Chapter 5

AT THE CAFÉ DES VOYAGEURS

M. Delcassé was scarcely out of bed, next morning, when Lépine's card was brought in to him. He smiled as he read the line scrawled across it: "My report awaits Monsieur."

"Show M. Lépine into the breakfast-room," said the Minister, "and inform him that I shall be down at once. Also inquire if he has breakfasted. If not, see that he is served."

He hastened on with his toilet, and, five minutes later, joined Lépine, whom he found at his favourite amusement of standing at a window and gazing into the street--an amusement which occupied every idle moment, sometimes with the most astonishing results. Chance plays a larger part in life than most people are willing to admit; Lépine believed in it; went half-way to meet it--and, more than once, had seen drifting past him along the pavement the face for which his best men had been searching vainly.

Lépine, it appeared, had already breakfasted, and, while the Minister ate, told of the interrogation at the Hotel du Nord. He had sent one of his men to Nice, with the receipts for the bags, and if, as seemed probable, they were still uncalled for, they would be examined at once.

"Though, even if they are still there," Lépine added, "we shall probably discover nothing of moment. One does not place anything of value in a bag and then abandon it. But I have another clue of the first importance," and he produced the hundred-franc note. "Here is the note given to Brisson by one of the strangers. You perceive that it is quite new. I suggest that you send the number of this note to the Bank of France, ascertain when and to whom it was issued, and if any other notes of the series were issued at the same time."

"I will do so," said M. Delcassé, and made a note of the number. "I agree with you that this is most important."

"One thing more," went on Lépine, replacing the note in his pocket-book and extracting a slip of paper; "a small thing, but of significance. I have here the police blanks which the two men filled out upon arriving at the Hotel du Nord. Their names, you see, are given as George Arnold and William Smith, their home as New York City, United States of America. If you will notice the 'S' of the word 'Smith,' you will see that it is made in the German manner."

"That is true; but it may mean nothing. There are many Germans who are citizens of the United States."

"Yes; but the German name is Schmidt, not Smith. I conclude that this man is a German, but was trying to conceal it."

"You may be right," Delcassé assented, with a trace of impatience in his manner; "no doubt you _are_ right. Is there anything more?"

"There is one thing," said Lépine, colouring a little, "which I have kept until the last, because it seems to upset M. Crochard's theory."

"What is that?"

Lépine drew two sheets of yellow tissue-paper from his pocket-book.

"An hour after our men left the Hotel du Nord," he said, "a telegram arrived, addressed to this William Smith. Here it is," and he spread out one of the sheets on the desk before the Minister.

Delcassé bent forward eagerly and read:

"_William Smith, Hotel du Nord, Toulon, France._

"Our mother requests that you abandon trip, cancel all arrangements, and return at once.

"ALFRED."

"Well?" and Delcassé looked up at his companion.

"That would seem to show, sir," said Lépine, "that William Smith was only an ordinary traveller, after all. You will see that it was filed at Brussels at noon of Sunday, the twenty-fourth. It was delayed in transmission, and for some reason was not received at Toulon until nine o'clock in the evening. Messages here are not delivered on Sunday evening after eight o'clock, and this was held until seven the next morning. At that hour, William Smith was no longer at the hotel."

"Well?" asked Delcassé a second time.

"Well," Lépine continued, "at ten minutes past six on Monday morning, this message was filed at the office here," and he spread out the second sheet of tissue.

Again Delcassé bent forward, and read:

"_Alfred Smith, Restante, Brussels._

"We continue our trip as planned. All well. Next address Nice.

"WILLIAM."

"You will see," Lépine went on, "that these messages are such as an ordinary tourist would send and receive."

But Delcassé was not listening. He was reading the messages a second time and yet a third, and there was a wrinkle of perplexity between his brows. At last he looked up, and the Prefect was astonished at the expression of his face.

"There is one thing I forgot to tell you last night, Lépine," he said. "I did not myself see its significance until I had got to bed. The first telegram received from any foreign power in reference to the disaster was from the German Emperor."

Lépine smiled.

"The German Emperor was the first to get word of it," he said. "I examined the other telegrams filed Monday morning. At ten minutes to seven, the German consul here notified the Minister of State at Berlin of the explosion. Admiral Bellue did not file his message to you until forty minutes later. No doubt he wished to assure himself of the extent of the disaster, in order not to alarm you needlessly. You should have received it not later than eight o'clock."

"It was, in fact, a few minutes before that hour. And when I reached the Elysée Palace, I found the President with a message from the Kaiser in his hand. It struck me as most peculiar."

"It was ironic, certainly," agreed Lépine, "but, under the circumstances, easily explained."

"You think, then--"

"I think that Crochard has assumed too much; I think that, before we accuse these men, we need more proof."

Delcassé pushed back his chair and paced for some moments nervously about the room. At last he sat down again, and rolled and lighted a cigarette.

"You are right," he said; "we need more proof. It is for you to find it, if it exists. And at this moment, I am interested not so much in the movements of these men, as in the cause of the explosion. Even supposing that they had a hand in it, how was it accomplished?"

Lépine returned the telegrams to his pocket.

"I agree with you," he said, "that that is the vital question. And I am unable to answer it."

"I shall institute a Board of Inquiry at once," went on the Minister; "I have, in fact, already summoned the officers who will compose it. I will arrange for it to visit the wreck and begin to take evidence to-day, as it is important that the evidence be secured while the event is still fresh. I would suggest that you place some of your men at the disposition of the Board."

"Very well, sir," Lépine agreed, and withdrew.

Toulon was awake again, and the streets were thronged as on a fête day. The first shock of the disaster had passed, and the inborn cheerfulness of the people was asserting itself. The excuse for a holiday was not to be overlooked, and every one who could take a day, or even an hour of leisure, did so, and spent it partly on the quays staring at the wreck, partly in the Place de la Liberté listening to the orators, partly in the Place d'Armes watching the men at work draping with black the Maritime Prefecture, where the Board of Inquiry was to sit, and the church of Saint Louis, where requiem High Mass was to be celebrated. Finally as much as remained of the holiday was spent at a café before a glass of coffee or apéritif, with the satisfaction of a sacred duty conscientiously performed.

Lépine, as he made his way through the crowd, noticed that there was no longer any talk of treachery or treason,--even the word "sabotage" was no longer uttered. Every one agreed that the affair was another accident, deplorable indeed, but unavoidable and without dishonour, and so not to be taken too deeply to heart. France could build other battleships! The mercury in the national temperament was asserting itself.

For an hour Lépine walked about with thoughtful face, listening to the talk, watching the crowd, joining a group here and there, catching chance words from passers-by. He had had only three hours' sleep, but he showed no trace of fatigue. Certainly nothing was farther from his thoughts at this moment than that he needed rest.

He made his way at last to the Quai de Cronstadt and joined the crowd which was staring at the wreck. A barge had been moored alongside, and a heavy crane was lifting the detached débris into it and clearing the way for the searching parties. On the quay opposite the wreck, at Number Ten, was a café, the Café des Voyageurs as its sign announced, and to this Lépine presently crossed, sat down at a table and ordered a bock.

The café was crowded, for its situation could not have been more fortunate; a steady stream of money had poured into the pockets of its proprietor ever since the disaster. The shattered windows were in themselves an advertisement, and no effort had as yet been made to replace them. Lépine looked about the place with interest. It was not large, but it had a certain air of prosperity bespeaking a good patronage, even at ordinary times. At the Prefecture, Lépine had made some discreet inquiries concerning its proprietor, who, he was told, had the reputation of being an honest fellow and had never been in trouble with the police. Nevertheless, as a friend of Crochard's, Lépine would have welcomed a look at him; but the place at the moment was apparently in charge of the head-waiter. It was the head-waiter himself who responded when Lépine rapped for the "addition," and, as he paid it, slipped a note into his hand. Lépine opened it, under cover of his hat, and found that it contained a single line:

"Monsieur C. will welcome a conference with Monsieur L."

Without a word, Lépine arose and followed the man, who crossed the room, opened a door at the farther end of it, stood aside for him to pass, and then gently closed it. Lépine found himself in a little room with a single window opening upon a court. It was furnished with a table and three chairs, and at the table sat Crochard. He motioned Lépine to a seat.

"I was expecting you," he said, with a little smile; "and I am glad you came. In the presence of that good Pigot, one cannot talk freely. Indeed, it was with the greatest difficulty that I maintained a sober countenance. He was so astonished, so overwhelmed, that you and I should be working together--that we should be able to sit in the same room without flying at each other's throats. If he only knew--"

"Is it necessary to go into that?" asked Lépine.

"Why not? You have no reason to be ashamed of it. If you have sought my aid from time to time, it was because you realised that Crochard the Invincible has sources of information which are closed to the police."

"I said as much to M. Delcassé. It was not of myself I was thinking, but of you. What if your friends knew?"

"My friends? I have never betrayed my friends, as you know well. Surely, Lépine, you have understood that, if I assisted you, it was only because it suited me to do so!"

"Yes, I have understood that," assented Lépine, flushing a little at the other's tone. "You always had a bargain to propose. What is the bargain, this time?"

"There is no bargain," retorted Crochard, curtly. "I ask nothing."

Lépine cast at him an astonished glance.

"What!" cried Crochard, his face suddenly red, "you cannot believe the truth, then? It seems incredible to you that I should love my country? Well, I _do_ love her, and I am going to prove it by saving her!"

"Is she in need of saving?" queried Lépine, ironically.

Crochard's eyes gleamed; then, in a moment, his anger passed.

"Delcassé believes so; Lépine does not: behold the difference between a great man and a clever one," he said, and looked at Lépine with pity in his eyes.

"Well, yes," said the Prefect; "I admit it; I make no claim to greatness. I perceive no danger--nor, for the matter of that, does M. Delcassé."

Crochard looked at him for a moment.

"Let me see the registration slip from the Prefecture," he said, at last.

Without a word, Lépine got out his pocket-book, produced the slip, and handed it to his companion.

Crochard studied it closely.

"You have, of course, remarked the German 'S,'" he said, at last "I thought so. Now the telegram which arrived too late."

Lépine passed it over obediently.

Crochard read it and re-read it, a strange light in his eyes.

"And now the other one," he said, finally.

Lépine stared at him.

"How do you know there is another one?" he demanded.

"Of course there is another one!" retorted Crochard, impatiently. "Any fool would know that!"

Still staring, Lépine handed him the second sheet of tissue.

Crochard took one glance at it; then he looked at his companion.

"Do you mean to say, Lépine," he asked, "that, in the face of these telegrams, you remain unconvinced--that you do not see the danger?"

"I see no danger," repeated the Prefect, doggedly.

"And yet I tell you, Lépine," said Crochard, leaning forward across the table and speaking in deadliest earnest, "that the danger is desperate. You are blind to it, a thing which astonishes me; M. Delcassé can do nothing--his hands are tied by the red tape of his position. There remains only Crochard! If I sit idle, if I fold my hands, within a month Germany will declare war and will sweep over France like a pestilence. Yesterday she struck the first blow; I tremble to think what the second may be!"

"But war!" protested Lépine. "Nonsense! For war there must be a cause."

"A pretext will do--and a pretext can always be found. Already Germany is preparing her pretext: she has demanded equal rights with France in Morocco--a preposterous demand, and one which France can never grant. What cares Germany about Morocco? Nothing! But the pretext must be ready. And now, Lépine," he added, pushing back the papers, and speaking in another tone, "I will tell you why I have come to you: I should prefer to work alone; but, in the first place, it was necessary to provide a means of access to M. Delcassé; in the second place, you got these papers, where I might have failed; in the third place, there are certain questions to which you can get an answer more easily than I."

"What are the questions?" asked Lépine, moved, in spite of himself, by Crochard's manner.

"There are two to which I would ask you to get answers at once. The first: does the government maintain, or has it authorised, any wireless stations in the town or in the neighbourhood? The second: have the wireless operators on any of the battleships noticed any unusual interference during the past few days? How long will it take you to secure answers to those questions--authoritative answers?"

"An hour."

Crochard glanced at his watch.

"It is now ten o'clock. At eleven, you will arrange for a conference with M. Delcassé. There must be no one present but we three."

"M. Crochard," said Lépine, drily, "I do not like your imperatives. I am not accustomed to them."

"M. Lépine," Crochard retorted, "my way of speaking is my own, and I am too old to change. In this affair, it is you who work with me, not I with you. Shall we go on, or shall we stop here?"

Lépine trembled with a severe inward struggle. Crochard impressed and fascinated him; but his terms were humiliating.

Crochard met his gaze, read what was behind it, and leaned forward again across the table.

"Lépine," he said, "have I ever failed to do a thing I promised?"

"No."

"I shall not fail this time."

"What is it you promise?"

"I promise," said Crochard, and raised his right hand solemnly, as though registering an oath, "I promise to find the man who destroyed _La Liberté_, and to save my country!"

Lépine gazed at him for a moment, then pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. The patriot in him had triumphed.

"Where shall the conference with M. Delcassé take place?" he asked.

Crochard smiled at the question and at the little man's impassive face.

"Lépine," he said, "on my word, you touch greatness sometimes, and I find myself admiring you! Let the conference take place at M. Delcassé's apartment. Oh, yes; you will have a closed carriage waiting at the private entrance."

"At eleven o'clock," agreed Lépine.

"At eleven o'clock," repeated Crochard, and waved his adieu. Then, as the door closed behind that erect little figure, he sank back into his seat with a chuckle and touched a bell.

An inner door, concealed so cleverly in the wall that even Lépine's sharp eyes had not perceived it, opened and a man looked in.

"He has gone," Crochard said. "Bring some wine, Samson, and two glasses."

The door closed, but opened again in a moment to admit the man, with bottle and glasses. He placed them on the table, went back to make sure that the door was closed, and then sat down opposite Crochard. Why he should be called Samson, unless in derision, was hard to understand, for he was a mere skeleton of a man, with a face like parchment. But the brow was high and the eyes bright and the mouth as tender as a woman's.

Crochard glanced at the label on the cobwebbed bottle, and nodded as he filled his glass.

"You are good to your friends, Samson," he said. "Your health!"

"Yours!" said Samson, and drained his glass. "Everything I have is yours, my master; you know that!"

"Even your life?"

"You have only to ask it."

Crochard looked at him with smiling eyes.

"I believe you, my friend," he said. "Some day I may have to ask it--but not yet. Did you see the man who just left me?"

"It was M. Lépine," said Samson, quietly.

"Did he see you?"

"No; but if he had, it would make no difference. He would not know me now."

"Perhaps not," Crochard agreed, and glanced at the other's wasted face. "And yet he has sharp eyes and a wonderful memory."

"I will keep out of his way," said Samson.

"At worst, it is only a question of another rescue; but avoid him, if you can. You have a good station here, the business pays; you can lead a quiet life--and, from time to time, be of use to me."

"The last is the most important," said Samson, and filled his glass again.

"Have you learned anything more of the white-haired man?"

"No; but I _will_ know more before evening."

"I wish especially to find his lodging. If he is no longer there, I must know when he departed and where he went."

"All that you shall know; I will see to it."

"No detail is too unimportant."

"I shall remember."

"And perhaps," added Crochard, "if things go well--for this is an affair of great importance, where for once I am working on the side of the law--I shall be able to secure for you that for which you have longed--pardon from the State, rehabilitation, so that you can resume your own name and live again openly with your family. That is worth working for, is it not?"

"Ah!" cried Samson, his voice quivering with emotion. "If you could do that! But it is impossible!"

"It is _not_ impossible!" said Crochard, and struck the table with his open hand. "I promise it!"

Samson stared at him, his lips working, and two large tears formed slowly in the corners of his eyes, brimmed over and ran down his cheeks. If Crochard said "I promise it!" the thing was as good as done. Suddenly he sat upright and brushed the tears away.

"What is it I must do?" he asked. "Tell me!"

And Crochard, drawing his chair closer, began his rapid instructions.