time, he had been more and more troubled by the poor girl's touching
grief, as well as by her pathetic beauty, which had made a great
impression on him.... He began to read her letter.
_"Dear Sir,_
_You have been so good to me in all my troubles, you have shown me
such true sympathy, that I do not hesitate to ask your help once
more._
_Such an extraordinary thing has happened to me which I cannot
account for at all, which, nevertheless, makes me think, more than
ever, that my poor brother is living, innocent, and kept prisoner,
perhaps by those who compel him to accept the responsibility for
all those horrible crimes you know about._
_To-day, whilst I was in Paris on business, some people, of whom I
know nothing, I need hardly say, whom not a soul in the private
boarding-house where I am saw, these persons entered my room!_
_I found all my belongings turned upside down; my papers scattered
over the floor, every drawer and trunk and box ransacked from top
to bottom!_
_You can guess how frightened I was...._
_I do not think they had come to do me any personal harm, not even
to rob me, for I had left my modest jewellery on the mantelpiece
and found them still there: those who entered my room did not covet
valuables._
_Then, why did they come?_
_You are perhaps going to say that my imagination is playing me
tricks!... Nevertheless, I assure you that I try to keep calm, but
I cannot keep control of myself, and I am terribly afraid!_
_I have just said that nothing was stolen from me; I think,
however, it right to mention one strange coincidence._
_I was convinced that I had left, in a little red pocket-book, the
list I spoke to you of, which had been retrieved at my brother's
house on the day of Madame de Vibray's death. It was, as I have
told you, written in green ink by a person whose handwriting I do
not know. I can hardly tell why, but amidst all the disorders in my
room I immediately searched for this list. The little pocket-book
was on the floor amongst other papers, but the list was not to be
found in it._
_Am I mistaken? Have I packed it in somewhere else, or, allowing
for the fact that everything had been turned upside down, has this
paper slipped among other papers, which would explain why I had not
come across it again?_
_In spite of myself, I must confess to you that the thieves, I
fancy, had only one aim in view when they entered my room, and that
was to get hold of this list._
_What is your opinion?_
_I feel that perhaps I am about to show myself both inconsiderate
and injudicious, but you know how miserable I am, and you will
understand how the position I am in gives me grounds for being
distracted. I am bent on talking this over with you, on knowing
what you think of it. Perhaps even, knowing how clever you are, you
might be able to find something, an indication, some detail, in my
room? I have not touched anything._
_I shall stay indoors all to-morrow in the hope of seeing you; do
come if you possibly can. It seems to me that I am forsaken by
everyone, and I trust only you...."_
Jerome Fandor read and reread this letter, which had been written with a
trembling hand.
"Poor little soul!" he murmured. "Here is something more to add to her
troubles! It is really terrible! It seems to me as if we should never
come to the end of it; and I ask myself, whether the police will ever
find the key to all these mysteries!...
"Did someone really break into Elizabeth Dollon's room to steal this
paper? It is rather improbable. Judging from what she told me, there is
nothing compromising in it. But then, why this search?... She is right
so far: if the intruders had been merely thieves, they would have
carried off her jewellery!... Then it is for that paper they came?
Besides, ordinary burglars would have had considerable difficulty in
getting into her room, where she is remarkably well guarded, by the very
fact of there being other boarders in the house....
"No, the very audacity of this attempted theft seems to prove, that it
is connected with the other affairs which have brought the name of
Jacques Dollon into such prominence!
"I see in this the same extraordinary audacity, the same certainty of
escape, the same long and careful preparation, for it is a by no means
convenient place for a burglary in open day: comings and goings are
perpetual, and the guilty persons ran a hundred risks of being
caught...."
Fandor interrupted his reflections to read Elizabeth's letter once more.
"She is dying of fright! That is evident!... In any case she calls to me
for help. Her letter was posted yesterday evening.... I will go and see
her--and at once.... Who knows but I might find some clue which would
put me on the right track?"
* * * * *
Jerome Fandor did not feel very hopeful.
After having gone carefully over every point connected with, and
pertaining to, the affair of rue du Quatre Septembre, he had almost come
to the conclusion, optimistic as he was regarding the police, that
chance alone would bring about the arrest of the guilty parties.
"To lay these criminals by the heels," he had frankly declared,
"requires the aid of very favourable circumstances, and without them,
neither I nor the police will get at the truth of it all."
Fandor made a definite distinction between the opinion of the police and
his own, because two different theories now obtained with regard to the
two affairs: that of the attack on the Princess Sonia Danidoff, and that
of the robbery of rue du Quatre Septembre, where the imprints of Jacques
Dollon's fingers had been found.
The police and Fandor coupled Monsieur Havard with Monsieur Bertillon
under this definition; the police held it for certain that Jacques
Dollon was alive, very much alive, and the probabilities were great that
he was guilty of the different crimes attributed to him.
In an interview granted to a press rival of _La Capitale_ Monsieur
Bertillon had stated:
"We base our assertion that Dollon is alive, and consequently guilty, on
material facts: we have found his signature attached to each of the
crimes, and it is a signature which cannot be imitated by anyone...."
For his part, Fandor held it as certain that Jacques was dead.
"I maintain that, since fifty persons have seen Jacques Dollon dead, it
is infinitely more likely that he is dead than that he is alive! The
imprints of his fingers, his hand, are equally visible, it is true, and
seem to prove that he is alive. But the conclusive nature of this test
is nullified by the fact that, before the discovery of these imprints,
before these imprints had been made, Jacques Dollon was dead!"
And in his articles in _La Capitale_, Jerome Fandor, with a persistency
which finished by disconcerting even the most convinced partisans of the
police contention, continued to maintain that Jacques Dollon was dead,
dead as dead, and, to use his own expression, "as dead as it was
possible for anyone to be dead!"
Jerome Fandor had just rung the bell at the garden gate of Madame
Bourrat's private boarding-house in Auteuil.
Jules hastened to answer this ring, and was met by the question:
"Is Mademoiselle Elizabeth Dollon at home?"
"No, monsieur. She went out not an hour ago!"
"And you are certain she has not returned?"
"Absolutely, monsieur.... There are two visitors waiting for her
already."
"She will be in soon, then?"
"Certainly, monsieur: she will not be long...."
Fandor looked at his watch.
"A quarter past ten!... Very well, I will wait for her."
"If monsieur will kindly follow me?"
Fandor was shown into the drawing-room. He had advanced only a step or
two when he was greeted with:
"Why! Monsieur Fandor!"
"I am delighted to see you!" cried Fandor, shaking hands with Monsieur
Barbey and Monsieur Nanteuil. Both gave him a pleasant smile of welcome.
"You have come to see Mademoiselle Dollon, I suppose?"
"Yes. We have come to assure her that we will do all in our power to
help her out of her terrible difficulties. She wrote to us a few days
ago to ask if we would act as intermediaries regarding the sale of some
of her unfortunate brother's productions, also to see if we could get
her a situation in some dressmaking establishment.... We have come to
assure her of our entire sympathy."
"That is most kind of you! They told you, did they not, that she had
gone out? I think she will not be absent long, for I have an appointment
with her. But, if you will allow me, I will go to the office and ask if
they have the least idea of which way she has gone, for I have little
time to spare, and if we could go to meet her, it would save, at least,
a few minutes...."
Jerome Fandor rose and went towards one of the drawing-room doors.
"You are making a mistake," said Monsieur Nanteuil, "the office is this
way," and he pointed to another door.
"Bah! All roads lead to Rome!" With that, Fandor went out by the door he
had approached first....
"They are nice fellows," said Fandor to himself. "If Elizabeth Dollon is
really not in!... but... Is she really not in the house? I am by no
means sure.... If she feels timid at the idea of seeing the
bankers--their visit may have made her nervous, considering the state
she is in ... she might have sent to say she was not at home in order to
have time to add some finishing touches to her toilette."
Fandor, who knew the house, mounted the little staircase leading to the
first floor. Elizabeth's room was on this floor. Before her door he
stopped and sniffed.
"Queer smell!" he murmured. "It smells like gas!"
He knocked boldly, calling:
"Mademoiselle Elizabeth! It is I, Fandor!"
The smell of gas became more pronounced as he waited.
A horrible idea, an agonising fear, flashed through his mind.
He knocked as hard as he could on the door.
"Mademoiselle Elizabeth! Mademoiselle!"
No answer.
He called down the stairs:
"Waiter!... Porter!"
But apparently the one and only manservant the house boasted was
occupied elsewhere, for no one answered.
Fandor returned to the door of Elizabeth's room, knelt down and tried to
look through the keyhole. The inside key was there, which seemed to
confirm his agonising fear.
"She has not gone out then?"
He took a deep breath.
"What a horrible smell of gas!"
This time he did not hesitate. He rose, stepped back, sprang forward,
and with a vigorous push from the shoulder, he drove the door off its
hinges.
"My God!" he shouted.
In the centre of the room, Fandor had just seen Elizabeth Dollon lying
unconscious. A tube, detached from a portable gas stove, was between her
tightly closed lips! The tap was turned full on. He flung himself on his
knees near the poor girl, pulled away the deadly tube, and put his ear
to her heart.
What joy, what happiness, he felt when he heard, very feeble but quite
unmistakable beatings of Elizabeth's heart!
"She lives!" What unspeakable relief Jerome Fandor felt! What
thankfulness!
The noise he had made breaking the door off its hinges brought the whole
household running to the spot. As the manservant, followed by Madame
Bourrat, followed in turn by Monsieur Barbey and Nanteuil, appeared in
the doorway uttering cries of terror, Jerome called out:
"No one is to come in!... It is an accident!"
Then lifting Elizabeth in his strong arms, he carried her out of the
room.
"What she needs is air!"
He hurried downstairs and out into the garden with his precious burden,
followed by the terrified witnesses of the scene.
"You have saved her life, monsieur!" cried Madame Bourrat in a tragic
voice. She groaned. "Oh, what a scandal!"
"Yes, I have saved her," replied Fandor as, panting with his exertions,
he laid Elizabeth Dollon flat on a garden seat.... "But from whom?... It
is certainly not attempted suicide! There is some mystery behind this
business: it's a regular theatrical performance arranged simply for
effect, and to mislead us," declared Fandor. Then, turning to the
bankers, he said courteously but with an air of command:
"Please lay information with the superintendent of police at once ...
the nearest police station, you understand!"
"Madame," he said, addressing the overwhelmed Madame Bourrat, "you will
be good enough to look after Mademoiselle Dollon, will you not?... Take
every care of her. There is not much to be done, however! I have seen
many cases of commencing asphyxia: she will regain consciousness now, in
a few minutes."
Then, looking at the manservant, he said in a sharp tone:
"Come with me! You will mount guard at the door of Mademoiselle
Elizabeth's room, whilst I try to discover some clues, before the police
arrive on the scene."
To tell the truth, our young journalist felt embarrassed at the idea
that Elizabeth Dollon was about to regain consciousness, and that he
would have to submit to being thanked by her, when she knew who had
saved her.
Accompanied by the manservant, he went quickly upstairs and into
Elizabeth's room.
"You must not enter Mademoiselle Dollon's room on any account!" said
Fandor sternly. "It is quite enough that I should run the risk of
effacing the, probably very slight, clues which the delinquents have
left behind them...."
"But, monsieur, if the young lady put the tubing between her lips, it
must have been because she wished to destroy herself!"
"On the face of it you are right, my good fellow. But, when one is
right, one is often wrong!"
Without more ado, Fandor started on a minute inspection of the room.
Elizabeth had but stated the truth when she wrote that it had been
thoroughly ransacked. Only her toilet things had been spared; but some
books had been taken from their shelves and thrown about the floor,
their pages crumpled and spoilt. He noticed the emptied trunk: its
contents--copy books, letters, pieces of music--had been roughly dealt
with. On the mantelpiece, in full view, lay Elizabeth's jewellery--some
rings and brooches, a small gold watch, a purse.
"A very queer affair," murmured Fandor, who was kneeling in the middle
of the room, rummaging, searching, and not finding any clue. He rose,
carefully examined all the woodwork, but found nothing incriminating. He
examined the lock of the unhinged door, which had subsided on the floor.
The lock was intact, the bolt moved freely: the screws only of the
staple had given way.
"That," thought Fandor, "is probably owing to the force of my thrust!"
The window fastening was intact: the window closed.
"If the robbers," reflected Fandor, "got into a closed room, they must
have used false keys."
Having examined the means of access to the room, Fandor started on a
still more minute examination of the interior. He scrutinised the
furniture and the slight powdering of dust on each article: in vain!...
Then the washstand had its turn: nothing!... He scrutinised the soap.
"Ah! This is interesting!" he cried. The manservant had made himself
scarce; and Fandor, unobserved, could wrap up the piece of soap in his
handkerchief and hide it in the lowest drawer of the chest of drawers,
under a pile of linen. He was whistling now.
"That bit of soap is interesting--very!" he cried. "Let the police come!
I am not afraid of their blundering!... Now to see how Elizabeth is
getting on!"
When he reached her side, he found she had recovered full consciousness,
and was preparing to answer the questions of a police superintendent,
who, summoned by the bankers, had hastened to the scene of action. He
was a stout, apoplectic man, very full of his own importance.
"Come now, mademoiselle, tell us just how things happened from beginning
to end! We ask nothing better than to believe you, but do not conceal
any detail--not the slightest...."
Poor Elizabeth Dollon, when she heard this speech, stared at the pompous
police official, astonished. What had she to conceal? What had she to
gain by lying? What did he think, this fat policeman, who took it upon
himself to issue orders, when he should rather have tried to comfort
her! Nevertheless, she at once began telling him all that she knew with
regard to the affair. She told him of her letter to Fandor: that her
room had been visited the evening before: by whom she did not know ...
that she had not said a word about it to anyone, fearing vengeance would
fall on her, frightened, not understanding what it all meant....
Then she came to what the police dignitary called "her suicide." As she
finished her recital with a reference to her rescue by Fandor, she
looked at the young journalist. It was a look of great gratitude and a
kind of ardent tenderness, with a touch of fear in it.
"Strange, very strange!" pronounced the superintendent of police, who
had been taking notes with an air of great gravity. "So very strange,
mademoiselle, that it is very difficult to credit your statements!...
very difficult indeed!..."
Whilst he was speaking, Fandor was saying to himself:
"Decidedly, it is that!... Just what I was thinking! It is quite clear,
clear as the sun in the sky, evident, indisputable!" And he refused,
very politely of course--for one has to respect the authorities--to
accompany the superintendent, who, in his turn, went upstairs to
Elizabeth's room, in order to carry out the necessary legal
verification....
XIV
SOMEONE TELEPHONED
The nuns of the order of Saint Augustin were not expelled in consequence
of the Decrees. This was a special favour, but one fully justified,
because of the incalculable benefits this community conferred on
suffering humanity. The vast convent of rue de la Glaciere continues to
serve as a shelter for these holy women, and as a sort of hospital for
the sick. For close on a hundred years, generation after generation of
those living near its walls have heard the convent clock sound the hours
in solemn tones; so, too, the convent chapel's shrill-voiced bells have
never failed to remind the faithful that the daily offices of their
church are being said and sung by the holy sisters within the hallowed
walls.
In the vast quarter of Paris, peopled with hospitals and prisons, the
convent shows a stern front in the shape of a high, blackened wall. A
great courtyard gate, in which a window with iron bars and grating is
the only visible opening to the exterior world.
About half-past six in the morning, slightly out of breath with his
rapid walk from the Metropolitan station, Jerome Fandor rang the convent
door bell. The sound could be heard echoing and re-echoing in the
vaulted corridors, till it died away in the stony distance. There was a
silence: then the iron-barred window was half opened, and Fandor heard a
voice asking:
"What do you want, monsieur?"
"I wish to speak to Madame the Superior," replied Fandor.
The window was closed again and a lengthy silence followed. Then,
slowly, the heavy entrance gate swung half open. Fandor entered the
convent. Under the arched doorway, a nun received him with a slight
salutation, and turned her back.
"Kindly follow me," she murmured.
Fandor followed along a narrow passage, on one side of which were cells,
whilst on the other, it opened by means of large bays, on a vast
rectangular cloister quite deserted. A door-window in the passage was
ajar: the nun stopped here and said:
"Kindly wait in this parlour, and be good enough to let me have your
card. I will inform our Mother Superior that you wish to see her."
The room in which our journalist found himself was severely furnished:
its walls were white, on them hung a great ivory crucifix, and here and
there, a simple religious picture framed in ebony. A few chairs were
ranged in a circle about an oval table: on the floor, polished till it
shone like a mirror, were a few small mats, which gave a touch of
common-place comfort to the icy regularity of this parlour, set apart
for official visits.
What emotions, what dramas, what joys, have had this parlour for a
setting! It is there that the life of the cloister touches mundane
existence; it is there the nuns receive their future companions in the
religious life and their weeping families; it is there the parents of
those in the convent infirmary come to hear from the doctor's lips the
decrees of life or death; for the convent is not only a retreat, it is
an asylum for the sick, the ailing, recommended to their patients by the
most eminent doctors, the most prominent surgeons.
Accustomed though he was to every kind of human misery, Fandor shuddered
at the thought of all these walls had seen and heard. His reflections
were broken by the arrival of a little old lady, whose eyes shone
strangely luminous in her pale and wrinkled face--a face showing the
highest distinction.
Fandor made a deep bow: it might have expressed the reverence of the
world to religion.
"Madame la Superieure," murmured he, "I have come to pay my respects to
you and to ask for news of your boarder."
The Mother Superior, in a gay tone, which contrasted with her cold and
reserved appearance, replied at once:
"Ah, you preferred to come yourself! You had not the patience to wait at
the telephone? I quite understand. Would you believe it, while the
sister, who has charge of this young girl, was being sent for, the
communication was cut off. That is why we could not give you any
information."
Fandor stared.
"But I do not understand, madame?"
The Mother Superior replied:
"Was it not you then who telephoned this morning to ask for news of
Mademoiselle Dollon?"
"I certainly did not do so!"
"In that case, I do not understand what it means, either! But it does
not matter much: you shall see your protegee now."
The Mother Superior rang: a sister appeared.
"Sister, will you take this gentleman to Mademoiselle Dollon! She was
walking in the park a short while ago, and is probably there now....
Monsieur, I bid you good day."
Gliding swiftly and noiselessly over the polished floor, the Mother
Superior disappeared. The nun led the way and Fandor followed: he was
very much upset by what the Mother Superior had just told him.
"How had Elizabeth's place of refuge been so quickly discovered?... Who
could have telephoned to get news of her?"
The nun had led Fandor across the great rectangular courtyard; then by
corridors, and many winding, vaulted passages, they had come out on to a
terrace, overlooking an immense park, which extended further than the
eye could see. Here were bosky dells, ancient trees, bowers and grooves,
meadows where milky mothers chewed the cud in the shade of blossoming
apple trees. It might have been in Normandy, a hundred leagues from
Paris!
The nun turned to the admiring Fandor.
"The young lady you seek, monsieur, is coming along this path: there she
is!... I will leave you."
Fandor had seen Elizabeth's graceful figure moving towards him, thrown
into charming relief by the country landscape flooded with sunshine. In
her modest mourning dress, with her fair shining hair, she appeared
prettier than ever: a touching figure of sorrowing beauty!
Elizabeth pressed Fandor's hands warmly.
"Oh, thank you, monsieur, thank you!" she cried, "for having come to see
me this morning. I know how little spare time you have! I feel vexed
with myself for putting you out so ... but you see"--Elizabeth could not
repress a sob--"I am so alone ... so desolate ... I have lost everything
I cared for ... and you are the only person I can trust and confide in
now!... I feel like a bit of wreckage at the mercy of wind and wave; I
feel as though I were surrounded by enemies: I live in a nightmare....
What should I do without you to turn to?..."
Our young journalist, moved by such great misfortune so simply, so
candidly expressed, returned the pressure of Elizabeth's hands.
"You know, mademoiselle," he said softly, but in a voice vibrating with
sympathetic emotion--the only sign of feeling he permitted himself to
show--"you know that you can count absolutely on me. In getting you to
take a few days' rest in this retreat, I felt I was doing what was best
for you. You are not solitary; but your surroundings are peaceful and
friendly, and should you have enemies, though I am loath to think it,
you are sheltered here beyond their reach. With reference to that, have
you given your address to anyone, since yesterday?"
"To no one," replied Elizabeth. "Has anyone by chance?..."
She looked troubled, and gave an anxious questioning glance at Fandor.
He did not want to frighten the much-tried girl, but he wished to solve
the mystery of the unaccountable telephone call.
"Oh, I just wished to know, mademoiselle.... Now, tell me, have you
quite recovered from ... your experience of the other day?"