CHAPTER VIII
ESSARES BEY'S WORK
This time Captain Belval seemed to relax to some extent. He vaguelyperceived the consideration that compelled the authorities to wage thebattle prudently.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, I was instructed to investigate this matter two years ago; and myenquiries proved that really remarkable exports of gold were beingeffected from France. But, I confess, it is only since my conversationwith Mme. Essares that I have seen where the leakage came from and whoit was that set on foot, all over France, down to the least importantmarket-towns, the formidable organization through which theindispensable metal was made to leave the country."
"Then Mme. Essares knew?"
"No, but she suspected a great deal; and last night, before you arrived,she overheard some words spoken between Essares and his assailants whichshe repeated to me, thus giving me the key to the riddle. I should havebeen glad to work out the complete solution without your assistance--forone thing, those were the orders of the minister of the interior; andMme. Essares displayed the same wish--but your impetuosity overcomes myhesitation; and, since I can't manage to get rid of you, CaptainBelval, I will tell you the whole story frankly . . . especially as yourcooperation is not to be despised."
"I am all ears," said Patrice, who was burning to know more.
"Well, the motive force of the plot was here, in this house. EssaresBey, president of the Franco-Oriental Bank, 6, Rue Lafayette, apparentlyan Egyptian, in reality a Turk, enjoyed the greatest influence in theParis financial world. He had been naturalized an Englishman, but hadkept up secret relations with the former possessors of Egypt; and he hadreceived instructions from a foreign power, which I am not yet able toname with certainty, to bleed--there is no other word for it--to bleedFrance of all the gold that he could cause to flow into his coffers.According to documents which I have seen, he succeeded in exporting inthis way some seven hundred million francs in two years. A lastconsignment was preparing when war was declared. You can understand thatthenceforth such important sums could not be smuggled out of the countryso easily as in times of peace. The railway-wagons are inspected on thefrontiers; the outgoing vessels are searched in the harbors. In short,the gold was not sent away. Those two hundred and fifty or three hundredmillions remained in France. Ten months passed; and the inevitablehappened, which was that Essares Bey, having this fabulous treasure athis disposal, clung to it, came gradually to look upon it as his ownand, in the end, resolved to appropriate it. Only there wereaccomplices. . . ."
"The men I saw last night?"
"Yes, half-a-dozen shady Levantines, sham naturalized French citizens,more or less well-disguised Bulgarians, secret agents of the littleGerman courts in the Balkans. This gang ran provincial branches ofEssares' bank. It had in its pay, on Essares' account, hundreds of minoragents, who scoured the villages, visited the fairs, werehail-fellow-well-met with the peasants, offered them bank-notes andgovernment securities in exchange for French gold and trousered alltheir savings. When war broke out the gang shut up shop and gatheredround Essares Bey, who also had closed his offices in the RueLafayette."
"What happened then?"
"Things that we don't know. No doubt the accomplices learnt from theirgovernments that the last despatch of gold had never taken place; and nodoubt they also guessed that Essares Bey was trying to keep for himselfthe three hundred millions collected by the gang. One thing is certain,that a struggle began between the former partners, a fierce, implacablestruggle, the accomplices wanting their share of the plunder, whileEssares Bey was resolved to part with none of it and pretended that themillions had left the country. Yesterday the struggle attained itsculminating-point. In the afternoon the accomplices tried to get hold ofMme. Essares so that they might have a hostage to use against herhusband. In the evening . . . in the evening you yourself witnessed thefinal episode."
"But why yesterday evening rather than another?"
"Because the accomplices had every reason to think that the millionswere intended to disappear yesterday evening. Though they did not knowthe methods employed by Essares Bey when he made his last remittances,they believed that each of the remittances, or rather each removal ofthe sacks, was preceded by a signal."
"Yes, a shower of sparks, was it not?"
"Exactly. In a corner of the garden are some old conservatories, abovewhich stands the furnace that used to heat them. This grimy furnace,full of soot and rubbish, sends forth, when you light it, flakes of fireand sparks which are seen at a distance and serve as an intimation.Essares Bey lit it last night himself. The accomplices at once tookalarm and came prepared to go any lengths."
"And Essares' plan failed."
"Yes. But so did theirs. The colonel is dead. The others were only ableto get hold of a few bundles of notes which have probably been takenfrom them by this time. But the struggle was not finished; and its dyingagony has been a most shocking tragedy. According to your statement, aman who knew you and who was seeking to get into touch with you, waskilled at nineteen minutes past seven, most likely by Essares Bey, whodreaded his intervention. And, five hours later, at twenty-three pasttwelve, Essares Bey himself was murdered, presumably by one of hisaccomplices. There is the whole story, Captain Belval. And, now that youknow as much of it as I do, don't you think that the investigation ofthis case should remain secret and be pursued not quite in accordancewith the ordinary rules?"
After a moment's reflection Patrice said:
"Yes, I agree."
"There can be no doubt about it!" cried M. Masseron. "Not only will itserve no purpose to publish this story of gold which has disappeared andwhich can't be found, which would startle the public and excite theirimaginations, but you will readily imagine that an operation whichconsisted in draining off such a quantity of gold in two years cannothave been effected without compromising a regrettable number of people.I feel certain that my own enquiries will reveal a series of weakconcessions and unworthy bargains on the part of certain more or lessimportant banks and credit-houses, transactions on which I do not wishto insist, but which it would be the gravest of blunders to publish.Therefore, silence."
"But is silence possible?"
"Why not?"
"Bless my soul, there are a good few corpses to be explained away!Colonel Fakhi's, for instance?"
"Suicide."
"Mustapha's, which you will discover or which you have alreadydiscovered in the Galliera garden?"
"Found dead."
"Essares Bey's?"
"An accident."
"So that all these manifestations of the same power will remainseparated?"
"There is nothing to show the link that connects them."
"Perhaps the public will think otherwise."
"The public will think what we wish it to think. This is war-time."
"The press will speak."
"The press will do nothing of the kind. We have the censorship."
"But, if some fact or, rather, a fresh crime . . . ?"
"Why should there be a fresh crime? The matter is finished, at least onits active and dramatic side. The chief actors are dead. The curtainfalls on the murder of Essares Bey. As for the supernumeraries, Bournefand the others, we shall have them stowed away in an internment-campbefore a week is past. We therefore find ourselves in the presence of acertain number of millions, with no owner, with no one who dares toclaim them, on which France is entitled to lay hands. I shall devote myactivity to securing the money for the republic."
Patrice Belval shook his head:
"Mme. Essares remains, sir. We must not forget her husband's threats."
"He is dead."
"No matter, the threats are there. Old Simeon tells you so in a strikingfashion."
"He's half mad."
"Exactly, his brain retains the impression of great and imminent danger.No, the struggle is not ended. Perhaps indeed it is only beginning."
"Well, captain, are we not here? Make it your business to protect andd
efend Mme. Essares by all the means in your power and by all thosewhich I place at your disposal. Our collaboration will be uninterrupted,because my task lies here and because, if the battle--which you expectand I do not--takes place, it will be within the walls of this house andgarden."
"What makes you think that?"
"Some words which Mme. Essares overheard last night. The colonelrepeated several times, 'The gold is here, Essares.' He added, 'Foryears past, your car brought to this house all that there was at yourbank in the Rue Lafayette. Simeon, you and the chauffeur used to let thesacks down the last grating on the left. How you used to send it away Ido not know. But of what was here on the day when the war broke out, ofthe seventeen or eighteen hundred bags which they were expecting outyonder, none has left your place. I suspected the trick; and we keptwatch night and day. The gold is here.'"
"And have you no clue?"
"Not one. Or this at most; but I attach comparatively little value toit."
He took a crumpled paper from his pocket, unfolded it and continued:
"Besides the pendant, Essares Bey held in his hand this bit of blottedpaper, on which you can see a few straggling, hurriedly-written words.The only ones that are more or less legible are these: 'goldentriangle.' What this golden triangle means, what it has to do with thecase in hand, I can't for the present tell. The most that I am able topresume is that, like the pendant, the scrap of paper was snatched byEssares Bey from the man who died at nineteen minutes past seven thismorning and that, when he himself was killed at twenty-three minutespast twelve, he was occupied in examining it."
"And then there is the album," said Patrice, making his last point. "Yousee how all the details are linked together. You may safely believe thatit is all one case."
"Very well," said M. Masseron. "One case in two parts. You, captain, hadbetter follow up the second. I grant you that nothing could be strangerthan this discovery of photographs of Mme. Essares and yourself in thesame album and in the same pendant. It sets a problem the solution ofwhich will no doubt bring us very near to the truth. We shall meet againsoon, Captain Belval, I hope. And, once more, make use of me and of mymen."
He shook Patrice by the hand. Patrice held him back:
"I shall make use of you, sir, as you suggest. But is this not the timeto take the necessary precautions?"
"They are taken, captain. We are in occupation of the house."
"Yes . . . yes . . . I know; but, all the same . . . I have a sort ofpresentiment that the day will not end without. . . . Remember oldSimeon's strange words. . . ."
M. Masseron began to laugh:
"Come, Captain Belval, we mustn't exaggerate things. If any enemiesremain for us to fight, they must stand in great need, for the moment,of taking council with themselves. We'll talk about this to-morrow,shall we, captain?"
He shook hands with Patrice again, bowed to Mme. Essares and left theroom.
Belval had at first made a discreet movement to go out with him. Hestopped at the door and walked back again. Mme. Essares, who seemed notto hear him, sat motionless, bent in two, with her head turned away fromhim.
"Coralie," he said.
She did not reply; and he uttered her name a second time, hoping thatagain she might not answer, for her silence suddenly appeared to him tobe the one thing in the world for him to desire. That silence no longerimplied either constraint or rebellion. Coralie accepted the fact thathe was there, by her side, as a helpful friend. And Patrice no longerthought of all the problems that harassed him, nor of the murders thathad mounted up, one after another, around them, nor of the dangers thatmight still encompass them. He thought only of Coralie's yieldinggentleness.
"Don't answer, Coralie, don't say a word. It is for me to speak. I musttell you what you do not know, the reasons that made you wish to keep meout of this house . . . out of this house and out of your very life."
He put his hand on the back of the chair in which she was sitting; andhis hand just touched Coralie's hair.
"Coralie, you imagine that it is the shame of your life here that keepsyou away from me. You blush at having been that man's wife; and thismakes you feel troubled and anxious, as though you yourself had beenguilty. But why should you? It was not your fault. Surely you know thatI can guess the misery and hatred that must have passed between you andhim and the constraint that was brought to bear upon you, by somemachination, in order to force your consent to the marriage! No,Coralie, there is something else; and I will tell you what it is. Thereis something else. . . ."
He was bending over her still more. He saw her beautiful profile lit upby the blazing logs and, speaking with increasing fervor and adoptingthe familiar _tu_ and _toi_ which, in his mouth, retained a note ofaffectionate respect, he cried:
"Am I to speak, Little Mother Coralie? I needn't, need I? You haveunderstood; and you read yourself clearly. Ah, I feel you tremblingfrom head to foot! Yes, yes, I tell you, I knew your secret from thevery first day. From the very first day you loved your great beggar of awounded man, all scarred and maimed though he was. Hush! Don't deny it!. . . Yes, I understand: you are rather shocked to hear such words asthese spoken to-day. I ought perhaps to have waited. And yet why shouldI? I am asking you nothing. I know; and that is enough for me. I sha'n'tspeak of it again for a long time to come, until the inevitable hourarrives when you are forced to tell it to me yourself. Till then I shallkeep silence. But our love will always be between us; and it will beexquisite, Little Mother Coralie, it will be exquisite for me to knowthat you love me. Coralie. . . . There, now you're crying! And you wouldstill deny the truth? Why, when you cry--I know you, Little Mother--itmeans that your dear heart is overflowing with tenderness and love! Youare crying? Ah, Little Mother, I never thought you loved me to thatextent!"
Patrice also had tears in his eyes. Coralie's were coursing down herpale cheeks; and he would have given much to kiss that wet face. But theleast outward sign of affection appeared to him an offense at such amoment. He was content to gaze at her passionately.
And, as he did so, he received an impression that her thoughts werebecoming detached from his own, that her eyes were being attracted by anunexpected sight and that, amid the great silence of their love, she waslistening to something that he himself had not heard.
And suddenly he too heard that thing, though it was almostimperceptible. It was not so much a sound as the sensation of a presencemingling with the distant rumble of the town. What could be happening?
The light had begun to fade, without his noticing it. Also unperceivedby Patrice, Mme. Essares had opened the window a little way, for theboudoir was small and the heat of the fire was becoming oppressive.Nevertheless, the two casements were almost touching. It was at thisthat she was staring; and it was from there that the danger threatened.
Patrice's first impulse was to run to the window, but he restrainedhimself. The danger was becoming defined. Outside, in the twilight, hedistinguished through the slanting panes a human form. Next, he sawbetween the two casements something which gleamed in the light of thefire and which looked like the barrel of a revolver.
"Coralie is done for," he thought, "if I allow it to be suspected for aninstant that I am on my guard."
She was in fact opposite the window, with no obstacle intervening. Hetherefore said aloud, in a careless tone:
"Coralie, you must be a little tired. We will say good-by."
At the same time, he went round her chair to protect her.
But he had not the time to complete his movement. She also no doubt hadseen the glint of the revolver, for she drew back abruptly, stammering:
"Oh, Patrice! . . . Patrice! . . ."
Two shots rang out, followed by a moan.
"You're wounded!" cried Patrice, springing to her side.
"No, no," she said, "but the fright . . ."
"Oh, if he's touched you, the scoundrel!"
"No, he hasn't."
"Are you quite sure?"
He lost thirty or forty seconds, switching on the e
lectric light,looking at Coralie for signs of a wound and waiting in an agony ofsuspense for her to regain full consciousness. Only then did he rush tothe window, open it wide and climb over the balcony. The room was on thefirst floor. There was plenty of lattice-work on the wall. But, becauseof his leg, Patrice had some difficulty in making his way down.
Below, on the terrace, he caught his foot in the rungs of an overturnedladder. Next, he knocked against some policemen who were coming from theground-floor. One of them shouted:
"I saw the figure of a man making off that way."
"Which way?" asked Patrice.
The man was running in the direction of the lane. Patrice followed him.But, at that moment, from close beside the little door, there cameshrill cries and the whimper of a choking voice:
"Help! . . . Help! . . ."
When Patrice came up, the policeman was already flashing his electriclantern over the ground; and they both saw a human form writhing in theshrubbery.
"The door's open!" shouted Patrice. "The assassin has escaped! Go afterhim!"
The policeman vanished down the lane; and, Ya-Bon appearing on thescene, Patrice gave him his orders:
"Quick as you can, Ya-Bon! . . . If the policeman is going up the lane,you go down. Run! I'll look after the victim."
All this time, Patrice was stooping low, flinging the light of thepoliceman's lantern on the man who lay struggling on the ground. Herecognized old Simeon, nearly strangled, with a red-silk cord round hisneck.
"How do you feel?" he asked. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"
He unfastened the cord and repeated his question. Simeon stuttered out aseries of incoherent syllables and then suddenly began to sing andlaugh, a very low, jerky laugh, alternating with hiccoughs. He had gonemad.
When M. Masseron arrived, Patrice told him what had happened:
"Do you really believe it's all over?" he asked.
"No. You were right and I was wrong," said M. Masseron. "We must takeevery precaution to ensure Mme. Essares' safety. The house shall beguarded all night."
A few minutes later the policeman and Ya-Bon returned, after a vainsearch. The key that had served to open the door was found in the lane.It was exactly similar to the one in Patrice Belval's possession,equally old and equally rusty. The would-be murderer had thrown it awayin the course of his flight.
* * * * *
It was seven o'clock when Patrice, accompanied by Ya-Bon, left the housein the Rue Raynouard and turned towards Neuilly. As usual, Patrice tookYa-Bon's arm and, leaning upon him for support as he walked, he said:
"I can guess what you're thinking, Ya-Bon."
Ya-Bon grunted.
"That's it," said Captain Belval, in a tone of approval. "We areentirely in agreement all along the line. What strikes you first andforemost is the utter incapacity displayed by the police. A pack ofaddle-pates, you say? When you speak like that, Master Ya-Bon, you aretalking impertinent nonsense, which, coming from you, does not astonishme and which might easily make me give you the punishment you deserve.But we will overlook it this time. Whatever you may say, the police dowhat they can, not to mention that, in war-time, they have other thingsto do than to occupy themselves with the mysterious relations betweenCaptain Belval and Mme. Essares. It is I therefore who will have to act;and I have hardly any one to reckon on but myself. Well, I wonder if Iam a match for such adversaries. To think that here's one who has thecheek to come back to the house while it is being watched by the police,to put up a ladder, to listen no doubt to my conversation with M.Masseron and afterwards to what I said to Little Mother Coralie and,lastly, to send a couple of bullets whizzing past our ears! What do yousay? Am I the man for the job? And could all the French police,overworked as they are, give me the indispensable assistance? No, theman I need for clearing up a thing like this is an exceptional sort ofchap, one who unites every quality in himself, in short the type of manone never sees."
Patrice leant more heavily on his companion's arm:
"You, who know so many good people, haven't you the fellow I wantconcealed about your person? A genius of sorts? A demigod?"
Ya-Bon grunted again, merrily this time, and withdrew his arm. He alwayscarried a little electric lamp. Switching on the light, he put thehandle between his teeth. Then he took a bit of chalk out of hisjacket-pocket.
A grimy, weather-beaten plaster wall ran along the street. Ya-Bon tookhis stand in front of the wall and, turning the light upon it, began towrite with an unskilful hand, as though each letter cost him ameasureless effort and as though the sum total of those letters were theonly one that he had ever succeeded in composing and remembering. Inthis way he wrote two words which Patrice read out:
_Arsene Lupin._
"Arsene Lupin," said Patrice, under his breath. And, looking at Ya-Bonin amazement, "Are you in your right mind? What do you mean by ArseneLupin? Are you suggesting Arsene Lupin to me?"
Ya-Bon nodded his head.
"Arsene Lupin? Do you know him?"
"Yes," Ya-Bon signified.
Patrice then remembered that the Senegalese used to spend his days atthe hospital getting his good-natured comrades to read all theadventures of Arsene Lupin aloud to him; and he grinned:
"Yes, you know him as one knows somebody whose history one has read."
"No," protested Ya-Bon.
"Do you know him personally?"
"Yes."
"Get out, you silly fool! Arsene Lupin is dead. He threw himself intothe sea from a rock;[2] and you pretend that you know him?"
[Footnote 2: _813_. By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexander Teixeirade Mattos.]
"Yes."
"Do you mean to say that you have met him since he died?"
"Yes."
"By Jove! And Master Ya-Bon's influence with Arsene Lupin is enough tomake him come to life again and put himself out at a sign from MasterYa-Bon?"
"Yes."
"I say! I had a high opinion of you as it was, but now there is nothingfor me but to make you my bow. A friend of the late Arsene Lupin! We'regoing it! . . . And how long will it take you to place his ghost at ourdisposal? Six months? Three months? One month? A fortnight?"
Ya-Bon made a gesture.
"About a fortnight," Captain Belval translated. "Very well, evoke yourfriend's spirit; I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance. Only,upon my word, you must have a very poor idea of me to imagine that Ineed a collaborator! What next! Do you take me for a helplessdunderhead?"