Chapter VIII: Part 8

"The situation is growing complicated," said he to himself. "I am quite persuaded that this room will shortly receive a visit from some individuals who will not court recognition--their interests are all against that--and they certainly will not be anxious to meet me here! These individuals assuredly know, at this minute, that the examining magistrate is going to make a thorough investigation here to-morrow morning.... How do they know it? It's very simple. The prime mover in the attempted murder, or one of his accomplices, was assuredly among the witnesses this afternoon. Is it the amiable Madame Bourrat? Is it that doltish Jules, who looks an absolute fool, but may be masking his game! Suppose the serious Barbey pops up? Or the elegant Nanteuil? But I do not think so--they are rather victims than attackers--everything leads me to that opinion. But--all this does not tell me whether the place has already been visited or not!"

Fandor unlocked the drawer, searched for the piece of soap under the pile of Elizabeth's linen, and had the extreme satisfaction of finding the soap had not been moved.

"Good! I am here first! Ah, we shall see our men presently! Which, and how many?"

Fandor seated himself and let his imagination work. He tried to picture the faces of the mysterious individuals he was determined to track down--but, so far, in vain!... Then with strange, uncanny persistence, one face rose again and again before his mental vision, clear, vital--the face of the enigmatic Thomery, with his silver white hair, his red face, his light blue eyes, that Yankee head of his, well set on his robust torso....

"Thomery!" cried Fandor almost aloud. "The fact is, everything leads me to think ... but don't let us anticipate! Concealment is the next item on the programme!"

Fandor realised that to hide under the bed was impossible: he would be discovered immediately.... The screen was no better!... There was Elizabeth's trunk!... Why, it was a kind of monument in wicker work! The very thing! It was quite big enough to hold him--it was one of those enormous trunks beloved of women!... To hide in it would be an excellent trick--a real joke! Let me burrow in there, and see the stupefaction of these estimable characters when they open it to rummage about among Elizabeth's belongings and find themselves face to face with me! They will see besides my sympathetic countenance the stern mouth of my revolver!... Let us see whether it is a possible hiding place!

Fandor raised the cover and lifted out a top compartment, in which were scattered, among objects of feminine apparel, papers, books, and all sorts of things which had evidently belonged to the unfortunate painter. The distracted Elizabeth, in the hurry of departure from rue Norvins, must have thrust them in pell-mell. The lower division of the trunk was empty.

"Another bit of luck!" thought Fandor. "Now to sample my little hide-hole!"

Fandor found he could get into a fairly comfortable position. Then he calculated, that with the compartment back in its place and the cover open, all he had to do to close it was to shake the trunk transversely. He could certainly remain inside for several hours without intolerable discomfort.

Raising the cover, Fandor slipped out.

The interminable hours crawled by. To smoke was out of the question. Fandor's pride in his exploit was sinking to zero: was he passing a wretched night to no purpose? A violent ring sounded. Someone was ringing at the garden gate--ringing loudly, insistently--an imperative summons!

Instantly Fandor was on the alert. Useless to slip to the window and 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...."

She paused deliberately: Thomery gazed at her without saying a word.

"You know, monsieur," continued the broker, "that in such a business as mine, one is obliged to see a great many jewellers every day; well, in the course of my peregrinations, I found at a jeweller's--you must allow me to withhold his name--some pearls, which I am certain you will find are a wonderful bargain...."

"For the last time, madame, I do not want a wonderful bargain!"

The agent smiled curiously.

"There are some things which simply do not allow themselves to be refused," she declared.... She now drew from her pocket a little jewel-case; and, notwithstanding Thomery's unconcealed impatience, opened it, and selected two pearls which she held out to him.

"Do examine these jewels! You are going to tell me that they are perfectly beautiful, are you not, Monsieur Thomery?"

The diamond broker offered them so naturally that Thomery gave way. He examined the pearls: he was a connoisseur.

"In truth, madame, these pearls are superb; unfortunately I am not enough of an expert to buy them without taking competent advice, that is if I thought of acquiring them eventually, but I repeat, I have no wish to acquire such things!"

"Deuce take it!" thought Thomery. "This broker won't take 'no' for an answer! Since I cannot rid myself of her by being pleasant, I shall make myself disagreeable!"

But the would-be seller still insisted.

"Monsieur, you really cannot be a connoisseur, otherwise I am sure you would not return these pearls to me."

"But, madame!..."

"And I am convinced that if Princess Sonia Danidoff had had them in her hand instead of you, she would have been greatly taken with them!"

The broker had emphasised her words so strangely that, suddenly, Thomery hesitated.

What did this mysterious visitor mean? What was it she considered so "extraordinary" about the jewels she had just submitted to him?... A suspicion flashed across his mind.

"Whence come these pearls, madame?"

But, at this question, the broker got up.

"Monsieur Thomery," declared she, "I should be very vexed with myself were I to make you lose your evening ... your time is precious; besides, in order to give you a proper answer to your question, I should have to make certain of facts I only now guess at.... Still, I think that without having told you anything definite, I have made you sufficiently understand what is in my mind,... you will not now doubt the interest that the Princess Sonia Danidoff would have, were she able to examine these jewels...."

"Is that so?"

"Consequently, Monsieur Thomery, I am going to ask you if you will kindly show these pearls to the Princess; and then if you will be good enough to let me know what decision you come to, jointly with her.... If you were a buyer, I fancy I might let you have these jewels on quite exceptional terms."

Thomery visibly hesitated.... He was looking at the pearls, which he was still holding in his hand, and he thought.

"One might swear that these are two of the pearls stolen from Sonia at my ball!"

Thomery did not reply at once. The broker was looking at him with a smile; she seemed to guess his thoughts. Thomery, on his side, was examining the woman.

"Is she simply a police informer?" he asked himself. "One of these women who apparently are dealers, but are really in the pay of the police, and frequent jewellers for the purpose of tracing stolen jewels?"

He was on the verge of asking her who she was, but he refrained.

If this woman had not presented herself under her true colours, evidently she wished to pass for an ordinary dealer. It was possible that she was really a receiver of stolen goods!

Thomery came to a decision.

"I shall have the privilege of seeing the Princess Danidoff to-morrow afternoon; will you therefore leave the pearls with me?... I will show them to her. Should she express the slightest wish to possess them, I might possibly come to terms with you...."

* * * * *

"Dearest, it is sweet of you to make no objection to the way in which I obtained this jewel for you to see, and to choose for your own, if you will.... The correct thing would have been to ask you to accompany me to some well-known jeweller, instead of which, I frankly confess, that these pearls were offered to me on very advantageous terms. If they please you, it will give me the greatest pleasure to see them adorning your graceful neck."

Princess Sonia laughed.

"My dear, for Heaven's sake, don't worry about such a thing as that!... A pearl is not less beautiful because it comes from some unpretentious jeweller's shop. I am too fond of jewels for their own sake, to trouble about the casket that enshrines them!"

Thomery bowed, well pleased.

"Here then, dear Sonia, are the two pearls entrusted to me as samples ... please, dearest, examine them carefully, very carefully ... and if you like them, tell me so frankly...."

The Princess took the two pearls from the betrothed, and, crossing the great drawing-room, she approached one of the bay windows, lifting the thin hangings that she might the better examine the pearls.

"They are marvellous!" she cried.

"Dear Sonia, you think these gems rarely beautiful?"

"Indeed I do! Their lustre is superb; their quality, their shape, perfect!... Why, my dear, these are the most splendid pearls I have ever seen--with one exception--the only pearls to equal them are those that were stolen from me!... The loss of them has been a bitter grief ... they came to me, you know, from my dear mother!... I never thought to find pearls of such quality again...."

"You consider these to be of as pure a quality then, dear?"

Sonia Danidoff continued to examine the two pearls.

"It is really extraordinary," she cried suddenly. "Do you know, my dear, there are certain peculiarities about their lustre,... yes ... I could swear that these very pearls you are offering me are two of those stolen from me!..."

Thomery appeared to have been impatiently awaiting these very words.

"You really, truly believe, Sonia, that they resemble the pearls stolen from you that unlucky evening?"

"I repeat--they are identical!"

Thomery looked smilingly at Sonia.

"Well, then, my dear one, I do not think you are mistaken!... I have all sorts of reasons for supposing that they really are two of your own pearls you are now holding in your hand...." And, then and there, Thomery told his fiancee all about the strange visit he had received the evening before, as well as his hope that he would be able to recover the stolen triple collar in its entirety.

"That intriguing dealer," said he finally, "must be a police informer.... In any case, I am persuaded that, before long, she will take me to some receiver or other who is in possession of your pearl collar."

"Oh, tell me you are not going among such people, all alone?" cried Sonia, with a note of sharp anxiety in her voice.

"But, why not?"

"If they are, as you think, thieves?"

"Well?"

"Well! Don't you see, my dear, that if you go to buy the pearls, they will count on your bringing a large sum of money with you!... Why, it would be a most imprudent thing to do!..."

Thomery shrugged his shoulders.

"Really, that's nonsense, Sonia! If these assassins meant to set a trap for me, they have a thousand other means of doing so ... besides, it would be remarkably daring of them to advise me to show you these pearls, and draw my attention to the question of their being stolen ones!... No, Sonia, this dealer is not the emissary of a band of robbers and assassins: she is a police informer, who has taken precautions. I run no dangerous risks by accompanying her! Reassure yourself on that point!..."

But Sonia Danidoff was not reassured by Thomery's arguments.

"All that only frightens me!" said she.... "If you do not really think you are running any risk, will you let me go with you?... My dear, we will go together to identify those pearls, will we not?"

Thomery rose to take his leave, laughing and protesting.

"Why, dear Sonia, it would be in the highest degree improper on my part, were I to agree to such a proposition!... One of two things: either there is no danger, and I should be very sorry that I had let you go out in such shocking weather; or, if there is danger, I should be still more distressed were I to drag you into it with me.... I do beg of you, Sonia, do not insist on it.... I am not a child!... And I will be very careful--very wary!..."

* * * * *

Shortly after this, Thomery took leave of Sonia Danidoff. He went straight to the Cafe de la Paix, where he had arranged to meet the diamond broker....

She was punctual. She greeted Thomery with her most winning smile.

"I am persuaded, monsieur, that Madame Sonia Danidoff was interested by the offer you made her?"

"Quite so," replied Thomery.... "Should we go to your jeweller's, without further loss of time?"

"If you really wish to do so, monsieur! Indeed it would be the best thing to do...."

Thomery hailed a cab. He and the diamond agent entered it together, and she gave the driver an address. Twenty minutes later they left the cab and were standing before the house where the present possessor of the pearls was to be found. Thomery knew no more now about the person he had come to interview, than he did when he started: that is to say, practically nothing.

The diamond broker had cleverly evaded giving any direct answers to the sugar refiner's questions: she had confined herself to stating what would be the probable price demanded for the pearl collar--which question interested Thomery least of all!

They mounted, in single file, a rather poor sort of staircase: on the second floor the woman stopped. A narrow door faced them.... The woman rang.... They waited....

"Someone is coming!" said the woman. "I hear footsteps."

The door was opened half-way.

"Who is it?" asked a man's voice.

"I, dear friend," answered the woman.

The door opened wide: the same voice said:

"Come in, monsieur."

Thomery had barely stepped inside the room, when the diamond broker, who was close behind, flung a long silk scarf round his neck, and, pushing his knee into his victim's back for a support, he attempted to give, with Herculean force, the famous stroke of Father Francis Vigozous; energetic, Thomery did not lose his presence of mind.... He knew that to resist such a pull by simple force was impossible.... Quickly he threw himself backwards, thus giving to the strangling pull and falling on top of the woman, who had played this dastardly trick on him. From his constricted throat came a hoarse "Ah!" like a death rattle.

As he was falling, for one flashing second, it seemed as though he were going to escape from the vise which was crushing in his throat... then, out of the shadow, there had appeared the fantastic vision of a man in a tight fitting sort of black jersey, which covered him from head to foot.... His face was concealed by a hooded mask....

This man had leapt out of the shadow.

He held a dagger in his hand.

Before Thomery had time to make a movement, the masked man had pierced his chest with a single stroke!... The sugar refiner was naught but a convulsive corpse.

"Ah, well!" declared the so-called diamond broker, who had got to his feet and was kicking Thomery's body aside. "Ah, well, he is a dead weight this fellow!... By Jove, master, I fancied he was going to crush me, and that I should have to let him free!... You did well to come to the rescue!"

The masked man remarked in an indifferent tone:

"It really does not matter in the slightest!... Tell me, does anyone suspect?"

"No one, master. He came like a sheep to the slaughter."

"Princess Danidoff?"

"Ah, as for her--she must be waiting for the return of her beloved friend.... I do not advise you to pay her a visit!"

"Be silent, chatter-box!" ordered the masked assassin sharply. "Get rid of your clothes.... We must hurry!... We have work to do!"

"This evening?"

"This evening!"

And, whilst the diamond broker rid himself rapidly of skirt and bodice and regained his masculine appearance--for this diamond broker was a man--the masked assassin added:

"Nibet, you have played your part perfectly, and I will pay you to-morrow the sum we agreed on; but, I repeat, we have work before us this evening--so, be quick!"

There was a short silence, then the bandit asked:

"You have arranged to put among this fool's papers the rent receipts, which will enable the police to find this flat?"

"Yes, master!"

"Good! Now all we have to do, is to get away from this room, which we shall not see again ... until this evening at any rate!"

XXI

IN A PRISON VAN

In one of the rooms reserved for readers of _La Capitale_, Jerome Fandor was gravely listening to Madame Bourrat's account of what had occurred at her boarding-house during the night. She had rushed off to tell him and to ask his advice.

"What you tell me, madame, is truly extraordinary!" said Fandor, with an air of profound astonishment....

"How did you discover that the police inspector who seized the trunk and carried it away was not a genuine policeman?"

"Why, through the arrival of Monsieur Xavie, the police inspector of our district! I know him.... There was no mistaking who and what he was; and when I told him that the trunk had been carried off the preceding evening, rather in the dead of night, he guessed everything...."

"And what did he say?..."

"Oh, he made us all come to the police station; and I can assure you that he looked far from pleased!"

"You must admit, dear madame, that his annoyance was not without reason!... The police were made fine fools of in this affair.... But afterwards?... Whom did he take back with him to the police station?"

"He took me and my manservant."

"And when you got to the police station?"

"Well, Monsieur Fandor, when we reached the police station, he made us come into his office, and there he put us through a regular examination,... just as though he suspected us!"

"But there must have been an accomplice in your house who let the robbers in," said Fandor. "I do not suppose the false police inspector forced the door open!"

"Ah, but, Monsieur Fandor, here is something I do not understand, nor does anybody else!... No, they did not try to hide themselves--not the least in the world! They rang the bell; they asked to see me; they told me what they had come for; and, accompanied by my manservant, carried away the trunk, and had it put on the cab--all in the most open and bare-faced manner!"

"It was your manservant who accompanied them?"

"But most certainly ... and that very fact turned against Jules, in a very nasty manner.... Poor Jules! Just imagine, the police inspector finished by ordering my house to be thoroughly searched from top to bottom! And when the policemen returned, without a why or wherefore, they took Jules away to another part of the police station!"

"I say! I say!"

"Oh, it was all explained! As soon as Jules had gone, the police inspector told me that they had found keys in his rooms, keys which could be made to fit any kind of lock whatever. Monsieur Xavie was convinced that my poor Jules was a burglar--imagine it!"

"And you, yourself, madame, are convinced of the contrary?"

"Oh, assuredly! Why, I have known Jules a very long time! And in many little ways on many occasions, he has shown himself to be strictly honest."

"But those false keys?"

"Those false keys, Monsieur Fandor, why I myself made Jules buy them, hoping to find among them one that would open my coach-house."

"So that?..."

"So that, Monsieur Fandor, the police inspector was obliged to agree with me that Jules was honest!"

"And he released this servant of yours?" asked Fandor.

His tone expressed annoyance.

"No, and that is why I am so distressed. He said, that provisionally, at least, my servant, Jules, was to be considered as under arrest! What ought to be done to get him let out?"

"But, madame!... He will be set free to-morrow, you may be certain of it!..."

"No doubt he will!... All the same, there is my house turned upside down, and I need Jules to help me to-night!... I really do not know what I shall do without him! Poor fellow!... I simply cannot imagine how it is they suspect him!"

Fandor said, with mock gravity:

"Ah, madame, Justice is sometimes so stupid--so wrongheaded!... Look here now, would you like a bit of good advice?... Telephone to Messieurs Barbey-Nanteuil. They are well known and powerful--perhaps they would exert their influence in your servant's favour? He might be set free this evening! I, you see, am but a journalist, and without a scrap of influence!"

Madame Bourrat thought this a good idea. Fandor rang for an attendant.

"Take madame to the telephone!"

Left to himself, the reporter could not help rubbing his hands.

"I must get rid of this excellent woman, who is certainly the most foolish person it has ever been my lot to meet. Good hearing! That servant of hers is under lock and key--things are going in the right direction ... but they are not going well for me!... If he confesses, to-morrow, when he is had up for examination, then the police will have the information before me!... Then, too, they are such duffers--such bunglers--that they are quite capable of giving that Jules his liberty!... What the deuce must I do to prevent his being let loose, and how am I to stop the judicial interrogation?... What a dog's life a journalist's is!"

Madame Bourrat reappeared.

"Monsieur Nanteuil is not there," she said. "But I got into communication with Monsieur Barbey.... He advised me to wait till to-morrow: he said it was too late in the day to do anything...."

"But, will he not intervene to-morrow?"

"I don't know. To tell the truth, I am sure Monsieur Barbey thought it very inconsiderate of me to disturb him about a matter in which he takes not the slightest interest."

"That's a fact. What possible interest can the bankers take in such a matter?... My advice was absurd!"

Fandor rose. As he was seeing his visitor out, he said:

"In any case, dear madame, count on me to-morrow morning. I shall call at your house about eleven. If there is anything fresh, we can talk it over!..."

* * * * *

"Oh, here's Janson-de-Sailly College!... Oh, what detestable remembrances you conjure up!... But--this won't do!... Go it, my boy!... I must play the part!"

The plumber, who had just given utterance to these remarks, glanced sharply about him. When he had made sure that there was no one close on his heels, he stepped into the roadway, and started on a zigzag course which seemed likely to upset his balance. Crossing the avenue Henri-Martin, going straight, towards the town hall at the corner of the rue de la Pompe, the good plumber, who was staggering more than a little, began to stutter and stammer in a drunken voice:

"_It is the final struggle!_"

The passers-by looked round.

"They sing the _Internationale_ in the streets now, it seems!" remarked a severe-looking gentleman.

The workman turned to this correct personage.

"What of it?... Don't you think it a jolly fine thing then?"

In a thick voice he continued to sing:

"_Let us gather, and on the morrow..._"

The severe and correct personage spoke.

"My friend, you would do better to hold your tongue!... You forget that there is a police station close by!..."

But the incorrigible plumber caught the correct personage by his coat tails.

"If I sing the _Internationale_, it's because I'm a free man--ain't I?... A free man can sing if he likes, can't he? Eh!... Why don't you sing then?... Eh!..."

The correct personage drew himself up stiffly: tried to push the obnoxious plumber away.... The workman had now reached that stage of drunkenness when discussions tend to become interminable.

The gentleman pushed the drunken man aside, saying:

"Come! Come! Go away!... Leave me alone!"

But the maudlin plumber was attracting the attention of the passers by his gestures. He addressed the world at large.

"Would you believe it--that fellow there don't want me to sing!... No! Well, I'm going to!" and he started triumphantly.

"_It is the--the--final ... strug-gle!_"

A policeman came out of the station with a solemn air. He put his hand on the tipsy plumber's shoulder in paternal fashion.

"Go along with you, my friend!... Come now--pass along--pass along!" But he could not make the plumber budge before he had finished his verse, any more than he could teach him to walk straight on the spur of the moment!... Leaving hold of the gentleman's coat tails, the worthy plumber seized the policeman's arm.'

"Oh, you, you're a brother!... I have education, I have! You're a workman too, I know!..."

As the police inspector pushed him off, trying to make him go on his way, the plumber put his arm round him.

"No! No!... show you're a workman! Sing with me!"

"_It is the final ..._"

The scandal could no longer be tolerated! Street-corner idlers were gathering, people were laughing at the policeman: strong measures were necessary.

"Come now," said the policeman. "Yes, or no! Will you be off, and go home?... Eh!... Or shall I take you to the station?..."

"You take me?... You take me?... Why, it would take four of you to take me!..."

There was no shilly-shallying after this! Wounded in his vanity, the servant of the law did not hesitate.

"All right!" said he; and seizing the plumber by the collar, although there was no attempt at resistance, he dragged his prisoner towards the town hall of the district, for the police station was there also.

"Some more game for the Depot!" said the policeman as he passed the guard.... "A fellow I can't get rid of! Are the cells full up?"

Other policemen came up. An arrest in a peaceful district gives interest to the dull routine of the men on duty.

"The cells full? Go along with you! There's only a small shopkeeper who had no papers."

Thereupon the unfortunate singer, who continued to stagger about, was quickly pushed into the dark room called "the detention room."

An ordinary every day incident of the streets, this arrest of a drunkard!

"I shall have to write out a report for this fellow!" said the policeman, who had arrested the songster... "and the 'Salad Basket'[10] passes in an hour's time! ... I shall just do it!"

[Footnote 10: Prison van.]

* * * * *

"Have you anyone for the Depot to-day?" asked the driver from his high seat on the prison van. He was on a collecting journey as is usual every evening, when the Salad Baskets, as they are vulgarly called, pass to the various police stations of Paris to pick up the individuals arrested during the day.