peer cautiously out, for Elizabeth's window did not face the gate: even
by leaning out he could not catch any glimpse of any visitors, either
coming to the house or passing along towards Madame Bourrat's apartments
in the annex.... Besides, Fandor feared to make a noise, and the
polished boards of the floor cracked and creaked at the least movement!
"The one thing for me to do," thought he, "is to creep back into my
retreat and wait. Now who can it be at this time of night?"
Fandor's curiosity was rapidly satisfied--after a fashion! The call of
the bell had been answered by noises and hurried footsteps, whisperings,
an outburst of voices, then silence.... A few minutes after, Fandor
clearly heard some persons entering the ground floor of the house.
He listened intently: he could hear his own heartbeats.
Then a voice said:
"In Heaven's name! Is it possible? Why do you come to upset people at
this time of night? As if we had not had enough to put up with during
the day! It is a dreadful business! There's no doubt about it! Are we
never to be left in peace?"
"Why, it's Madame Bourrat's voice!" said Fandor. "Poor woman! What's
up?" He listened. Someone said:
"The law is the law, madame, and we are it's humble executors. As the
examining judge has ordered me to make an investigating distraint, we
are compelled to carry out his instructions to the letter. Be good
enough to tell your servant to lead us to the actual spot where the
crime was attempted."
"Now what is all this?" asked Fandor. "And from whence comes this police
inspector? It only wanted that! He won't know what to make of it when I
tell him who I am--and how am I to explain my presence here? Anyhow,
wait, and see what happens!"
"Someone was coming upstairs--more than one!"
"This way, messieurs!" said a hoarse voice. "The room the young lady
occupied is at the end of this passage!"
"This time I recognise my fine fellow!" thought Fandor. "It is that
imbecile of a Jules. But what a triumphant tone! And how different his
voice sounds to what it did, this afternoon, at the examination!"
Then Fandor all but jumped from his hiding place.
"Oh! What an egregious fool I am! Why, there is not a police inspector
in France who would come at this hour to carry out an investigation--and
a distraint to boot! What the devil does it mean? Can they be the fine
fellows I am lying in wait to meet?"
The dubious individuals who had roused the house at such an unholy hour
entered the room. Someone turned on the electric light.
Though Fandor could obtain a sufficient supply of air through the
openings in the wickerwork, he could not see what was going on: he could
only listen with all his ears.
Madame Bourrat accompanied her strange visitors.
"It is here," she exclaimed, "that the journalist, Jerome Fandor, found
my boarder stretched out on the floor.... You see, in this corner, is
the gas stove with its tubing! They have forgotten to refix it to the
pipe; but there is no danger, the tap is turned off and so is the
meter."
The personage who had given out that he was a police inspector, whose
voice was probably an assumed one, replied only by monosyllables. Fandor
did not recognise his voice. But there was another speaker, who also had
very little to say for himself; and Fandor thought he recognised certain
tones as belonging to a man who had been much in his thoughts of late.
"Thomery!" thought he. "Is it Thomery?"
But he only knew the sugar refiner by sight, and had heard him speak but
once or twice at the ball: that was not enough to go on, for Fandor had
not paid special attention to the distinguishing tone and quality of his
host's voice. Nevertheless, he could not get out of his head the idea
that the celebrated sugar refiner, honoured by all Paris, esteemed by
everybody, was standing only a step or two away from him now in this
house of strange happenings, and under very peculiar circumstances. "Was
he a burglar--an assassin? One of a nefarious band?"
For Fandor was now convinced that these were not police emissaries
bearing a legal mandate to search and distrain: no, they were robbers,
criminals! He was preparing to rise from his hiding place and appear
before the bandits: he would fire a few shots and make the deuce of a
row and rouse the neighbourhood. He would also save poor Madame Bourrat,
who was certainly not their accomplice. Just then he heard the pretended
police inspector say:
"Will you provide us with writing materials, madame? We must write an
official report."
"Why, certainly, monsieur," replied Madame Bourrat. "I will go
downstairs and get what you require."
Fandor heard her leave the room. No sooner had she gone than a hurried
conversation began in low tones. Clearly Jules was guilty, for the
pretended police inspector asked:
"No one this evening? Nothing happened?"
"No," replied Jules in a servile tone. "The journalist brought the
mistress back and then went off at nine o'clock...."
"No news of Alfred?" asked the voice.
The third person answered:
"Why, no. You know very well he is always at the Depot."
"Let us set to work!" said voice number one.
Fandor felt that the decisive moment had arrived: someone opened the
cover of the trunk and feverish hands were turning over the confused
mass of objects in the top compartment.
"Didn't you find anything?" asked the voice of Jules.
"No, no, monsieur! I searched everywhere; but as I do not read easily,
it's difficult for me...."
"Imbecile!" murmured the voice.
"Ah!" said Fandor to himself. "This fellow pleases me! He has the same
opinion of this dolt of a Jules as I have!"
Revolver in hand, Fandor was on the alert. The moment they lifted up the
compartment out he would jump. Just then, Madame Bourrat could be heard
approaching.
"Confound it! We shall not have time to go through everything!"
muttered a voice. The trunk cover was hastily closed.
Fandor heard Madame Bourrat enter the room with slow, heavy step.
"Here are ink and paper, messieurs!" she said.
Then the pretended police inspector made a statement that startled the
concealed Fandor.
"Madame, we have no time, nor are we able to make a minute investigation
now. Besides, with one exception, there does not seem to be anything
suspicious about the room; but here is a trunk which contains papers of
great importance. We are going to take it to the police station."
"As you please," replied Madame Bourrat. "I ask only one thing and that
is to be left in peace. I do not want to hear anything more about this
abominable affair!"
A rapid turn of the key given to each of the locks and Fandor knew that
he was now a prisoner! Brave as he was, he felt a rush of blood to his
heart and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Dash it all! I am in an awful position! Impossible to move! If these
brutes suspected they had me tight in here they would pitch me into the
river as sure as Fate! Then good-bye to _La Capitale_!"
Then, before Fandor's mental vision rose a sweet consoling figure, the
figure of the girl for whom he was braving danger, for love of whom--he
certainly did love her--he had placed himself in such a serious
position.... Then all that was optimistic in his nature--and that was
much--rose to the surface, and declared the dilemma was not as serious
as it seemed.... How could the bandits know of his presence in the
trunk? They never would think Jerome Fandor so stupid as to shut himself
up in the trap!
"Jules and I might shake hands as equals in folly!" concluded Fandor....
Just then the trunk began to move. They were trying to lift it. Whilst
trying to preserve an unstable equilibrium, he said to himself in a
satisfied way:
"And just to think now that they have not rummaged in the chest of
drawers, nor have they seized the tell-tale piece of soap!... It's true
that Fuselier alone knows of its being there--I was careful not to tell
anyone else.... But, where the deuce are they going? It's the stairs, of
course! It might be a rough precipice by the shaking up they're giving
me!"
XIX
CRIMINAL OR VICTIM?
At the bottom of his trunk Jerome Fandor was foaming with rage, furious
at being caught in the trap and uneasy as to how this adventure would
end.
Whilst he was realising that his unknown porters were carrying their
heavy weight with difficulty to the pavement of rue Raffet, he made up
his mind to a definite course of action: regardless of consequences, he
was going to shout, move about, make a regular disturbance, rouse the
attention of the passers-by--if there happened to be any--but, at all
costs, he meant to get out of the trap!... He saw a ray of hope: Madame
Bourrat had accompanied her visitors as far as the gate. In presence of
such a witness, they would, at least, hesitate to do him serious bodily
harm when he made his presence unmistakably known, furious though they
would be. He would take every advantage of the situation....
Fandor was about to act: a second more and he would have started, when
he heard them speaking. He kept quiet.
"We must have a taxi, or at the very least a cab to transport this big
trunk. Do you know where one is likely to be found?"
"I doubt if one will be passing at this hour, monsieur. We retire early
in these parts; but, if you like, Jules can go to the station."
"That's settled. Let him go as fast as he can!"
"Well, that is reassuring," thought Fandor. "If these fine fellows take
a cab, it is not with the intention of chucking my cage and me into the
river--and that is what I feared most. They may be going to leave me in
a cloak-room till called for; or they may pack us off as luggage to some
destination unknown! ... Oh, well, I shall only be a traveller without a
ticket and I shall be sure to find some way out of the difficulty! And
then, what stuff for an article I shall have when I get back to _La
Capitale_!... What must they be thinking at the offices! It's
forty-eight hours since I put foot in them! Never mind! When they
know!..."
Fandor was listening with all his ears; but the bandits had little to
say; and, when they did speak, their voices were plainly disguised. Was
it as a general precaution, or was it on account of Madame Bourrat?...
But, unless they were known to her, why the necessity? If, however, she
knew one or more of them personally, why, they must have disguised their
faces and figures as well as their voices!... If only he could have a
peep at them!
The sound of wheels made him suppose that Jules had succeeded in getting
a cab at the Auteuil station. Then the trot-trot-trot of a horse became
audible: a few moments later a cab drew up at the edge of the pavement.
A hoarse voice was heard.
"It's not a long journey, I hope!" said the hoarse, grumbling voice of
the cabman.
"To Police Headquarters," replied the pretended police inspector.
"We shall see about that!" thought Fandor. "That address is to throw
dust in Madame Bourrat's eyes. They will change their destination on the
way. I bet on it!..."
"The brutes! Are they going to jam my cage and me on to the seat?"
Fandor asked himself, for they had seized the trunk and were beginning
to lift it up. ... "Am I to be stuck upside down beside the driver? I
don't fancy so!... We must weigh at least ninety kilos, as I weigh
seventy myself!"
Fandor's mind was soon made easy on that score. After a fruitless
attempt to hoist the trunk to the box seat, they decided to put it on to
the back seat of the Victoria. One of the bandits planted himself on the
little folding seat opposite the trunk: the other bandit mounted to the
box seat next the driver.
The two bandits took leave of Madame Bourrat. The rickety old vehicle
started off. Presently, Fandor heard what he had expected to hear: one
of his captors told the driver to take them to some other address than
Police Headquarters. Owing to the rattling of the ramshackle cab--it
lacked rubber tyres--Fandor, though listening with ears astretch, could
not hear one word distinctly.
Soon pale gleams of light began to filter through the wickerwork: dawn
was near.
"Ah, we shall soon reach our destination," thought Fandor. "I don't
fancy my trunk lifters will wish to be seen with this turnout in broad
daylight! Now, where the deuce are we going?"
In vain did Fandor strive to follow the route taken by the bandits! He
had noted each shock and counter-shock produced by cobbled streets and
smooth roads, by bumping against pavements, by crossed tram lines and
sharp turnings!...
The cab stopped with a jolt and a jerk. The two men got out. The trunk
was lifted down to the pavement. The driver was paid. He rattled off.
"Now trunk and I are in for it!" thought Fandor.
A bell pealed. A courtyard entrance gate was thrown open. The two men
lifted the trunk, cursing under their breath at its weight.
In passing under the archway they called some name unknown to Fandor and
so unintelligible that he could not remember it; then it was a painful
ascension: up a staircase they went with prodigious effort, stopping on
two landings.
"Two floors," counted Fandor. "We are coming to the end, and, all said
and done, I would rather be in a house than at the bottom of the river!"
A key turned in a lock; the trunk was pushed rapidly inside; then the
noise of a door being shut.
Fandor was in a room; no doubt, alone with the two bandits, and at their
mercy! He was plunged into complete darkness. Evidently the shutters
were still closed. The noise made by footsteps on the floor showed that
it was uncarpeted. Judging from the sound, there seemed to be little
furniture and no hangings in the room.
"Am I and my cage in an ordinary room, in a studio, or in a hall?"
wondered Fandor. In any case, the fellows who had brought him there
seemed anxious to avoid making a noise.
Then he felt the cover of the wickerwork trunk bend slightly and heard
it creak. For a moment, he thought the two men were about to open his
prison. He had his revolver ready: every inch of him was on the
defensive! Then he realised that his captors had merely seated
themselves on the trunk to rest!
They began to talk.
"This," thought Fandor, "is splendid! I shall hear everything they say.
Why, it is a conversation in my honour! What luck!"
Fandor was delighted: thanks to his position he would hear some
interesting secrets. He listened. Alas! He could hear every word they
uttered, but he could not understand what they were saying! Fandor swore
strictly to himself. The two wretches were conversing in German.
To the best of his judgment, a good hour had passed since the false
police inspector and his acolyte had left the room. They had simply
drawn to the door behind them, not troubling to lock it, much to the joy
of Jerome Fandor.
Absolute silence reigned.
Fandor attempted some discreet movements as a test. The wickerwork
creaked as he gently shook the trunk at short intervals. Not an
answering sound came from outside! Menaced with cramp, Fandor felt that
the moment of escape had arrived.
He was, certainly, the only living soul in the place: listen as he
might, and his sense of hearing was acute, he could not hear any sound
of breathing. Yes, the time to quit his prison had come!
Fandor had with him, besides his revolver, a box of matches, and a
hunter's knife consisting of several blades, and a little saw. Getting
out his knife with some difficulty, he began to hack at the wickerwork.
Dry and pliant, the interlaced rods did not long resist the saw's steel
teeth. It took him a bare ten minutes to make an opening, sufficiently
large to push his head and shoulders through: the rest of his body
followed easily. Such was his haste to be free, that he tore, not only
his clothes, but his elbows and hands, on the jagged ends of the broken
wickerwork: large drops of blood fell on the flooring.
"Bah! I've got off cheaply!" cried Fandor, standing up to relax his
cramped muscles and stretching his aching legs and arms.
"Unless I am jolly well mistaken, I am lord of all I survey. I am alone
in my glory! There's not a soul in the place! Good luck indeed!"
He turned for a last look at his broken prison house, the cage in which
he had spent such exciting hours. He suddenly stiffened and drew back: a
nervous trembling seized him--the nervous trembling due to sudden shock.
Between the trunk which had been dumped down in the centre of a large
square room, without a scrap of furniture in it, and the window, through
whose shutters the rays of morning sunshine shone, Fandor had caught
sight of a body lying on the floor--a man's body! Fandor leapt forward.
Was this same cunning criminal feigning sleep for some evil purpose?
Standing over that motionless figure, Fandor bent and touched one of the
man's hands: it was ice-cold and rigid. The man was dead!
To see his face was imperative: it was turned towards the floor. With
difficulty Fandor raised the head and shoulders, for they were unusually
large and strongly built. Fandor glanced at the face and suddenly
withdrew his hand: the corpse fell back on the floor with a thud!
"Thomery!" murmured Fandor. "Why, it's Thomery!"
It was the well-known sugar refiner's body. The face was purple, the
tongue protruding. Round his neck was tied a tricoloured scarf, the
scarf of a police inspector! Was this the murderer's ironic touch?
Fandor sank down quite overcome. He tried to collect his thoughts.
"A disgusting joke this! If someone should take into his head to enter
the room at this moment, what kind of explanation could I give? Here I
am, alone with the dead body of a man I know, and in a room I don't
know, in a neighbourhood whose whereabouts I know no more than the man
in the moon."
"Where am I?... In whose house?... For what purpose?... Have those
beauties of last night no suspicion of the truth?... Did they leave me
in this lair of theirs of set purpose, knowing I was cooped up inside
the trunk?"
Just then, Fandor felt a slight moisture on the palm of his hand: it was
all red: the scratches, made by the jagged edges of the wickerwork, were
still bleeding.
"Better and better I declare!" murmured Fandor. "If I don't look like a
little holy Saint John! A corpse, and a man with blood on his hands
seated beside the dead body of this murdered man! Nothing more is
required to jail me with all the power of the law!... To go to prison
under such suspicious circumstances is serious!... The police, who are
floundering about in a maze of investigations, without any result so
far, will be only too delighted to kill two birds with one stone--to
suppress a journalist and discover a criminal!... I have got to get out
of here; that is plain as a pikestaff!... Get away? Yes, but with the
honour of war!... I must establish an alibi--that is absolutely
necessary.... I like to think that my false police inspector and his
accomplice have cut and run for some time; at any rate, that they will
be in no hurry to come back to see what is happening where they have so
neatly and nicely left the corpse of this Thomery.... What part did this
fellow play in the drama?... Criminal or victim?"
Fandor had reached the door of the hall opening on to the main
staircase. He was listening.... He had explored the flat. It was empty.
He had found water in the kitchen, had washed his face, and removed
every trace of blood from his person. It was a flat suitable for a
middle-class household. There were three large rooms, decorated with a
certain amount of luxury.
Fandor looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. He stood listening.
Someone, a man, was coming downstairs: someone, a woman, was coming up.
They met on the landing just outside.
"Monsieur Mercadier, here are your letters! I was bringing them up to
you!"
"It was hardly worth while, my good lady. I have to come down, you see,
so you can save yourself five flights of stairs!"
"Oh, no, monsieur! I have to come up to go down my stairs."
Monsieur Mercadier continued to descend, and the portress continued to
mount.
Fandor's heart beat faster when he realised that she was approaching the
door. Would she come in and find him there? Had the new tenants left a
key of the flat with her? No, the portress dusted the landing quickly
and continued her ascent: he heard her going up and up....
He made up his mind to slip out on to the landing. Despite his efforts,
he could not prevent his shoes creaking: it was spring-time, and already
the stair carpet had been taken up. He was on the point of going
downstairs, when he heard the portress calling from above:
"Who's there?... What do you want?"
Had she heard him leave the flat? Was he to be stupidly caught, just as
he was escaping?... He must act at once. He went up a step or two of the
next flight of stairs and called out:
"Is Monsieur Mercadier at home?"
"Ah, no, monsieur! He has just this minute gone out! I am surprised you
did not meet him!..."
"Very good, madame. I will come another time!"
Fandor turned on his heel, and, whistling, with hands in pockets, he
gained the ground floor, passed the entrance gate, and found himself in
the street. He mingled with the passers-by, and learned from the first
plaque he came to with the name of the street on it, that he was in rue
Lecourbe, Vaugirard....
XX
UNDER THE HOODED MASK
What had happened? By way of what mysterious adventures had the corpse
of sugar refiner Thomery reached that empty room in rue Lecourbe, where
Jerome Fandor had come across it?
Two days previous, on the afternoon of Elizabeth Dollon's arrest,
Monsieur Thomery was working in his study, when a servant came to tell
him that a lady wished to speak to him.
"Did she give you her name?" asked Thomery.
"No, monsieur, this person said her name would tell you nothing; but she
was sure monsieur would see her, for she would only detain him a minute
or two...."
Piles of papers were stacked on the great sugar refiner's study table:
typists were laying numerous letters before him, which awaited his
signature. Thomery thought to himself:
"I have still a good half-hour's work before me ... deuce take this
importunate visitor!" He was on the point of saying he could not see any
one, when the servant added:
"This person declares she comes with reference to Madame the Princess
Danidoff."
Though he was a man of business, Thomery was a gallant man also; and
very much in love; his approaching marriage with the Princess, which had
been kept secret, was now known. The name of Princess Danidoff settled
the question.
"Very well, let her come in!"
The manservant disappeared a minute, then ushered into the study a very
unassuming woman of uncertain age and quite ordinary looking.
Thomery rose to meet her, pointing pleasantly to one of the large
arm-chairs in the room. The visitor was profusely apologetic.
"I am so exceedingly sorry, Monsieur Thomery, to disturb you at such an
hour, when you must certainly have a great deal to occupy your
attention; but the matter I have come about will not wait, and I am sure
it will interest you...."
This little person seemed very intelligent, and Thomery was favourably
impressed by her manner, which was both simple and decided.
"Madame, I am listening to you. In what way can I be of service to you?"
"I am not here, monsieur," she protested, "to pester you with any wants
and wishes for myself. I am a diamond broker and ..."
She had not finished her sentence when Thomery, smiling but firm, rose,
and said sharply:
"In that case, madame, I can guess the motive of your call...."
"But, monsieur ..."
"Yes!... That is so!... Ever since my approaching marriage has been
announced, I have received, every day, a dozen visits from jewellers,
goldsmiths, upholsterers, and so on ... I regret to have to tell you
that you will not be able to persuade me to buy ... that my betrothed
has received so many wedding presents that there is no room for more....
I do not require one single thing...."
Although Thomery had spoken in a tone which did not admit of any reply,
although he had risen the better to mark his intention of cutting short
the call, the diamond broker had remained seated, leaning back in her
arm-chair.... She gave no sign of being ready to go away.
"Consequently, madame," continued Thomery....
His visitor laughed.
"Monsieur, you have very quickly made up your mind that I have nothing
interesting to offer you! I have not come to offer you ordinary
jewels...."
It was Thomery's turn to smile slightly.
"I quite understand, madame, that you should think your merchandise
exceptional.... But once more ..."
The broker interrupted the sugar refiner with a movement of her hand.
"Do listen to me a moment, monsieur!... Though I am a diamond broker,
diamonds are not what I have come to ask you to purchase ... it is a
question of something quite different...."