XI
THE HOODED CLOAK OF FANTOMAS
Leaning on his window-sill, Jerome Fandor was apparently keeping astrict watch on the comings and goings of the passers-by, who, havingfinished their Sunday walk, were bending their steps towards dinner, aquiet evening, and a reposeful night. Seven o'clock sounded from aneighbouring clock, its strokes borne through the misty atmosphere,darkened by fog: it was a peaceful moment, made for pleasurablerelaxation ofter the activities of the day. Jerome Fandor, however,was not enjoying the charm of the hour. Although his attitude wasapparently tranquil, listless even, inwardly he was in a state offury, a condition of feverish enervation.
"To be so near success," he thought; "to be on the point of bringingin a magnificent haul, and then to get myself locked up, like a fool!No! Not if I can help it! Why it would be enough to make me stranglemyself with my handkerchief as they believed that wretched Dollon, ofsinister memory, did in the past!"
He smoked cigarette after cigarette, raving to himself, yet nevertaking his eyes off the pavements, where tirelessly, ceaselessly, astream of pedestrians passed up and down the street.
"Was I mistaken, I wonder!" he went on. "Still, I cannot help fancyingthat youth--he was fifteen at the most--that sickly young blackguardof the Paris pavements who followed me into the tube, then took thesame train as I did, who was behind me as I crossed the Place de laConcorde, who was continually and persistently on my tracks--I cannotthink he was there by chance!... Well, it is no use worrying myselfinto a fever over it!"
Fandor found it almost impossible to recover his tranquillity of mind.Again and again, in the course of the day, he had come across the sameindividuals during his peregrinations, which took him from one end ofParis to the other: was it accident, coincidence, fatality, or was avery strict watch being kept over his movements? Thus Fandor had askedhimself whether the Second Bureau had been warned of the part he hadplayed with regard to Vinson? Was he not being watched and shadowed inthe hope of running the treacherous corporal to earth? If the SecondBureau had decided to arrest Fandor, he certainly would not escape. "Ishall be jailed within twenty-four hours," thought our journalist."This branch of the detective service is so marvellously organised,that should the heads of it look upon me as Vinson's accomplice theywill arrest me before I have time to parry the blow. In that case, theband of traitors I pursue, and am on the point of unearthing, willgain enough time to take their bearings, make all their arrangements,and disappear, without counting that this miserable Vinson, who relieson my help, will be caught at once."
Suddenly Fandor left his post of observation, shut his window, andwent to the telephone.
"I must put Juve in possession of all the facts up to now, then, if Iam caught, Juve will see to it that I am set free--he will put hisheart into it, I know."
Unfortunately, it was not Juve who was at the other end of the line.He had gone out; his old servant took Fandor's message.
"Tell Monsieur Juve directly he comes in that I cannot go out, butthat I absolutely must see him. Tell him the matter is most urgent."
* * * * *
It was ten o'clock at night. Corporal Vinson was dressing in haste.
"Plague take it!" he cried. "I mustn't lose a moment if I don't wantto miss my train."
Vinson was dressing in Fandor's bedroom. There must have been a timewhen Corporal Vinson was very proud of putting on the uniform of aFrench soldier; but at this particular moment his feelings were thevery opposite. However, he clad himself in this same uniform withlightning rapidity. Careful of his smart appearance, the corporalexamined himself in the glass: the reflection was so satisfactory thathe broke into smiles--undoubtedly his uniform suited him.
There was a violent ring at the door-bell. Vinson jumped: he began totremble.
"Who can it be at this hour?" he asked himself. "I was sure somethingwould happen! I was bound to catch it somehow!"
Vinson dared not risk a movement: he stood rigid, motionless. Whoeverwas at the door must be led to think that there was not a living soulin Fandor's flat.
Again the bell rang, a violent ring: it was the ring of someone whodoes not mean to go away, who knows that the delay in opening the dooris deliberate.
"Plague take that porter!" murmured the corporal. "I'll wager."...
Again the bell rang violently.
Something had to be done. Drops of sweat rolled down the corporal'sface.
"By jingo, this business is going to end very badly!"
The young soldier rapidly drew off his shoes and tiptoed to thevestibule. Through the keyhole he looked to see who was ringing forthe fourth time, and more violently than ever.
No sooner had Vinson looked than he swore softly.
"Good Heavens! What I feared! It's an agent from the Second Bureau!...I recognise him!... I am sold--there's not a doubt of it!"
Ghastly from terror, Vinson watched the visitor put his hand in hispocket, then choose a key from his bunch.
"Ah! This individual has a master-key! And I--I have an idea!"
Vinson leaped backwards, just as the agent was putting his key in thelock, and rushed towards Fandor's study. He locked the door at theprecise moment the agent entered the flat.
"Halt!" cried he: Vinson's movements had been heard.
The corporal's answer was to double-lock the door. "What you aredoing there is childish!" cried the agent. "I have master-keys! Giveyourself up!" Taking a fresh key, he unlocked the door Vinson had justclosed. The corporal was not in the room. The agent rushed to anotherdoor which led from the study to the dining-room. He opened that door,entered the dining-room; it was empty also: Vinson had fled to theroom adjoining.
"You cannot keep at it!" cried the agent. "You see the doors cannotoffer a moment's resistance! I shall corner you!"
But Vinson, retreating from room to room, aimed at drawing on hispursuer to the last room of the flat. Directly the agent entered thedining-room, Vinson, quick as lightning, leapt into the corridor,crossed the vestibule at a bound, opened the door leading to thestaircase, slamming it behind him.
On the landing he hesitated a second.
"Must he go down the stairs?"
The agent would follow in his track, the pursuit would develop, for,seeing a soldier in uniform racing along, the passers-by would join inthe running: it would be fatal--Vinson would be caught.
"I'll double back," thought he, "back and up!"
Hurriedly he mounted the next flight of stairs, gaining the thirdstory. No sooner had he reached the landing which dominated Fandor'sflat than the agent, in his turn, reached the staircase and ran to thebalustrade to try and catch sight of Vinson on his way down to thestreet. He did not doubt that this was the soldier's way of escape.The agent could not see a soul.
"Got off, by Jove!" He was furious.
He was about to descend, when someone, belonging to the houseprobably, began to mount the first flight of stairs in leisurelyfashion, someone who could have no suspicion of the pursuit going onin the house. Very likely the agent neither intended nor desired to berecognised for what he was: it was quite probable that he did not wishto be seen, for, on hearing this someone coming up towards him, hestopped short in his descent.... It was his turn to hesitate a moment.Then it suddenly occurred to him that this new-comer might be aresident on one of the lower floors and so would not come higher. Withthis, the agent retraced his steps, crossed the landing on to whichFandor's flat opened, and began to mount the next flight leading tothe third floor.
This did not suit Vinson: he was on tenterhooks.
"If he keeps coming up," thought the corporal, "much use it will befor me to retreat upwards! He will nip me on the sixth floor! It's adead cert!"
Then he had a brilliant idea. He began to walk on the landing withheavy steps, imitating someone coming downstairs. Forthwith, theagent, who was coming up, stopped short. He had no wish to be seen bythe person descending either! The only thing left for him to do was totake refuge in the journalist's
flat! Easy enough with his master-key!He reopened the door, closing it just in time to escape being seen bythe resident coming upstairs.
Vinson, who had not lost a single movement of the agent's, gave a sighof satisfaction. He had perfectly understood the why and wherefore ofhis pursuer's hesitations; he seemed now in high good-humour; had henot caught sight of the new arrival! He was immensely amused!
The person who had just come upstairs was now ringing Fandor's bell.Not getting any answer, he selected a key on his bunch, and it was histurn to let himself in to the journalist's flat.
As he was closing the door, Corporal Vinson, from the landing above,gave him an ironical salute.
"I much regret that I am unable to introduce you to each other! But,by way of return, I thank you for the service you have unwittinglydone me."
The way was open: Vinson rapidly descended, gained the street, haileda cab.
"To the Eastern Station!"
"I have missed the express," he muttered; "but I shall catch the firsttrain for those on leave."
* * * * *
Whilst Corporal Vinson was congratulating himself on the turn ofevents, the agent remained in Fandor's flat, feeling as if he werethe victim of an abominable nightmare. No sooner had he hurriedly lethimself into the flat in order to escape the resident coming upstairs,than he heard the bell ring: he felt desperate: "Who the devil wasit!" Assuredly not the unknown who had fled so mysteriously--"Whothen?"
When the bell rang a second time, the man cried: "What's to be done?"Well, the best thing was to wait in the journalist's study: it wasmore than probable that, not obtaining any response, the visitor wouldgo away!... This was not at all what happened.
With the same assurance which he himself had had a few minutes before,the agent of the Second Bureau heard the new arrival slip his key intothe lock, open the door, close it as confidently as though he wereentering his own home; and now, yes, he was coming towards the study!
There was no light burning in Fandor's study: some gleams from thegas-lamps in the street dimly illumined the room. The agent, who wasleaning with his elbow on the mantelpiece, could not clearlydistinguish the features of the person who now stood in the doorway.
It was certainly not the journalist. The intruder was a man of quiteforty; he wore a soft hat turned down at the edges, thus partiallyconcealing the upper half of his face, which was sunk in the raisedcollar of an overcoat.
The intruder bowed slightly to the agent, then taking a few steps intothe room, went to the window, looked about outside. He seemed to besomeone on intimate terms with the master of the flat, and might begoing to await his return.
"He must be a friend of Jerome Fandor's," thought the agent. "He mustthink the journalist will be here shortly, perhaps that he is actuallyin the flat somewhere, and that I too am waiting for him." Evidentlythe best thing to do was to stay where he was, and not to make anyremark which might attract attention.
Some minutes passed thus. Presently, the two men, tired with standing,seated themselves.
"The old boy will get sick of waiting," thought the agent. "He will goaway, and I shall take my departure when he has cleared out."
But the new-comer, making himself very much at home, now relievedhimself of his greatcoat, removed his hat, and, having caught sight ofa lamp on the mantelpiece, took a box of matches from his pocket, andproceeded to light it. At the moment when the match flared up, theman, turning his back on the agent, could not see him: but the agentcould see the man distinctly. There could be no question that the manlighting the lamp was someone the agent had not expected to meet, forthe emissary from the Second Board did the very reverse of what thenew-comer had done: he turned up the collar of his greatcoat!
The two men were now face to face in the lighted room.... There was asilence which lasted some minutes: the agent broke it.
"You await Monsieur Fandor?" asked the agent.
"Yes, Monsieur, and you also, no doubt?"
"Quite so ... and I have more than an idea that we shall have to waita long time for him.... I saw him a short while ago, he had a piece ofpressing business on hand, and I do not think he will be backbefore."... The agent was quite obviously trying to get the new-comerto retire.
"Bah!" retorted the latter: "I am in no hurry." Whilst speaking theunknown visitor stared strangely at the emissary of the Second Bureau:he was thinking.
"Where have I seen that long beard--that remarkably heavymoustache?... And then this bundle he has put down!... If I am notjolly well mistaken, I know this individual!"
"Well, now," he said pleasantly, "since chance has thrown us into eachother's company, allow me to introduce myself, Monsieur! I amBrigadier Juve of the detective force, from Police Headquarters."
"In that case, we might almost count ourselves colleagues, Monsieur! Iam the agent Vagualame, attached to the vigilance department of theSecret Service!"
With that, Vagualame held out his hand to his colleague, Juve! It wasdone with an unmistakable air of constraint.
It really seemed as if Juve had been awaiting this very action; for,at the precise moment Vagualame held out his hand, the detectiveextended his, and prolonged the hand-clasp as if he never meant to letgo--a regular hand-grip!
Juve was thinking hard.
"Vagualame! Here is this Vagualame at Fandor's!... It'ssignificant!... and then?... No, there's no doubt about it! This beardis false! That moustache is artificial!... This individual is madeup!"
Perceiving that he was face to face with a disguised man, Juve wasabout to hurl himself on this masquerader, when that individual,forestalling the detective's movement, seized the initiative withlightning rapidity. He tore his hand from Juve's tenacious grip,bounded to the mantelpiece, threw down the lamp with a jerk of hiselbow, thrust Juve violently aside, and rushed to the door.
Like lightning Juve tore off in pursuit.
The masquerader had the advantage by some yards. Banging door afterdoor in Juve's face, he rushed towards the entrance hall, gained thestaircase, racing down it by leaps and bounds, four steps at atime!... Juve at his heels, risked breaking his neck in hotpursuit....
Vagualame reached the porch of the house door: Juve was close on hisquarry....
"I shall get him!" thought Juve: "In the street the people will lendme a helping hand!"
Vagualame fled through the doorway: in passing, he seized the massivedoor and pulled it to with a resounding bang....
Juve, borne forward by the impetus of his dashing pursuit, staggeredbackwards and rolled to the ground....
Instantly Juve sprang to the porter's lodge and demanded the string!In the twinkling of an eye and Juve was out in the street! He wasfurious, he was breathless.... The whole length of the pavements not asoul was in sight! Vagualame had vanished!
* * * * *
Taking advantage of the fact that Fandor's concierge knew him well,and was aware of his standing as an officer of the detective force,Juve, after having explained in a few words to the honest creature thecause of the commotion mounted to Fandor's flat once more.
"What the deuce is the meaning of all this?" he was asking himself."Two hours ago, Fandor telephones me that he must see me on a matterof the utmost urgency ... he telephones me that he cannot go out, thathe is waiting for me.... And now, not only is he not here, but Istumble on an agent from the Second Bureau.... I encounter a Vagualamedisguised, who runs as if all the devils of hell were after him ...who makes off with extraordinary agility, whose presence of mind inburking pursuit is marvellous!... Who is this fellow?... What was heup to in Fandor's flat?... Where is Fandor?"
Our detective had just re-entered the journalist's study. There, onthe floor, lay the bundle which had excited his curiosity whenVagualame was present.
"The enemy," thought he, "has retired, but has abandoned his baggage!"
Juve relighted the lamp, and undid the black serge covering of thebundle.
"Ah! I might have guessed as much, i
t is an accordion, Vagualame'saccordion!"
Mechanically turning and returning the instrument of music, Juveslipped his hands into the leather holders, wishing to relax thebellows, which were at full stretch.... To his surprise the bellowsresisted.
"Why, there must be something inside the accordion!" he exclaimed.
Juve drew from his pocket a dagger knife and slit open the bellowswith one sharp cut.... Something black fell out--a piece of stuff,Juve picked it up, spread it out, and considered it.... He grew paleas he looked, staggered like a drunken man, and sank on a chair,overcome. What he held in his hand was a hooded cloak, long and black,such as Italian bandits wear--a species of mask.
Sunk in his chair, his eyes staring at this sinister garment, Juveseemed to see rising before him a form at once mysterious and clearlydefined--the form of an unknown man enveloped in this cloak as in asheath, his face hidden by the hooded mask, disguised, by just such acloak as he had exposed to view when he slashed open the bellows ofthis accordion!
This form, mysterious, nameless, tragic, thus evoked, Juve had rarelyseen; but each time that figure in hooded black had appeared, it wasin circumstances so serious, under conditions so tragic, that it wasgraven on his memory--graven beyond mistake--graven ineffaceably!
Had not Juve been haunted by this form, this figure so mysteriouslyindicated, haunted by this invisible face hidden by its hooded cloakof black--haunted for years! Never had he been able to get close toit!
Never had he been able to seize it in his hands, outstretched to graspit!
Whenever this sinister garment had met his eyes, it had been the signof some frightful deception! He did not know the countenance it maskedso darkly, but that same cloak he knew!... So well did he know it,that never could he confuse it with another hooded cloak ofblack--never! Its shape was peculiar; its cut singular--unmistakable!It was the impenetrable mask of one of those counterfeit personalitiesassumed at the pleasure of that enigmatic, sinister, formidablebandit, whom Juve had pursued for ten years, without cessation,without mercy; there had been no truce to this hunting.
Now he turned, and returned, this cloak of dark significance withtrembling hands, as if he would tear its secret from its sinisterfolds. This hooded cloak which his knife had revealed, which he hadtorn from its hiding place in the accordion of Vagualame, was noneother than the cloak of Fantomas.
Suddenly there was brought home to Juve the comprehension of all thisadventure signified--a distracting, a maddening adventure!
"Fantomas! Fantomas!" Juve murmured. "Great Heavens! I saw Fantomasbefore me!... Vagualame! He is Fantomas!... Curse it! He has slippedthrough my hands, thrice fool that I am! Never again will he appear asthis beggarly accordion player--never will he dare to show himself inthat make-up!... What new form will he take?... Fantomas! Fantomas!Once again you have escaped me!"
* * * * *
Our detective remained in Fandor's flat all night. He awaited thejournalist's return.
Fandor did not come.