XXI
IN A PRISON VAN
In one of the rooms reserved for readers of _La Capitale_, Jerome Fandorwas gravely listening to Madame Bourrat's account of what had occurredat her boarding-house during the night. She had rushed off to tell himand to ask his advice.
"What you tell me, madame, is truly extraordinary!" said Fandor, with anair of profound astonishment....
"How did you discover that the police inspector who seized the trunk andcarried it away was not a genuine policeman?"
"Why, through the arrival of Monsieur Xavie, the police inspector of ourdistrict! I know him.... There was no mistaking who and what he was; andwhen I told him that the trunk had been carried off the precedingevening, rather in the dead of night, he guessed everything...."
"And what did he say?..."
"Oh, he made us all come to the police station; and I can assure youthat he looked far from pleased!"
"You must admit, dear madame, that his annoyance was not withoutreason!... The police were made fine fools of in this affair.... Butafterwards?... Whom did he take back with him to the police station?"
"He took me and my manservant."
"And when you got to the police station?"
"Well, Monsieur Fandor, when we reached the police station, he made uscome into his office, and there he put us through a regularexamination,... just as though he suspected us!"
"But there must have been an accomplice in your house who let therobbers in," said Fandor. "I do not suppose the false police inspectorforced the door open!"
"Ah, but, Monsieur Fandor, here is something I do not understand, nordoes anybody else!... No, they did not try to hide themselves--not theleast in the world! They rang the bell; they asked to see me; they toldme what they had come for; and, accompanied by my manservant, carriedaway the trunk, and had it put on the cab--all in the most open andbare-faced manner!"
"It was your manservant who accompanied them?"
"But most certainly ... and that very fact turned against Jules, in avery nasty manner.... Poor Jules! Just imagine, the police inspectorfinished by ordering my house to be thoroughly searched from top tobottom! And when the policemen returned, without a why or wherefore,they took Jules away to another part of the police station!"
"I say! I say!"
"Oh, it was all explained! As soon as Jules had gone, the policeinspector told me that they had found keys in his rooms, keys whichcould be made to fit any kind of lock whatever. Monsieur Xavie wasconvinced that my poor Jules was a burglar--imagine it!"
"And you, yourself, madame, are convinced of the contrary?"
"Oh, assuredly! Why, I have known Jules a very long time! And in manylittle ways on many occasions, he has shown himself to be strictlyhonest."
"But those false keys?"
"Those false keys, Monsieur Fandor, why I myself made Jules buy them,hoping to find among them one that would open my coach-house."
"So that?..."
"So that, Monsieur Fandor, the police inspector was obliged to agreewith me that Jules was honest!"
"And he released this servant of yours?" asked Fandor.
His tone expressed annoyance.
"No, and that is why I am so distressed. He said, that provisionally, atleast, my servant, Jules, was to be considered as under arrest! Whatought to be done to get him let out?"
"But, madame!... He will be set free to-morrow, you may be certain ofit!..."
"No doubt he will!... All the same, there is my house turned upsidedown, and I need Jules to help me to-night!... I really do not know whatI shall do without him! Poor fellow!... I simply cannot imagine how itis they suspect him!"
Fandor said, with mock gravity:
"Ah, madame, Justice is sometimes so stupid--so wrongheaded!... Lookhere now, would you like a bit of good advice?... Telephone to MessieursBarbey-Nanteuil. They are well known and powerful--perhaps they wouldexert their influence in your servant's favour? He might be set freethis evening! I, you see, am but a journalist, and without a scrap ofinfluence!"
Madame Bourrat thought this a good idea. Fandor rang for an attendant.
"Take madame to the telephone!"
Left to himself, the reporter could not help rubbing his hands.
"I must get rid of this excellent woman, who is certainly the mostfoolish person it has ever been my lot to meet. Good hearing! Thatservant of hers is under lock and key--things are going in the rightdirection ... but they are not going well for me!... If he confesses,to-morrow, when he is had up for examination, then the police will havethe information before me!... Then, too, they are such duffers--suchbunglers--that they are quite capable of giving that Jules hisliberty!... What the deuce must I do to prevent his being let loose, andhow am I to stop the judicial interrogation?... What a dog's life ajournalist's is!"
Madame Bourrat reappeared.
"Monsieur Nanteuil is not there," she said. "But I got intocommunication with Monsieur Barbey.... He advised me to wait tillto-morrow: he said it was too late in the day to do anything...."
"But, will he not intervene to-morrow?"
"I don't know. To tell the truth, I am sure Monsieur Barbey thought itvery inconsiderate of me to disturb him about a matter in which he takesnot the slightest interest."
"That's a fact. What possible interest can the bankers take in such amatter?... My advice was absurd!"
Fandor rose. As he was seeing his visitor out, he said:
"In any case, dear madame, count on me to-morrow morning. I shall callat your house about eleven. If there is anything fresh, we can talk itover!..."
* * * * *
"Oh, here's Janson-de-Sailly College!... Oh, what detestableremembrances you conjure up!... But--this won't do!... Go it, my boy!...I must play the part!"
The plumber, who had just given utterance to these remarks, glancedsharply about him. When he had made sure that there was no one close onhis heels, he stepped into the roadway, and started on a zigzag coursewhich seemed likely to upset his balance. Crossing the avenueHenri-Martin, going straight, towards the town hall at the corner of therue de la Pompe, the good plumber, who was staggering more than alittle, began to stutter and stammer in a drunken voice:
"_It is the final struggle!_"
The passers-by looked round.
"They sing the _Internationale_ in the streets now, it seems!" remarkeda severe-looking gentleman.
The workman turned to this correct personage.
"What of it?... Don't you think it a jolly fine thing then?"
In a thick voice he continued to sing:
"_Let us gather, and on the morrow..._"
The severe and correct personage spoke.
"My friend, you would do better to hold your tongue!... You forget thatthere is a police station close by!..."
But the incorrigible plumber caught the correct personage by his coattails.
"If I sing the _Internationale_, it's because I'm a free man--ain'tI?... A free man can sing if he likes, can't he? Eh!... Why don't yousing then?... Eh!..."
The correct personage drew himself up stiffly: tried to push theobnoxious plumber away.... The workman had now reached that stage ofdrunkenness when discussions tend to become interminable.
The gentleman pushed the drunken man aside, saying:
"Come! Come! Go away!... Leave me alone!"
But the maudlin plumber was attracting the attention of the passers byhis gestures. He addressed the world at large.
"Would you believe it--that fellow there don't want me to sing!... No!Well, I'm going to!" and he started triumphantly.
"_It is the--the--final ... strug-gle!_"
A policeman came out of the station with a solemn air. He put his handon the tipsy plumber's shoulder in paternal fashion.
"Go along with you, my friend!... Come now--pass along--pass along!" Buthe could not make the plumber budge before he had finished his verse,any more than he could teach him to walk straight on the spur of themoment!... Leaving hold of
the gentleman's coat tails, the worthyplumber seized the policeman's arm.'
"Oh, you, you're a brother!... I have education, I have! You're aworkman too, I know!..."
As the police inspector pushed him off, trying to make him go on hisway, the plumber put his arm round him.
"No! No!... show you're a workman! Sing with me!"
"_It is the final ..._"
The scandal could no longer be tolerated! Street-corner idlers weregathering, people were laughing at the policeman: strong measures werenecessary.
"Come now," said the policeman. "Yes, or no! Will you be off, and gohome?... Eh!... Or shall I take you to the station?..."
"You take me?... You take me?... Why, it would take four of you to takeme!..."
There was no shilly-shallying after this! Wounded in his vanity, theservant of the law did not hesitate.
"All right!" said he; and seizing the plumber by the collar, althoughthere was no attempt at resistance, he dragged his prisoner towards thetown hall of the district, for the police station was there also.
"Some more game for the Depot!" said the policeman as he passed theguard.... "A fellow I can't get rid of! Are the cells full up?"
Other policemen came up. An arrest in a peaceful district gives interestto the dull routine of the men on duty.
"The cells full? Go along with you! There's only a small shopkeeper whohad no papers."
Thereupon the unfortunate singer, who continued to stagger about, wasquickly pushed into the dark room called "the detention room."
An ordinary every day incident of the streets, this arrest of adrunkard!
"I shall have to write out a report for this fellow!" said thepoliceman, who had arrested the songster... "and the 'Salad Basket'[10]passes in an hour's time! ... I shall just do it!"
[Footnote 10: Prison van.]
* * * * *
"Have you anyone for the Depot to-day?" asked the driver from his highseat on the prison van. He was on a collecting journey as is usual everyevening, when the Salad Baskets, as they are vulgarly called, pass tothe various police stations of Paris to pick up the individuals arrestedduring the day.
"Two of 'em," answered the police sergeant on duty. Whilst officialpapers were being interchanged and forms were being filled in accordingto rule, policemen went to the cells to bring out the two prisoners tobe despatched to the Depot.
The first to pass out was the costermonger. He was straightway put intoone of the narrow compartments in the Salad Basket. Then it was the turnof the tipsy and obstreperous workman, who was now silent, moody, andapparently sober.
"Hop it now!" cried the policeman. "Come along with you, you miserabledrunk!... March now!... Foot it!"
As the "drunk" hit against the partition of the narrow passagewayrunning up the middle of the Salad Basket, the policeman, with a shove,pushed him into one of the compartments, carefully shutting the littledoor on him and fastening it.
"My word!" he exclaimed. "That fellow wouldn't have been capable ofwalking three steps in an hour's time!"
As the driver climbed to his seat on the van, the policeman called out,with a laugh:
"You have a traveller inside who doesn't detest wine!... It's a pity tosee a man in such a hoggish state!"
This same policeman would have been surprised, could he have seen thebibulous one's face when the Salad Basket cast loose from her mooringsand started off in the direction of the Point-du-Jour police station,the last on the round to be visited!
The "drunk" whom one push had sufficed to plant on his seat, had brisklydrawn himself upright and was smiling broadly, a wide, noiseless smile!
"What a joke!... And what a jolly good actor I should have made!"thought Jerome Fandor, giving himself a mental hug of satisfaction...."Ah! They arrest the individuals I want to set talking!... The policeimagine they are going to push in first and find out the answer to theriddle!... We shall see!"
Fandor was listening intensely and trying to discover from the movementsof the Salad Basket what street they were passing along.
"Smooth going ... evidently we are still in the rue de la Pompe, so Ihave about a quarter of an hour more of it!"
Fandor examined the tiny cell in which he had been imprisoned of his ownfree will.
"Not much to be said for it!" ran his thoughts. "There is scarcely roomto sit ... impossible to stand up or turn around ... nearly dark ... andprecious little air comes in through those wooden shutters!... Ishouldn't think there ever had been an escape from these vans!..."
Fandor smiled broadly.
"Even if I don't succeed, it is worth while making the attempt!... But Ishall succeed--see if I don't!... I settled it in my mind that I was toleave the cells after this costermonger: he is in front of me, thereforethe cell behind me is empty. It will be deucedly queer if, at Auteuilpolice station, they don't put that confounded Jules in it, whom Iintend to interview under the nose of the police!... I shall starttalking to him by tapping on the partition in prisoner's language. Thefellow is pretty sure to be an old offender, so he will know thesystem.... If he doesn't, when we get to the Depot, I will push up tohim somehow and get a few words with him.... If the Depot is full, weshall be stuck into the common cell until morning.... So, I take it ascertain that my interview with this true and faithful servant will comeoff, and I shall get to know a good deal about the mystery!..."
As an afterthought, it occurred to Fandor that probably there had neverbeen such a light-hearted occupant of this cell as he....
"Ah, that's the sound of the trams!... One jolt! Two jolts! Good!... Therails!... We are crossing rue Mozart! We are going faster--in fiveminutes we shall be at the Auteuil police station, and there we canstart our little operations!"
There was one thing that attracted Fandor's attention, which was keenlyon the alert. There was a violent jolt, and he had a distinct impressionthat the vehicle turned to the right.
"Why, where the deuce are they taking us?" Fandor asked himself. "To theboulevard Exelmans station?... We had not reached the end of the rueMozart, surely!... Where did we turn then? Rue du Ranelagh?... No, thereis a channel stone at the entrance, and I should have felt it!... Rue del'Assomption!... Again no. The roadway is up: I should be knocked aboutmore than this on my wooden seat. We are going over a perfectly keptroad, which cannot have much traffic!... Why, of course, it is rue duDocteur-Blanche!... Isn't rue Mozart barred at the end? Yes. The drivermust be going round by the boulevard Montmorency.... Ah, well! I am inno hurry! There will be time enough for me to pay my respects to theillustrious Jules!"
Just as Fandor was thus congratulating himself, he was thrown againstthe side of his cell! The van seemed to have come into violent collisionwith some object and had tilted over to a considerable extent.
Muffled oaths came from neighbouring cells; a stifled exclamationreached Fandor's ears; then louder still, came the intermittent hummingand snorting of a motor-car.
"Confound you!... can't you pay attention to where you are going?...Keep to your right!"
Slightly stunned, Fandor heard some one knocking.
A voice asked:
"Are you hurt?"
"No, but ..."
Already the questioner had moved away.
"Evidently," thought Fandor, "the driver wants to know whether his humanpackages are damaged or not! We have collided with another vehicle!...Cheerful!"
Fandor's cell was now at such an angle that he could only suppose thatthe Salad Basket had had one of its wheels broken.
"What a nuisance!" he murmured. "Before they have finished their palaveras to how the accident happened and have repaired the damage, we shallhave been here a full half-hour.... Jules will be in a temper!"
Minute succeeded minute, long, interminable minutes, and Fandor couldnot hear clearly what was said, what was being done to put the SaladBasket on its legs again.... The atmosphere in the little cell wasbecoming intolerable; for the movement of the vehicle had driven freshair inside the shutter, and now th
at the Salad Basket was stationary,the air was becoming almost unbreathable.
Fandor's nerves were on edge.
"It cannot be that they are going to leave us stranded here!" thoughthe.... "Ah, now they have started repairs!" Fandor noticed that his cellwas gradually regaining its ordinary level.... A lifting-jack must havebeen slipped under the vehicle, for there was a melancholy creakingsound. They must be putting the wheel on again!...
"No," thought Fandor, after some time had passed. "Never would I havesupposed that it could have taken so much time to repair a SaladBasket!... Why we shall soon have been stuck here for two mortalhours!... I hope it won't make any difference to our going to the Depot,nor stop my getting into close touch with that villain Jules!"
There was a further period of waiting. Then our exasperated journalistheard the driver pass down the centre of the van. The van doorslammed.... Once more the Salad Basket was loosed from its moorings.
"Something queer is going on!" said Fandor suddenly. He felt certain thevan had turned completely round and was going in the direction it camefrom.
"Now where in the world are we going?... By what kind of a route are wemaking for that blessed police station?"
There were spaces of asphalt, succeeded by wood pavement, then by hardstones, then asphalt and wood again, and turning succeeded turning,whilst a new Tom Thumb was doing his possible to guess the route theSalad Basket was taking. Presently Fandor gave it up. He had to admitthat he was completely lost.... Which way the Salad Basket was going heknew no more than the Man in the Moon!
"We have been trotting along for more than half an hour; therefore wecannot be going to the boulevard Exelmans police station ... thedistance from the rue du Docteur-Blanche to the Point-du-Jour is notgreat...."
As Fandor was murmuring these words, the van slowed down, turned round;then, with a bump and a jolt, it mounted the footpath.
"Now for it," said Fandor. "This is certainly not the Point-du-Jourstation!... We are passing under an archway--now we are turningagain.... Ah, we draw up, at last!... Not too soon!"
The van did stop.
Again a wait. Fandor cocked both ears; he wondered who was going toenter the cell next his. Then a man approached the door of his littlecell, where he was indeed "cribbed, cabined and confined"; inserted akey in the lock, opened, and shouted in a brutal tone:
"Out with you!... March! Quick now!"
Fandor had no choice but to obey the orders hurled at him. But no soonerhad he descended the steps of the prison van than he exclaimed:
"By Jove! The Depot!"
This was not the moment to express all the surprise he felt at beinglanded at Police Headquarters in this fashion.... All round the SaladBasket the police were ranged in irregular order. They shouted to him tobe quick.
"Come on with you! Hurry there!"
Fandor, followed by the costermonger, was pushed towards a little opendoor in the grey wall which led into a kind of office, where an oldfrowning man was already looking through the papers, which had beenrespectfully handed to him by a warder.
"So you have brought only two of the birds?" remarked the frowningofficial.
"Yes, superintendent."
"Good, that will do!..."
Turning to the warders, the frowning little superintendent ordered:"Take them away!... Cell 14.... Useless to rouse the whole place!"
Once more the warders pushed Fandor before them, as well as the poorcostermonger: they were driven into a dark corridor on to which a row ofcells opened.
The head warder opened a door.
"In with you, my merry men! You will be put through your pacesto-morrow!"
As the door fell to with a resounding clang, Jerome had inspected theplace by the light of a lantern.
"Empty!... No luck!... My plan has been spoiled: I shall not be able tointerview Jules!"
Philosophically, Jerome Fandor was preparing to go to sleep on the plankbed which decorated one end of the cell, when the little costermonger,roused from his torpid condition, began to moan and groan.
"Oh, what a misfortune!... To think I am innocent! Innocent as an unbornbabe!... What's to be done!... Oh, what's to be done!"
The last thing Fandor wished to do was to start a conversation with hislamenting companion. He tapped the costermonger on the shoulder.
"Good Heavens, man, the best thing you can do is to go to sleep! Take myword for it!"
Without puzzling his brains any further over the enigmas he wished toget to the bottom of, Fandor stretched himself on his plank bed, and wassoon sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
* * * * *
Monsieur Fuselier looked perplexed.
"You, Fandor! You arrested!... But am I going mad?"
Our journalist had been taken from his cell at eight in the morning, andhad been conducted to the office of the Public Prosecutor. Here, theacting magistrate, in conformity with the law, wished to put him throughthe examination which would establish his identity. All arrested personshave to submit to this interrogation within twenty-four hours of theirarrival at the Depot.
Jerome Fandor had given his name at once, and, in order to prove thetruth of his statements, he had asked that Monsieur Fuselier should besent for, so that the magistrate might vouch for his identity and say aword in his favour.
Monsieur Fuselier had hastened to the Depot, had taken Fandor to hisoffice, and had anxiously questioned him. Why, he asked, had the policebeen obliged to arrest him for drunkenness in the open thoroughfare?
When Fandor had concluded his statement, the magistrate exclaimed:
"Your ruse is inconceivable!... I must compliment you highly on yourability and your detective gifts!"
"I wish I could agree with you," replied Fandor in a depressed tone. "Inspite of everything, I have not got into communication with Jules. But,Monsieur Fuselier, have you interrogated him yet?"
The magistrate shook his head.
"Alas, my poor friend, you have no idea of the extraordinary events ofthe past night; evidently, notwithstanding the fact that you played apassive part in them!"
"I played a part?... Extraordinary events?... What the deuce do youmean?"
"I mean, dear Fandor, that all Paris is laughing over it. The policehave been tricked! You have been tricked! Did you not tell me, just now,that your prison van had had an accident? Do you know what reallyhappened?"
"I ask you to tell me."
"Your vehicle was run into by a motor-car. The driver was extremelyclumsy ... or very capable!"
"What's that?" Fandor leaned forward, keen as a pointer on the scent.
"It was like this," replied Monsieur Fuselier. "Your Salad Basket wasvery badly knocked about by the collision. The driver could not possiblyrepair it single-handed. He telephoned to Headquarters. Help was sent atonce, and he had orders to drive to the Depot as soon as he could: hewas not to trouble about the boulevard Exelmans station; that, for once,could be cleared the following morning. Unfortunately the telephonemessages and replies had taken up a certain amount of time. When theytelephoned to the boulevard Exelmans station, from Headquarters, to warnthem not to expect the injured Salad Basket, the Depot man who wastelephoning was extremely surprised to hear that the Salad Basket hadalready passed on to the Auteuil station and had taken away the arrestedindividuals there, notably this famous Jules!..."
"I never calculated on this!" cried Fandor.
"The truth is, my dear fellow, that Salad Basket of yours was notknocked out of action by an unlucky accident--the knock-out wasintentional--was carefully planned! It was done to stop your van fromreaching the Auteuil station!... While your Basket was being repaired,another Basket appeared at the Auteuil clearing station! This, if youplease, had been stolen! It was standing before the Palais de Justice.Two accomplices took possession of it and drove away. The daring rascalswere suitably disguised, of course! They produced false papers atAuteuil, got them endorsed, went through the regular forms, and carriedoff the men from the detention
cells, under the very nose and eyes ofthe superintendent himself!"
"What became of the stolen Basket?" snapped Fandor.
"It was found at dawn near the fortifications, and, need I say--empty!"
"So that Jules has escaped?"
"As you say!..."
"And the car which intentionally knocked my Salad Basket out ofaction--whose was it?"
Monsieur Fuselier smiled.
"Oh, it's a queer affair, in fact, it may lead to the wind-up of all theDollon business--we may now get to the bottom of that series ofcrimes!... You will never guess who is the owner of that car,Fandor?..."
"No, I am no good at guessing riddles just now ... besides, I hatethem!" Fandor was nettled, exasperated!
"We got the number of the car from a witness of the smash-up; and wehave verified its correctness. Well, my dear fellow, the owner of thatcar is--Thomery!"
"Thomery!" gasped Fandor.
"Yes. I have summoned him to appear before me--the summons has just beenissued. Between you and me, I think Thomery is guilty. When he appearshere, in, say an hour from now, I shall issue a writ of arrest againstthis sugar refiner financier, and we don't know what else!"
But, no sooner had Monsieur Fuselier finished his statement--a statementwhich he fully expected would strike his young reporter friend dumb withamazement--than Fandor threw himself back in his chair and roared withlaughter.
The magistrate was taken aback!...
"But ... what the devil do you find to laugh at in that?"
Fandor had already checked his hilarity.
"Oh, it's nothing! Only, Fuselier, I ask myself, if really and truly,Monsieur Thomery, who is a very big fellow solidly built, has been ableto discover a dodge, by means of which he can leave Jacques Dollon'simprints here, there and everywhere!"
"But he does not leave Jacques Dollon's imprints, because Dollon isliving, because he came to see his sister--why, you admitted thatyourself!"
"Why, of course! It's true!... Jacques Dollon is alive.... I hadforgotten.... Thomery can only be his accomplice then!" declared Fandor.And as Monsieur Fuselier stared at him, astonished at the way he hadreceived the sensational news of the night, Fandor rose to take hisleave.
"My dear Fuselier, will you allow me to express my opinion?..."
Monsieur Fuselier nodded.
"Well, I am sure, that with regard to this affair, there are moresurprises in store for us: you have not got the answer to theriddle--not yet!"
With that, Fandor smiled and bowed, and left the magistrate's room. Hequitted the Palais, half-smiling, half-serious.... What was he going todo next?
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