XIX
THE MYSTERIOUS ABBE
Fandor half opened his eyes. Was he dreaming? This was not the barrackdormitory, with its gaunt white-washed walls and morning clamour....Of course! He was in a bedroom of a cheap hotel in Paris. Cretonnecurtains shaded the window. A ray of light was reflected in a hangingmirror of scant dimensions, decidedly the worse for wear. Below itstood a washstand. On its cracked and dirty marble top could be seen achipped and ill-matched basin and soapdish. A lopsided table occupiedthe middle of the room. On a chair by his bed lay Fandor-Vinson'suniform. His valise reposed on a rickety chest of drawers. Fandor wasloath to rouse himself. His bed was warm, while about the room icydraughts from ill-fitting door and window were circulating freely.
He would have to get up presently, dress, and keep his appointment.His appointment! Ah! Wide awake now, our journalist considered thesituation.
A couple of days ago the adjutant had announced:
"Corporal Vinson, you have eight days' leave: you can quit barracks atnoon to-morrow."
Fandor had been given leave several times already: he merely replied:
"Thanks, Lieutenant."
He then looked out for a post card from the spies, appointing arendezvous. A letter was handed to him by the post sergeant.
The letter commenced:
"_My dearest darling_."...
"Ah!" thought Fandor. "Now I am indeed a soldier. I receive a loveletter!"
His unknown correspondent wrote:
_"It is so long since I saw you, but as you have eight days' leave Ican make up for lost time! Would you not like to arrange a meeting foryour first morning in Paris? You will go as usual, will you not, tothe Army and Navy Hotel, boulevard Barbes? You will find me athalf-past eleven to the minute, in the rue de Rivoli, at the corner ofthe rue Castiglione. We might breakfast together. To our earlymeeting, then! I send you all my kisses."_
The signature was illegible.
Fandor understood the hidden meaning. He was to hand over the designas he had promised; but he had decided to put them off with aconcocted design of his own! He must hasten now to the appointedmeeting place.
Fandor rose at once. Whilst dressing he decided:
"I shall go in mufti--be Jerome Fandor, undisguised. Better be on thesafe side--this may be an anti-spy trap. Of course I shall miss myrendezvous; but _they_ will not be put off so easily. They will writeat once, making a new appointment. Then I shall go as Corporal Vinson,if I think it the wisest thing to do."
Fandor ran down the rickety stairs. He learned from Octave, the hotelporter, that his room had been paid for three days in advance. Sayinghe would not be back until the evening, probably, Fandor stepped on tothe boulevard Barbes, and hailed a cab.
"Take me to the foot of the Vendome column," he ordered.
* * * * *
Arrived at the rendezvous, Fandor sauntered along, awaitingdevelopments. Presently he noticed in the distance a figure he seemedto know. It was moving towards him.
"My word! I was not mistaken," thought Fandor, watching the youngwoman. She also was sauntering under the arcades of the rue de Rivoli,glancing at the fascinating display of feminine apparel in the shopwindows. Fandor drew aside, watching her every movement, and swearingsoftly.
The girl came nearer. Fandor's curiosity made him make himself known,that he might see what she would do. He showed himself, and salutedwith an impressive wave of his hat, exclaiming:
"Why, it is Mademoiselle Berthe!"
The girl stopped.
"Why--yes--it is Monsieur Fandor!... How are you?"
"Flourishing, thanks! I need not ask how you are, Mademoiselle!... Youbloom!"
Bobinette smiled.
"How is it I find you here at this time of day?"
"Why, Mademoiselle, just in the same way as you happen to be here--thefancy took me to pass this way!... I often do."
"Oh!" cried Bobinette in an apologetic tone. "Now, I am going to askyou how it is you have never responded to Monsieur de Naarboveck'sinvitation to take a cup of tea with us now and then! We were speakingof you only the other day. Monsieur de Naarboveck said he never sawyour signature in _La Capitale_ now--that most probably you weretravelling."
"I have, in fact, just returned to Paris. Are all well at Monsieur deNaarboveck's? Has Mademoiselle Wilhelmine recovered from the sad shockof Captain Brocq's death?... His end was so sudden!"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur."
Fandor would have liked to find out the exact nature of Bobinette'sintimacy with the ill-fated officer, also to what extent she was inlove with Henri de Loubersac; but, as she showed by her manner thatshe did not relish this talk, either because of the turn it had taken,or because it was held in a public place, Fandor had to take hisleave. Bobinette went off. Fandor noted the time as he continued hissaunter. It was a quarter to twelve. Of the few passers-by there wasnot one who merited a second glance or thought!... Impatiently hewaited, five, ten minutes: at one o'clock he betook himself to hishotel. There he found an express message, unsigned. It ran:
"_My darling, my dear love, forgive me for not meeting you this morning in the rue de Rivoli, as arranged. It was impossible. Return to the same place at two o'clock, I will be punctual, I promise you.... Of course you will wear your uniform. I want to see how handsome you look in it!_"
"I do not like this," thought Fandor, rereading the message. "Why askme to come in uniform?... Do they know I came in mufti thismorning?... I shall go again; but I think it is high time I returnedto civilian life!"
* * * * *
It was two by the clock on the refuge, in the rue de Rivoli.Fandor-Vinson emerged from the Metropolitan and crossed to the cornerof the rue Castiglione. He took a few steps under the arcade, sayingto himself:
"Punctual to the tick and in uniform! The meeting should come off allright this time!"
A delicately gloved hand was placed on his shoulder, and a voice said:
"My dear Corporal! How are you?"
Fandor-Vinson turned sharply and faced--a priest!... He recognised theabbe. It was he of the Verdun motor-car.
"Very well! And you, Monsieur l'Abbe?... Your friend? Is he with you?"
"He is not, my dear Corporal!"
"Is he at Verdun?"
The abbe's reply was a look of displeasure.
"I do not know where he is," he said sharply, after a pause.... "Butthat is neither here nor there, Corporal," he went on in a moreamiable tone. "We are going to take a little journey together."
This news perturbed Fandor-Vinson: it was not to his liking.
The abbe took him by the arm.
"You will excuse my absence this morning? To keep the appointment wasimpossible.... Ah! Hand me the promised document, will you?... That isit?... Very good.... Thank you!... By the by, Corporal--there you seeour special train." The priest pointed to a superb motor-car drawn upalongside the pavement. A superior-looking chauffeur was seated atthe wheel.
"Shall we get in? We have a fairly long way to go, and it is importantthat we arrive punctually."
Fandor could do nothing but agree. They seated themselves. The abbeshared a heavy travelling rug.
"We will wrap ourselves up well," said he. "It is far from warm, andthere is no need to catch cold--it is not part of our programme!...You can start now, chauffeur! We are ready."
Once in motion, the abbe pointed to a voluminous package whichprevented Fandor from stretching his legs.
"We can change places from time to time, for you cannot be comfortablewith this package encumbering the floor of the car like this."
"Oh," replied Fandor-Vinson, "one takes things as they come!... But weshould be much more comfortable if we fastened this rather clumsypiece of baggage to the front seat, beside the chauffeur, who can keepan eye on it!"
"Corporal! You cannot be thinking of what you are saying!" Thepriest's reply was delivered in a dry authoritative voice.
"I have put my fo
ot in it," thought Fandor. "I should just like toknow how!" He was about to speak: the abbe cut in:
"I am very tired, Corporal, so excuse me if I doze a little! In anhour or so, I shall be quite refreshed. There will be ample time for atalk after that."
Fandor could but agree.
The car was speeding up the Avenue des Champs-Elysees. They wereleaving Paris--for what destination?
"Does your chauffeur know the route, Monsieur l'Abbe?"
"I hope so--why?"
"Because I could direct him. I could find my way about any of thesesuburbs with my eyes shut."
"Very well. See that he keeps on the right road. We are going towardsRouen." With that the abbe wrapped himself in his share of the amplerug and closed his eyes.
Fandor sat still as a mouse, with all the food for thought herequired.
"Why Rouen? Why were they taking him there?... What is this mysteriouspackage which must remain out of sight at the bottom of the car?"
Fandor tried to follow its outline with the toe of his boot. It wasprotected by a thick wrapping of straw.
"Then who was this abbe?" His speech showed he was French. He wore hiscassock with the ease of long habit: he was young. His hand was thedelicate hand of a Churchman--not coarsened by manual labour. Fandor,plunged in reflections, lost all sense of time.
The car sped on its way, devouring the miles fleetly. No sooner out ofParis than Saint-Germain was cleared--Mantes left behind! As they wereapproaching Bonnieres, Fandor, whose eyes had been fixed on theinterminable route, as though at some turn of the road he might catchsight of their real destination, now felt that the abbe was watchingthe landscape through half-closed eyes.
"You are awake, then, Monsieur l'Abbe?" observed Fandor-Vinson.
"I was wondering where we were."
"We are coming to Bonnieres."
"Good!" The abbe sat up, flung his rug aside.
"Do as I do, Corporal. Do not fold up the rug. Throw it over ourpackage. Prying eyes will not suspect its presence."
With the most stupid air in the world, Fandor asked:
"Must it not be seen, then?"
"Of course not! And at Bonnieres we must be on guard: the police thereare merciless: they arrest everyone who exceeds the speed limit....Nor do we wish to arouse their curiosity about us personally. There isa number of troops stationed here: the colonel is notorious for hisstrictness: he is correctness personified."
Fandor-Vinson stared questionably at the abbe.
"But you do not seem to understand anything, Corporal Vinson!" hecried in an irritated tone. "Whatever I say seems to send you into astate of stupefaction!... I shall never do anything with you, you arehopeless!... Ah, here is Bonnieres! Once outside the town, I will giveyou some useful explanations."
A bare three minutes after leaving Bonnieres behind, the Abbe turnedto Fandor and asked in a low voice:
"What do you think is in that package, Corporal?"
"Good heavens! Monsieur l'Abbe."...
"Corporal, that contains a fortune for you and for me ... a piece ofartillery ... the mouthpiece of 155-R ... rapid firer!... You see itsimportance?... To-night we sleep in the outskirts of Rouen ...to-morrow, we leave early for Havre.... As I am known there, Corporal,we shall have to separate.... You will go with the driver to the Nezd'Antifer.... There you will find a fishing-boat in charge of afriendly sailor ... all you have to do is to hand over this package tohim.... He will make for the open sea, where he will deliver it--intothe right hands."...
Involuntarily Fandor drew away from the priestly spy. The statementsjust made to him were of so grave a nature; the adventure in which hefound himself involved was so dangerous, so nefarious, that Fandorthrilled with terror and disgust. He kept silence: he was thinking.Suddenly he saw his way clear.
"Between Havre and the Nez d'Antifer I must get rid of this gun piece.However interesting my investigations are I cannot possibly deliversuch a thing to the enemy, to a foreign power! Death forpreference!"...
His companion broke in.
"And now, Corporal, I fancy you fully understand how awkward it wouldbe for you, much more so than for me, if this package were opened,because you are a soldier, and in uniform."
Fandor showed an unflinching front, but a wave of positive anguishrushed over him.
"This cursed abbe has me in his net!" he thought. "Like it, or not, Imust follow him now. I am regularly let in!... As a civilian, asFandor the journalist, I might go to the first military depot I cancome at, and state that I had discovered a priest who was going tohand over to a foreign power an important piece of artillery!... Thepretended Vinson would have done the trick and would then vanish....But in uniform!... They would certainly accuse me of suspicioustraffic with spies.... They would confine me--cell me.... I shouldhave the work of the world to obtain a release under six months!...Another point.... Why had they chosen him, Corporal Vinson as theybelieved, for such a mission?... Assuredly the spies possessed athousand other agents, capable of carrying triumphantly through thisdangerous mission, this delivery of a stolen piece of ordnance to asailor spy in the pay of a foreign power inimical to France!"
It was horrible! Abominable! This spy traffic! Only to think of itsoiled one's soul! Fandor sickened at the realisation of what wasinvolved--that this betrayal of France was not a solitaryinstance--that there must be a hundred betrayals going on at that verymoment! That France was being bought and sold in a hundred ways forJudas money--France!
His thoughts turned shudderingly away from such hell depths oftreachery.
He brought his mind to bear on other points.
"Why, after so much mystery, such precautions, does this Judas of anabbe disclose the contents of that damnable package before itsdelivery? Why this halt in the outskirts of Rouen when a quick run, aquick handing over of the package is so essential?... With such apowerful machine, why this stop in a journey of some 225 kilometres?"
Fandor felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
"Suppose this abbe is playing a trick on me?... If yesterday, to-day, ...no matter when ... I have betrayed myself? If these people have discoveredmy identity? If, knowing that I am not Vinson, but Fandor, they have mademe put on uniform, placed in the car with me a compromising portion of agun, and are going to hand me over to the military authorities, either atRouen, or elsewhere?"
The abbe, comfortably ensconced in the corner, was slumbering again.
Fandor cast stealthy glances at his companion, considering himcarefully.
Now he came to examine him, surely this priest's face had a queerlook?... The eyebrows were too regular ... painted?... How delicatehis skin?... Not the slightest trace of a beard?... A shoe--thetraditional silver-buckled shoe of the priest--was visible below thecassock.... That was all right ... but, how slender his ankle?...
Fandor pulled himself up. What would he imagine next? True, he waswise to suspect everything, everybody--test them, try them--in thisterrible position he had got himself into, nevertheless, he must keepa clear head.
The car was passing through a village. The abbe opened his eyes.
"Monsieur l'Abbe," declared Fandor, "I am frozen to death. Would youobject to our stopping a minute so that I might swallow a glass ofrum?"
The abbe signalled the driver. The car stopped before a little inn.The innkeeper appeared.
"Bring the driver a cognac!" ordered the priest. "Give Monsieur aglass of rum. You may pour me out a glass of aniseed cordial."
"Aniseed cordial!" thought Fandor. "That is a liqueur for priests,youths, and women!"
"In an hour," said the abbe, "we shall be at Rouen. We shall passthrough the town; a few kilometres further on, at Barentin, we shallhalt for the night.... I know a very good little hotel there!"
Fandor refrained from comment. What he thought was:
"A fig for Barentin!... If I see the least sign that this littlefellow is going to give me the slip, leave me for a minute--if itlooks as though he were going to warn the authorities--I know someonewho will
take to flight ... and how!"...