quay for a few minutes, then rounding the Fine Arts School they entered
the old and narrow rue Bonaparte....
What was this? Of course, it could only be a coincidence ... but still
... rue Bonaparte--why that only brought the memory of Juve more vividly
to mind! For Juve had lived in this street; and now, a few yards further
on, they would pass before the modest dwelling where, for years, the
detective had made his home, keeping jealously hidden, from all and
sundry, this asylum, this secret retreat.
Ah, what happy hours, what jolly times, what tragic moments, too, had
Fandor not passed in that little flat on the fourth floor! How they had
chatted away in the detective's comfortable study! Then Fandor, full of
spirit, would come and go from room to room, unable to sit still, all
fire and activity; and Juve would remain in one place, calm, full of
thought, sometimes sunk in a reverie, often silent for hours at a time,
his eyes obstinately fixed on the ceiling, smoking methodically,
mechanically even, his eternal cigarette. Oh, those good, good days gone
for ever!
After the disastrous disappearance of Juve, Fandor had not gone near the
rue Bonaparte for six months. It was all too painful, to find again the
familiar rooms and no Juve! It was too painful.
However, one fine day, he determined to go and see what had happened to
his friend's old home.... Alas, in Paris, the lapse of half a year
suffices to alter the most familiar scene! In rue Bonaparte, the former
house porters had left; their place had been taken by a stout, sulky
woman who gave evasive replies to Fandor's questions. He extracted from
her the information that the tenant of the fourth floor flat had died,
that his furniture had been cleared out very soon after his death, and
the flat had been let to an insurance inspector....
* * * * *
Fandor was roused from this retrospect: he grew pale, his heart seemed
to stop its beating: the taxi he was pursuing had slowed down--had drawn
up beside the pavement--had stopped in front of Juve's old home!
Fandor saw the navvy descend from the taxi, pay his fare, and enter the
house, still keeping his right hand pressed to his cheek. Without a
moment's reflection, Fandor leapt from his taxi, flung a five-franc
piece to his driver, and without waiting for the change he rushed into
the house, whose passages and stairs were so familiar.
The navvy was swiftly mounting the stairs in front of our excited young
journalist, who was close on his quarry's heels: the two men were
panting as they went up that dark staircase.
At the fourth floor, Fandor was nearly overcome by emotion, for the man
entered Juve's old flat as if he had a right to do so.
He was on the point of shutting the door in the face of his pursuer, but
Fandor had foreseen this. He slipped through with a forceful push and
caught the navvy by his jacket.
Quick as lightning the navvy turned, and the two men stood face to
face.... The result was startling!
Speechless they stared at each other for what seemed an interminable
moment; then, with a strangled cry, Fandor fell into the man's arms, and
was crushed in a strong embrace. Two cries escaped from their lips at
the same moment:
"Juve!"
"Fandor!"
* * * * *
When he came to himself again, Fandor found he was lying in one of the
comfortable leather arm-chairs in Juve's study. His temples and the
lobes of his ears were being bathed with some refreshing liquid: the
commingled scent of ether and eau-de-Cologne was in the air.
When he opened his eyes, it was with difficulty that he could credit the
sight that met them!
Juve, his dear Juve, was bending over him, gazing at him tenderly,
watching his return to consciousness with some anxiety.
Fandor vainly strove to rise: he felt dazed.
"Fandor!" murmured Juve, in a voice trembling with emotion. "Fandor, my
little Fandor. My lad, my own dear lad!"
Oh, yes, this was Juve, his own Juve, whom Fandor saw before him!... He
had aged a little, this dear Juve of his--had gone slightly grey at the
temples: there were some fresh lines on his forehead, at the corners of
his mouth, too; but it was the Juve of old times, for all that!... Juve,
alert, souple, robust, Juve in his full vigour, in the prime of life!
Oh, a living, breathing, fatherly Juve: his respected master and most
intimate friend--restored to him, after mourning the irreparable loss of
him and his incomprehensible disappearance!
While Fandor slowly came to himself, Juve had lessened the disordered
state of his appearance; he had taken off his workman's clothes, and
also the red beard which he had worn, when he ran up against the
journalist in the place de l'Opera.
As soon as Fandor was himself again, not only did he feel intense joy, a
quite wild joy, but he also knew the good of a keen curiosity. Now he
would know why the detective had felt obliged to disappear, officially
at any rate, from Paris life for so long a period.
Protestations of faithful attachment, or unalterable affection poured
from Fandor's excited lips, intermingled with questions: he wanted to
know everything at once.
Juve smiled in silence, and gazed most affectionately at his dear lad.
At last he said:
"I am not going to ask you for your news, Fandor, for I have seen you
repeatedly, and I know you are quite all right.... Why, I do believe you
have put on flesh a little!"
Juve was smiling that enigmatic smile of his.
Fandor grew impatient, on fire with curiosity. Ah, this was indeed the
Juve of bygone days, imperturbable, ironical, rather exasperating also!
However, Juve took pity on Fandor, who was still under the influence of
the shock he had received.
"Well, now, dear lad, did you recognise me, a while ago?"
Fandor pulled himself together.
"To tell you the truth, Juve, I did not ... but, when our glances met, I
had an intuition, a kind of interior revelation of what I had to do, and
without any beating about the bush--I knew I had to follow you, follow
you wherever you went."
Juve nodded his approval.
"Very good, dear fellow; your reply gives me infinite pleasure, and on
two counts: in the first place, I perceive that your remarkable instinct
for getting on to the right scent, strengthened by my teaching, has
improved immensely since we parted; and, in the second place, I am
delighted to know that I made my head and face so unrecognisable that
even my old familiar friend, Fandor, did not know me when we were
brought face to face!"
"Why this disguise, Juve?" demanded Fandor, his countenance alight with
curiosity. "How was it I came across you at the very spot where the
Barbey-Nanteuil load of gold had been submerged, for the moment, under
bricks and mortar? And, with regard to that, Juve, how comes it ..."
Juve cut Fandor short.
"Gently! Fandor! Gently! You are putting the cart before the horse, old
fellow; and if we continue to talk by fits and starts, never shall we
come to the end of all we have to say to each other, and must say. Are
you aware, Fandor, that we have been drawn into a succession of
incomprehensible occurrences--a mysterious network of them?... But I
have good hopes that now we shall be able to work together again; and I
like to think that if we follow the different trails we have each
started on, we shall end up by..."
It was Fandor's turn to interrupt:
"Hang it all, Juve! I partly understand you, of course; but there's a
lot I don't know yet.... What are you after, dear Juve? Are you, as I
am, on the track of Jacques Dollon?"
There was a pause, then Juve said:
"I shall reserve the details for our leisure. What matters now is, that
I should make clear to you the principal lines my existence has followed
during the past three years or so. A few minutes will suffice to put you
in possession of the main facts. Now, listen."
The narrative went back to the time when Juve, aided by Fandor, was
close on the heels of their mortal enemy, the mysterious and elusive
Fantomas. The detective and the journalist had succeeded in cooping up
the formidable bandit in a house at Neuilly, belonging to a great
English lady, known under the name of Lady Beltham. This Englishwoman
was the mistress and accomplice of the notorious Fantomas.[9] But at the
precise moment when Juve was about to arrest him, a frightful explosion
occurred, and the building, blown up by dynamite, collapsed in ruins,
burying the two friends and some fifteen policemen and detectives.
[Footnote 9: See _The Exploits of Juve_.]
Rescuers were on the spot in a very short time, and uninterruptedly, for
forty-eight hours, they searched among the ruins for the victims of the
disaster, dead or alive.
By a miraculous piece of good fortune, Fandor had been but slightly
hurt, and at the end of a few days he was as well as ever. But the poor
fellow had lost his best friend--Juve!
The search for Juve had been a useless one. Several corpses could not be
identified owing to the injuries they had sustained; and, as it seemed
incredible that the detective could have escaped, they had concluded
that one of the unrecognisable bodies must be his.
Juve, however, was not one of the dead!
Saved in as miraculous a fashion as Fandor had been, less injured even,
a few seconds after the frightful crash, he had been able to rise and
make his escape. The distracted detective had raced away from the scene
of disaster in search of Fandor, and also in pursuit of Fantomas, for he
believed that both had made their escape.
After wandering about for some hours, he had returned to mingle with the
crowd of rescuers, and had learned that Fandor had been found, and was
not dangerously hurt: on the other hand, there were those present who
declared that he, Juve, was killed!
This unexpected announcement gave him an idea: for an indefinite period
he would accept this version! For, more than ever set upon catching his
enemy, the detective said to himself, that if Fantomas could feel
certain that Juve no longer existed, the pretended dead would have a far
better chance of catching the living bandit!
Thereupon, Juve had submitted his project to his chief, Monsieur Havard;
and the head of the police secret service had consented to ignore Juve's
presence among the living.
Juve knew that Lady Beltham had escaped to England.
Supposing that Fantomas would rejoin her without delay, the detective
left Paris, crossed the Channel. He then went to America. For scarcely
had he arrived in London when he learned that the bandits had gone off
to the United States.
Juve travelled from place to place for some months. It was a vain quest:
Fantomas had vanished, leaving not a trace behind, and the disgusted
detective, now convinced that he had followed a false trail, returned to
France.
He determined to set himself to study anew the prison world; he was all
the more interested in it because, before his supposed death, Juve had
effected the arrest of several members of a band of which Fantomas was
the leader. Among these were the Cooper, the Beard, and old Mother
Toulouche.
Then, at the prison connected with the asylum, Juve had come across a
warder, who, some years previous to this, had been the warder in charge
of a man condemned to death, one Gurn, who had not been guillotined
because a substituted person had been executed in his stead. Juve was
convinced that the condemned criminal was none other than Fantomas. Juve
strongly suspected that this warder, Nibet by name, knew a great deal
about this old affair. But soon Nibet passed to the Depot. The
accomplices of Fantomas, having served the time of their respective
sentences, some at Melun, others at Clermont, all this nice collection
of criminals would meet once more on the pavements of Paris. Juve,
therefore, had imperious reasons for mingling with this charming
crowd!...
Fandor had followed Juve's rapid narrative with the most intense
interest.
"And then, Juve, what then?" insisted Fandor.
"And then," said the detective, "to make an end of it--for we must not
be forever going over the past adventures--let me tell you, that after
many and diverse happenings, a band of smugglers and false coiners,
among whom are to be found individuals already known to you, notably the
Beard, the Cooper, and also that wretch of a Mother Toulouche, one fine
day made the acquaintance of a poor sort of creature, simple-minded, and
anything but sharp-witted--an individual who goes by the name of
Cranajour!"
"Cranajour?" queried Fandor, "I don't in the least understand."
"Yes, Cranajour," repeated Juve. "Here is how it came about. You
remember when Fantomas got an unfortunate actor named Valgrand executed
in his stead? Well, our mysterious Fantomas, the better to mislead and
bamboozle those who might suspect this atrocious jugglery, our bandit of
genius--for Fantomas has genius--took the personality of Valgrand for
several hours, and dared to go to the theatre where the real Valgrand
was playing. However, as Fantomas was not capable of playing the part to
a finish, he conceived the idea of making those about Valgrand believe
that he had been suddenly afflicted with loss of memory, and from that
moment could not remember anything whatever: Fantomas, the false
Valgrand, could thus pass for the true Valgrand, and be taken as such by
the true Valgrand's intimates!... I humbly confess, Fandor, that I
copied Fantomas by creating Cranajour...."
Juve, then rapidly explained to the journalist the origin of this
nickname, and also told him how the bandits treated him as one of
themselves; how, as soon as they were convinced that he could not
remember anything he had seen or heard for two hours together, they
talked freely before him of their plans and doings!
The detective went on:
"I must add, my dear Fandor, that no very sensational revelations have
come to me, so far, through my intimacy with this set of criminals. It
seemed to me I was in the midst of common thieves, who smuggled and
circulated false coin; but one thing did puzzle me--puzzles me still:
these folk succeed in selling a considerable number of pounds sterling,
false coin, of course, and that without my being able to discover, so
far, where they sell them--who makes their market. They also sell lace
smuggled from Belgium; that, however, interests me but little, and I was
prepared to leave to the lower ranks of the service the duty of
clearing Paris of this common-place brood of criminals; already, indeed,
the regular police had arrested one of the smugglers, the Cooper, and
two of his subordinate confederates; I was about to turn my back on this
crew in order to give all my attention to a new trail which might put me
on the track of Fantomas once more, when the Dollon affair blazed forth;
and then suddenly, I meet again my Fandor, braver than ever, more
perspicacious also, adroitly taking the affair in hand, bravely
thrusting himself into the breach!
"Is there any connection between the Dollon affair and my band of
smugglers?"
"You will appreciate the importance of this question and the reply to it
in a minute, my Fandor, when you learn that the Depot warder, Nibet, is
one of the most valuable confederates of the coiners, of Mother
Toulouche, of that hooligan, the Beard...."
"Is it possible!" cried Fandor. "Ah, Juve, all this is so strange that I
believe you are really on Fantomas' track, once more!"
Juve shook his head; then he continued:
"I have still a great deal to tell you, but I must pause a moment to
say, that I ought to apologise to you for a fairly brutal act I
committed on your behalf--in your best interests, as you will see...."
And to Fandor, who opened his eyes in astonishment, the detective
related, in humorous fashion, the history of the famous kick he had
administered--a kick wherewith Juve had removed his friend from the
immediate and certain danger of assassination, at the hand and by the
knife of Nibet.
Fandor could not get over it! He grasped Juve's hands and pressed them
warmly.
"My friend! My good friend!" murmured he, moved almost to tears. "If I
had had the least suspicion!..."
Juve interrupted him.
"There are many more things, Fandor, you never suspected, things you
ought to know.... And what is more, you seem to me to be neglecting your
work badly at this very moment, Mr. Reporter! It is already one o'clock
in the afternoon; and if they are counting on you to supply them with
information about this affair of the place de l'Opera...."
Fandor leapt to his feet.
"It's true!" he cried. "I had quite forgotten it!... But it is of no
importance by the side of ..."
Juve interrupted.
"_The affair is serious, Fandor, attention!..._ Do you remember? It is
the formula I employed on two or three occasions, when warning you,
after the assassination of Jacques Dollon, after the attack on Sonia
Danidoff at Thomery's house...."
"What! It was you, Juve!" cried Fandor.
"Yes, it was ... but let us pass on! Time presses. I am going to
disappear anew; but you now know where to find me, in future, and under
what form, should occasion require it. Cranajour I am; Cranajour I
remain--for the time being, at any rate. As to you, Fandor, be off with
you at once ... and go and hatch out that article of yours!"
Our journalist rose mechanically; but Juve, thinking better of it,
caught him by the arm, drew him back and pointed out the writing-table.
"Come to think of it, you know nothing about the affair, and I do: there
are things which should be said, above all things, to be hinted at ...
do you wish me to give you information?... Sit yourself there, my lad: I
am going to dictate your article to you!"
Our journalist, understanding the gravity of the situation, and well
knowing that if Juve took this course, he had important reasons for so
doing, did not say one word. He simply brought out his fountain pen,
screwed it ready for action, and, with his hand resting on a pile of
white paper, he waited.
Juve dictated.
"First of all, put this as your title:
_An Audacious Theft_
"That does not tell the reader anything, but it awakens his
curiosity.... Let us continue!
"Write."
XI
AN AUDACIOUS THEFT
Two hours after Juve had dictated his article to Fandor, our journalist
was reading it, in proof, in the offices of _La Capitale_. His article
ran thus:
"By a fortunate coincidence we found ourselves, this very morning, in
the directorial office of the Barbey-Nanteuil bank, chatting with
Monsieur Barbey himself, when Monsieur Nanteuil arrived, breathless, and
announced to his partner that a sensational robbery had just been
committed in the rue du Quatre Septembre, a robbery involving a sum of
twenty millions representing a clearance recently effected by the
Federated Republic.
"It seems that at ten o'clock this morning, Monsieur Nanteuil
accompanied the little hand-cart used for transferring the bullion and
paper money to the station, from whence it was to be despatched.
According to custom, six of the bank clerks and three plain clothes men
went with Monsieur Nanteuil. But, at the very moment when the hand-cart
passed out of the place de l'Opera and turned the corner of the rue du
Quatre Septembre, that is to say, at the precise moment when it was
passing the palisade, surrounding the works on the Auteuil-Opera
Metropolitan line, a formidable explosion was heard, and the hand-cart,
as well as the men who were drawing it, and escorting it, including
Monsieur Nanteuil himself, disappeared in a deep excavation caused by
the explosion, whilst a water pipe which had burst at the same moment,
poured out torrents of water, flooding the surrounding pavement and
roadway.
"It was then about eleven o'clock in the morning, and the rue du Quatre
Septembre presented a very animated appearance. At the noise of the
explosion, the passers-by were glued to the spot, dazed, stupefied. Then
exclamations broke out on all sides.
"'An accident?'
"'A bomb?'
"The explosion had created a veritable chasm. The first moment of
stupefaction past, policeman 326 quickly organised the rescuers, and
sent notice to the nearest police station. Some minutes later, the
firemen arrived on the scene armed with ladders and ropes. Meanwhile,
the crowd of curious onlookers was increasing with amazing rapidity.
"Monsieur Nanteuil was the first to be drawn up from the pit; by a
miracle he had escaped injury; unfortunately, the clerks of the
Barbey-Nanteuil bank had not got off so well; bruises, contusions, cases
of severe shock, more or less serious, had to be attended to by
neighbouring chemists.
"Monsieur Nanteuil, reassured as to the fate of his clerks, turned his
attention to the hand-cart and its millions of bullion, and the police
in charge were given to understand that it must be drawn up without
delay.
"Into the pit the firemen once more descended; at first they were
surprised not to find the hand-cart and its millions! No doubt, it had
been covered by the mass of fallen bricks and mortar! But fireman Le
Goffic, who had advanced some yards along the railway line, caught sight
of it. The cart was lying upside down; but, except for a few scratches,
it was found to be unbroken.
"It was immediately hauled up to the roadway. Monsieur Nanteuil at once
ascertained that the seals were intact. He then gave orders that it was
to be taken back to the Barbey-Nanteuil bank without delay. As the
train, which was to have borne away the bullion, had left the station
hours ago, Monsieur Nanteuil decided to break the seals, and place the
bullion in one of the bank's safes for the night.
"Monsieur Nanteuil's stupefaction can be imagined when, having unsealed
and opened the hand-cart, he realised that the sacks of gold had been
replaced by sacks of lead!
"It was at this moment that Monsieur Barbey was informed of the fact by
his half-frantic partner. We were witnesses of this dramatic scene.
"Every second was of value: instant action was the thing! Police
headquarters was warned at once; and, but a few minutes had elapsed,
when Monsieur Havard arrived in a taxicab to take charge of the
investigations.
"Thanks to the courtesy of Monsieur Havard, we were allowed to accompany
him to the stone-yards of the Metropolitan: the police were convinced
that it was hereabouts that the robbery had been accomplished. We
reached the spot about an hour after the explosion. The first
investigations produced no result; but Monsieur Havard pursued his
solitary search up one of the sidings, and had his reward. His
exclamation was heard, and we hastened to the spot.... He had just found
a second hand-cart, in all points similar to that he had recently
examined in the courtyard of the Barbey-Nanteuil bank!
"Monsieur Havard at once realised that he had before his eyes the
original hand-cart, and that the hand-cart he had seen in the bank
courtyard was a clever substitute! It need scarcely be said that there
is no trace of the stolen millions to be found in the original
hand-cart, cast away in a siding of the Metropolitan....
"Our readers know something of the appearance presented by these lines,
in course of construction on the Metropolitan railway. We have
repeatedly published in _La Capitale_ details regarding the way in which
the engineers and workmen supervise and execute the cutting of the
passageway on the underground. The operations in the place de l'Opera
are on an enormous scale, for there is a junction here, and the soil is
more undermined than elsewhere on the railway.
"At the precise spot where the explosion occurred, there are four
galleries in course of construction: one is the future Auteuil-Opera
line, the others either lead to existing lines, or are galleries made
for the convenience of the workmen. Hand-cart number one, that is to
say, the substituted hand-cart filled with sacks of lead, was found in
the passageway of the Auteuil-Opera line, which is perfectly accessible,
and would naturally be visited by the rescuers.