Chapter 16

Meanwhile the police sergeant, important, in full official uniform, had started for _The Flowery Crossways_, accompanied by the hotel-keeper.

"This affair requires looking into," he announced. "The law will have more than a word to say about it. I must get further information and make notes."

He, with the hotel-keeper at his heels, mounted to the little room where Fandor and the little priest had passed the night. The policeman uncovered on entering what he considered a sumptuous, superbly decorated room. He had not the least idea how to set about his investigations in order to get the best results. He seated himself in an arm-chair. He fixed his eyes on the hotel-keeper.

"Do you know the name of these individuals?"

The hotel-keeper, thinking of the eighteen francs he had lost, and of how he could indemnify himself, paid scant attention to the sergeant's so-called investigations.

"Look here!" he cried. "That's a good thing! In their haste they have forgotten to take this package!... There may be things of value in it!... I may be able to pay myself out of them!"

The policeman rose: he also examined the package.

"In the name of the law I shall open this package to ascertain exactly what is in it."

The two men undid the rope tightly bound round the covering; but whilst mine host of _The Flowery Crossways_ had no idea of what the contents of the package signified, the sergeant, who had formerly served in the artillery, went white: his voice was stern.

"This is serious--very serious--it is the mouthpiece of a large gun--larger than any I have come across!"

* * * * *

The recovered motor-car drew up before _The Flowery Crossways_ with a flourish. The beaming chauffeur jumped down and went towards the hotel-keeper and the police sergeant.

"It was my car all right!" he cried. "And I believed that never again should I set eyes on it!... When I think."...

The chauffeur stopped short; the unresponsive hotel-keeper and the police sergeant were staring at him fixedly. Not a word did they utter.

The chauffeur stared in turn: then he asked:

"Well?... What is it?... Are you frozen, you two?... What's the matter with you?... I inform you that I have found my motor, and that's how you take it!"

The police sergeant answered:

"I must ask you to give us some highly necessary information and explanations.... Do you know anything about the priest and the soldier who hired your car and you?"

There was a questioning pause. The chauffeur broke it.

"I have already told you that I do not know them.... If I did, things would not have happened as they have!... Now, why have you asked me that question?"

The policeman's reply was another question: his tone was stern.

"Then you declare you had no idea of what they were taking with them in your car?"

"What they were taking with them in my car?" repeated the chauffeur in a tone of bewildered interrogation.

The police sergeant marched up to him.

"Look here, now! It is incredible that you do not know what is in that corded-up package you carried in your car! And now your masters have disappeared; we are to believe that you know nothing about that either!... And now you return!... What is the reason of that?... And is it to be supposed that I am going to allow you to make off again without asking you to explain yourself and this extraordinary situation?"

The chauffeur saw that the hotel-keeper sided with the police sergeant: there was no support to be got in that quarter.

"Explain yourself, policeman!" burst out the chauffeur. "What's all this humbugging claptrap you are giving me?"

"In the name of the law!" declared the offended police officer, in solemn tones: "I think it advisable to arrest you!... You may consider yourself my prisoner!"...

As the astounded chauffeur could not find words to answer this, the sergeant added:

"Ah! My fine fellow! This is the way, then, you steal guns to help the Germans to shoot the French? It's a mercy I spotted you!"

"But you are mad!--mad!--mad!" protested the chauffeur.... "You."...

The police sergeant cut him short.

"That is enough!... I am going to take you to Rouen!... You can account for yourself to the magistrates!"

XXIII

LONDON AND PARIS

Juve and Henri de Loubersac passed the night on the quay. Daybreak found them marching side by side, keeping their weary watch and ward. De Loubersac had fallen silent; monosyllabic replies to Juve's remarks had given place to no remarks at all. Juve looked at Henri and smiled.

"He has gone to the country of dreams: he sleeps standing."

In brotherly fashion, the policeman guided the young man towards the shelter: settled him in, and left him. He was within call if needed; meanwhile, he could have his sleep out.

Filling his pipe afresh, Juve resumed his walk along the quay. He was uneasy; he was also in a bad humour. Why did Vinson and this priest tarry on the way? Why should Corporal Vinson, bearer of this compromising artillery piece, plant himself at a little hotel in Rouen for the night? Had they been warned and stopped? Juve feared so.

"Evidently these men are acting for Fantômas," said he to himself: "Fantômas must be watching the police: he knows them, but they do not know him.... Suppose he knows of our arrival at Dieppe?... Suppose the two traitors, being warned, have given our men the slip on the way? Suppose this stop at Rouen was caused by the telegram they received at the garage?... If our arrival here has been signalled, our watch will be fruitless: neither Vinson nor the priest will show themselves on this quay!"

As he kept his tireless vigil. Juve eyed the yacht swinging gently on the rising tide. Could he find a pretext which would take him aboard--justify a thorough investigation of boat and crew?... The answer to more than one tormenting problem might lie hidden there!

Then Juve recalled his talk with de Loubersac. Had he been happily inspired to speak so to him of the girl he loved, the enigmatic Wilhelmine? Suppose de Loubersac, instead of questioning her, broke with her?

"It would be abominable of me to spoil this child's love affair for what are less than suspicions on my part--only the vaguest hypothesis!"

Juve smoked and ruminated as he paced the lonely quay.

"I need not worry," concluded he at last. "Granting that we shall clear up all these mysteries, Wilhelmine's innocence, her candour, will be made manifest; that being so, Henri de Loubersac will be the first to acknowledge it, the first to beg her forgiveness!... Lovers' quarrels are not serious quarrels--so!"...

Juve continued his tireless promenade.

Sailors seeking their fishing-boats swung past him in the growing light of day.

Juve looked at his watch.

"I told them to put on a special for the night, and they have instructions to send me any telegrams.... Still, it is six o'clock.... I will see if there is anything fresh!"

Juve found de Loubersac fast asleep in the sentry box, and shook him by the shoulder.

"Lieutenant!... Lieutenant!" he shouted: "Wake up! I want you to keep watch while I run to Headquarters here.... There may be news!"

De Loubersac jumped up, wide awake in a moment. He took his turn on the quay at once. Juve hurried to the police station. He was on the doorstep when a telegraph boy rode up with a telegram. It was for our detective. The paper shook in Juve's hands as his eyes devoured the message: it was in cypher.

_"Corporal Vinson taken refuge in London--recognised and identified by me this morning at four o'clock when leaving Victoria Station. I followed him and know where he is. What to be done next? Awaiting your orders."_

Juve wondered whether he was on his head or his heels. Vinson in London! Left Victoria Station this morning! What did it mean?

"The wire is precise in its details. The man who sends it is a sharp police spy--never hesitates, never makes a blunder!... It seems evident that Vinson has given us the slip! He must have reached the coast at some point, and, in an unnoticed boat, has passed under our noses this very night!... Here's a go! The very deuce of a go!"

Intensely irritated, excited, Juve read and reread the telegram, fussed and fumed about the police station under the scared eyes of the policeman on guard duty. That worthy began to think the detective from Paris was an unmitigated nuisance.

Juve did not take this humble colleague into his confidence. He issued orders.

"You must not stir from here till the superintendent arrives. You will hand him this telegram addressed to me here. I will wire instructions in the morning where they are to be forwarded to me in England."

"In England!"

"Yes, I am crossing immediately by a Cook's excursion steamer, which goes in an hour, unless I am mistaken!"

Juve found de Loubersac pacing the quay. He had been smoking cigar after cigar to clear his head. Juve handed him a sheet of paper; on it he had copied the text of the telegram.

"Read that!" he cried.... "These confounded spies have found means to escape our attentions--but this is not the end of the game!"

Lieutenant Henri was thunderstruck.

"What are you going to do, Juve?"

"Reach London with all speed. Will you come, Lieutenant?"

De Loubersac considered.

"No," he decided.... "In the first place, I have no right to leave the country unless authorised to do so. I am not free to act according to my own good will and pleasure: besides, I have an idea there is work for me in Paris.... To watch that little intriguer, Bobinette, will be an interesting task: from what you told me yesterday, she is up to the neck in those villainous plots and plans! While you investigate in London, Paris shall be my field of operations. You approve of this, Juve?"

"I think you are right."

Juve accompanied the lieutenant to the station: de Loubersac was in a hurry to be off. He would not wait for the noon express: he took the slow train. As it began to move, he and Juve exchanged a cordial handshake.

"Good luck!" cried he.

"Thanks, Lieutenant. Good courage!"

The latter admonition was given with a purpose; for Juve was under no illusion as to de Loubersac's feelings.

"At any other time," thought he, "de Loubersac would have seen it to be his duty to accompany me to London: he could have secured an authorisation from his headquarters if required; besides, attached to the Second Bureau as he is, no doubt the ordinary military rules and regulations would hardly apply to him: to a large extent he must be allowed a free hand in emergencies. This is an emergency--an important one!... No, he wishes to see Wilhelmine: he is in love, is worried, suspicious: he wishes to clear up the mystery surrounding Wilhelmine's identity: he is determined to know what exactly were her relations with Captain Brocq: also, he wants to find out all there is to find regarding Bobinette and her doings.... To get to the bottom of these dark mysteries, unravel the tangled threads needs a clear head and a brave heart, for his feelings are deeply involved, and they may yet be cut to the quick!... He is a straight goer, that young man!" was Juve's concluding thought.... "He will do his duty: and when one does one's duty, with rare exceptions, the result is happiness."

* * * * *

Whilst Juve returned to the jetty to await the departure of the excursion steamer, Henri de Loubersac, alone in his compartment, reflected sadly on his relations with Wilhelmine.... He had loved her a long time. A frank, a sincere affection for her had gradually grown into a love which filled his whole heart and mind. Juve's words had troubled him profoundly. This spy chase had been a momentary distraction, but now his anxieties, his suspicions, his fears, swarmed and buzzed among his thoughts: he could not banish them!

His reflections so absorbed him that he lost consciousness of time and place: when the train came to a stand-still in Rouen station, he could have vowed they had left Dieppe but a few miles behind!

He would stretch his limbs on the platform. He jumped out; but, as he strolled past the kiosks, gazing at the papers and magazines exhibited in them, his mind was haunted but by one vision: Wilhelmine....

The train was about to leave: the porters were shouting: he hastened to his compartment: his foot was on the mounting board: it might have been nailed there, for the moment!... A young woman was seated in the further corner. She had lowered her window, and, with head out, was either saying good-bye to someone or was watching the comings and goings of the station.

Her attitude, the lines of her figure, were familiar to de Loubersac. He felt sure he knew her. He took his seat and awaited the turning of her head.

A piercing whistle and the train began to move. The young woman drew back, pulled up the window, and sat back in her seat.

Henri de Loubersac saw her.

She made a movement of surprise.

"You! Monsieur Henri!"

"You! Mademoiselle Bobinette!"

"By what chance?" began de Loubersac.

Bobinette interrupted:

"It is rather I who might ask you that, Monsieur Henri!... As for me, I have been spending four days with my family at Rouen.... I asked for a holiday and Monsieur de Naarboveck very kindly granted it ... but you?"

De Loubersac was nervously chewing the end of his blonde moustache. With a shrug he replied:

"Oh, I! It is never surprising to meet me in a train: I am constantly on the move: here--there--everywhere!... You have news of Mademoiselle Wilhelmine?"

"Excellent news. You are coming to Monsieur de Naarboveck's soon?"

"I think of calling on the baron this evening."

Talk continued, commonplace, desultory. What questions crowded to his lips, sternly repressed!

"She lies," thought he, while listening to the details of her family visit. "She certainly lies!... I must pretend to be her dupe--the miserable creature!"

His whole soul revolted at the thought that this Bobinette, involved as she must be in disgraceful adventures, abominable tragedies, shared Wilhelmine's home, was her so-called friend! He was seized by a mad desire to grip Bobinette by the throat--silence her lying tongue--arrest, handcuff her on the spot--render her powerless!

He had noticed a vague line of black showing below her light coloured taffeta skirt. It might be the frill of a petticoat just too long. Thinking no more of it he continued to chat of indifferent things.... Presently, a quick movement of Bobinette's raised her skirt a little more. This time the watchful de Loubersac could not be mistaken: he had seen clearly that what showed beneath Bobinette's skirt, every now and again, was a priest's cassock!

Bobinette's dress concealed the disguise of a priest.

Too well he understood the part this perverse creature had been playing! Now he could account for their meeting in this train coming from Rouen!... She had recently associated with Corporal Vinson as a priest. She had seen him off, no doubt, and, anxious to rid herself of her ecclesiastical exterior as quickly as might be, she had slipped on a dress over her ecclesiastical garment.

What was all this but a painful confirmation of Juve's words?... How could Wilhelmine be entirely ignorant of this dreadful creature's character? How could Wilhelmine be wholly innocent of the terribly compromising actions of her daily companion? Did Wilhelmine lack intuition? Was she without that delicate sensitiveness which is the birthright of all nice women? How could a pure girl breathe the miasmic atmosphere which must emanate from the soul of this abominable woman?

It was terrible!

The desultory commonplace chat went on, whilst de Loubersac was considering how best to act.

Arrest Bobinette?

Yes. He must not, dare not, hesitate. It was his duty. If he held this young woman at his mercy, it was, perhaps, the only way, painful as it was, to ultimately clear up the position of Wilhelmine.

How proceed?

Whilst still chattering of this and that, Henri de Loubersac made up his mind.

"Being a soldier, and not a policeman, I cannot myself arrest this woman. The scandal would be tremendous! I should get into the hottest of hot water with my chiefs: it is not my job.... Directly we arrive at the Saint Lazare station I will manage to signal one of the plain clothes men always on the watch there! Two of them will have her fast before she knows where she is!"

This seemed the easier because Bobinette had a heavy valise with her: she would have to call a porter and give him instructions--this would give him time to act.

Reassured, Henri de Loubersac continued to laugh and joke, though it went sorely against the grain....

At last! Saint Lazare station! The train stopped.

"I will say good-bye, Mademoiselle Bobinette.... I must hurry away!... You will excuse me?"

De Loubersac leaped on to the platform, jostling the passengers crowding his path. He must reach the platform exit without a second's delay!... As he handed his ticket to the collecter, a hubbub arose. Passengers were stopping, turning back, running--something sensational must have happened!

He paused. He heard a porter at his elbow say in a low voice:

"Don't stop, Monsieur Henri--you may be noticed."

De Loubersac identified the speaker as a man in the employ of the Second Bureau. He handed his wraps to this detective, dressed as an ordinary porter.

"What is happening, then?" he asked.

"An arrest, ordered by the Second Bureau. There was a man, or a woman, in your train."

"Ah, Bobinette must have been identified at Rouen when she got into the train--Juve's men must have wired from there!" Henri de Loubersac rejoiced. How he hated this creature, whose detestable influence must harm Wilhelmine, whose wickedness might work woe to the girl he loved! This traitorous wretch would be under lock and key now!

Splendid!

With mind relieved, he thanked the informer and prepared to leave the station. But, as he descended the steps leading to the Cour du Havre he stopped. Two police detectives whom he knew well were walking on either side a soldier in corporal's uniform--Vinson, of course! They must be taking him to the Cherche Midi prison.

De Loubersac realised what had happened.

"By-Jove! The telegram Juve had received at Dieppe must have been false!... Vinson and Bobinette, discovering that they were under observation, had found means to send Juve a telegram announcing that Vinson had been met in London: having thus drawn Juve over to England they had returned to Paris.... The traitors must have separated: this would lessen their chances of being recognised.... They must have arrested Vinson as he was leaving the train.... Bobinette, become unrecognisable when her cassock was hidden, must have escaped!"

De Loubersac ran back. He hunted the station all over. He jumped into a taxi and drove up and down all the adjoining streets; but the chase was a useless one! Bobinette was invisible--Bobinette had seized her opportunity. She had disappeared!

XXIV

AN APPETISER AT ROBERT'S BAR

"Have another whisky, old sport?"

"Not I! We have taken too much on board as it is."

"You must! You must! Seen through the gold of old Scotch, life seems more beautiful, and the barmaids more fetching."

Perched on the high stools which allowed them to lean on the rail of the bar the two topers solemnly clinked glasses.

The younger of the two, a lean, dark fellow, emptied his glass at one go, but his companion, a big fair man about thirty-five, clean shaven, and slightly bald, handled his glass so awkwardly that the contents escaped on to the floor.

The big fair man called for fresh drinks. Their glasses were refilled so quickly that the dark young man failed to notice it: he drank on and on automatically, as though wound up to do so, but his companion barely wetted his lips with the intoxicating liquor.

It was six o'clock and a dismal December evening; but there was an animated cosmopolitan crowd in Robert's bar.

Robert's of London is the equivalent of Maxim's of Paris. The great place for luxurious entertainments, it opens its doors at twilight, and does not close them till the small hours are well advanced. When evening falls, the scene grows animated: business men and women of pleasure crowd the rooms. Gradually the crowd assumes a cosmopolitan character. A band of Hungarian gipsies plays inspiriting and seductive music. The crush increases, the noise grows louder, and amidst this babel of voices, the racket, the din, the barmaids ply their trade with calm determination: they flirt with their customers and egg them on to drink glass after glass of wine and spirits for the good of the house, in an atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke.

Every ten minutes or so, a newspaper boy slips in with the latest evening editions, to be chased out by one of the managers of mixed nationality who, for the most part, talk in a strangely mixed tongue, partly French, partly English.

In this noisy crowded place the two drinkers were talking together familiarly.

The dark young man, after having listened with curiosity to the confidences of his companion, which must have been of an extraordinary nature, judging by the exclamations of surprise they evoked, asked:

"But what is your profession, then?"

"But I have already told you," replied the fat man. "I am a clown--a musical clown.... I interpret comic romances.... I dress up as a negro, I play the banjo!" This jovial individual began humming an air which was the rage of the moment.

The dark young man interrupted with another question:

"What is your native country, Tommy?"

"Oh, I am a Belgian.... And you, Butler?"

The dark young man, who answered to the name of Butler, gave what had to pass for an account of himself.

"I ... I'm Canadian--just come from Canada--hardly three months ago."

"As much as that?" remarked fat Tommy.

Butler seemed upset by this question.

"Yes, yes!... And I feel very anxious, because I don't know my way about, and I don't know English very well, and I can't find work, try as I will ... it seems no use."...

"What can you do?"

"A little of everything."

"That is to say--nothing!"

Butler said slowly:

"I can do book-keeping."

The clown burst out laughing.

"That will not take you far! There are hundreds and hundreds of stick-in-the-muds at that job!"

"What do you want me to do, then?" asked Butler.

His plump acquaintance put a hand on his shoulder.

"There is only one career in the world--the theatre!... There is only one profession worth following, that of artiste!... See how I have succeeded! And without having received the least instruction, for my parents never cared a hang for my future--I soon earned plenty money; now, though still in the full flush of young man-hood, I am on the point of making a fortune!"

The clown evidently fancied himself, for he was of a ripe age--no chicken.

His companion gazed at him admiringly.

Certainly the clown looked wealthy: his thick watch-chain was gold, English sovereigns, ostentatiously displayed, were stuffed in a bulging purse: his appearance justified his boasts.

"I would ask nothing better than to get into a theatre," said Butler with a simple air, "but I don't know how to do anything!"

The clown shot a shrewd glance at his companion: Butler's face was flushed, his eyes were wandering: his wits seemed dulled: the glasses of whisky were having their effect.

Tommy murmured into Butler's ear:

"I have known you but a short time, but we are in sympathy, and already I feel a very great friendship for you. Tell me, is it the same on your side?"

Touched by this cordiality, Butler raised a shaky hand above his glass and declared:

"I swear it!"