrow forehead; he was shaking all over, and his morose countenance
was twitching and contracting nervously.
"Well, what's your news? Good or bad?" questioned Mother Toulouche in a
brutal tone.
Redhead replied almost inaudibly:
"That depends!... It's good on the whole."
A gleam of cupidity showed in the old receiver's eyes:
"Got a bit of tin on her back, that woman--eh?"
Redhead nodded a "yes." Thereupon Mother Toulouche went into her back
store and returned with a claret glass filled to the brim with rum:
"Shoot that down your throat! That'll put you right!"
When he had swallowed the bumper he seemed to gain courage, and said:
"If I didn't get here sooner it's because I had to wait--but I saw the
little thing...."
"What's her name?"
"Nadine," replied Redhead, and added: "A pretty little brat, too!...
She's got some fire in her eyes!"
"What's that to do with it?" interrupted Mother Toulouche.
"You don't mean to tell me you were able to make her gabble a bit?" she
queried contemptuously.
Redhead bridled: "Likely, since I know everything now ... and I'm her
sweetheart, let me tell you!"
Mother Toulouche said in a jeering tone:
"You don't tell me! You!"
"Oh," replied Redhead, "it's just a way of speaking. She's a good little
thing--there's nothing to it, you know!"
"So much the worse!" declared Mother Toulouche. "Virtuous sorts aren't
any use to our lot!... Well--what did she tell you--out with it!"
"Well," said Redhead, "I waited three-quarters of an hour before Nadine
joined me.... I had no bother in making her talk, I can tell you:
without the asking she told me everything ... she was pretty well
flabbergasted with all the jewels her mistress had stuck on her clothes
and her skin.... Seems there's hundreds of thousands' worth!... All
pearls and diamonds! Nothing but...."
Mother Toulouche was calculating:
"Real pearls, real diamonds--it's possible there's all that worth!"
Steps could be heard on the pavement just outside.
Redhead began to shake all over:
"Who is it?" he asked. "Someone coming in?"
Mother Toulouche grinned:
"Be easy, then! Haven't I told you there's nothing to fear?"
Nevertheless he asked anxiously:
"There's nothing more I'm wanted for here, is there? I've told you all I
know."
"No, no, it's all right!" replied Mother Toulouche, maternal and
conciliating, "there's nothing more for you to do here.... Still, if you
want to see big Ernestine...."
Without waiting to hear the end of her sentence Redhead hurried towards
the exit. Mother Toulouche did not try to detain him:
"After all," she said in a low tone to his back as a kind of farewell,
"cut your sticks, my lad ... since you're funky!"
When alone she grumbled aloud:
"What a lot they are!... I never did!... White-livered, and for nothing
at all!"
Mother Toulouche was still muttering when big Ernestine marched in
through the back way. She had on a large hat and was heavily veiled. She
proceeded to remove both hat and veil:
"Well?" she queried.
"They've got on to it all right! Redhead has just gone! He knows through
the little maid that the Princess went off to the ball, dressed up to
the nines--hung with jewels like a shrine!"
Big Ernestine uttered a deep sigh of satisfaction: her only reply was to
hustle the old receiver:
"Look alive, Mother Toulouche!... You've got to give me a beggar's
outfit: it's up to you to see I'm disguised properly, and there's not a
minute to lose either!"
Mother Toulouche was an expert at disguises and make-up of every sort:
this was not to be wondered at, considering the queer company she kept,
and the fraudulent business she carried on, and the smuggling she was
mixed up in!
Big Ernestine, disguised as a poverty-stricken creature and rendered
unrecognisable, looked exactly like some unfortunate reduced to
soliciting alms. She walked into the back store, and helped Mother
Toulouche to take from a cupboard some bottles, bandages, and medicated
cotton-wool. By the light of a smoky lamp the two women scrutinised the
labels, sniffing the various phials and flasks. Big Ernestine, with the
aid of Mother Toulouche, prepared compresses of pomade and cotton-wool,
on which she sprinkled a few drops of a yellow liquid, giving out a
sickening odour. Besides this big Ernestine put inside her bodice a long
phial, after making certain that the mixture, with which it was full,
contained chloroform....
Then, under Mother Toulouche's watchful eye, Ernestine prepared what was
called in that world of light-fingered gentry "the mask": a mask of
cotton, which is moulded by force on the face of the victim in order to
plunge him, or her, into a heavy sleep. Whilst making these sinister
preparations the two women talked as they went on with their evil task.
Big Ernestine said, in reply to Mother Toulouche's questionings:
"Oh, it's simple enough! It's like this:... When the motor-car stops I
shall go to the right-hand door and begin to beg ... likely enough, the
Princess won't want to hear what I have to say, but while I attract her
attention, Mimile, who will be on the other side, will open the door,
and will stick the compress on her mug.... She won't struggle--besides,
Mimile will have hold of her--and then I'll have had time to see where
her jewels are, and how they are fastened, and then I'll soon have them
in my pocket--my deep 'un!"
Mother Toulouche nodded:
"It's arranged all right, but how will you arrest the motor?"
"Oh, that's where the others come in; they'll do it all right.... I
expect they're seeing to it now!..."
"But, look here," cried Mother Toulouche, "Mimile isn't in bits then?
They said he had fallen from his flier!"
Big Ernestine gave a laugh:
"He fell right enough, poor little fellow, and from pretty high too--but
he's not broken a thing ... not this time ... a bit of luck I don't
think--eh?"
"He's a mascot, I'm certain," declared Mother Toulouche. Then she said:
"You spoke of the others?... Who are they--the others?"
"But didn't they tell you?" cried the surprised Ernestine, for she
thought old Mother Toulouche was in the know: "Why, there's the
Beadle--and the Beard...."
"Oh," cried Mother Toulouche, much impressed: "If the Beard's in it,
then it's a serious affair!"
"Yes," replied big Ernestine, staring hard at the old receiver of stolen
goods: "It's serious all right! If the chloroform doesn't work--oh, well
... they'll bring the knife into play...."
Big Ernestine looked at her little silver watch to mark the time:
"Past midnight!" she remarked: "I must hurry off and see what they're up
to!"
As she was making off Mother Toulouche stopped her:
"Have a glass of rum to start on--it puts heart into you!"
The two women were quite ready for a drink together. When they had
swallowed their dose, big Ernestine smacked her tongue:
"Famous stuff!... It puts a heart into you and no mistake!"
"Yes, it's the right stuff--the best," agreed Mother Toulouche: "It's
what Nibet prefers!" she added. Then she cried: "But Nibet, how ...
isn't he in it?"
Big Ernestine put a finger on her lips:
"Nibet's in it of course--as he always is--you know that, old
Toulouche--but he's content to show the way--you know he seldom does
anything himself ... besides, it seems he's on duty at the depot
to-night!"
Big Ernestine threw an old shawl over her head and went off crying: