IV
A CORDIAL RECEPTION
The journalist had naturally expected to see Monsieur de Naarboveckenter the room: in his stead came this pretty girl.
"Be seated, I beg, Monsieur," she entreated.
"She is his daughter," thought Fandor. "I am given the go-by: thediplomatist is not going to see me! I am sorry for that, but, on theother hand, here is this delicious creature."
"You asked to see Monsieur de Naarboveck, did you not? It is for aninterview, no doubt. Monsieur de Naarboveck makes it a point of honournever to get himself written about in the newspapers, therefore youmust not be surprised."...
The charming girl paused.
Fandor bowed and smiled. He said to himself:
"I shall have to listen for five minutes to this delightful personassuring me that her father does not wish to talk; after that he willcome himself, and will tell me all I want to know."...
Thus he listened with divided attention to the pretty creature'swords. Then he interjected:
"Monsieur, your father."...
His companion smiled.
"Excuse me!" she said at once. "You have made a mistake: I am notMademoiselle Wilhelmine de Naarboveck, as you seem to imagine. I ammerely her companion: I dare add, a friend of the house. They call meMademoiselle Berthe."...
"Bobinette!" cried Fandor, almost in spite of himself. He immediatelyregretted this too familiar interjection; but that young person didnot take offence.
"They certainly do call me that--my intimates, at least," she addedwith a touch of malice.
Fandor made his apology in words at once playful and correct. He mustdo all in his power to make himself agreeable, fascinating, that hemight get into the good graces of this girl; for she was the veryperson whom it behooved him to interrogate regarding the mysteriousadventure, the outcome of which had been the death of Captain Brocq.
Bobinette had answered Fandor's polite remarks by protesting that shewas not in the least offended at his familiar mode of address.
"Alas, Monsieur," she had declared, in a tone slightly sad, "I am toomuch afraid that my name, the pet name my friends use, will becomevery quickly known to the public; for, I suppose, what you have cometo see M. Naarboveck about is to ask him for information regardingthis sad affair we have all been thinking so much about."
"Now we have come to it!" thought Fandor.
He was going to take the lead in this conversation, but the youngwoman did not give him time.
She continued in a rapid tone, on one note, almost as if she hadrepeated a lesson learned by heart.
"Baron de Naarboveck, Monsieur, cannot tell you anything that you donot already know, except--and there is no secret about it--thatCaptain Brocq used to come here pretty regularly. He has dined withthe Baron frequently, and they have worked at several thingstogether.... Several of his friends, officers, have been received hereas well: M. de Naarboveck is very fond of company."...
"And then he has a daughter, has he not?" interrupted Fandor.
"Mademoiselle Wilhelmine, yes."
Fandor nearly added:
"A daughter to get married."
It seemed clear to him, that in spite of her timid and reserved airs,this red-haired beauty seemed to like the idea of playing a part inthe drama.
"Mademoiselle," questioned Fandor, "it has been reported thatyesterday afternoon you had occasion to meet Captain Brocq, some hoursbefore his sad end?"
The young woman stared fixedly at the journalist, as if to read histhoughts, as if to divine whether or not he knew that not only had shemet Captain Brocq, but had spent some time with him alone.
Fandor did know it, but he remained impenetrable.
Bobinette, very much mistress of herself, said quite simply:
"It is a fact Monsieur, that I did see Captain Brocq yesterday. I hadto give him a message."
"You will think me very inquisitive," continued Fandor, who pretendednot to look at the young woman, in order to put her more at her ease,but who, in reality, did not lose a single change of expression on herpretty face, for he could watch its reflection in a mirror. "You willthink me very inquisitive, but could you tell me the nature of ...this communication?"
Bobinette replied, quite naturally:
"To be sure I can, Monsieur. Baron de Naarboveck is giving anentertainment here shortly, and the captain was going to take part init. As he was very much of an artist we counted on his doing somemenus in colour for us: I simply went to see him with a message fromMademoiselle Wilhelmine."...
The conversation stopped short.
Fandor had turned around quickly. Behind him--doubtless he had beenthere for some moments--a man was standing. Fandor had not heard himenter the room. He was a man of a certain age. His moustache was quitewhite: he wore the whiskers and imperial of 1850.
Fandor recognised Baron Naarboveck. He was going to apologise for nothaving noticed his entrance, but de Naarboveck smiled at thejournalist with apparent cordiality.
"Pardon me, Monsieur Fandor, for not having received you myself, but Ihad a guest: moreover, Mademoiselle Berthe must have told you what myviews are regarding interviews."...
Fandor made a slight gesture. The baron continued:
"Oh, they are definite, unalterable! But that will not prevent youfrom taking a cup of coffee with us, I feel sure. I have the highestesteem for Monsieur Dupont, and the terms in which he has recommendedyou to me are such that, from now on, I have not the slightesthesitation in treating you as one of ourselves, as a friend."
Monsieur Naarboveck put his hand familiarly on the young journalist'sshoulder, and led him into the next room.
It was a library: a very lofty room. It was soberly and elegantlyfurnished. Before a great chimney-piece of wood, two young people werestanding, and were chatting very much at their ease.
They paused when Fandor entered.
Close behind followed Mademoiselle Berthe.
Fandor bowed to the two young people.
Naarboveck made the introductions:
"Monsieur Jerome Fandor--Mademoiselle de Naarboveck, mydaughter--Monsieur de Loubersac, lieutenant of cuirassiers."
Silence reigned after these formal introductions. If Fandor was incertain measure satisfied with the turn the conversation had taken, hewas really bored by this involuntary intrusion into a family gatheringwhich mattered little to him. He felt he had been caught. How thedevil was he going to escape from this wasp's nest? His eye fell on atimepiece. Seeing the hour, he thought:
"Had it not been for this Brocq fellow, and that fool of a Dupont, Ishould now be in the train asleep, and rolling along towardsDijon!"...
Mademoiselle de Naarboveck, with the ease of a well-bred woman,offered the journalist a cup of boiling hot coffee.
Mademoiselle Berthe suggested sugar.
Monsieur de Naarboveck, as if he had suddenly remembered something,said to him:
"But you bear a name which recalls many things, Monsieur JeromeFandor! It was you, of course, famous journalist that you are, who,some time ago, was in constant pursuit of a mysterious ruffian whomthey called Fantomas?"
Fandor, a little embarrassed, smiled. It seemed to him something quiteabnormal to hear Fantomas mentioned in this gathering, so simple, sonatural, so commonplace.
Surely, this criminal, his adventures, the police, and even reporting,must partake of the fantastic, the imaginary--it must all be Greek tosuch conventional people.
Nevertheless, as Monsieur de Naarboveck spoke, Mademoiselle Berthedrew close to the journalist and gazed at him with curiosity.
"But tell me, Monsieur, may I ask you a question? Perhaps it is myturn to be inquisitive--but then, so were you just now!"
Fandor laughed. Decidedly this young and pretty person was charming.
"I am certainly bound to reply to you as you wish, Mademoiselle!"
Nodding with a mischievous look, and casting a glance at the Baronasking his approval--he signified his consent by a nod--she demandedwith an innocently curious air
:
"Do tell me, Monsieur, who this Fantomas is?"
Fandor stood speechless.
Ah, this question, which this young woman had asked so naturally, asif it referred to the most simple thing in the world, how often had heasked himself that same question? During how many sleepless nights hadhis mind not been full of it? And he had never been able to find asatisfactory answer to "Who is Fantomas?"
Fandor had been asking this question for years. He had, after afashion, vowed his existence to the search for this mysteriousindividual. How often, and often, in the course of his investigation,in the midst of his struggles with criminals during his long talks andconferences with Juve, had he not thought that he had run the banditto earth, identified him, was going to drag his personality out intothe broad light of day--and then, suddenly, Fantomas had disappeared.
Fantomas had made a mock of him, of Juve, of the police, of everybody!
For weeks, for months, all trace of him was lost completely; then onefine day he would produce a drama, it might be a big drama, which tookpublic opinion captive, it might be a drama in appearanceinsignificant, and then each one saw and followed traces which weremore or less normal and ordinarily probable. Fandor and Juve, Fandoralone, or Juve isolated, following the indications which only theirperspicacity enabled them to discover, still and always felt thepresence, the trace of this monster, this being so enigmatical, soindefinable, who was terrorising humanity.
Then implacable and dangerous pursuits, redoubtable struggles, werethe order of their days and nights.
Juve, Fandor, the representatives of justice, one and all, united toreduce the circle in which this ruffian revolved, and at the momentthey were about to catch him, he would fade away, leaving them astheir only spoil, the temporary personality with which he had clothedhimself, and under which he had momentarily deigned to make himselfknown.
Now behold, here was this little red-haired creature, Bobinette, whoasked for the solution of this formidable, incomprehensible,unprecedented thing, wanted it straight away.
"Who is Fantomas?"
Fandor's attitude, his expression showed how surprised he was at sucha question.
M. de Naarboveck emphasised and justified the journalist'sastonishment.
Then, in a rather dry, hard voice, Monsieur de Loubersac gave hisopinion:
"My dear Baron, don't you think that for several years past we havebeen made sufficient fools of with all these Fantomas tales? For mypart, I don't believe a word of them! Such a powerful criminal has nochance nowadays, that is to say, if he exists. One must see life inits true proportions and recognise that it is very commonplace."...
"But, Monsieur," interrupted Mademoiselle Berthe, who, covered withblushes, scarcely dared raise her eyes to the handsome lieutenant,"but, Monsieur, for all that, Fantomas has been much talked about!"
The young officer looked the red-haired beauty up and down, bestowingon her but a cursory glance. Fandor noticed that Bobinette was greatlytroubled by it. Following this little by-play, he immediately got avery clear impression that if the lieutenant did not consider thepretty girl worthy of much consideration, she, on her side, seemedvery much influenced by all that this elegant and handsome youngofficer said or did.
Fandor had noticed, too, while the talk went on, that Mademoiselle deNaarboveck was deeply moved, and looked sorrowful. She was a gracefulgirl, in all the freshness and brilliancy of her twenty years, withlarge eyes, soft and luminous. Her natural disposition was evidently abright and gay one, but this evening sadness overshadowed her, and tosuch a point that, in spite of her efforts to be lively and pleasant,she could not hide her sad preoccupation.
M. de Naarboveck, who had been watching Fandor closely, said to him,in a low voice:
"Wilhelmine has been very much upset by this terrible accident whichhas overtaken our friend, Captain Brocq, and we."...
Just then, the harsh sarcastic tones of de Loubersac broke in afresh:
"In conclusion," exclaimed the lieutenant, "I maintain that Fantomasis an invention, a more or less original one, I am ready to admit, butan invention of not the least practical interest. Just an invention ofthe detectives, this Fantomas; or, it may be of the journalists only,who have made the gaping public swallow this hocus-pocus pill--thisenormous pill!" The lieutenant stared at Fandor defiantly. "And let meadd, I speak from knowledge, for, up to a certain point, I know allthese individuals!"
Fandor was not in the least impressed by the lieutenant's aggressivedeclarations. He regarded him calmly--there was a touch of irony inhis gaze: at the same time, he did not clearly understand deLoubersac's last phrase.
The excellent Monsieur de Naarboveck murmured in his ear:
"De Loubersac, you know, has to do with the Second Bureau at theMinistry of War: the statistics department."...
* * * * *
It was only at half past eleven that Fandor had been able to tearhimself away from the de Naarboveck house.
Fandor wandered on the boulevards a long time before he returned tohis flat.
On his table, near his portmanteau ready strapped for departure, hefound the Railway Guide lying open at the page showing the lines fromParis to the Cote d'Azur! He would not look at the seductivetime-table. He rushed to his portmanteau, undid the straps in furioushaste, dragged out his clothes, which he flung to the four quarters ofthe room. For the moment he was in a towering rage.
"And now, confound it! That Brocq affair is not clear! It's no use mytrying to persuade myself to the contrary! There is some mystery aboutit! Those officers! This diplomat! And then this questionable person,neither servant, nor lady accustomed to good society, who has to meall the appearance of playing not merely a double role, but at theleast a triple, perhaps a quadruple!... Good old Fandor, there'snothing for it, if you want to go South, but to see friend Juve andget some light on it all."
Having come to this conclusion, Fandor went to bed. He could notsleep. There was one word which ceaselessly formed itself in luminousletters before his mind's eye--a word he dare not articulate. It was asynthetic word which brought into a collected whole facts and ideas;it was the summing up of his presentiments, of his conclusions, of hisfears; the word which said all without defining anything, butpermitted everything to be inferred: that word was--_Spying_!