Messengers of Evil Read online

  XVIII

  AT THE BOTTOM OF THE TRUNK

  After Monsieur Fuselier's departure, Fandor rejoined Madame Bourrat onthe boulevard. The good woman was very much upset by the dramatic sceneshe had witnessed. She had sent off her manservant, and was preparing totake the tram back to Auteuil. Fandor asked if he might accompany her,and Madame Bourrat was only too delighted to have a chance of furthertalk with the journalist, for she had a lively desire to learn all shecould about the extraordinary drama in which she found herself involved.

  When they arrived at Auteuil, Madame Bourrat had learned nothingdefinite, for the journalist had given only evasive answers to herquestions. Still, one point was obvious: Madame Bourrat consideredMonsieur Jerome Fandor as the most amiable man in the world, and she wasdisposed to help him to the utmost of her powers, in defence of anyinterests he wished to safeguard....

  Madame Bourrat was absolutely set on receiving Monsieur Fandor in herprivate apartments. She then seized the opportunity to complain of thetrouble this affair had brought into her regular and peaceful existence.Certainly, in summer, her boarders were less numerous; their numbersbeing, in fact, reduced to two or three.

  This season there had been fewer than usual; but the accident, orattempted assassination of Mademoiselle Dollon, had undoubtedly broughtdiscredit on the house. An old paralysed gentleman, who had been inresidence on the day of the drama, had departed the day after. Therewas not a single boarder in the house: it was empty.

  * * * * *

  Having made certain that her manservant, Jules, and her cook, Marianne,had retired to their respective rooms, Madame Bourrat conducted Fandoras far as the door of her dwelling. They had been so interested in theirtalk, that they had forgotten all about dinner: their experiences of thepast few hours had left them with little appetite. It was about nineo'clock; night had fallen: house and garden were wrapped in a mantle ofdarkness.

  "Can you find your way?" asked Madame Bourrat. If she accompanied thejournalist to her garden gate she would have to grope back to the housein the dark, and alone! Her nerves were shaken by recent events. She didnot wish to venture forth and back in the mysterious gloom of night,even on the familiar path of her garden. What might that darkness nothide! What robbers, what murderers might there not be lurking near!

  Fandor laughed.

  "Why, of course I can, madame! To find the points of the compass, tocultivate the sense of locality, is part of a journalist's profession."

  "Do not forget to draw to behind you--it needs a strong pull--the gatewhich separates us from the street: once shut, no one can open it fromoutside."

  Fandor, shaking hands with the boarding-house keeper, promised to closethe gate. As the sound of his steps on the gravel grew less and less, asthe gate fell to with a loud noise, and an absolute silence followed,Madame Bourrat felt sure that her guest had left the garden--had goneaway.

  But he had done nothing of the sort!

  Fandor had shut the gate noiselessly, but he had remained inside thegrounds. He stood motionless, holding his breath, wishing neither to beseen nor heard. He remained so for a long twenty minutes. Then, beingassured that Madame Bourrat had retired for the night--she had closedher shutters and put out her light--he rubbed his hands, murmuring:

  "Now we shall see!"

  Stepping gingerly along by the side of the wall, he reached the mainbuilding of the boarding-house: luckily, it was empty as far as boarderswere concerned. He recognised Elizabeth Dollon's window on the firstfloor and was glad to see that it was half open. Chance favouredhim--there was even a gutter pipe running down the wall and passingclose to the window. Providence had favoured him with a fine staircase;there would not be much difficulty in climbing that!

  No sooner thought than done! Accustomed as he was to exercise and games,Fandor, agile as a young man in good training can be, squirmed up thepipe as far as Elizabeth's window. He caught hold of the sill, recoveredhis balance, jerked himself up, and, two seconds after, had landed inthe room.

  Dared he strike a light! He remembered pretty accurately the position ofthe various pieces of furniture, but he would like to study the roommore in detail. His luck still held, for a ray of moonlight suddenlyshone out from behind a cloud. He saw the moon sailing in a clear sky.There would be sufficient light from the moon rays to enable him topursue his investigations.

  It was an essentially modern room; the white walls were painted withripolin, and were as bare of ornament as a nun's cell. An iron bedsteadstood in the middle of the room: a wardrobe, with a mirror panel infront, and locked, occupied one of the corners; behind a folding screenwas a toilette table, a Louis XV bureau, two chairs, an arm-chair: thatwas all.

  After making this rapid inventory, Fandor considered:

  "The situation is growing complicated," said he to himself. "I am quitepersuaded that this room will shortly receive a visit from someindividuals who will not court recognition--their interests are allagainst that--and they certainly will not be anxious to meet me here!These individuals assuredly know, at this minute, that the examiningmagistrate is going to make a thorough investigation here to-morrowmorning.... How do they know it? It's very simple. The prime mover inthe attempted murder, or one of his accomplices, was assuredly among thewitnesses this afternoon. Is it the amiable Madame Bourrat? Is it thatdoltish Jules, who looks an absolute fool, but may be masking his game!Suppose the serious Barbey pops up? Or the elegant Nanteuil? But I donot think so--they are rather victims than attackers--everything leadsme to that opinion. But--all this does not tell me whether the place hasalready been visited or not!"

  Fandor unlocked the drawer, searched for the piece of soap under thepile of Elizabeth's linen, and had the extreme satisfaction of findingthe soap had not been moved.

  "Good! I am here first! Ah, we shall see our men presently! Which, andhow many?"

  Fandor seated himself and let his imagination work. He tried to picturethe faces of the mysterious individuals he was determined to trackdown--but, so far, in vain!... Then with strange, uncanny persistence,one face rose again and again before his mental vision, clear,vital--the face of the enigmatic Thomery, with his silver white hair,his red face, his light blue eyes, that Yankee head of his, well set onhis robust torso....

  "Thomery!" cried Fandor almost aloud. "The fact is, everything leads meto think ... but don't let us anticipate! Concealment is the next itemon the programme!"

  Fandor realised that to hide under the bed was impossible: he would bediscovered immediately.... The screen was no better!... There wasElizabeth's trunk!... Why, it was a kind of monument in wicker work! Thevery thing! It was quite big enough to hold him--it was one of thoseenormous trunks beloved of women!... To hide in it would be anexcellent trick--a real joke! Let me burrow in there, and see thestupefaction of these estimable characters when they open it to rummageabout among Elizabeth's belongings and find themselves face to face withme! They will see besides my sympathetic countenance the stern mouth ofmy revolver!... Let us see whether it is a possible hiding place!

  Fandor raised the cover and lifted out a top compartment, in which werescattered, among objects of feminine apparel, papers, books, and allsorts of things which had evidently belonged to the unfortunate painter.The distracted Elizabeth, in the hurry of departure from rue Norvins,must have thrust them in pell-mell. The lower division of the trunk wasempty.

  "Another bit of luck!" thought Fandor. "Now to sample my littlehide-hole!"

  Fandor found he could get into a fairly comfortable position. Then hecalculated, that with the compartment back in its place and the coveropen, all he had to do to close it was to shake the trunk transversely.He could certainly remain inside for several hours without intolerablediscomfort.

  Raising the cover, Fandor slipped out.

  The interminable hours crawled by. To smoke was out of the question.Fandor's pride in his exploit was sinking to zero: was he passing awretched night to no purpose? A violent ring sounded. Someone wasringing at
the garden gate--ringing loudly, insistently--an imperativesummons!

  Instantly Fandor was on the alert. Useless to slip to the window andpeer cautiously out, for Elizabeth's window did not face the gate: evenby leaning out he could not catch any glimpse of any visitors, eithercoming to the house or passing along towards Madame Bourrat's apartmentsin the annex.... Besides, Fandor feared to make a noise, and thepolished boards of the floor cracked and creaked at the least movement!

  "The one thing for me to do," thought he, "is to creep back into myretreat and wait. Now who can it be at this time of night?"

  Fandor's curiosity was rapidly satisfied--after a fashion! The call ofthe bell had been answered by noises and hurried footsteps, whisperings,an outburst of voices, then silence.... A few minutes after, Fandorclearly heard some persons entering the ground floor of the house.

  He listened intently: he could hear his own heartbeats.

  Then a voice said:

  "In Heaven's name! Is it possible? Why do you come to upset people atthis time of night? As if we had not had enough to put up with duringthe day! It is a dreadful business! There's no doubt about it! Are wenever to be left in peace?"

  "Why, it's Madame Bourrat's voice!" said Fandor. "Poor woman! What'sup?" He listened. Someone said:

  "The law is the law, madame, and we are it's humble executors. As theexamining judge has ordered me to make an investigating distraint, weare compelled to carry out his instructions to the letter. Be goodenough to tell your servant to lead us to the actual spot where thecrime was attempted."

  "Now what is all this?" asked Fandor. "And from whence comes this policeinspector? It only wanted that! He won't know what to make of it when Itell him who I am--and how am I to explain my presence here? Anyhow,wait, and see what happens!"

  "Someone was coming upstairs--more than one!"

  "This way, messieurs!" said a hoarse voice. "The room the young ladyoccupied is at the end of this passage!"

  "This time I recognise my fine fellow!" thought Fandor. "It is thatimbecile of a Jules. But what a triumphant tone! And how different hisvoice sounds to what it did, this afternoon, at the examination!"

  Then Fandor all but jumped from his hiding place.

  "Oh! What an egregious fool I am! Why, there is not a police inspectorin France who would come at this hour to carry out an investigation--anda distraint to boot! What the devil does it mean? Can they be the finefellows I am lying in wait to meet?"

  The dubious individuals who had roused the house at such an unholy hourentered the room. Someone turned on the electric light.

  Though Fandor could obtain a sufficient supply of air through theopenings in the wickerwork, he could not see what was going on: he couldonly listen with all his ears.

  Madame Bourrat accompanied her strange visitors.

  "It is here," she exclaimed, "that the journalist, Jerome Fandor, foundmy boarder stretched out on the floor.... You see, in this corner, isthe gas stove with its tubing! They have forgotten to refix it to thepipe; but there is no danger, the tap is turned off and so is themeter."

  The personage who had given out that he was a police inspector, whosevoice was probably an assumed one, replied only by monosyllables. Fandordid not recognise his voice. But there was another speaker, who also hadvery little to say for himself; and Fandor thought he recognised certaintones as belonging to a man who had been much in his thoughts of late.

  "Thomery!" thought he. "Is it Thomery?"

  But he only knew the sugar refiner by sight, and had heard him speak butonce or twice at the ball: that was not enough to go on, for Fandor hadnot paid special attention to the distinguishing tone and quality of hishost's voice. Nevertheless, he could not get out of his head the ideathat the celebrated sugar refiner, honoured by all Paris, esteemed byeverybody, was standing only a step or two away from him now in thishouse of strange happenings, and under very peculiar circumstances. "Washe a burglar--an assassin? One of a nefarious band?"

  For Fandor was now convinced that these were not police emissariesbearing a legal mandate to search and distrain: no, they were robbers,criminals! He was preparing to rise from his hiding place and appearbefore the bandits: he would fire a few shots and make the deuce of arow and rouse the neighbourhood. He would also save poor Madame Bourrat,who was certainly not their accomplice. Just then he heard the pretendedpolice inspector say:

  "Will you provide us with writing materials, madame? We must write anofficial report."

  "Why, certainly, monsieur," replied Madame Bourrat. "I will godownstairs and get what you require."

  Fandor heard her leave the room. No sooner had she gone than a hurriedconversation began in low tones. Clearly Jules was guilty, for thepretended police inspector asked:

  "No one this evening? Nothing happened?"

  "No," replied Jules in a servile tone. "The journalist brought themistress back and then went off at nine o'clock...."

  "No news of Alfred?" asked the voice.

  The third person answered:

  "Why, no. You know very well he is always at the Depot."

  "Let us set to work!" said voice number one.

  Fandor felt that the decisive moment had arrived: someone opened thecover of the trunk and feverish hands were turning over the confusedmass of objects in the top compartment.

  "Didn't you find anything?" asked the voice of Jules.

  "No, no, monsieur! I searched everywhere; but as I do not read easily,it's difficult for me...."

  "Imbecile!" murmured the voice.

  "Ah!" said Fandor to himself. "This fellow pleases me! He has the sameopinion of this dolt of a Jules as I have!"

  Revolver in hand, Fandor was on the alert. The moment they lifted up thecompartment out he would jump. Just then, Madame Bourrat could be heardapproaching.

  "Confound it! We shall not have time to go through everything!"muttered a voice. The trunk cover was hastily closed.

  Fandor heard Madame Bourrat enter the room with slow, heavy step.

  "Here are ink and paper, messieurs!" she said.

  Then the pretended police inspector made a statement that startled theconcealed Fandor.

  "Madame, we have no time, nor are we able to make a minute investigationnow. Besides, with one exception, there does not seem to be anythingsuspicious about the room; but here is a trunk which contains papers ofgreat importance. We are going to take it to the police station."

  "As you please," replied Madame Bourrat. "I ask only one thing and thatis to be left in peace. I do not want to hear anything more about thisabominable affair!"

  A rapid turn of the key given to each of the locks and Fandor knew thathe was now a prisoner! Brave as he was, he felt a rush of blood to hisheart and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

  "Dash it all! I am in an awful position! Impossible to move! If thesebrutes suspected they had me tight in here they would pitch me into theriver as sure as Fate! Then good-bye to _La Capitale_!"

  Then, before Fandor's mental vision rose a sweet consoling figure, thefigure of the girl for whom he was braving danger, for love of whom--hecertainly did love her--he had placed himself in such a seriousposition.... Then all that was optimistic in his nature--and that wasmuch--rose to the surface, and declared the dilemma was not as seriousas it seemed.... How could the bandits know of his presence in thetrunk? They never would think Jerome Fandor so stupid as to shut himselfup in the trap!

  "Jules and I might shake hands as equals in folly!" concluded Fandor....Just then the trunk began to move. They were trying to lift it. Whilsttrying to preserve an unstable equilibrium, he said to himself in asatisfied way:

  "And just to think now that they have not rummaged in the chest ofdrawers, nor have they seized the tell-tale piece of soap!... It's truethat Fuselier alone knows of its being there--I was careful not to tellanyone else.... But, where the deuce are they going? It's the stairs, ofcourse! It might be a rough precipice by the shaking up they're givingme!"