Messengers of Evil Part 43

There was a palpitating silence.

Monsieur Fuselier had returned to his writing table.

Jerome Fandor seemed to have recovered his composure, an ironic smile curved his lips beneath his small moustache, whilst his hand sought that of Elizabeth: it was the only way he could, at the moment, express the sympathy he had never ceased to feel for her.

Monsieur Fuselier filled in a printed paper and pressed an electric bell.

Two munic.i.p.al guards appeared.

Monsieur Fuselier rose and signing to the soldiers to wait, he faced Elizabeth Dollon.

"Mademoiselle, have you any objections to make to the statements of Monsieur Jerome Fandor? Will you say whether or no you received a visit from your brother?"

Elizabeth, tortured by intense emotion, her throat contracted, strove in vain to p.r.o.nounce a word; at last, by a supreme effort, she murmured in a strangled voice:

"Oh! Why, you are all mad here!"

As she gave no direct reply to his question, Monsieur Fuselier, after a pause, announced in a grave voice:

"Mademoiselle! Until I have more ample information, I am under the cruel necessity of ordering your arrest!... Guards, arrest the accused!" cried the magistrate sternly.

Elizabeth Dollon made a movement of revolt, when she saw herself surrounded and felt her arms seized by the two representatives of authority. She was about to cry out in protest, but a glance--it seemed to her a tender glance--from Fandor restrained her.... She stood speechless, inert. After all, had she not confidence in him, although she could not understand his att.i.tude! Had he not been her staunch defender up to now? Had he not warned her that she must not be astonished at anything that occurred--that she must be prepared for anything?... Nevertheless, Elizabeth Dollon felt her brain reeling--she was astounded beyond words.... The surprise was too strong for her....

About a quarter of an hour after this tragic scene, Fandor was pacing up and down the asphalt of the boulevard du Palais, plunged in thought, when someone clapped him on the shoulder. He turned. It was Monsieur Fuselier.

"Well, my dear fellow!" cried the magistrate, resuming his customary tone of good fellows.h.i.+p. "Well, what an adventure! You have been playing some fine tricks! I never expected such a stroke as that, the deuce if I did!"

"Ho, ho!" laughed Fandor, "I think that a week from to-day we shall know a good many things!"

"Well," replied the magistrate, "I have had the girl placed in solitary confinement--that makes them willing to speak out!...."

Fandor looked the magistrate up and down.

"Ah!" murmured he, with a scarcely perceptible note of contempt in his voice:

"You think you will extract information from that quarter, do you?"

"But why not? Why not?" interrupted the dapper Monsieur Fuselier, in a sprightly tone; and, leaving Fandor abruptly, he leapt into a pa.s.sing tramcar.

Fandor watched Fuselier cross the road and climb to an outside seat.

Whilst the magistrate waved a friendly farewell from the top of the disappearing car, Fandor shrugged disdainful shoulders, and, with pitying lips, muttered one word:

"Fool!"

XVIII

AT THE BOTTOM OF THE TRUNK

After Monsieur Fuselier's departure, Fandor rejoined Madame Bourrat on the boulevard. The good woman was very much upset by the dramatic scene she had witnessed. She had sent off her manservant, and was preparing to take the tram back to Auteuil. Fandor asked if he might accompany her, and Madame Bourrat was only too delighted to have a chance of further talk with the journalist, for she had a lively desire to learn all she could about the extraordinary drama in which she found herself involved.

When they arrived at Auteuil, Madame Bourrat had learned nothing definite, for the journalist had given only evasive answers to her questions. Still, one point was obvious: Madame Bourrat considered Monsieur Jerome Fandor as the most amiable man in the world, and she was disposed to help him to the utmost of her powers, in defence of any interests he wished to safeguard....

Madame Bourrat was absolutely set on receiving Monsieur Fandor in her private apartments. She then seized the opportunity to complain of the trouble this affair had brought into her regular and peaceful existence.

Certainly, in summer, her boarders were less numerous; their numbers being, in fact, reduced to two or three.

This season there had been fewer than usual; but the accident, or attempted a.s.sa.s.sination of Mademoiselle Dollon, had undoubtedly brought discredit on the house. An old paralysed gentleman, who had been in residence on the day of the drama, had departed the day after. There was not a single boarder in the house: it was empty.

Having made certain that her manservant, Jules, and her cook, Marianne, had retired to their respective rooms, Madame Bourrat conducted Fandor as far as the door of her dwelling. They had been so interested in their talk, that they had forgotten all about dinner: their experiences of the past few hours had left them with little appet.i.te. It was about nine o'clock; night had fallen: house and garden were wrapped in a mantle of darkness.

"Can you find your way?" asked Madame Bourrat. If she accompanied the journalist to her garden gate she would have to grope back to the house in the dark, and alone! Her nerves were shaken by recent events. She did not wish to venture forth and back in the mysterious gloom of night, even on the familiar path of her garden. What might that darkness not hide! What robbers, what murderers might there not be lurking near!

Fandor laughed.

"Why, of course I can, madame! To find the points of the compa.s.s, to cultivate the sense of locality, is part of a journalist's profession."

"Do not forget to draw to behind you--it needs a strong pull--the gate which separates us from the street: once shut, no one can open it from outside."

Fandor, shaking hands with the boarding-house keeper, promised to close the gate. As the sound of his steps on the gravel grew less and less, as the gate fell to with a loud noise, and an absolute silence followed, Madame Bourrat felt sure that her guest had left the garden--had gone away.

But he had done nothing of the sort!

Fandor had shut the gate noiselessly, but he had remained inside the grounds. He stood motionless, holding his breath, wis.h.i.+ng neither to be seen nor heard. He remained so for a long twenty minutes. Then, being a.s.sured that Madame Bourrat had retired for the night--she had closed her shutters and put out her light--he rubbed his hands, murmuring:

"Now we shall see!"

Stepping gingerly along by the side of the wall, he reached the main building of the boarding-house: luckily, it was empty as far as boarders were concerned. He recognised Elizabeth Dollon's window on the first floor and was glad to see that it was half open. Chance favoured him--there was even a gutter pipe running down the wall and pa.s.sing close to the window. Providence had favoured him with a fine staircase; there would not be much difficulty in climbing that!

No sooner thought than done! Accustomed as he was to exercise and games, Fandor, agile as a young man in good training can be, squirmed up the pipe as far as Elizabeth's window. He caught hold of the sill, recovered his balance, jerked himself up, and, two seconds after, had landed in the room.

Dared he strike a light! He remembered pretty accurately the position of the various pieces of furniture, but he would like to study the room more in detail. His luck still held, for a ray of moonlight suddenly shone out from behind a cloud. He saw the moon sailing in a clear sky.

There would be sufficient light from the moon rays to enable him to pursue his investigations.

It was an essentially modern room; the white walls were painted with ripolin, and were as bare of ornament as a nun's cell. An iron bedstead stood in the middle of the room: a wardrobe, with a mirror panel in front, and locked, occupied one of the corners; behind a folding screen was a toilette table, a Louis XV bureau, two chairs, an arm-chair: that was all.

After making this rapid inventory, Fandor considered:

"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 a.s.suredly 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 a.s.suredly 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.