about five months ago. Public opinion had been aroused almost to fever
pitch, when it became known that the accused had, for nearly two years
past, succeeded in getting through into Paris, without having paid town
dues, quantities of the most highly taxed articles, and thus had
accumulated a large store of riches in contraband goods and money. They
owed their arrest to the betrayal of a wretched dealer, who was
dissatisfied with his remuneration.
The journalists had, after their manner, amplified all the details, had
exaggerated the realities, and had given a romantic colouring to the
various incidents in the varied lives and adventures of this daring band
of smugglers.
They had been represented as perfect gentlemen, who had formed
themselves into a marvellously organised Black Band, led by a chief
having right of life or death over them: a band fertile in tricks and
extraordinary stratagems, who massed their plunder in immense vaults and
cellars under the very heart of Paris, in the Isle of the Cite, and
communicating with the river, which, under the eyes of the police,
served to bear the barges laden with their booty.
Cellars and vaults in the Isle of the Cite!
"Well," thought Fandor, "men organised into such a powerful association
in this part of Paris might well put one on the track of strange
discoveries regarding the mysterious events connected with the Jacques
Dollon affair!"
Then, having spoken to his colleagues on the press, Fandor turned in the
direction of the jury and set himself to follow attentively Maitre Henri
Robart's speech for the defence.
XVI
DISCUSSIONS
The portress rang up Fandor on the telephone.
"Monsieur Fandor! There is a stout little lady down here! She wants to
see you! Should I let her go up?"
Fandor's first impulse was to say "no." He glanced at the timepiece: it
was exactly two minutes past eight and Juve might be here at any minute.
He was sure to keep his appointment.
After an instant's hesitation, Fandor decided on a "yes." He called down
to the portress:
"Let her come up!"
Fandor had an idea: perhaps this person knew something about the
appointment made that afternoon at the Palais de Justice! It would be
well to find out the why and wherefore of this call. In any case, it was
best for a journalist to see all comers, if possible.
There was a discreet ring, announcing that the stout little lady had
already mounted the five flights of stairs and was now on Fandor's
landing.
Our journalist went to open the door, standing well back in the shadow,
so that his visitor might show herself first, as she passed into the
little hall.
Yes, she was certainly stout, short, and also elderly. She wore a bonnet
with strings, perched on a thick crop of grey curls, yellowish at the
tips. This elderly dame wore glasses; she was wrapped in a large brown
shawl, and she supported herself, as she walked, with a crook-handled
stick.
Whilst the puzzled Fandor closed his front door, the visitor made
straight for the little sitting-room, where our journalist usually sat,
surrounded by his books and papers.
"Ah, she seems to know my flat!" thought Fandor. The next moment he
jumped back; for, no sooner had the visitor got well into the room, than
she straightened her bent back, threw off her shawl, and dropped her
stick! Then, tearing off her grey curls and her spectacles, the visitor
revealed herself as--Juve!
Fandor burst out laughing.
"Juve! Well, I never!"
"It's Juve, all right, my boy!" cried the smiling detective, as he rid
himself of the feminine get-up which impeded his movements. "I was
pleased to see, my lad, that you did not suspect my identity until I had
thrown off this second-hand wardrobe I bulked myself out with!"
"Oh!" cried Fandor, "that's only because I hardly looked at you. If I
had, Juve, you may be sure I should have recognised you!"
"Possibly! But what do you think of the disguise?"
"Not so bad, Juve; but why did you change your sex this evening?"
"Oh, for the fun of it, and to keep my hand in ... besides, the more
precautions we take when we meet, the better. Admit for a moment that
our enemies are keeping a watch on you here: what will they recollect
about your doings this evening? Why, that Fandor, the journalist, had a
call from a lady, and that she did not leave in a hurry either!"
"Hang it all! I've no objection to a Don Juan reputation, but I may say,
without offence, that, as a woman, there's nothing particularly
attractive about you, Juve, in the garb you've just discarded!"
"Bah!" replied Juve. "You mustn't be so particular, my dear boy--as if
dress mattered--or appearance either!"
Juve was lighting a cigarette as he walked about the room, examining the
books and other objects with which Fandor had surrounded himself.
"A charming home!" murmured the detective....
Then, he inspected the contents of a little show-case, in which Fandor
had collected what he called his "Circumstantial Evidence"; in other
words, various objects relating to cases he had been engaged on, such as
scraps of clothing, blood-stained weapons, broken locks: these records
of crimes, new and old, were carefully labelled. Juve began questioning
Fandor about these sinister relics. Five minutes of jokes and laughter,
then Fandor became serious. He drew his friend to a corner settee.
"Juve," said he, in an impressive tone, "I have found the connecting
link!"
"By Jove! You have, have you!" cried Juve in a bantering tone, and with
a quizzical look. "Let us see it!... Explain!..."
Regardless of his friend's scepticism, Fandor proceeded to expound his
theory.
"I did as you suggested. I was present at the trial of the smugglers: I
listened to Counsel's speech for the defence, but judged it useless to
stay to the end. When Maitre Henri Robart began a disquisition on the
facts, I left. Here is what I have noted:
"Someone owns a house in the Isle of the Cite; a house which is a
meeting place for receivers of stolen goods, ruffians, robbers, and
vagabonds: a house possessing underground cellars of no ordinary kind.
Now, this Someone never mentions this strange house of his, though he
must be aware of its existence; then this Someone knows intimately
several, at least, of the people more or less involved in the Jacques
Dollon affair, and--one may boldly assert it--the Dollon plot was
hatched in a cellar, in a sewer of the Cite.
"One of two things!...
"Either this personage is timorous, is afraid of being compromised,
and does not consider in what an awkward position this coincidence
places him--if that be so, he is a singularly thick-headed
individual--or--well--Monsieur Thomery ... you are the most rascally
scoundrel it has been my lot to admire, up to now! But I assure you, we
know how to get even with you! From the moment we have established, in
the first place, a connection between all these affairs--that they
indubitably hang together; secondly, that you, Monsieur Thomery, are the
connecting link...."
"No," interrupted Juve, sharply....
"What is that you say?..."
"I say--_no_."
"What?" cried Fandor, taken aback. He stared at Juve, who continued to
smoke his cigarette, unmoved. But Fandor was obstinately set on stating
his point of view.
"The primary cause of the Dollon affair seems to be the suicide
of the Baroness de Vibray, a suicide probably owing to a love
disappointment--the old lady had been forsaken by her lover--Monsieur
Thomery!..."
"No."
Juve's denial slightly annoyed Fandor, but did not stop him.
"I ask: was the man who robbed Sonia Danidoff one of the guests? It is
very unlikely; for, not only were the clothes of all those present
searched, but all Thomery's guests were known, well known!..."
"No!"
Fandor bit his lip.
"It's true, Juve! You were there yourself, and no one penetrated your
disguise, and discovered who you really were! My last argument is,
therefore, worthless ... but I fancy your attitude, your way of
receiving my deductions, hides something. Have you got new information!
Fresh facts to go on? You know who stole the jewels?"
"No."
"Good Heavens! How aggravating you are, Juve!... But this time you will
simply have to agree with me! Listen!... When we first met, after our
long separation, you admitted that one thing bothered you--the ease with
which your nefarious band of villains of the Isle of the Cite were able
to get rid of considerable sums of false money; and you were trying to
find their market--by what means these wretches were able to rid
themselves of the coin; when, apparently, they were not acquainted with
any influential people in the business world, or in the circles of high
finance.... Well, I have discovered their channel of distribution--it is
none other than the proprietor of this house properly, the ground floor
and basement of which are occupied by Mother Toulouche--obviously, it is
Thomery!..."
"No!"
Fandor lifted hands to heaven in despairing fashion and sat silent. He
was deeply mortified. There was a long pause, during which Juve calmly
smoked on. At last, Fandor asked in a hopeless sort of tone:
"Well?... What do you think?"
Slowly, as if awakening from a dream, Juve began to speak.
"We know nothing for certain so far, my lad, except that the Baroness de
Vibray has committed suicide; that Princess Sonia Danidoff has recovered
from the shock of her jewel robbery, and is to marry Thomery next month
... there is nothing extraordinary in that ... just as there is,
perhaps, nothing surprising or extraordinary in the series of robberies,
nor even in the crimes occupying our attention at the present moment!"
Fandor jumped up. "Nothing!" he shouted. "You are joking, Juve! It is
absurd what you say! Do just think a minute, my dear fellow! Why, all
these affairs are closely connected, from the Jacques Dollon affair, up
to ... up to ..."
Fandor stopped short. Juve, who had been listening to him with seeming
inattention, now appeared wholly anxious to hear the end of the
sentence: he stared hard at Fandor.
"Go on! Go on! I want to make you say it!..."
And Fandor, as though in spite of himself, finished with:
"Up to Fantomas!"
"Yes, at last we have got it!" cried Juve.
The two men gazed at each other; once more the logic of deductions, the
chain of circumstances had inevitably led him to pronounce the name of
the formidable bandit, of whom they could not think without a shudder;
whose memory they could not evoke without immediately feeling themselves
surrounded by sinister gloom, lost in a thick fog of mystery, of what
was strange, hidden, occult!
Fandor's countenance cleared suddenly as he gave utterance to the idea
which had just crossed his mind.
"Juve, do you not think that this mysterious prison warder, called
Nibet, might very well be an incarnation of Fantomas, because in so many
circumstances ..."
Juve interrupted Fandor with a gesture of denial.
"No, old fellow," said he gravely. "Don't start on that trail, it is
assuredly a bad one: Nibet is not Fantomas. Nibet does not count for
much, one might say, for nothing at all; he can scarcely be called a
tiny wheel even in the great machine driven on its diabolical course by
our fiendish enemy ... we must look higher than that!"
"Thomery?" insisted Fandor, who still held to his idea, and was
determined to turn Juve to his way of thinking....
But Juve still said "no!" to that.
"Let us drop Thomery, my lad! As to Fantomas, how do you think we can
identify him in this haphazard fashion, basing our idea on pure
supposition? ... For, who is Fantomas--the real Fantomas, among so many
probable Fantomas?
"Can you tell me that, Fandor?" continued Juve, who was getting excited
at last.... "I grant you that we have seen, in the course of our
chequered existence, an old gentleman, like Etienne Rambert, a thickset
Englishman like Gurn, a robust fellow like Loupart, a weak and sickly
individual like Chaleck. We have identified each one of them, in turn,
as Fantomas--and that is all.
"As for seeing Fantomas himself, just as he is, without artificial aid,
without paint and powder, without a false beard, without a wig, Fantomas
as his face really is under his hooded mask of black--that we have not
yet done. It is that fact which makes our hunt for the villain
ceaselessly difficult, often dangerous!... Fantomas is always someone,
sometimes two persons, never himself!"
Juve, once started on this subject, could go on for ever, and Fandor did
not try to stop him: when the course of conversation led them to talk of
Fantomas the two men were as though hypnotised by this mysterious
creature, so well named, for he was really "Fantomatic," a spectral
entity: the two friends could not turn their minds to any other subject.
They discussed Fantomas up and down, in and out, and round about!...
* * * * *
It was getting on towards one o'clock when Fandor saw Juve off as far as
the staircase. The detective had resumed his disguise, but neither man
was in a joking mood now. Fandor had given Juve an account of the
annoying, yet rather absurd incident at the convent, when he and
Elizabeth were unsuspectingly bidding each other a passionate farewell
under the watchful and scandalised eye of a nun! Fandor had thought it
better to take Juve into his confidence on the point, though it went
against the grain, for he was bashful with regard to his feelings.
Juve had openly laughed at first, but when he understood that Elizabeth,
requested to leave the convent, would again be without a safe shelter,
he became serious, reflected for a minute or two, then gave his dear lad
a piece of advice, advice which Fandor had seemingly taken objection to,
and had finished by agreeing to....
They parted with these words:
"The more you think it over, dear lad, the better you will like my
idea," said Juve.
Fandor had not said "No" to it!
XVII
AN ARREST
The day after his memorable talk with Juve, Fandor was summoned to
appear before the police magistrate, because he could give evidence
regarding the rue Raffet affair, and had saved Elizabeth Dollon's life.
It was about four in the afternoon, and he had just entered the passage
leading to the offices so familiar to him, when he met Elizabeth. Behind
her came several persons whom he recognised: among them were the
Barbey-Nanteuil partners, Madame Bourrat, and the servant, Jules. They
were together and were talking. The moment she saw him, Elizabeth went
up to him.
"Ah, monsieur!" she cried, with a reproachful look. "We had given up all
hope of seeing you.... Just imagine, the magistrate has finished his
enquiry already! Twice he asked if you had come!"
Fandor seemed surprised.
"The summons was for four this afternoon, was it not?" he asked, taking
from his pocket the summoning letter. A glance showed that he was not
mistaken: he gave Elizabeth the letter to read. She smiled.
"You were summoned for four o'clock, I see; but we had to appear
earlier: I was examined as soon as I arrived, and I was summoned to
appear at half-past two."
Fandor was annoyed with himself: he might have guessed it! He was vexed
because he had not been on the watch in the passage whilst this
examination was proceeding. He was moving towards Monsieur Fuselier's
room, the magistrate in charge of the Auteuil affair, and he must have
looked his vexation, for Elizabeth said:
"I am a little to blame, perhaps, that you had not due notice, but what
could I do! Yesterday evening when you telephoned to the convent to ask
for news of me, I was just going to tell you at what time I was
summoned, but when I went to the telephone...."
"What's this you are telling me?" asked Fandor, staring hard at
Elizabeth. "I never telephoned to you yesterday evening. Who told you I
had been asking for you on the telephone?"
"Nobody said so; but I supposed it was you! Who else would be so kindly
interested in my doings?"
Fandor made no reply to this. Here was the telephone mystery again--an
alarming mystery. Elizabeth had not given her address to anyone: Fandor
had been careful not to give it to a soul.... Clearly, this poor girl,
even in the heart of this peaceful convent, was not secure from some
unknown, outside interference; and Fandor, optimist though he was, could
not help shuddering at the thought of these mysterious adversaries,
implacable and formidable, who might work harm to this unfortunate girl,
whose devoted protector he now was.... Besides ... did he not feel for
Jacques Dollon's pretty sister something sweeter and more tender than
pure sympathy?... Whenever he was near her, did he not experience a
thrill of emotion? Fandor did not analyse his feelings, but they
influenced him unconsciously.
He turned to Elizabeth.
"Since you cannot remain any longer at the convent, where do you think
of staying?"
"Well, monsieur, I shall go back to the convent this evening, though it
is painful to me--very, very painful--to be obliged to accept their icy
hospitality ... as for to-morrow!"
Fandor was about to make a suggestion, when the door of Monsieur
Fuselier's room opened half-way. The magistrate's clerk appeared, and,
glancing round the passage over his spectacles, called, in a dull tone:
"Monsieur Jerome Fandor!"
"Here!" replied our journalist. "I am coming!"
Then, taking a hasty farewell of Elizabeth as he went towards the
magistrate's room, he whispered:
"Wait for me, mademoiselle; and, for the love of Heaven, remember
this--whatever I may say, whatever happens, whether we are alone,
together, or in the presence of others, whether it be in a few minutes,
or later on, do not be astonished at what may befall you, even though it
be my fault--be absolutely convinced of this--whatever I may do will be
for your good--more than that I must not say!"
Elizabeth had not a word to say, but his words were humming and buzzing
in her ears when Fandor was in the magistrate's room.
With a cordial handshake, Monsieur Fuselier began by congratulating him
on having saved Elizabeth Dollon's life.
"Ah," said he, smiling, "you journalists have all the luck; and, between
yourselves, I envy you a little, for your lucky star has led you to the
discovery of a drama, and has enabled you to prevent a fatal ending to
it. Now, do you not think, as I do, that this Auteuil affair is not a
case of suicide, but of attempted assassination?"
"There is no doubt about it," replied Fandor quietly.
The magistrate drew himself up with a satisfied air.
"That is also my opinion--has been so from the start."
The clerk now interrupted the two men, who were talking as friends
rather than as magistrate and witness, asking, in nasal tone:
"Does His Honour wish to take the evidence of Monsieur Jerome Fandor?"
"In four lines then. I do not think Monsieur Fandor has anything more to
tell us than what he has already told us in the columns of _La
Capitale_. That is so, is it not?" asked the magistrate, looking at
Fandor.
"That is correct," replied our journalist.
The clerk rapidly drew up the deposition of Monsieur Jerome Fandor, in
due form, and read it aloud in a monotonous voice.
Fandor signed it. It did not compromise him at all. He was about to
leave when Monsieur Fuselier caught him by the arm.
"Please wait a minute! There are one or two points to be cleared up: I
am going to ask the witnesses a few questions: we will have a general
confrontation--we will compare evidence!"
Then, the journalist's friend, now all the magistrate, asked the
assembled witnesses certain questions, in an emphatic and professional
tone.
Fandor, seated a little apart, had leisure to examine the faces of the
different persons whom circumstances had brought together in this room.
His first look was for Elizabeth: energy and courage were plainly marked
on her pretty, sad face. Then there was the proprietor of the Auteuil
boarding-house: an honest, vulgar creature, red-faced, perpetually
mopping her brow and raising her hands to heaven; ready to bewail her
position, deploring the untimely publicity given to this affair, a
publicity which threatened discredit to her boarding-house.
As he was seated directly behind the manservant, Jules, Fandor had a
view of his broad back, surmounted by a big bullet head and ruffled
hair. This witness spoke with a strong Picardy accent, and there was
nothing remarkable about his answers: he seemed the conventional
second-rate type of servant. He did not seem to have understood much of
what occurred on the famous day: when questioned as to the order of
events, his answers were vague, uncertain.
Then, seated beside Fandor were the bankers: Barbey, a grave-looking
man, no longer young, judging by his beard, which was going grey; he was
decorated with the Legion of Honour: the other, Nanteuil, looked about
thirty, elegant, distinguished, lively. These two were well known in the
highest Parisian society as representing finance of the best kind. They
were highly thought of.
The magistrate asked the bankers a question.
"Why," asked he, "did Messieurs Barbey-Nanteuil call on Mademoiselle
Dollon? Was it to bring her some help, as has been stated?"
Elizabeth blushed with humiliation at the magistrate's question.
Monsieur Nanteuil answered:
"There is a slight distinction to be made, your Honour, and Mademoiselle
Dollon certainly will not object to our mentioning it. It never entered
our minds to offer Mademoiselle Dollon charity--charity she never asked
of us, be it clearly understood. Mademoiselle Dollon, with whom we had
previously been acquainted, whose misfortunes have inspired us with deep
sympathy, wrote to ask us if we could find her some employment. Hoping
to find some post for her, we came to see her, to talk with her, to find
out what her capabilities were. That is all. We were very glad it so
happened, that we were able to aid Monsieur Fandor in restoring her to
life."
"Can you tell me, Monsieur Fandor, did you notice anything suspicious in
Mademoiselle Dollon's room when you entered it? You wrote, in your
article, that at first you had thought it simply an attempted burglary,
followed by an attempted murder?"
"That is so," replied Fandor. "Directly the window was opened, I leaned
out: I wanted to see if there was anything suspicious on the wall of the
house. I also looked behind the shutters."
"Why?" asked the examining magistrate.
"Because I had not forgotten the close of the Thomery drama--the same
Monsieur Thomery mentioned in the Assize Court yesterday--oh, in all
honour, of course; but you have not forgotten--although that examination
was not in your hands, and I regret it, because I am of the opinion that
there are points of connection interlinking all these mysterious
affairs--you have not forgotten, I am sure, that when the investigations
were over and Monsieur Thomery's guests had been allowed to leave the
house, that a thread of flax was discovered hanging to the window
fastening of the room in which Princess Danidoff had been found
unconscious. This flax thread was very strong, and was broken at the
end: it is easy to conclude that the stolen pearls had been temporarily
fastened to it. This led me to think that the aggressor, or aggressors,
had remained in the reception rooms during the whole course of the
investigations, since it is proved that no one left the house....
"... But, after all, we are not here to investigate the Thomery
affair.... I wished to explain why I had examined the window and
shutters Of Mademoiselle Dollon's room: I wanted to ascertain whether
the procedure of the would-be murderer of Mademoiselle Dollon was
similar to that of the robber in the Danidoff-Thomery case."
"And what conclusion did you come to?" asked the magistrate.
"Window and shutters bore no traces that I could see," said Fandor. "I
could not come to any conclusion."
Here Monsieur Barbey intervened.
"If I may be allowed to say so"--he glanced at the magistrate for the
required permission, which was given with a smile and gesture of
assent--"I quite agree with Monsieur Jerome Fandor. I also am convinced
that, even if there is not a close connection between the Thomery affair
and the Auteuil affair, at least there exists such a connection between
the Auteuil affair and the terrible drama of rue Norvins."
"I would go even further than that," declared Monsieur Nanteuil. "The
robbery of rue du Quatre Septembre, of which we are the victims, is also
connected with this same series of mysterious cases."
The magistrate asked a question.
"It is a matter of twenty millions, is it not? It must have been a
terrible blow to you?"