shown us by coming to give us information regarding the mysterious
assassins, whom the police are so zealously trying to round up. Believe
me, we are accustomed to take our precautions, seeing that we have the
handling of enormous sums of money. We are none the less grateful to you
for your interest in us, and for your warning."
"It is not a question of gratitude," interrupted Fandor sharply. "We
have to deal with very strong opponents. I say 'we' because I have
become more and more personally involved in all these crime-tragedies.
Believe me, I speak from five years' experience as a reporter, who has
had to report, on an average, one crime a day!... Up to now, nothing,
absolutely nothing has hindered the criminals from executing their
plans; but, warned in time, we may be able to thwart them."
"But," interrupted Monsieur Barbey, who had grown more and more serious.
"What are you aiming at?"
Fandor felt that the decisive moment had arrived. Bending across the
table, his face almost touching the faces of the two men, he said slowly
and distinctly:
"Messieurs, I have asked _La Capitale_ to grant me three days' leave. I
have brought a little travelling bag with me: here it is! Leaving home
as I did about half an hour ago, I consider I have arrived at the end of
my journey!... Will you offer me hospitality for the next forty-eight
hours?... I know that you, Monsieur Nanteuil, live above your offices,
whilst Monsieur Barbey goes home every evening to his place at Saint
Germain. I ask you to give up your room to me, for I am determined not
to leave here for an instant!"
Fandor, in his eagerness, had spoken faster and faster, and his heart
was beating violently. He stared fixedly at the two men; he quite
expected that his demand would excite astonishment; that objections
would be raised; and he was ready with a crowd of arguments by which to
convince them and carry his point.... But, the surprise was his, for the
bankers did not seem particularly astonished.
They consulted each other with a look. Then, as Barbey opened his mouth
to reply, Nanteuil began to speak, rising politely at the same time.
"Monsieur Fandor, your last statements and remarks are too serious to be
passed over lightly. Your offer is too generous to be rejected without
consideration. Will you allow us to retire for a minute or two: my
partner and I will discuss the question."
* * * * *
For about ten minutes Fandor marched up and down the sumptuous room.
Then one of the padded doors opened silently, and Barbey entered more
solemn than ever: Nanteuil was smiling.
"Monsieur," said Barbey, in weighty tones, "my partner and I, in view of
the exceptional seriousness of the situation, for your words carry
conviction--have come to a decision: we beg of you to consider yourself
our guest from this moment, and to consider this house as your own!"
"And it is understood, of course, that you dine with us this evening!"
added Nanteuil with friendly graciousness. "Monsieur Barbey will be of
the party, and will pass the night in our company ... and you can count
on it, that we shall drink a good bottle of Burgundy to enable us to
await with patience and serenity the audacious individuals you say we
are to expect.... Dear Monsieur Fandor, here are some illustrated papers
with some gay sketches of dear little women to exercise your patience
over, whilst we sign our outgoing letters as fast as possible...."
XXVI
IN THE TRAP
The servant had retired, leaving the three men to their fruit and wine.
His hosts turned to Fandor in mute interrogation.... But Fandor
continued to peel a superb peach with the utmost coolness: he did not
seem disposed to talk.
Barbey broke the silence.
"Tell me, now that your first day on guard is ended, and you have not
left us for a moment--have you noticed anything at all suspicious?"
Fandor shook his head. "Nothing whatever."
This was not strictly true; for he had noticed an individual in the
bank, occupied in repairing the telephone. He had made discreet
inquiries, and had been told that he was a workman sent by the State, at
the request of the bankers, to see that the lines were in good working
order. This explanation had at first set his mind at rest regarding the
comings and goings of this individual.
But, just when he was going in to dinner at seven o'clock, Fandor had
come across the man in the vestibule of the bank making preparations to
depart. It had been a painful surprise for Fandor. He recognised the
man, but could not remember exactly who he was, or where he had seen
him....
Was this workman one of the mysterious band of criminals who, he was
more and more convinced, meant to strike a blow at Monsieur Barbey, and
his partner, Nanteuil?
If Fandor had had anything to go upon, he would have had the man
shadowed. But he had no sure ground for his suspicions; besides, sent
by the State, the man was most probably what he seemed. As he was
working for the Government, he could easily be traced should such a step
be found necessary. But to make certain that all was as it should be,
Fandor had examined the work done by this individual during the day.
There was nothing wrong with it: beyond a doubt, the man was an expert.
Therefore, Fandor had felt justified in saying that he had noticed
nothing suspicious during the day.
"So much the worse," remarked Monsieur Barbey, with a shrug....
"Probably the individuals who are threatening us, have been warned of
your presence here, and are on their guard. I rejoice as far as we are
concerned; but, as regards the general interest, I almost regret it:
that your trap should prove effective, is what we must wish."
"Have no fear, dear Monsieur Barbey, it will not be laid in vain!
Knowing the cunning, the cleverness of my adversaries, I have not the
least doubt they know I am here; but I also know that the audacity of
these criminals is such, that my presence here would not deter them from
making their attempt. They believe themselves the stronger, but I hope
to undeceive them."
"What is your plan of campaign to-night?" asked Monsieur Nanteuil.
"Before replying to that, will you show me all the means of access to
the house?"
"With the greatest pleasure."
The three men left the dining-room: then went into the vestibule.
"Our courtyard gate is at the far end of the house, on the right," said
Nanteuil. "On the left, there are the Bank offices: they occupy this
ground floor. The only entrance to them is through this vestibule. This
door closed, it is impossible to get in."
"Not by the windows looking on to the street?" asked Fandor.
"No, those windows have heavy iron bars before them. To remove them
would be difficult--very ... As to the windows looking on to the garden,
they are closed every evening--you can see for yourself--by strong
wooden shutters fastened on the inside."
"So the Bank offices are perfectly protected?" said Fandor.
"We believe so. Now, come upstairs to the floor above!... Here is a
large corridor, and that door, on the right, opens into a library. The
two rooms which come next, are my own room and a dressing-room. The
other rooms are unoccupied."
"Does your room face the street or the garden?" asked Fandor.
"The garden."
"And the windows?"
"The windows?"
"Yes. Would it be difficult, or impossible to climb up to them?"
"It would be difficult, but not impossible. No one ever enters the
garden. If absolutely necessary, a ladder could be placed against them,
a square of glass could be cut out, and the fastening could be undone
... but come and see the room, you can then judge for yourself."
Fandor inspected the room most carefully. The banker was right. It would
be comparatively easy to get into the room by the window; but the other
entrances to the room could be easily watched; they resolved themselves
into one door, which opened on to the corridor.
Monsieur Nanteuil's room was lightly furnished: he evidently favoured
the modern method: it was a bare apartment, but it was hygienic.
"Ah," said Fandor, "the bed has its back to the door, and faces the
window. Very right. You have electric light, I see, near the fireplace,
and above your bed. Then it is possible to switch on a bright light at
any time.... Valuable, that!"
Having finished a minute inspection of the room, and, to the amusement
of the bankers, having looked under the bed to make sure that no one
had hidden himself beneath it, Fandor declared:
"I am decidedly pleased with this room, and if you see no objection, I
wish to stay here and await the visitors of to-night."
"You think of sleeping here alone?"
"Alone! Decidedly, I do! It is pretty certain that these men know every
inch of your flat; and if they are the sort I take them to be, they will
make certain that everything here is as usual before attempting to
attack the Bank. I do not wish them to be frightened off by finding a
companion at my side, and I particularly wish them to mistake me for
you...."
"But that is frightfully dangerous, surely?" objected Nanteuil.
"Reassure yourself, monsieur, I do not run any great risk. They won't
know I am watching them; but I shall have this advantage over them--I am
on the lookout for the rascally assassins and robbers, and I do not fear
them in the slightest."
Fandor was not going to own that he knew there was danger; but he was
keenly set on running this particular risk, for, by so doing, might he
not discover the truth?
When the bankers left him for the night, Fandor again examined every
corner of the room, and all it contained. He tested the electric light
switch; he took a mental photograph of the situation of the pieces of
furniture. He got into bed, half dressed, and lay quietly, grasping his
revolver, fully loaded.
He switched off the light, and in that large room, veiled in darkness,
he awaited the events of the night. Noises from the street reached him
indistinctly. The silence about him was menacing: something was going to
happen here, something sudden, unforeseen, perhaps irremediable.
Minute by minute, time went by, interminable, monotonous, casting a soft
veil of sleep over the eyes of Fandor. But thoughts were rising within
him: more and more keenly he was realising the horrible danger he was
exposing himself to. Beneath closed eyes his brain was active, his
imagination afire.
"Elizabeth Dollon must be avenged," was his persistent thought.
"Consequently, I must run some risks to achieve that!"
A definite fear tormented him. He thought of the curious sleep Elizabeth
had fallen victim to in the boarding-house.
"Provided I have not taken some narcotic without knowing it!... Suppose
the villains are going to inject into the room some gas which would
suffocate me, and I should not know I was breathing it in? Suppose I
lose consciousness and slip into death?"
But Fandor drew himself together; he stiffened his will.
Do they know I am in this room waiting to entrap them? Do they think
they will find Nanteuil here defenceless? Who was that workman?... I
ought to be able to put a name to that familiar face?
How slow, how deadly slow, the tic-tac, tic-tac, of the timepiece?
Centuries passed between the striking of the hours!... Would it be
to-night?... To-morrow night?... Or ...
On the corridor carpet outside the room, a slight rustling sound,
continuous, barely perceptible, caught Fandor's listening ear.... Who
was it?... Was it anyone at all?... Was it imagination? He listened
intently ... not a sound now.... But, yes ... the same rustling sound
... it was nearer--moving along the wall. Fandor closed his eyes an
instant, so vividly did he feel that someone was looking at him through
the wall!
Seconds beat by--seconds that might culminate in a moment of
horror--seconds passing steadily by in regular succession, sinking into
nothingness....
Had someone moved? Were there steps by the door?...
Fandor thought he heard strange sounds all around him, in the room
itself! His nerves were tensely strung: he was overwrought. Someone was
certainly walking in the corridor!... He had felt a movement along the
wall against which his bed stood!
Impossible to hesitate longer! The door knob, which he could not see in
the darkness, must have moved.... Fandor sensed this movement as surely
as though he himself had placed his hand on the knob....
Yes, the door was going to open!...
It was ajar ... it was turning on its hinges--it was open.... Someone
was coming in.... Who?...
Fandor lay still--he dared not move an eyelid; but in his mind he said:
"Come in, then! Take the trouble to come in!"
Thus Fandor, who believed Death was entering the room, dared to welcome
the grim visitor--with a smile!
* * * * *
Nothing was happening.... Fandor's feverish excitement sank down to
depression.... He must have deceived himself--no one was entering the
room--nothing untoward was happening! He had simply imagined the noises
outside in the corridor, for nothing happened--nothing ... and once more
he was following the eternal tic-tac, tic-tac of the timepiece!
The head of Fandor's bed was near the door. He could not, in the dense
darkness, fix the point where he supposed the enemy would find him, and
he had the agonising conviction that they were very much at their
ease--that they knew exactly where he was, and were quietly preparing
their attack.
But had these unknown assassins entered the room?... Yes, it was
certain--there were men behind him--bending over him with outstretched
hands to strangle him!... He could hear the sound their fingers made in
passing through the air to grip his throat, to squeeze his life out!...
Though he lived a hundred years, never could Fandor forget the agonising
thrill when he sensed that hidden danger! He held his revolver ready to
fire. He thought:
"In whatever way I am attacked, I must not let slip this unique chance
to learn the truth! I must seize the attacker at all costs, and leap to
the electric switch, turn on the light--and I shall be saved! Saved!..."
Without a cry, without a warning sound, without a moment's time to cope
with the violence of the attack, Fandor felt a cloth over his face,
strong hands on his throat, a heavy weight crushing his chest.
"I am lost!" flashed through his mind.
"I mean to find out the truth!" his will declared.
With all the force of resistant muscle and will he disengaged himself
from the power crushing him to death; seized an arm by chance, hung on
to it, gripped it, threw off the man, ran to the switch, shouting:
"Help!"
Again, Fandor thought he was done for: the switch acted, but no light
flashed forth!
They had cut the wire!
Men were holding on to him: their grip was tightening!
A voice gave a strangled cry.
"Help!"
A strange voice! Whose?
Fandor was weakening. His right hand seemed to be caught in a vise which
would break and crush it: it was growing tighter and tighter: it was
wrenching his arm, was dragging him backwards: it would fracture his
shoulder blade! Who?... Who?...
By a miraculous effort he freed himself. He leaped away; sprang to the
mantelpiece; seized a pocket electric torch he had placed there--clac--a
light flashed out!... Fandor saw, recognised his attacker!...
Ah! The form he had seen before--a slim figure, clothed in black!... Ah,
this murderer, whose face was concealed by a hooded mask!
Fandor shouted at him.
"Fantomas! It's you and I, Fantomas!"
But, already, this mysterious bandit, unmasked by the unexpected light,
had rushed on our journalist.
The electric torch was extinguished.
The struggle recommenced, fierce, formidable, desperate! Fandor was
seized by the throat in a strangling grip: he was choking!
His right arm, so twisted, so bruised, was powerless--and in that hand,
now so deadened and helpless that it seemed detached from his body, was
his revolver. He must shoot, though almost powerless in the formidable
grip of the bandit. He must shoot if he was to be saved. He managed to
pull the trigger.
There was a loud report.
Fandor felt himself flung towards the wall. The vise loosed its grip.
There was a terrific din. The window panes were shattered, a heavy piece
of furniture was pushed aside, oscillated, fell with a crash; then a
sudden silence; but a silence broken by gaspings, loud breathings,
hoarse sounds, an agonising death rattle.
The dead pause seemed interminable.... Fandor was about to shoot again,
when a voice close to him cried:
"He is escaping!..."
Jerome Fandor recognised that voice!...
Another voice said:
"We must have a light!"
A wax match flamed and flared.
By its wavering light Fandor could distinguish three men in the room....
Their clothes were torn: there was blood on their faces, they were
panting: they stared at one another.
Fandor recognised them instantly.
Leaning against the bed, a gash in his cheek, was Monsieur Barbey.
Lying on the floor, apparently half dead, was Monsieur Nanteuil.
Calmly lighting a candle was the telephone workman. He alone seemed
unmoved.
Fandor threw down his revolver and, coolly marching to the door, locked
it.
Monsieur Barbey followed the journalist with a look. He made a gesture
of discouragement and pointed to the window: its panes were smashed to
pieces.
"We are tricked--done!" he said. "The assassin has got away!"
But Fandor, with a shrug, marched up to the window, returned, and said
in a matter-of-fact tone:
"It is impossible that Fantomas could have made his escape that way!"
The workman nodded gravely.
"Monsieur Fandor," said he, "I am entirely of your opinion."
XXVII
THE IMPRINT
"Monsieur Fandor, I am entirely of your opinion!"
Hearing these words, Fandor, who had regained his self-possession, and
was ready to start fighting again if necessary, looked at the individual
who had made this statement--the individual whose face was oddly
familiar.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The individual smiled broadly.
"Don't you recognise me?" he asked.
He removed his wig, threw the candle light on himself, and smilingly
announced his style and title.
"Sergeant Juve, once of the detective force; formerly dead: now amateur
policeman!"
"You! You, Juve!" cried Fandor. "And to think I suspected you...."
But the two bankers interrupted at one and the same moment.
"What are you doing here?"
Juve smiled.
"The art I practise brought me! Since my interest in the Dollon affair
is so keen, I follow it up, I wish to find the secret of it, just
through love of my art. I dabble in it nowadays."
"But Juve--how did you get here?" questioned Fandor.
"Ah, ha! If you have made some psychological discoveries: if reasoning
has landed you here, now facts have led me here!... You know I was
shadowing the band of Numbers. You know that in the skin of Cranajour I
was intimate with those rascals. To my astonishment I found that my
wretched companions had dealings with the Barbey-Nanteuil bank, who, of
course, had no suspicion of it! Are you surprised then that I felt it
incumbent on me to visit this bank?... Besides, yesterday, I saw you
enter here; but you never came out again! You had reasons for acting so.
I determined to be near you, in case you needed my help. I therefore
passed myself off as a workman come to attend to the telephone
installation. It was easy enough, for I am a good electrician.... Well,
when I found that you were preparing to pass the night here, I laid my
plans accordingly. I pretended to leave the premises, but really I hid
myself in the house. Just now, when you called for help, I came to your
aid as quickly as I could, naturally!"
"Just as we did!" remarked Monsieur Barbey, looking at his partner.
Monsieur Nanteuil contented himself with a nod. He added:
"Alas, once again that criminal has escaped! Fantomas, since it was
Fantomas who was here, just now, Fantomas has got away!" And Nanteuil
pointed to the broken window by which it would seem the criminal, taking
advantage of the noise, had escaped.
But both Fandor and Juve shrugged doubtfully.
"You believe then, Monsieur Nanteuil, that Fantomas has left this room?"
questioned our young journalist.
"What the devil do you mean?" asked Nanteuil.
Juve demanded.
"Which way did he make his escape?"
Nanteuil pointed.
"Why that way! By this window ... where else?... You can see quite well
that he has broken the panes!... Why, look! His hooded cloak has got
caught on the window latch!..."
Fandor lay back in an arm-chair. He seemed much amused. He silenced Juve
with a gesture, and turned to Nanteuil.
"I can assure, dear Monsieur Nanteuil, that Fantomas has not left the
room by this window!..."
"Because?..."
"Because this window has been broken by means of this chair: this chair,
which he flung against the panes to put us on the wrong scent, and make
us believe he had escaped that way!... Just look at this chair! It is
still strewn with broken bits of glass ... look, there is even a little
bit stuck into the wood!"
"But that proves nothing!... Fantomas has broken the window panes as
best he could, and then made his escape!"
"In that case," insisted Fandor, "dear Monsieur Nanteuil, can you
explain how it was he troubled to remove his cloak, hood and all; and,
after that, how is it he has left no footprints in the flower-beds
beneath the window? When day dawns you will see for yourself that my
statement is correct, though I have not verified it! The flower-beds are
too wide, too big, for a man jumping from here, to jump clear of them!
And the earth is soft enough to take and retain the footprints of a man
who leaps down on to them from this height!... Nevertheless, such
footprints are conspicuous by their absence!"
Monsieur Barbey seemed overwhelmed--aghast.
"If Fantomas did not escape by the window, how then did he get away?" he
asked.
Fandor said in clear, distinct tones:
"Fantomas was not able to escape!..."
"But he cannot be in the room?... Where, then, can he have hidden
himself?"
In a hard voice, Fandor made answer.
"He is not hidden in the room...."
"You think then that he has hidden himself somewhere in the house?"
Speaking in the same hard, decisive tone, Fandor asserted:
"He is not hidden in the house! In the very height of the struggle, I
kept a strict watch on the direction taken by the man who was doing his
utmost to strangle me. I am positive I had my back against the door
when I fired, so that exit was barred! Neither by door nor window did
Fantomas escape!" Fandor's tone was one of absolute assurance.
"If you are certain of that," said Nanteuil, "can you tell us how
Fantomas did escape?"
Fandor's reply was to rise from his arm-chair. He took the candlestick
from the table where Juve had placed it and walked towards a large
mirror. He carefully examined his neck.
"Very curious!" said he, in a low voice...: "Now, monsieur, the man who
tried to strangle me was Fantomas--we have seen him.... Well, this man
had a wound on his thumb, or, more probably, he wounded me, anyhow he
has left on my collar the mark of his thumb in blood--you guess what
this thumb-mark is?"
Simultaneously, Barbey, Nanteuil, and Juve rushed towards the young
journalist.... Fandor showed them a little red mark, clear cut on the
white surface of the collar; it was a finger-print so characteristic,
that the two bankers cried in a trembling voice:
"Again the imprint of Jacques Dollon!"
Silence fell--a pregnant silence. The four men gazed at one another.
Fandor soon started whistling a popular air. Juve smiled: Monsieur
Barbey was the first to speak:
"Good Heavens! Do you mean to say that Jacques Dollon was here--in this
room!... It is certain, you say, Monsieur Fandor, that he did not get
away either by door or window--for pity's sake explain the mystery!"
But Fandor contented himself with a smile and a question.
"Do you really think, then, that I know it?..."
Nanteuil stamped with impatience.
"But hang it all! If you don't know anything, don't let us waste time!
Let us begin the search! Hunt through the house! Search the garden from
end to end!..."
Fandor went on--his tone was ironic.
"And warn the police? Well, no, Monsieur Nanteuil, we will not make any
search whatever, you can rely on that!... For the last three months we
have been striving and struggling to solve a maddening mystery: we never
could reach a certain solution of it: we have been vainly pursuing an
assassin, who for ever escaped us ... and now, when for once, we get
hold of a definite fact, an indisputable reality, are we going to risk
muddling up the whole business?... Not if I know it!"
"What do you mean?" demanded Monsieur Barbey.