CHAPTER III
THE RUSTY KEY
When Patrice Belval was eight years old he was sent from Paris, where hehad lived till then, to a French boarding-school in London. Here heremained for ten years. At first he used to hear from his father weekly.Then, one day, the head-master told him that he was an orphan, thatprovision had been made for the cost of his education and that, on hismajority, he would receive through an English solicitor his paternalinheritance, amounting to some eight thousand pounds.
Two hundred thousand francs could never be enough for a young man whosoon proved himself to possess expensive tastes and who, when sent toAlgeria to perform his military service, found means to run up twentythousand francs of debts before coming into his money. He thereforestarted by squandering his patrimony and, having done so, settled downto work. Endowed with an active temperament and an ingenious brain,possessing no special vocation, but capable of anything that calls forinitiative and resolution, full of ideas, with both the will and theknowledge to carry out an enterprise, he inspired confidence in others,found capital as he needed it and started one venture after another,including electrical schemes, the purchase of rivers and waterfalls, theorganization of motor services in the colonies, of steamship lines andof mining companies. In a few years he had floated a dozen of suchenterprises, all of which succeeded.
The war came to him as a wonderful adventure. He flung himself into itwith heart and soul. As a sergeant in a colonial regiment, he won hislieutenant's stripes on the Marne. He was wounded in the calf on the15th of September and had it amputated the same day. Two months after,by some mysterious wirepulling, cripple though he was, he began to go upas observer in the aeroplane of one of our best pilots. A shrapnel-shellput an end to the exploits of both heroes on the 10th of January. Thistime, Captain Belval, suffering from a serious wound in the head, wasdischarged and sent to the hospital in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.About the same period, the lady whom he was to call Little MotherCoralie also entered the hospital as a nurse.
There he was trepanned. The operation was successful, but complicationsremained. He suffered a good deal of pain, though he never uttered acomplaint and, in fact, with his own good-humor kept up the spirits ofhis companions in misfortune, all of whom were devoted to him. He madethem laugh, consoled them and stimulated them with his cheeriness andhis constant happy manner of facing the worst positions.
Not one of them is ever likely to forget the way in which he received amanufacturer who called to sell him a mechanical leg:
"Aha, a mechanical leg! And what for, sir? To take in people, I suppose,so that they may not notice that I've lost a bit of mine? Then youconsider, sir, that it's a blemish to have your leg amputated, and thatI, a French officer, ought to hide it as a disgrace?"
"Not at all, captain. Still . . ."
"And what's the price of that apparatus of yours?"
"Five hundred francs."
"Five hundred francs! And you think me capable of spending five hundredfrancs on a mechanical leg, when there are a hundred thousand poordevils who have been wounded as I have and who will have to go onshowing their wooden stumps?"
The men sitting within hearing reveled with delight. Little MotherCoralie herself listened with a smile. And what would Patrice Belval nothave given for a smile from Little Mother Coralie?
As he told her, he had fallen in love with her from the first, touchedby her appealing beauty, her artless grace, her soft eyes, her gentlesoul, which seemed to bend over the patients and to fondle them like asoothing caress. From the very first, the charm of her stole into hisbeing and at the same time compassed it about. Her voice gave him newlife. She bewitched him with the glance of her eyes and with herfragrant presence. And yet, while yielding to the empire of this love,he had an immense craving to devote himself to and to place his strengthat the service of this delicate little creature, whom he felt to besurrounded with danger.
And now events were proving that he was right, the danger was takingdefinite shape and he had had the happiness to snatch Coralie from thegrasp of her enemies. He rejoiced at the result of the first battle, butcould not look upon it as over. The attacks were bound to be repeated.And even now was he not entitled to ask himself if there was not someclose connection between the plot prepared against Coralie that morningand the sort of signal given by the shower of sparks? Did the two factsannounced by the speakers at the restaurant not form part of the samesuspicious machination?
The sparks continued to glitter in the distance. So far as PatriceBelval could judge, they came from the riverside, at some spot betweentwo extreme points which might be the Trocadero on the left and the Garede Passy on the right.
"A mile or two at most, as the crow flies," he said to himself. "Why notgo there? We'll soon see."
A faint light filtered through the key-hole of a door on the secondfloor. It was Ya-Bon's room; and the matron had told him that Ya-Bon wasplaying cards with his sweetheart. He walked in.
Ya-Bon was no longer playing. He had fallen asleep in an armchair, infront of the outspread cards, and on the pinned-back sleeve hanging fromhis left shoulder lay the head of a woman, an appallingly common head,with lips as thick as Ya-Bon's, revealing a set of black teeth, and witha yellow, greasy skin that seemed soaked in oil. It was Angele, thekitchen-maid, Ya-Bon's sweetheart. She snored aloud.
Patrice looked at them contentedly. The sight confirmed the truth of histheories. If Ya-Bon could find some one to care for him, might not themost sadly mutilated heroes aspire likewise to all the joys of love?
He touched the Senegalese on the shoulder. Ya-Bon woke up and smiled,or rather, divining the presence of his captain, smiled even before hewoke.
"I want you, Ya-Bon."
Ya-Bon uttered a grunt of pleasure and gave a push to Angele, who fellover on the table and went on snoring.
Coming out of the house, Patrice saw no more sparks. They were hiddenbehind the trees. He walked along the boulevard and, to save time, wentby the Ceinture railway to the Avenue Henri-Martin. Here he turned downthe Rue de la Tour, which runs to Passy.
On the way he kept talking to Ya-Bon about what he had in his mind,though he well knew that the negro did not understand much of what hesaid. But this was a habit with him. Ya-Bon, first his comrade-in-armsand then his orderly, was as devoted to him as a dog. He had lost a limbon the same day as his officer and was wounded in the head on the sameday; he believed himself destined to undergo the same experiencesthroughout; and he rejoiced at having been twice wounded just as hewould have rejoiced at dying at the same time as Captain Belval. On hisside, the captain rewarded this humble, dumb devotion by unbendinggenially to his companion; he treated him with an ironical and sometimesimpatient humor which heightened the negro's love for him. Ya-Bon playedthe part of the passive confidant who is consulted without beingregarded and who is made to bear the brunt of his interlocutor's hastytemper.
"What do you think of all this, Master Ya-Bon?" asked the captain,walking arm-in-arm with him. "I have an idea that it's all part of thesame business. Do you think so too?"
Ya-Bon had two grunts, one of which meant yes, the other no. He gruntedout:
"Yes."
"So there's no doubt about it," the officer declared, "and we must admitthat Little Mother Coralie is threatened with a fresh danger. Is thatso?"
"Yes," grunted Ya-Bon, who always approved, on principle.
"Very well. It now remains to be seen what that shower of sparks means.I thought for a moment that, as we had our first visit from theZeppelins a week ago . . . are you listening to me?"
"Yes."
"I thought that it was a treacherous signal with a view to a secondZeppelin visit . . ."
"Yes."
"No, you idiot, it's not yes. How could it be a Zeppelin signal when,according to the conversation which I overheard, the signal had alreadybeen given twice before the war. Besides, is it really a signal?"
"No."
"How do you mean, no? What else could it be, you si
lly ass? You'd dobetter to hold your tongue and listen to me, all the more as you don'teven know what it's all about. . . . No more do I, for that matter, andI confess that I'm at an utter loss. Lord, it's a complicated business,and I'm not much of a hand at solving these problems."
Patrice Belval was even more perplexed when he came to the bottom of theRue de la Tour. There were several roads in front of him, and he didnot know which to take. Moreover, though he was in the middle of Passy,not a spark shone in the dark sky.
"It's finished, I expect," he said, "and we've had our trouble fornothing. It's your fault, Ya-Bon. If you hadn't made me lose preciousmoments in snatching you from the arms of your beloved we should havearrived in time. I admit Angele's charms, but, after all . . ."
He took his bearings, feeling more and more undecided. The expeditionundertaken on chance and with insufficient information was certainlyyielding no results; and he was thinking of abandoning it when a closedprivate car came out of the Rue Franklin, from the direction of theTrocadero, and some one inside shouted through the speaking-tube:
"Bear to the left . . . and then straight on, till I stop you."
Now it appeared to Captain Belval that this voice had the same foreigninflection as one of those which he had heard that morning at therestaurant.
"Can it be the beggar in the gray hat," he muttered, "one of those whotried to carry off Little Mother Coralie?"
"Yes," grunted Ya-Bon.
"Yes. The signal of the sparks explains his presence in these parts. Wemustn't lose sight of this track. Off with you, Ya-Bon."
But there was no need for Ya-Bon to hurry. The car had gone down the RueRaynouard, and Belval himself arrived just as it was stopping three orfour hundred yards from the turning, in front of a largecarriage-entrance on the left-hand side.
Five men alighted. One of them rang. Thirty or forty seconds passed.Then Patrice heard the bell tinkle a second time. The five men waited,standing packed close together on the pavement. At last, after a thirdring, a small wicket contrived in one of the folding-doors was opened.
There was a pause and some argument. Whoever had opened the wicketappeared to be asking for explanations. But suddenly two of the men boreheavily on the folding-door, which gave way before their thrust and letthe whole gang through.
There was a loud noise as the door slammed to. Captain Belval at oncestudied his surroundings.
The Rue Raynouard is an old country-road which at one time used to windamong the houses and gardens of the village of Passy, on the side of thehills bathed by the Seine. In certain places, which unfortunately arebecoming more and more rare, it has retained a provincial aspect. It isskirted by old properties. Old houses stand hidden amidst the trees:that in which Balzac lived has been piously preserved. It was in thisstreet that the mysterious garden lay where Arsene Lupin discovered afarmer-general's diamonds hidden in a crack of an old sundial.[1]
[Footnote 1: _The Confessions of Arsene Lupin._ By Maurice Leblanc.Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. III. _The Sign of theShadow._]
The car was still standing outside the house into which the five men hadforced their way; and this prevented Patrice Belval from coming nearer.It was built in continuation of a wall and seemed to be one of theprivate mansions dating back to the First Empire. It had a very longfront with two rows of round windows, protected by gratings on theground-floor and solid shutters on the story above. There was anotherbuilding farther down, forming a separate wing.
"There's nothing to be done on this side," said the captain. "It's asimpregnable as a feudal stronghold. Let's look elsewhere."
From the Rue Raynouard, narrow lanes, which used to divide the oldproperties, make their way down to the river. One of them skirted thewall that preceded the house. Belval turned down it with Ya-Bon. It wasconstructed of ugly pointed pebbles, was broken into steps and faintlylighted by the gleam of a street-lamp.
"Lend me a hand, Ya-Bon. The wall is too high. But perhaps with the aidof the lamp-post . . ."
Assisted by the negro, he hoisted himself to the lamp and was stretchingout one of his hands when he noticed that all this part of the wallbristled with broken glass, which made it absolutely impossible tograsp. He slid down again.
"Upon my word, Ya-Bon," he said, angrily, "you might have warned me!Another second and you would have made me cut my hands to pieces. Whatare you thinking of? In fact, I can't imagine what made you so anxiousto come with me at all costs."
There was a turn in the lane, hiding the light, so that they were now inutter darkness, and Captain Belval had to grope his way along. He feltthe negro's hand come down upon his shoulder.
"What do you want, Ya-Bon?"
The hand pushed him against the wall. At this spot there was a door inan embrasure.
"Well, yes," he said, "that's a door. Do you think I didn't see it? Oh,no one has eyes but Master Ya-Bon, I suppose."
Ya-Bon handed him a box of matches. He struck several, one after theother, and examined the door.
"What did I tell you?" he said between his teeth. "There's nothing to bedone. Massive wood, barred and studded with iron. . . . Look, there's nohandle on this side, merely a key-hole. . . . Ah, what we want is a key,made to measure and cut for the purpose! . . . For instance, a key likethe one which the commissionaire left for me at the home just now.. . ."
He stopped. An absurd idea flitted through his brain; and yet, absurd asit was, he felt that he was bound to perform the trifling action whichit suggested to him. He therefore retraced his steps. He had the key onhim. He took it from his pocket.
He struck a fresh light. The key-hole appeared. Belval inserted the keyat the first attempt. He bore on it to the left: the key turned in thelock. He pushed the door: it opened.
"Come along in," he said.
The negro did not stir a foot. Patrice could understand his amazement.All said, he himself was equally amazed. By what unprecedented miraclewas the key just the key of this very door? By what miracle was theunknown person who had sent it him able to guess that he would be in aposition to use it without further instructions? A miracle indeed!
But Patrice had resolved to act without trying to solve the riddlewhich a mischievous chance seemed bent upon setting him.
"Come along in," he repeated, triumphantly.
Branches struck him in the face and he perceived that he was walking ongrass and that there must be a garden lying in front of him. It was sodark that he could not see the paths against the blackness of the turf;and, after walking for a minute or two, he hit his foot against somerocks with a sheet of water on them.
"Oh, confound it!" he cursed. "I'm all wet. Damn you, Ya-Bon!"
He had not finished speaking when a furious barking was heard at the farend of the garden; and the sound at once came nearer, with extremerapidity. Patrice realized that a watchdog, perceiving their presence,was rushing upon them, and, brave as he was, he shuddered, because ofthe impressiveness of this attack in complete darkness. How was he todefend himself? A shot would betray them; and yet he carried no weaponbut his revolver.
The dog came dashing on, a powerful animal, to judge by the noise itmade, suggesting the rush of a wild boar through the copsewood. It musthave broken its chain, for it was accompanied by the clatter of iron.Patrice braced himself to meet it. But through the darkness he sawYa-Bon pass before him to protect him, and the impact took place almostat once.
"Here, I say, Ya-Bon! Why did you get in front of me? It's all right, mylad, I'm coming!"
The two adversaries had rolled over on the grass. Patrice stooped down,seeking to rescue the negro. He touched the hair of an animal and thenYa-Bon's clothes. But the two were wriggling on the ground in so compacta mass and fighting so frantically that his interference was useless.
Moreover, the contest did not last long. In a few minutes theadversaries had ceased to move. A strangled death-rattle issued from thegroup.
"Is it all right, Ya-Bon?" whispered the captain, anxiously.
The negro stood
up with a grunt. By the light of a match Patrice sawthat he was holding at the end of his outstretched arm, of the one armwith which he had had to defend himself, a huge dog, which was gurgling,clutched round the throat by Ya-Bon's implacable fingers. A broken chainhung from its neck.
"Thank you, Ya-Bon. I've had a narrow escape. You can let him go now. Hecan't do us any harm, I think."
Ya-Bon obeyed. But he had no doubt squeezed too tight. The dog writhedfor a moment on the grass, gave a few moans and then lay without moving.
"Poor brute!" said Patrice. "After all, he only did his duty in goingfor the burglars that we are. Let us do ours, Ya-Bon, which is nothinglike as plain."
Something that shone like a window-pane guided his steps and led him, bya series of stairs cut in the rocks and of successive terraces, to thelevel ground on which the house was built. On this side also, all thewindows were round and high up, like those in the streets, andbarricaded with shutters. But one of them allowed the light which hehad seen from below to filter through.
Telling Ya-Bon to hide in the shrubberies, he went up to the house,listened, caught an indistinct sound of voices, discovered that theshutters were too firmly closed to enable him either to see or to hearand, in this way, after the fourth window, reached a flight of steps. Atthe top of the steps was a door.
"Since they sent me the key of the garden," he said to himself, "there'sno reason why this door, which leads from the house into the garden,should not be open."
It was open.
The voices indoors were now more clearly perceptible, and Belvalobserved that they reached him by the well of the staircase and thatthis staircase, which seemed to lead to an unoccupied part of the house,showed with an uncertain light above him.
He went up. A door stood ajar on the first floor. He slipped his headthrough the opening and went in. He found that he was on a narrowbalcony which ran at mid-height around three sides of a large room,along book-shelves rising to the ceiling. Against the wall at either endof the room was an iron spiral staircase. Stacks of books were alsopiled against the bars of the railing which protected the gallery, thushiding Patrice from the view of the people on the ground-floor, ten ortwelve feet below.
He gently separated two of these stacks. At that moment the sound ofvoices suddenly increased to a great uproar and he saw five men,shouting like lunatics, hurl themselves upon a sixth and fling him tothe ground before he had time to lift a finger in self-defense.
Belval's first impulse was to rush to the victim's rescue. With the aidof Ya-Bon, who would have hastened to his call, he would certainly haveintimidated the five men. The reason why he did not act was that, at anyrate, they were using no weapons and appeared to have no murderousintentions. After depriving their victim of all power of movement, theywere content to hold him by the throat, shoulders and ankles. Belvalwondered what would happen next.
One of the five drew himself up briskly and, in a tone of command, said:
"Bind him. . . . Put a gag in his mouth. . . . Or let him call out, ifhe wants to: there's no one to hear him."
Patrice at once recognized one of the voices which he had heard thatmorning in the restaurant. Its owner was a short, slim-built,well-dressed man, with an olive complexion and a cruel face.
"At last we've got him," he said, "the rascal! And I think we shall gethim to speak this time. Are you prepared to go all lengths, friends?"
One of the other four growled, spitefully:
"Yes. And at once, whatever happens!"
The last speaker had a big black mustache; and Patrice recognized theother man whose conversation at the restaurant he had overheard, that isto say, one of Coralie's assailants, the one who had taken to flight.His gray-felt hat lay on a chair.
"All lengths, Bournef, whatever happens, eh?" grinned the leader. "Well,let's get on with the work. So you refuse to give up your secret,Essares, old man? We shall have some fun."
All their movements must have been prepared beforehand and the partscarefully arranged, for the actions which they carried out wereperformed in an incredibly prompt and methodical fashion.
After the man was tied up, they lifted him into an easy-chair with avery low back, to which they fastened him round the chest and waist witha rope. His legs, which were bound together, were placed on the seat ofa heavy chair of the same height as the arm-chair, with the two feetprojecting. Then the victim's shoes and socks were removed.
"Roll him along!" said the leader.
Between two of the four windows that overlooked the chimney was a largefire-place, in which burnt a red coal-fire, white in places with theintense heat of the hearth. The men pushed the two chairs bearing thevictim until his bare feet were within twenty inches of the blazingcoals.
In spite of his gag, the man uttered a hideous yell of pain, while hislegs, in spite of their bonds, succeeded in contracting and curling uponthemselves.
"Go on!" shouted the leader, passionately. "Go on! Nearer!"
Patrice Belval grasped his revolver.
"Oh, I'm going on too!" he said to himself. "I won't let that wretch be. . ."
But, at this very moment, when he was on the point of drawing himself upand acting, a chance movement made him behold the most extraordinary andunexpected sight. Opposite him, on the other side of the room, in a partof the balcony corresponding with that where he was, he saw a woman'shead, a head glued to the rails, livid and terror-stricken, with eyeswide-open in horror gazing frenziedly at the awful scene that was beingenacted below by the glowing fire.
Patrice had recognized Little Mother Coralie.