Fandor got into communication with _La Capitale_. He sent on a report of
the Thomery case up to that moment.
Quitting the police station, the two men hailed a cab, and were driven
to the rue Norvins.
* * * * *
As far as they could tell, the artist's house had not been entered since
Elizabeth Dollon's departure.
The neglected garden, with its rank growth of grass and weeds, gave an
added air of melancholy to the deserted house.
Monsieur Havard put the key in the lock of the front door.
"Don't you think, Fandor, it gives one a queer feeling to enter a house
where an unaccountable crime has been committed?" The key grated in the
lock, and Monsieur Havard added:
"In spite of oneself, there is the feeling that some terrifying spectre
is lurking within!"
"Or a ghost!" said Fandor.
And as the door was unlocked and opened, our journalist asked:
"Where shall we start this domiciliary visit?"
"Let us begin with the studio," replied Monsieur Havard, mounting to the
first story.
No sooner had they entered the room, than a double cry escaped from the
two men.
"Oh!..."
"Great Heaven!..."
In the very middle of the studio, there was the rigid body of a man
hanging.
They rushed forward....
"Dead!" was Monsieur Havard's cry.
"Horribly dead!" echoed Fandor.
"Shall we never lay hands on those wretches?" Monsieur Havard stared,
horrified, at the hanging corpse. He brought a chair, grasped the strong
sharp knife he always carried about him, and, aided by Fandor, he cut
the rope, laid the hanged man flat on the floor, and proceeded to
examine the miserable remnant of a human being.
The face was swollen, gashed, crushed....
"The hands have been dipped in vitriol--they did not want finger prints
taken--it is--it is Jacques Dollon!"
Fandor shook his head.
"Jacques Dollon? Of course, it isn't!... If it were Dollon, he would not
hang himself here.... Why should he hang himself?"
Monsieur Havard remarked:
"He has not hanged himself. Again the stage has been set!... I could
swear the man had been killed by blows from a hammer and hanged
afterwards!... It seems to me, that if death had been caused through
strangulation, there would have been marks round the neck.... But see,
Fandor, the rope has hardly made a mark."
"No, the man was dead when they strung him up."
"It is of secondary importance!" remarked Fandor, who was preoccupied.
"You are mistaken: it matters a great deal! It decidedly looks as if
Dollon had accomplices, who wished to be rid of him."
Fandor shook his head.
"It is not Dollon! It cannot be Dollon!"
"Look at the vitriolised hands--that was a precaution."
"I say, as you did just now: it's like a set piece--a bit of slag
assassins' stage craft."
"I say, in Dollon's house, we have found Dollon at home!"
Fandor was not convinced. He felt certain Dollon had lied in the Depot.
"Well, Elizabeth Dollon can settle the question for us. There may be
some physical peculiarity, some mark by which she can identify her
brother's body!"
But Fandor was examining the body very carefully. Suddenly he rose from
his stooping posture, exclaiming:
"I know who it is!"
"Who?"
"Jules! None other than Madame Bourrat's servant, Jules!... That is to
say, an accomplice whom the bandits we are after wanted to be rid of. He
might give them away when brought up for examination. That was why they
managed his escape: they killed him afterwards, because he had served
their turn, and was now an encumbrance."
"Your explanation is plausible, Fandor; but how about the truth of it?"
"This proves the truth of it!" cried Fandor, pointing to a cicatrice on
the back of the neck of the murdered man: it was the clear mark of where
an abscess had been.
"I am certain I noticed a similar mark on the neck of Jules. He sat in
front of me the other day, and I particularly noticed this mark. The
dead man is Jules. I am certain it is Jules!"
Monsieur Havard was silent. Presently he said:
"If it is Jules ... it must be admitted that we are no further forward!"
Fandor was about to utter a protest, when there was a knock on the
studio door. Startled, the two men looked at each other anxiously.
"It can only be one of the force," murmured Monsieur Havard. "I told
them I was coming here with you, and that they were to send for me if
necessary."
The two men walked to the door. Monsieur Havard opened it. There stood a
cyclist member of the police force. He saluted respectfully, and told
his chief that he had come with a message from Michel.
"The message?"
"That the arrest is successful, chief."
"Which?"
"That of the band of Numbers, chief."
"Good! Whom have you bagged?"
"Almost the whole lot, chief!"
"That is to say?"
"Mother Toulouche, Beard, Mimile, otherwise Emilet, and the Cooper--and
a few more whose names are not known."
Fandor said, laughing:
"Not Cranajour, I am certain."
"No. Cranajour has escaped," answered the policeman.
Turning to Monsieur Havard, he asked:
"You have no instructions, chief?"
"No. Tell me, how did the capture go?"
"Perfectly, chief. They were assembled in Mother Toulouche's store. They
went like lambs."
"Good!... Good!"
Monsieur Havard gave the policeman some orders. The cyclist leaped into
the saddle and disappeared.
"How did you guess that Cranajour was still at liberty?" asked Monsieur
Havard.
Fandor smiled.
"Good business! You take me to be more stupid than I am. It is
Cranajour's information which has enabled you to arrest the band of
Numbers. Consequently!..."
"Cranajour's information? You are mad, Fandor!... Whatever makes you
imagine that Cranajour belongs to our force?"
Fandor looked Monsieur Havard straight in the eye and said coolly:
"Juve has never told me that he had sent in his resignation!"
Monsieur Havard looked searchingly at our journalist, before remarking:
"Come now! What is this you are telling me? Poor Juve?..."
Fandor wished to save the chief of the detective department from telling
useless falsehoods.
"Monsieur Havard! Monsieur Havard! Interrogate the members of the band
of Numbers, and don't trouble about how I got my information ... but, be
sure of one thing, there are dead men of whom I could tell tales, of
whose existence I am as well aware of as you yourself!"
As the chief stared at the journalist, looking more and more astonished,
Fandor added:
"And I do not refer to Dollon! I am referring to Juve, to my dear friend
Juve, the king of detectives!"
XXIV
AT SAINT LAZARE
"Hop along there! See if you can't hurry up a bit!"
The warder opened the door of Elizabeth's Dollon's cell and pushed in an
old woman--a horrid looking creature.
"In with you!" commanded the warder in a harsh tone. "You are to stay
here till to-morrow. We will find another place for you when we get
instructions...."
Poor Elizabeth Dollon stared miserably at this strange companion which
Fate, in the person of a warder, had thrust on her.
The old woman stared with no little curiosity at the pale, sad girl....
Silence fell for a few minutes, then the new prisoner asked, in a tone
of rough familiarity:
"What's your name?"
"I call myself Elizabeth!"
"Don't know it!... Elizabeth, who?..."
"Elizabeth Dollon...."
The old woman rose from the corner of the mattress she had seated
herself on.
"True? You're Elizabeth Dollon?... Well, that's funny! Have you been
nabbed long?..."
"You ask if it is long since I was...?"
"Nabbed!... Taken!... Arrested!... Eh?"
Elizabeth nodded in the affirmative. It seemed to her that an infinity
of time had passed since her imprisonment at Saint Lazare.
"I was nabbed last night. If you want to know my name, I'm called Mother
Toulouche. They say I'm one of the band of Numbers, and that I receive
stolen goods! Lies! That's well understood!"
Elizabeth had no desire to go into such an unsavoury question. This
horrid old woman rather frightened her; but, such had been her distress
and fears since she had been a prisoner, that it was a relief not to be
quite alone; to have even this old creature to speak to was better than
solitary confinement.
In her character of old jail-bird, Mother Toulouche made herself quickly
at home.
"Moved to-morrow, they say I'm to be! Pity! At bottom you're not one of
the scurvy sort, but you must be here to play spy on me, for all
that!... When do you go out? Are you long for Saint Lago?" Alas, how
could Elizabeth tell?
* * * * *
"I like being a barrister," thought Fandor, as he entered Saint Lazare.
"For the last hour I have felt a different person, much more serious,
more sure of myself, not to say, more eloquent!... I must be eloquent,
since I have succeeded in persuading my friend, Maitre Dubard, to get
himself appointed officially as Mademoiselle Dollon's counsel; then to
obtain a permit of communication, and to hand this same permit over to
me, so that his identification papers, safely tucked away in my
portfolio, make of me the most indisputable of Maitres Dubard!"
* * * * *
Fandor might well congratulate himself! By means of this ruse--his own
idea--he was enabled to see Elizabeth, not in the prison parlour, but in
a special cell, and without a witness. As Fandor crossed the threshold
of the sordid building, he said to himself:
"I am Maitre Dubard, visiting his client, in order to prepare her
defence!"
He easily accomplished the necessary formalities, and, at last, he saw
himself being conducted by a morose warder to a little parlour, scantily
furnished with a table and a few stools.
"Please be seated, maitre," said the surly fellow. "I'll fetch your
client along!"
Fandor put down his portfolio, but remained standing, anxious, all
aquiver at the thought that he was about to see his dear Elizabeth
appear between two warders, just like a common prisoner!
"In a moment she will be here," thought he.... But she must on no
account recognise him on entering! By an exclamation she might betray
his identity and complicate things! Therefore, Fandor feigned to be
absorbed in a newspaper he unfolded and raised, so as to hide his face
from the approaching pair. The door opened.
"Come now! Go in!..." growled the warder. "Maitre, when you wish to
leave, you have only to ring."
The door fell to, heavily, behind the warder.
Fandor made a sharp movement. He stood revealed. He hurried up to
Elizabeth.
"Oh, tell me how you are, Mademoiselle Elizabeth!" he cried.
But the girl was struck dumb: she grew suddenly pale, and made no reply.
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Will you not give me your hand even? You do not
understand why I am here? I had to see you, speak to you without a
witness ... that's why I have passed myself off as an advocate!"
The startled girl was regaining her self-control. Fandor was gazing at
her with frankly admiring eyes.
"Poor Elizabeth! How I have made you suffer!"
The poor girl's eyes filled with tears.
"Why have you betrayed me?" she demanded in a voice trembling with
restrained emotion. "Oh, how could you get me arrested? You, who well
know I am not guilty?"
"You really believe I have betrayed you? You actually credited me with
that?"
These two young people, meeting in a prison parlour under such tragic
circumstances, were hurt and even angry with each other.
Elizabeth Dollon went on:
"Why did you not tell me that you had found on that piece of soap traces
of my brother's finger-marks? Why did you accuse me of having received a
visit from him, when you yourself had proved that he was dead?"
Fandor took Elizabeth's two little hands in his and pressed them long
and tenderly.
"My dear Elizabeth, when I engineered this theatrical stroke in the
presence of the examining magistrate, in order to secure your arrest,
believe me, I had no time to warn you of what I meant to do.... Ah, if I
could have warned you--but it would have only disturbed you to no good
purpose, besides--your being really taken by surprise was a help--there
could not be any idea of collusion.... Of course, you want the answer to
this riddle? You shall have it--that is why I am here.... Don't you
remember, Elizabeth, that on the evening before the fatal day you told
me that I had twice rung you up on the telephone? And that each time you
answered the call you could not find me at the end of the line?... You
cannot imagine what I felt when I heard you say that! I never
telephoned! I never telephoned to the convent!
"The obvious conclusion was, that the individuals who, for some reason,
did not wish to make themselves known, did wish to keep track of you,
and to assure themselves that you were still at the convent, rue de la
Glaciere...."
Fandor's voice trembled a little, as he went on:
"And I was at once afraid, my poor child, that these people who were
pursuing you, might be the very same who had got into Madame Bourrat's
house, and had tried to kill you.... Ah, do you not see how greatly it
hurt and troubled me to think that I had taken you to the convent, and
had there placed you in security--as I thought--but where you were far
from being safe?"
Again Fandor took Elizabeth's hands in his.
"You do understand now, dear child, why I had you arrested?... I felt
you would be safe here.... You see, I could not get your persecutors
imprisoned and so prevent them from getting at you. To imprison you was
the alternative: you are better guarded here than elsewhere."
Elizabeth smiled a little smile when she saw how moved Fandor was.
"But," replied she, "there is the other point! You certainly told me
that you were sure my brother was killed in prison--in his cell!"
"Certainly, I did! The assassination of your brother was premeditated.
If the criminals have had accomplices at the Depot, and such there
certainly were, they have been bought over little by little.... The fact
of your brother's murder is fresh in the memory of the police, of all,
therefore, a special watch is kept over you. I ascertained that it would
be so, and Fuselier himself assured me of it: there is a warder
specially told off to keep a close guard over you, a safe man, known to
be beyond suspicion.... No, Elizabeth, do believe me, if I was the cause
of your horrified surprise the other day, and then of your imprisonment,
I wished to be sure that you were as safe as it was possible to be;
then, freed from such intense anxiety, I felt I should be at liberty to
continue my investigations.... Do say you forgive me!"
All Elizabeth could say was:
"But why not have warned me?... I still can't quite see!..."
"Why, because, I only thought of the plan at the last moment! Also,
because I feared you might not be able to act surprise naturally
enough!... It was absolutely--yes, absolutely necessary--that everyone
should take your arrest seriously.... Surely, Elizabeth, you can
understand that!"
He repeated his plea.
"Do, do say you forgive me, Elizabeth!"
The smile returned to Elizabeth's lips: she was much moved.
"Indeed, I do... You are always my very good friend: you think of
everything, and you watch over me as if ..."
Intimidated, blushing hotly, she stopped short, then changed the
conversation.
"Do tell me if you have heard anything fresh!"
Fandor returned to his normal self also. He had sworn to himself that he
would not tell Elizabeth he loved her, until he had succeeded in
unravelling the tangled skein of the terrible Dollon affair.
"I shall speak," thought he, "when she is once more at peace and free,
when she is out of danger. I do not want her to consent to love me just
because I have devoted myself to her brother's case. Elizabeth shall be
my wife, please God; but only if I deserve her, if I can win her."
And Jerome Fandor told her the story of the famous wicker trunk--but he
did not mention Thomery's death, nor did he speak of the horrible murder
of Jules.... What was the use of saddening Elizabeth, of adding
needlessly to her terrors? Instead, he thought it better to learn what
he could from her.
"I have not found that famous list!" said he.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Elizabeth. "I was so worried!... Just
imagine that, I found the list after all, and I thought I had lost it!
It was in one of my little handbags. I had put it there to bring to you.
Here it is: they were quite willing to let me keep it!"
Fandor eagerly took the paper from Elizabeth and proceeded to examine
it. Yes, it certainly was a page torn from a note-book of medium size.
An unknown hand had traced the following words in bold writing. The
names succeeded one another in the form of a list.
_Baroness de Vibray, April 3. Jacques Dollon._
_Dep.... idem._
_Sonia Danidoff, April 12._
_Barbey-Nanteuil, May 15._
_Gerin...?_
_Madame B...?_
_Thomery, during May._
_Barbey-Nanteuil, end May._
Fandor could not find anything more on the paper. Whilst Elizabeth sat
silent, Fandor reflected:
"Baroness de Vibray, April 3. Jacques Dollon ... these correspond
exactly with the commencement of this mysterious affair: the two first
deaths, and the date of their death.... What does _Dep._ signify? The
initials of a name--or--yes, Dep ... Depot idem--yes, _Depot the same
day!_ That's it! _Sonia Danidoff, April 12_ ... the full name, the exact
date. _Barbey-Nanteuil, May 15_: the affair of rue du Quatre Septembre
occurred May 20; that's pretty near. Two more names, and one date which
exactly tallies. _Gerin?_... _Madame B_....? Who are they? Why no date?
Ah, Gerin, lawyer of Madame de Vibray, a crime planned, without date,
perhaps because he was not indispensable ... and _Thomery_! Thomery, who
died in the middle of May, as this plan indicates! But, how about the
last line? _Barbey-Nanteuil, end of May?_ Oh, beyond a doubt the bankers
were to be victims of some fresh aggression on the part of the
mysterious author of these lines!"
"_Barbey-Nanteuil, end of May!_ We are at the 28th of the month: only
three more days before the sinister date falls due! Are they to be
attacked, or is it their money? How to defend them? How organise a trap
for the mice?"
Suddenly, Fandor looked up, saw Elizabeth's anxiety, and said quietly:
"Well, this list agrees in every particular with the description you
gave me of it, and I don't quite see what fresh information we are
likely to get from it. However, will you leave it with me?"
Fandor rose.
"Ah, there is one point which has just occurred to me"--Fandor's voice
trembled a good deal--"Do you know for a fact that your brother had
bought Thomery shares?"
"He had very few, three or four. I think the Barbey-Nanteuil got them
for him."
"And your brother had to pay for them by a certain date?"
"Yes."
Fandor now felt he must tear himself away. He was deeply moved.
"Elizabeth!... Elizabeth!" he cried. "I swear to you we shall clear up
these dreadful mysteries amidst which we live, and more, you and I! Only
have confidence, I implore you! Grant me a week's grace, less even!"
Fandor pressed Elizabeth's hands as though he could never let them go!
Such little hands, and so dear!
It was not a farewell he took--it was a veritable flight he took from
the girl who now meant so much to him!
Leaving the prison, Fandor walked straight ahead, thinking aloud.
"It is clear--evident! The Barbey-Nanteuils have sold Thomery shares to
be paid up on a certain date. Thomery was murdered so that his shares
should fall to zero, and so that the Barbey-Nanteuils should realise
enormous sums at their monthly clearance. Next Saturday, the coffers of
the Barbey-Nanteuil bank will be full of gold, and this same Saturday is
the last day of May, the fatal day inscribed on the list. Yes, this
coming Saturday, they will pillage the Barbey-Nanteuil bank!"
XXV
A MOUSE TRAP
Jerome Fandor had been ringing Juve's door bell in vain: the great
detective was not at home.
"What the deuce is he doing? What has become of him? Never have I needed
his advice as I need it now!... His support, encouragement--what a
comfort they would be!... It is possible he would have dissuaded me
against the attempt--or, he might have joined forces with me! Hang it
all! It was a jolly bad move on Juve's part to make himself scarce at
such a critical moment for me!... It is a long time, too, since I had
news of him! Were I not certain that he has sound reasons for his
absence--Juve never acts haphazard--I should be desperately anxious!"
Fandor consulted his watch--four o'clock! He had time then! He could
think over all the dramatic events in which he had been involved during
the past weeks, beginning with the rue Norvins affair, and ending--how,
and when?
At last, our journalist arrived before the immense building which forms
the corner of the rue de Clichy. He saw, in front of him, the tall
windows of the flat occupied by Nanteuil: on the ground floor were the
bank offices.
"Well," thought Fandor, "I certainly am going to do an unconventional
thing. If my summing up of them is right, these bankers are balanced,
calm, cold, without imagination, and distrusting it in others. I shall
have to be eloquent to convince them, to make them listen to me and get
them to do what I want. Will they show me the door, as though I were an
intriguer or a madman?... I shall not let them do it!... Ah, they will
owe me a fine candle if I have the good luck.... Whether there will be
good luck for my venture, and gratitude from the bankers, remains to be
seen.... Here goes!..."
* * * * *
Seated behind their large and important looking writing table, as though
judges behind a judgment seat, Messieurs Barbey and Nanteuil, in their
immense reception office, separated from the rest of the world by a
number of padded doors, had just said to Fandor, who was standing in
front of them:
"We are listening to you, monsieur."
Fandor had asked to see the bankers, and to see them only, stating that
he would wait if they were engaged. He had been shown into a handsomely
furnished room, then into another, then into a third; finally, he had
been ushered into the office of the partners. He had waited there for a
few minutes alone. He recognised it as the same room in which he had
interviewed Monsieur Barbey a few weeks earlier. Again he saw the same
hangings, the same fine rugs, the same velvet arm-chair of classic
design.
Then Barbey, solemn, and Nanteuil, elegant, a rose in his buttonhole,
had entered the room, their manner stiff-starched, showing no surprise,
accustomed as they were to receive visitors of all sorts and kinds: they
were polite, but not cordial.
Fandor, accustomed to society as he was, and audacious as he had to be
in the exercise of his profession, was intimidated, for a moment, by the
calm simplicity of the two men--these strictly conventional bankers, to
whom he was about to say such strange things, and make a most unexpected
proposition!
First of all, he made excuse on excuse for having disturbed the bankers
at their post time. Then anxiety overcame every consideration of
conventional propriety. Full of persuasive ardour, he went straight to
the point.
"Messieurs," declared he, "you are more deeply involved than you might
think in the mysterious affairs occupying the attention of the police at
this moment. So far, they have not got to the bottom of them. I, myself,
through the necessities of my profession, and owing to other
circumstances, have been drawn into an investigation, conjointly with
the detective department, an investigation which has had definite
results: it has enabled me to discover clues of the highest importance.
I learned, too late, alas, to prevent the tragedies, that certain
persons were the chosen victims of these mysterious criminals. Madame de
Vibray, the Princess Danidoff were condemned beforehand; the robbery of
your gold was carefully arranged. Now to my point! Messieurs, you
yourselves are sentenced: the execution of the sentence to be carried
out three days hence. Do you believe me?"
Fandor had drawn nearer the two bankers: only the immense mahogany
writing-table stood between them!
The partners had listened with cold attention: nevertheless, a slight
trembling of Monsieur Barbey's lips betrayed hidden feeling. Noticing
this, Fandor was emboldened to proceed.
Monsieur Nanteuil, in a slightly sneering tone, but with a perfectly
correct manner, replied to the ardent young journalist: