was given us ten minutes ago. Directly Monsieur Thomery was aware of the
... accident he had the entrance doors closed and had the house
surrounded by the detectives who were downstairs on duty. The sergeant
is there to see this order carried out: you cannot leave the
premises!... It is not that you are under suspicion, General--of course
not--but perhaps in this way they may succeed in finding the guilty
person who has certainly not left the house, for no one has gone from
the house for at least an hour...."
General Rini had calmed down. He understood why his host had issued the
order. He retired to a corner of the gallery with his daughters, Yvonne
and Marthe: the poor things seemed stunned.
The reception rooms slowly emptied: the guests crowded on to the
verandah and into the smoking-room. There was a buzz of talk--queries,
comments, conjectures: it ceased abruptly.
Monsieur Thomery had just appeared at the top of the grand staircase,
accompanied by a gentleman, whose simple black coat was in striking
contrast to the light dresses and brilliant uniforms of the guests.
Someone whispered:
"Monsieur Havard!"
It was, in fact, the chief of the detective police force. Within a
couple of minutes of his frightful discovery, Thomery had rushed to the
telephone and had called up Police Headquarters. It was a piece of
unexpected good fortune to find Monsieur Havard there at so advanced an
hour. He had immediately responded to the call in person.
Whilst crossing the reception rooms Thomery talked to him in a low
voice:
"Accept my grateful thanks, Monsieur, for having answered my appeal for
help so quickly. No sooner did I discover the body of my Princess than I
lost no time in having all the exits from the premises watched.
Unfortunately I was obliged to leave my reception rooms for quite a
quarter of an hour, so that I cannot tell you what happened there. If
only I had been able to remain with my guests, I might possibly have
surprised some movement, some gesture, some look, which would have put
me on the track of this murderous thief ... unfortunately ..."
Monsieur Havard interrupted, smiling:
"That does not matter, Monsieur: if the guilty person is among your
guests and has in some way betrayed himself, I shall hear of it. There
are, at least, four or five plain clothes men among the dancers, I can
assure you of that."
"I can assure you to the contrary!" replied Thomery--"I know my
guests--know who have been admitted here!"
"I also am sure of what I say," insisted Monsieur Havard. "There is
scarcely a ball, a reception, however select it may be, where you will
not find a certain number of our men."
Thomery made no reply to this: they had arrived at the door of the fatal
room. The doctor was standing beside the victim. Dr. Marvier reassured
Monsieur Havard. He announced that the Princess had been almost
literally felled to the ground by a most powerful soporific and was in
no real danger: she would certainly regain consciousness in the course
of an hour or two.... But she must be kept perfectly quiet: that was
absolutely necessary.
Monsieur Havard did not question the doctor's statement. After a rapid
glance he was able to form his own opinion. There had been no struggle:
the victim's wounds were due to the haste with which the thief had torn
the jewels from Sonia Danidoff's neck. He next considered the two
windows which, with the door opening on to the gallery, were the only
means of entrance and exit the room had. There were strong iron shutters
behind the windows: these could not be very easily opened: in any case,
it was impossible to close them again from the outside. The thief must
have been in the house, probably in the ball-room, and had followed the
Princess into this little retiring-room.... But what had been the
Princess's motive for coming here alone? Monsieur Havard had learned
that the room had not been thrown open to the other guests. Then he
perceived that the lace at the bottom of her dress was undone. He bent
down and examined it carefully: two pins, hastily stuck in, kept
together a piece of this lace.... The conclusion Monsieur Havard came to
was, that the Princess having a rent in her dress had wished to be alone
for a minute or two in order to repair the damage, and that while she
was stooping towards the bottom of her skirt the assassin had thrown her
to the ground and despoiled her of her jewels.
The chief of the detective force turned to Thomery abruptly:
"I shall be obliged to follow a course of action which may rather annoy
your guests; but they must excuse me. Everything leads me to think that
the guilty person is on the premises, since no one has gone away.... I
must hold an investigation at once. I am going to cross-examine your
guests--probe them thoroughly--and I wish to put them through their
paces in your office, Monsieur Thomery, one by one.... I will begin ...
with you ... so that your guests take my questioning with a good grace
... it is only a mere matter of form--a pure formality!..."
* * * * *
The investigations were lengthy and trying and led to no result
whatever.
* * * * *
Fandor, who was preoccupied by this fresh drama in which he had taken
some part--far too slight to please him--was putting on his overcoat
when he stopped dead.
A voice--an unrecognisable voice--had murmured in his ear:
"Attention! Fandor!... It is serious!..."
Our journalist turned round in a flash. Ah, this time he would find out
who the mysterious unknown was--the unknown, who wished to influence by
word written and word spoken, the course of these investigations he had
taken in hand:
Anonymous friend?
Concealed adversary?
He must, at all costs, clear up the mystery.
A dozen people were crowding round Fandor, insisting on being attended
to in the cloak-room.
No one noticed the journalist....
No one seemed interested in what he was doing....
Fandor examined every one of Thomery's guests who were standing about
him. He knew some of them by name, some he knew by sight. He searched
their faces with penetrating eyes; but, in vain.... Some were
common-place looking, others calm, others impenetrable:
"Hang it all," he grumbled. He went off furious and upset.
IX
FINGER PRINTS
After having interrogated all the witnesses of last night's tragedy he
could get into touch with, Jerome Fandor returned to the Palais de
Justice.
"All the same," he confessed to himself, "I must admit that, up to the
present, I do not know anything very definite about it. This Princess
Sonia Danidoff has managed to get robbed in a most extraordinary way. At
one o'clock in the morning, Havard declares that the thief can be none
other than one of the guests, and thereupon every person present has to
submit to being searched--an exhaustive search! Nothing comes of it.
Then Bertillon arrives on the scene, and it seems he has obtained very
distinct imprints of finger marks. If they are as distinct as all that,
the task of the police will be simplified; but, on the other hand, is it
likely the guilty person will be so simple as to respond to the summons
issued by the Public Prosecutor, a general summons issued to all
Thomery's guests to parade in Bertillon's office for the finger-mark
test?... Not he! Why the moment he heard of it he would make for the
train and pass the frontier!"
When his cab arrived at the Palais, Fandor uttered a big sigh of
satisfaction:
"There are a good many things I am not clear about: let us hope
Bertillon will give me some information."
The entrance to the anthropometric department was under the discreet
observation of two detectives:
"Oh," thought Fandor. "They think it probable there will be an immediate
arrest, do they? We are going to have some complications, I foresee, in
connection with the finger-mark ceremony!"
He sent in his card and a few minutes after he found himself in the
presence of Monsieur Bertillon.
"Well, what is it you want me to tell you?" asked this famous man of
science.
"Why, dear master, everything that took place last night! Is it true
that you have summoned here all Thomery's guests?... Have you obtained
such perfect reprints that, in your hasty examination, you can be
certain of identifying them with those of the persons who will pass
through your office to undergo the test?"
Bertillon smiled:
"Oh, my dear fellow, you are of those who do not put much faith in the
results of my tests for police purposes! That, let me tell you, is
because you are not acquainted with our procedure. The impressions I
obtained are distinct--precise as can be; if an arrest is made before
long it will be made on sure grounds."
Fandor bowed:
"I accept your statement, dear master!... But, do be kind enough to tell
me what happened after my departure?"
"Oh, nothing very extraordinary.... Of course you know about the
affair--how the Princess Sonia Danidoff was discovered?..."
"What I know is that Thomery found one of his guests, Princess Sonia
Danidoff, in a dead faint in a small drawing-room; that Dr. Du Marvier
declared she had been rendered unconscious; that the theft of a pearl
necklace worn by the victim had been the motive of this criminal
attempt; that Monsieur Havard, called in at once, first made sure that
no one had left the house, and then had everyone on the premises
searched ... and that is really all I know about it!"
"Well, Havard did not find anything!"
"No one was caught with compromising jewels in their possession. The
last guest gone, the house searched from top to bottom, not a single
pearl had been found.... I arrived just when the investigations had
terminated: at the moment when they were about to take the Princess
home. She had regained consciousness by this time and declared she knew
nothing except that she had fallen asleep after using a perfume sprayer.
This has been seized and chloroform has been found in it; but no one
seems to know who filled the sprayer with this stupefying perfume."
"Did Monsieur Havard send for you?"
"Yes, he telephoned. You know, of course, that I am always asked to
intervene now in any ticklish affair!... Well Dr. Du Marvier, an expert
in his way, noticed that the Princess had been half strangled by the
thief in his haste to secure the pearl collar, and he wished me to
search for finger prints on the nape of the victim's neck--to discover
the assassin's signature in fact."
"And there were some?"
"A quantity. The Princess had been slightly wounded in the nape of the
neck ... blood had been pressed on to the skin of her neck, and it was
easy to take a cast of one of the fingers."
"Was that sufficient?"
"Yes, and no; such an impression is something; but there is better than
that! The thief must have given the neck a violent squeeze with his
hands, consequently there is a complete impression of the hand ... that
I had to get...."
Fandor instinctively put his hand to his neck as if he were squeezing
it. He said:
"Are such impressions imperceptible?"
"Yes; to the eye, but not to the photographing apparatus. It is
thoroughly established that the pattern formed by the innumerable lines
which furrow the fleshy part of our fingers is as peculiarly
characteristic of each individual as the form of his nose, of his ears,
or the colour of his eyes. The curves or rings, the various forms taken
by these lines already exist in the newly born and never change to the
day of his death. Even in case of a burn, if the skin grows again, the
ridges reappear exactly as they were before the accident. Look you, one
can obtain by this method--this test--such results as you would never
dream of. For example, by taking these imprints I obtained in the early
hours of to-day, as a basis, I can tell you, with almost absolute
accuracy, the height of the individual...."
"This is marvellous!" cried Fandor. "The service your department renders
then is to abolish legal blunders?"
"That is so. Every individual identified, is identified plainly,
irrefutably. Unfortunately, we cannot always obtain perfect imprints on
the spot where the crime is committed."
"But this night?"
"Ah, as I told you, the impressions were most satisfactory. I have the
thief's hand--the whole of it! I will even go so far as to declare that
the fellow who committed the crime has already been through my hands. I
recognise that hand! You shall see, whether or no I have made a
mistake!"...
Bertillon pressed a bell, and asked the official who answered it:
"Have you identified the imprints I sent you just now?"
"Yes, sir. This man has already been measured here. It is register
9200."
Bertillon turned to Fandor:
"You see, I was not mistaken! All I have to do is to turn up my
alphabetical index, and for this very month, for the number is a recent
one, and I shall know the name of the old offender--he must be one, as
he is catalogued here--who has committed this assault."
Whilst speaking, Monsieur Bertillon was turning over the leaves of an
enormous register:
"Ah! Here is the 9200 series!..."
Suddenly the book slipped from his hands, and he exclaimed: "The guilty
man is ..."
"Is who?" questioned Fandor.
"Is Jacques Dollon!... The hand that has robbed Princess Sonia Danidoff
is the hand of Jacques Dollon!"
"But it is impossible!"
Bertillon shrugged his shoulders.
"Impossible?... Why, since the proof of it is there?"
"But Jacques Dollon is dead!"
"He was the thief of yesterday's crime."
"You are making a mistake!..."
"I am not making a mistake!... Jacques Dollon is the thief I tell you!"
This was too much for Jerome Fandor: he could not contain himself.
"And I tell you, Monsieur Bertillon, that I know that I am
certain--positively certain, that Jacques Dollon is dead!... Now,
then!..."
The man of science shook his head.
"I, in my turn, say, you are making a mistake! Look at the two imprints
I have here! That of Jacques Dollon taken a few days ago, and this made
from the impressions obtained this very night, or, to be exact, in the
early morning hours of to-day! They are identical--one can be exactly
superposed on the other!..."
"Coincidence!"
"There is no such coincidence possible--besides"--Monsieur Bertillon
took up a powerful magnifying glass--"look at these characteristic
details!... Just look at the lines of the thumb, all out of shape!...
The presentment of the thumb itself is not normal either; it denotes
habitual movement in a certain direction: it is the thumb of a painter,
of a potter!... Oh, it is all as clear as daylight--believe me--there is
no doubt about it! Jacques Dollon is the guilty person!"
"But," repeated Fandor obstinately: "Jacques Dollon is dead! I swear to
you he is dead!..."
This assertion made no impression on the man of science.
"As to whether Jacques Dollon is alive or dead--that is for the police
to decide!... For my part, I can declare that the man who committed the
theft yesterday evening is the identical man who passed through my hands
some days ago--and that man is certainly Jacques Dollon!"
* * * * *
Jerome Fandor left Monsieur Bertillon. The young journalist was
perplexed.... If the finger-prints on the neck of Princess Sonia
Danidoff were, beyond dispute, those of Jacques Dollon--then the mystery
surrounding this affair, and not this affair only, but a series of
incidents, so far from being cleared up, was more impenetrable than
ever!
But Fandor was obsessed by the idea of Fantomas, of Fantomas in the
depths of mystery, presiding over this series of dramatic occurrences.
"Yes, Fantomas is certainly in this!" he cried.... But Dollon has left
traces of himself here--has, as it were, put his signature, his
identification mark to this crime!... But Dollon is not Fantomas ...
besides Dollon is dead!... I have proofs of it--yes, he is dead!... Well
then?...
What to make of it?
Fandor could not make anything of it!
X
IDENTITY OF A NAVVY
"The Barbey-Nanteuil bank is certainly gorgeous!" thought Jerome Fandor
as he traversed the hall on the ground floor, where the massive mahogany
furniture, the thick carpets, the deep, comfortable chairs, the sober
elegance of the window curtains breathed an atmosphere of luxury and
good taste. "And decidedly banking is the best of businesses!" added our
young journalist.
An attendant advanced to meet him.
"What do you want, monsieur?"
"Will you take in my card to Monsieur Nanteuil? I should be glad to have
a few minutes' talk with him."
The attendant bowed.
"On a personal matter, monsieur?"
"A personal matter?... Yes."
Jerome Fandor wanted to interview the Barbey-Nanteuils on the subject of
the recent occurrences, which had roused Paris opinion to the highest
degree--mysterious occurrences on which no light seemed to have been
thrown so far.... Not only were the Barbey-Nanteuils the bankers of the
Baroness de Vibray, but they had been present at Thomery's ball, when
the attack on Princess Sonia Danidoff had taken place.... Would they
allow themselves to be interviewed? Fandor decided that they certainly
would, for they were business men, and was he not going to give them a
free advertisement?
The attendant--a stately individual--returned.
"Monsieur Nanteuil is sorry he cannot see you, he is taking the chair
at an important committee meeting; but Monsieur Barbey will see you for
a few minutes, that is to say, if he will do instead of Monsieur
Nanteuil."
"In that case, I will see Monsieur Barbey," said Fandor, rising.
Following the attendant, Fandor traversed the whole length of the bank,
and passing the half-open door of Monsieur Nanteuil's office--the name
on the door told him this--he noticed that it was empty.
Monsieur Barbey received him coldly and with a solemn bow. Fandor's
reply was a pleasant smile.
"I know," said he, "that your time is precious, Monsieur Barbey, so I
will come straight to the object of my call.... You must be aware of the
profound impression caused by the double crimes recently committed on
the persons of Madame de Vibray and the Princess Sonia Danidoff?"
"It is true, monsieur, that I have followed, in the papers, the account
of the investigations regarding them: but, in what way?..."
"Does it concern you?" finished Fandor. "Good heavens, monsieur, is it
not a fact that the Baroness de Vibray was your client? And were you not
present at Monsieur Thomery's ball?"
"That is so, monsieur; but if you are hoping that I can supply you with
further details than those already published, you will be disappointed.
I myself have learned a good deal about these crimes only from reading
your articles, monsieur."
"Can you confirm the statement that Madame de Vibray was ruined?"
"I do not think I am betraying a professional secret if I say that
Madame de Vibray had had very heavy losses quite recently."
"And Princess Sonia Danidoff?"
"I do not think she is one of our clients."
"You do not think so?"
"But, monsieur, you cannot suppose that we know all our clients? Our
business is a very extensive one, and neither Nanteuil, nor I, could
possibly know the names of all those who do business with us."
"You know the name of Jacques Dollon?"
"Yes. I knew young Dollon. He was introduced to me by Madame de Vibray,
who asked me to give him a helping hand, and I willingly did so. I can
only regret now that my confidence was so ill placed."
"Do you believe him guilty then?... Not really?"
"I certainly do!... So do all your readers, monsieur. Is that not so?"
But, whilst Monsieur Barbey was regarding Fandor with some astonishment
because of his half-avowal, that he himself was not sure of Dollon's
guilt, the door was flung open with violence, and Monsieur Nanteuil, out
of breath, looking thoroughly upset, rushed into the room, followed by
five or six men unknown to Jerome Fandor, and showing traces of fatigue
and emotion also.
"Good Heavens! What is it?" cried Monsieur Barbey, rising to meet his
partner....
"The matter is," cried Monsieur Nanteuil, "that an abominable robbery
has just been committed...."
"Where?"
"Rue du Quatre Septembre!..." Still panting, he began to give
details....
Fandor did not wait to hear more. He rushed from the Barbey-Nanteuil
bank and made for the place de l'Opera at top speed.
In consequence of the extraordinary occurrence which Monsieur Nanteuil
had hastened to report to his partner, a considerable crowd had flocked
to the scene of the accident; but barriers had been quickly erected, and
the crowd, directed by the police, were able to circulate in orderly
fashion when Fandor arrived on the scene.
The agile young journalist had made his way to the front row of the
curious, and was bent on entering the stone and wood yards of the works
forbidden to the public; the usual palisade no longer existed owing to
the landslip.
Just as he was searching in his pocket for the precious identification
card, which the police grant to the reporters connected with the big
newspapers, Fandor was jostled by an individual coming out of the yards.
It was a navvy all covered with mortar, white dust, and mud; he was
without a hat and held his right hand pressed against his cheek; between
his fingers there filtered a few drops of blood.
The glances of the man and the journalist met, and Fandor felt as though
someone had struck him a blow on the heart! The navvy had given him so
strange a look. Fandor thought he had read in his eyes a threat and an
invitation.
Whilst our journalist hesitated, troubled by this sudden encounter, the
man moved off, forcing his way through the crowd. Then Fandor caught
sight of some of his colleagues, stumbling about amidst the ruins and
rubble in the stone-yard. This reassured him; if he followed the navvy,
and he had the strongest inclination to do so, he could telephone to
some reporter friend who would supply him with the necessary details for
his article on the accident. He had got some facts already: a sudden
collapse of stones and mortar had buried a hand-cart, in which were
large bars of gold belonging to the Barbey-Nanteuil bank. But the
precious vehicle had soon been rescued, and they were taking it to the
bank under escort.
Satisfied as to this, Fandor followed with his eyes this strange navvy
who was going further and further away.
Fandor had an intuition--a very strong feeling--that he must follow the
trail of this man and make him talk. It was of the utmost
importance--something told him this was so.
The navvy was not simply going away, he had the air of a man in flight.
Fandor, who was following now and keenly observant, noticed the
hesitating movements of the man--then there was an astonishing move on
the navvy's part: he hailed a taxi and got in. Fandor had the good luck
to find another taxi at once; jumping in, he said to the driver:
"Follow the 4227 G.H. which is in front of you: don't let it outdistance
you ... you shall have a good tip!"
The chauffeur, a young alert fellow, understood there was a chase in
question, and amused at the idea of pursuing a comrade through the
crowded streets of Paris, he set off. He adroitly cut through a file of
carriages and caught up taxi 4227 G.H. He then proceeded to follow
closely in its track.
Fandor, keen as a bloodhound on the scent, kept watch over their
progress to an unknown destination.
They rolled along the avenue de l'Opera: they cut across the rue de
Rivoli. Then, when they were going at a good pace through the place du
Carrousel, Fandor felt much moved by memories of past times, those days
of great and wonderful adventures, when he would follow this very route
to keep some exciting appointment with his good friend, Juve. How
frequent those appointments used to be, when the famous detective was
alive and so actively at work--the work of unearthing criminals--those
pests of society! Off Fandor used to set when the longed for summons
came, and would meet Juve in his little flat on the left side of the
Seine. Ah, those were times, indeed!
When a lad, Fandor had been practically adopted by the famous detective.
Young Jerome Fandor had served a kind of apprenticeship with Juve, and
this had brought him into close touch with the ups and downs of a number
of crime dramas: he and Juve together had even been the voluntary, or
involuntary, heroes of some of them! Then the tragic disappearance of
Juve had occurred, when Fandor had escaped death by a kind of miracle!
After that dreadful date, our journalist had found himself alone,
isolated, with not a soul to whom he cared to confide his perplexities,
his anxieties, his hopes! Fandor shuddered at the thought of this.