Messengers of Evil

by Pierre Souvestre and Marcel Allain

  X

  IDENTITY OF A NAVVY

  "The Barbey-Nanteuil bank is certainly gorgeous!" thought Jerome Fandoras he traversed the hall on the ground floor, where the massive mahoganyfurniture, the thick carpets, the deep, comfortable chairs, the soberelegance of the window curtains breathed an atmosphere of luxury andgood taste. "And decidedly banking is the best of businesses!" added ouryoung journalist.

  An attendant advanced to meet him.

  "What do you want, monsieur?"

  "Will you take in my card to Monsieur Nanteuil? I should be glad to havea few minutes' talk with him."

  The attendant bowed.

  "On a personal matter, monsieur?"

  "A personal matter?... Yes."

  Jerome Fandor wanted to interview the Barbey-Nanteuils on the subject ofthe recent occurrences, which had roused Paris opinion to the highestdegree--mysterious occurrences on which no light seemed to have beenthrown so far.... Not only were the Barbey-Nanteuils the bankers of theBaroness de Vibray, but they had been present at Thomery's ball, whenthe attack on Princess Sonia Danidoff had taken place.... Would theyallow themselves to be interviewed? Fandor decided that they certainlywould, for they were business men, and was he not going to give them afree advertisement?

  The attendant--a stately individual--returned.

  "Monsieur Nanteuil is sorry he cannot see you, he is taking the chairat an important committee meeting; but Monsieur Barbey will see you fora few minutes, that is to say, if he will do instead of MonsieurNanteuil."

  "In that case, I will see Monsieur Barbey," said Fandor, rising.

  Following the attendant, Fandor traversed the whole length of the bank,and passing the half-open door of Monsieur Nanteuil's office--the nameon the door told him this--he noticed that it was empty.

  Monsieur Barbey received him coldly and with a solemn bow. Fandor'sreply was a pleasant smile.

  "I know," said he, "that your time is precious, Monsieur Barbey, so Iwill come straight to the object of my call.... You must be aware of theprofound impression caused by the double crimes recently committed onthe persons of Madame de Vibray and the Princess Sonia Danidoff?"

  "It is true, monsieur, that I have followed, in the papers, the accountof the investigations regarding them: but, in what way?..."

  "Does it concern you?" finished Fandor. "Good heavens, monsieur, is itnot a fact that the Baroness de Vibray was your client? And were you notpresent at Monsieur Thomery's ball?"

  "That is so, monsieur; but if you are hoping that I can supply you withfurther details than those already published, you will be disappointed.I myself have learned a good deal about these crimes only from readingyour articles, monsieur."

  "Can you confirm the statement that Madame de Vibray was ruined?"

  "I do not think I am betraying a professional secret if I say thatMadame de Vibray had had very heavy losses quite recently."

  "And Princess Sonia Danidoff?"

  "I do not think she is one of our clients."

  "You do not think so?"

  "But, monsieur, you cannot suppose that we know all our clients? Ourbusiness is a very extensive one, and neither Nanteuil, nor I, couldpossibly know the names of all those who do business with us."

  "You know the name of Jacques Dollon?"

  "Yes. I knew young Dollon. He was introduced to me by Madame de Vibray,who asked me to give him a helping hand, and I willingly did so. I canonly regret now that my confidence was so ill placed."

  "Do you believe him guilty then?... Not really?"

  "I certainly do!... So do all your readers, monsieur. Is that not so?"

  But, whilst Monsieur Barbey was regarding Fandor with some astonishmentbecause of his half-avowal, that he himself was not sure of Dollon'sguilt, the door was flung open with violence, and Monsieur Nanteuil, outof breath, looking thoroughly upset, rushed into the room, followed byfive or six men unknown to Jerome Fandor, and showing traces of fatigueand emotion also.

  "Good Heavens! What is it?" cried Monsieur Barbey, rising to meet hispartner....

  "The matter is," cried Monsieur Nanteuil, "that an abominable robberyhas just been committed...."

  "Where?"

  "Rue du Quatre Septembre!..." Still panting, he began to givedetails....

  Fandor did not wait to hear more. He rushed from the Barbey-Nanteuilbank and made for the place de l'Opera at top speed.

  In consequence of the extraordinary occurrence which Monsieur Nanteuilhad hastened to report to his partner, a considerable crowd had flockedto the scene of the accident; but barriers had been quickly erected, andthe crowd, directed by the police, were able to circulate in orderlyfashion when Fandor arrived on the scene.

  The agile young journalist had made his way to the front row of thecurious, and was bent on entering the stone and wood yards of the worksforbidden to the public; the usual palisade no longer existed owing tothe landslip.

  Just as he was searching in his pocket for the precious identificationcard, which the police grant to the reporters connected with the bignewspapers, Fandor was jostled by an individual coming out of the yards.It was a navvy all covered with mortar, white dust, and mud; he waswithout a hat and held his right hand pressed against his cheek; betweenhis fingers there filtered a few drops of blood.

  The glances of the man and the journalist met, and Fandor felt as thoughsomeone had struck him a blow on the heart! The navvy had given him sostrange a look. Fandor thought he had read in his eyes a threat and aninvitation.

  Whilst our journalist hesitated, troubled by this sudden encounter, theman moved off, forcing his way through the crowd. Then Fandor caughtsight of some of his colleagues, stumbling about amidst the ruins andrubble in the stone-yard. This reassured him; if he followed the navvy,and he had the strongest inclination to do so, he could telephone tosome reporter friend who would supply him with the necessary details forhis article on the accident. He had got some facts already: a suddencollapse of stones and mortar had buried a hand-cart, in which werelarge bars of gold belonging to the Barbey-Nanteuil bank. But theprecious vehicle had soon been rescued, and they were taking it to thebank under escort.

  Satisfied as to this, Fandor followed with his eyes this strange navvywho was going further and further away.

  Fandor had an intuition--a very strong feeling--that he must follow thetrail of this man and make him talk. It was of the utmostimportance--something told him this was so.

  The navvy was not simply going away, he had the air of a man in flight.

  Fandor, who was following now and keenly observant, noticed thehesitating movements of the man--then there was an astonishing move onthe navvy's part: he hailed a taxi and got in. Fandor had the good luckto find another taxi at once; jumping in, he said to the driver:

  "Follow the 4227 G.H. which is in front of you: don't let it outdistanceyou ... you shall have a good tip!"

  The chauffeur, a young alert fellow, understood there was a chase inquestion, and amused at the idea of pursuing a comrade through thecrowded streets of Paris, he set off. He adroitly cut through a file ofcarriages and caught up taxi 4227 G.H. He then proceeded to followclosely in its track.

  Fandor, keen as a bloodhound on the scent, kept watch over theirprogress to an unknown destination.

  They rolled along the avenue de l'Opera: they cut across the rue deRivoli. Then, when they were going at a good pace through the place duCarrousel, Fandor felt much moved by memories of past times, those daysof great and wonderful adventures, when he would follow this very routeto keep some exciting appointment with his good friend, Juve. Howfrequent those appointments used to be, when the famous detective wasalive and so actively at work--the work of unearthing criminals--thosepests of society! Off Fandor used to set when the longed for summonscame, and would meet Juve in his little flat on the left side of theSeine. Ah, those were times, indeed!

  When a lad, Fandor had been practically adopted by the famous detective.Young Jerome Fandor had served a kind of apprenticeship with Juve, andthis had b
rought him into close touch with the ups and downs of a numberof crime dramas: he and Juve together had even been the voluntary, orinvoluntary, heroes of some of them! Then the tragic disappearance ofJuve had occurred, when Fandor had escaped death by a kind of miracle!

  After that dreadful date, our journalist had found himself alone,isolated, with not a soul to whom he cared to confide his perplexities,his anxieties, his hopes! Fandor shuddered at the thought of this.

  The taxi had just crossed the bridge des Sainte Peres, had followed thequay for a few minutes, then rounding the Fine Arts School they enteredthe old and narrow rue Bonaparte....

  What was this? Of course, it could only be a coincidence ... but still... rue Bonaparte--why that only brought the memory of Juve more vividlyto mind! For Juve had lived in this street; and now, a few yards furtheron, they would pass before the modest dwelling where, for years, thedetective had made his home, keeping jealously hidden, from all andsundry, this asylum, this secret retreat.

  Ah, what happy hours, what jolly times, what tragic moments, too, hadFandor not passed in that little flat on the fourth floor! How they hadchatted away in the detective's comfortable study! Then Fandor, full ofspirit, would come and go from room to room, unable to sit still, allfire and activity; and Juve would remain in one place, calm, full ofthought, sometimes sunk in a reverie, often silent for hours at a time,his eyes obstinately fixed on the ceiling, smoking methodically,mechanically even, his eternal cigarette. Oh, those good, good days gonefor ever!

  After the disastrous disappearance of Juve, Fandor had not gone near therue Bonaparte for six months. It was all too painful, to find again thefamiliar rooms and no Juve! It was too painful.

  However, one fine day, he determined to go and see what had happened tohis friend's old home.... Alas, in Paris, the lapse of half a yearsuffices to alter the most familiar scene! In rue Bonaparte, the formerhouse porters had left; their place had been taken by a stout, sulkywoman who gave evasive replies to Fandor's questions. He extracted fromher the information that the tenant of the fourth floor flat had died,that his furniture had been cleared out very soon after his death, andthe flat had been let to an insurance inspector....

  * * * * *

  Fandor was roused from this retrospect: he grew pale, his heart seemedto stop its beating: the taxi he was pursuing had slowed down--had drawnup beside the pavement--had stopped in front of Juve's old home!

  Fandor saw the navvy descend from the taxi, pay his fare, and enter thehouse, still keeping his right hand pressed to his cheek. Without amoment's reflection, Fandor leapt from his taxi, flung a five-francpiece to his driver, and without waiting for the change he rushed intothe house, whose passages and stairs were so familiar.

  The navvy was swiftly mounting the stairs in front of our excited youngjournalist, who was close on his quarry's heels: the two men werepanting as they went up that dark staircase.

  At the fourth floor, Fandor was nearly overcome by emotion, for the manentered Juve's old flat as if he had a right to do so.

  He was on the point of shutting the door in the face of his pursuer, butFandor had foreseen this. He slipped through with a forceful push andcaught the navvy by his jacket.

  Quick as lightning the navvy turned, and the two men stood face toface.... The result was startling!

  Speechless they stared at each other for what seemed an interminablemoment; then, with a strangled cry, Fandor fell into the man's arms, andwas crushed in a strong embrace. Two cries escaped from their lips atthe same moment:

  "Juve!"

  "Fandor!"

  * * * * *

  When he came to himself again, Fandor found he was lying in one of thecomfortable leather arm-chairs in Juve's study. His temples and thelobes of his ears were being bathed with some refreshing liquid: thecommingled scent of ether and eau-de-Cologne was in the air.

  When he opened his eyes, it was with difficulty that he could credit thesight that met them!

  Juve, his dear Juve, was bending over him, gazing at him tenderly,watching his return to consciousness with some anxiety.

  Fandor vainly strove to rise: he felt dazed.

  "Fandor!" murmured Juve, in a voice trembling with emotion. "Fandor, mylittle Fandor. My lad, my own dear lad!"

  Oh, yes, this was Juve, his own Juve, whom Fandor saw before him!... Hehad aged a little, this dear Juve of his--had gone slightly grey at thetemples: there were some fresh lines on his forehead, at the corners ofhis mouth, too; but it was the Juve of old times, for all that!... Juve,alert, souple, robust, Juve in his full vigour, in the prime of life!Oh, a living, breathing, fatherly Juve: his respected master and mostintimate friend--restored to him, after mourning the irreparable loss ofhim and his incomprehensible disappearance!

  While Fandor slowly came to himself, Juve had lessened the disorderedstate of his appearance; he had taken off his workman's clothes, andalso the red beard which he had worn, when he ran up against thejournalist in the place de l'Opera.

  As soon as Fandor was himself again, not only did he feel intense joy, aquite wild joy, but he also knew the good of a keen curiosity. Now hewould know why the detective had felt obliged to disappear, officiallyat any rate, from Paris life for so long a period.

  Protestations of faithful attachment, or unalterable affection pouredfrom Fandor's excited lips, intermingled with questions: he wanted toknow everything at once.

  Juve smiled in silence, and gazed most affectionately at his dear lad.

  At last he said:

  "I am not going to ask you for your news, Fandor, for I have seen yourepeatedly, and I know you are quite all right.... Why, I do believe youhave put on flesh a little!"

  Juve was smiling that enigmatic smile of his.

  Fandor grew impatient, on fire with curiosity. Ah, this was indeed theJuve of bygone days, imperturbable, ironical, rather exasperating also!

  However, Juve took pity on Fandor, who was still under the influence ofthe shock he had received.

  "Well, now, dear lad, did you recognise me, a while ago?"

  Fandor pulled himself together.

  "To tell you the truth, Juve, I did not ... but, when our glances met, Ihad an intuition, a kind of interior revelation of what I had to do, andwithout any beating about the bush--I knew I had to follow you, followyou wherever you went."

  Juve nodded his approval.

  "Very good, dear fellow; your reply gives me infinite pleasure, and ontwo counts: in the first place, I perceive that your remarkable instinctfor getting on to the right scent, strengthened by my teaching, hasimproved immensely since we parted; and, in the second place, I amdelighted to know that I made my head and face so unrecognisable thateven my old familiar friend, Fandor, did not know me when we werebrought face to face!"

  "Why this disguise, Juve?" demanded Fandor, his countenance alight withcuriosity. "How was it I came across you at the very spot where theBarbey-Nanteuil load of gold had been submerged, for the moment, underbricks and mortar? And, with regard to that, Juve, how comes it ..."

  Juve cut Fandor short.

  "Gently! Fandor! Gently! You are putting the cart before the horse, oldfellow; and if we continue to talk by fits and starts, never shall wecome to the end of all we have to say to each other, and must say. Areyou aware, Fandor, that we have been drawn into a succession ofincomprehensible occurrences--a mysterious network of them?... But Ihave good hopes that now we shall be able to work together again; and Ilike to think that if we follow the different trails we have eachstarted on, we shall end up by..."

  It was Fandor's turn to interrupt:

  "Hang it all, Juve! I partly understand you, of course; but there's alot I don't know yet.... What are you after, dear Juve? Are you, as Iam, on the track of Jacques Dollon?"

  There was a pause, then Juve said:

  "I shall reserve the details for our leisure. What matters now is, thatI should make clear to you the principal lines my existence has followedduring the p
ast three years or so. A few minutes will suffice to put youin possession of the main facts. Now, listen."

  The narrative went back to the time when Juve, aided by Fandor, wasclose on the heels of their mortal enemy, the mysterious and elusiveFantomas. The detective and the journalist had succeeded in cooping upthe formidable bandit in a house at Neuilly, belonging to a greatEnglish lady, known under the name of Lady Beltham. This Englishwomanwas the mistress and accomplice of the notorious Fantomas.[9] But at theprecise moment when Juve was about to arrest him, a frightful explosionoccurred, and the building, blown up by dynamite, collapsed in ruins,burying the two friends and some fifteen policemen and detectives.

  [Footnote 9: See _The Exploits of Juve_.]

  Rescuers were on the spot in a very short time, and uninterruptedly, forforty-eight hours, they searched among the ruins for the victims of thedisaster, dead or alive.

  By a miraculous piece of good fortune, Fandor had been but slightlyhurt, and at the end of a few days he was as well as ever. But the poorfellow had lost his best friend--Juve!

  The search for Juve had been a useless one. Several corpses could not beidentified owing to the injuries they had sustained; and, as it seemedincredible that the detective could have escaped, they had concludedthat one of the unrecognisable bodies must be his.

  Juve, however, was not one of the dead!

  Saved in as miraculous a fashion as Fandor had been, less injured even,a few seconds after the frightful crash, he had been able to rise andmake his escape. The distracted detective had raced away from the sceneof disaster in search of Fandor, and also in pursuit of Fantomas, for hebelieved that both had made their escape.

  After wandering about for some hours, he had returned to mingle with thecrowd of rescuers, and had learned that Fandor had been found, and wasnot dangerously hurt: on the other hand, there were those present whodeclared that he, Juve, was killed!

  This unexpected announcement gave him an idea: for an indefinite periodhe would accept this version! For, more than ever set upon catching hisenemy, the detective said to himself, that if Fantomas could feelcertain that Juve no longer existed, the pretended dead would have a farbetter chance of catching the living bandit!

  Thereupon, Juve had submitted his project to his chief, Monsieur Havard;and the head of the police secret service had consented to ignore Juve'spresence among the living.

  Juve knew that Lady Beltham had escaped to England.

  Supposing that Fantomas would rejoin her without delay, the detectiveleft Paris, crossed the Channel. He then went to America. For scarcelyhad he arrived in London when he learned that the bandits had gone offto the United States.

  Juve travelled from place to place for some months. It was a vain quest:Fantomas had vanished, leaving not a trace behind, and the disgusteddetective, now convinced that he had followed a false trail, returned toFrance.

  He determined to set himself to study anew the prison world; he was allthe more interested in it because, before his supposed death, Juve hadeffected the arrest of several members of a band of which Fantomas wasthe leader. Among these were the Cooper, the Beard, and old MotherToulouche.

  Then, at the prison connected with the asylum, Juve had come across awarder, who, some years previous to this, had been the warder in chargeof a man condemned to death, one Gurn, who had not been guillotinedbecause a substituted person had been executed in his stead. Juve wasconvinced that the condemned criminal was none other than Fantomas. Juvestrongly suspected that this warder, Nibet by name, knew a great dealabout this old affair. But soon Nibet passed to the Depot. Theaccomplices of Fantomas, having served the time of their respectivesentences, some at Melun, others at Clermont, all this nice collectionof criminals would meet once more on the pavements of Paris. Juve,therefore, had imperious reasons for mingling with this charmingcrowd!...

  Fandor had followed Juve's rapid narrative with the most intenseinterest.

  "And then, Juve, what then?" insisted Fandor.

  "And then," said the detective, "to make an end of it--for we must notbe forever going over the past adventures--let me tell you, that aftermany and diverse happenings, a band of smugglers and false coiners,among whom are to be found individuals already known to you, notably theBeard, the Cooper, and also that wretch of a Mother Toulouche, one fineday made the acquaintance of a poor sort of creature, simple-minded, andanything but sharp-witted--an individual who goes by the name ofCranajour!"

  "Cranajour?" queried Fandor, "I don't in the least understand."

  "Yes, Cranajour," repeated Juve. "Here is how it came about. Youremember when Fantomas got an unfortunate actor named Valgrand executedin his stead? Well, our mysterious Fantomas, the better to mislead andbamboozle those who might suspect this atrocious jugglery, our bandit ofgenius--for Fantomas has genius--took the personality of Valgrand forseveral hours, and dared to go to the theatre where the real Valgrandwas playing. However, as Fantomas was not capable of playing the part toa finish, he conceived the idea of making those about Valgrand believethat he had been suddenly afflicted with loss of memory, and from thatmoment could not remember anything whatever: Fantomas, the falseValgrand, could thus pass for the true Valgrand, and be taken as such bythe true Valgrand's intimates!... I humbly confess, Fandor, that Icopied Fantomas by creating Cranajour...."

  Juve, then rapidly explained to the journalist the origin of thisnickname, and also told him how the bandits treated him as one ofthemselves; how, as soon as they were convinced that he could notremember anything he had seen or heard for two hours together, theytalked freely before him of their plans and doings!

  The detective went on:

  "I must add, my dear Fandor, that no very sensational revelations havecome to me, so far, through my intimacy with this set of criminals. Itseemed to me I was in the midst of common thieves, who smuggled andcirculated false coin; but one thing did puzzle me--puzzles me still:these folk succeed in selling a considerable number of pounds sterling,false coin, of course, and that without my being able to discover, sofar, where they sell them--who makes their market. They also sell lacesmuggled from Belgium; that, however, interests me but little, and I wasprepared to leave to the lower ranks of the service the duty ofclearing Paris of this common-place brood of criminals; already, indeed,the regular police had arrested one of the smugglers, the Cooper, andtwo of his subordinate confederates; I was about to turn my back on thiscrew in order to give all my attention to a new trail which might put meon the track of Fantomas once more, when the Dollon affair blazed forth;and then suddenly, I meet again my Fandor, braver than ever, moreperspicacious also, adroitly taking the affair in hand, bravelythrusting himself into the breach!

  "Is there any connection between the Dollon affair and my band ofsmugglers?"

  "You will appreciate the importance of this question and the reply to itin a minute, my Fandor, when you learn that the Depot warder, Nibet, isone of the most valuable confederates of the coiners, of MotherToulouche, of that hooligan, the Beard...."

  "Is it possible!" cried Fandor. "Ah, Juve, all this is so strange that Ibelieve you are really on Fantomas' track, once more!"

  Juve shook his head; then he continued:

  "I have still a great deal to tell you, but I must pause a moment tosay, that I ought to apologise to you for a fairly brutal act Icommitted on your behalf--in your best interests, as you will see...."

  And to Fandor, who opened his eyes in astonishment, the detectiverelated, in humorous fashion, the history of the famous kick he hadadministered--a kick wherewith Juve had removed his friend from theimmediate and certain danger of assassination, at the hand and by theknife of Nibet.

  Fandor could not get over it! He grasped Juve's hands and pressed themwarmly.

  "My friend! My good friend!" murmured he, moved almost to tears. "If Ihad had the least suspicion!..."

  Juve interrupted him.

  "There are many more things, Fandor, you never suspected, things youought to know.... And what is more, you seem to me to be neglec
ting yourwork badly at this very moment, Mr. Reporter! It is already one o'clockin the afternoon; and if they are counting on you to supply them withinformation about this affair of the place de l'Opera...."

  Fandor leapt to his feet.

  "It's true!" he cried. "I had quite forgotten it!... But it is of noimportance by the side of ..."

  Juve interrupted.

  "_The affair is serious, Fandor, attention!..._ Do you remember? It isthe formula I employed on two or three occasions, when warning you,after the assassination of Jacques Dollon, after the attack on SoniaDanidoff at Thomery's house...."

  "What! It was you, Juve!" cried Fandor.

  "Yes, it was ... but let us pass on! Time presses. I am going todisappear anew; but you now know where to find me, in future, and underwhat form, should occasion require it. Cranajour I am; Cranajour Iremain--for the time being, at any rate. As to you, Fandor, be off withyou at once ... and go and hatch out that article of yours!"

  Our journalist rose mechanically; but Juve, thinking better of it,caught him by the arm, drew him back and pointed out the writing-table.

  "Come to think of it, you know nothing about the affair, and I do: thereare things which should be said, above all things, to be hinted at ...do you wish me to give you information?... Sit yourself there, my lad: Iam going to dictate your article to you!"

  Our journalist, understanding the gravity of the situation, and wellknowing that if Juve took this course, he had important reasons for sodoing, did not say one word. He simply brought out his fountain pen,screwed it ready for action, and, with his hand resting on a pile ofwhite paper, he waited.

  Juve dictated.

  "First of all, put this as your title:

  _An Audacious Theft_

  "That does not tell the reader anything, but it awakens hiscuriosity.... Let us continue!

  "Write."