Messengers of Evil

by Pierre Souvestre and Marcel Allain

  XXIII

  FROM VAUGIRARD TO MONTMARTRE

  On the boulevard du Palais, Jerome Fandor looked at his watch: it washalf an hour after noon.

  "The hour for copy! Courage! I will go to _La Capitale_."

  Scarcely had he put foot in the large hall when the editorial secretarycalled:

  "There you are, Fandor!... At last!... That's a good thing!... Whateverhave you been up to since yesterday evening? I got them to telephone toyou twice, but they could not get on to you, try as they might. My dearfellow, you really mustn't absent yourself without giving us warning."

  Fandor looked jovial: certainly not repentant.

  "Oh, say at once that I've been in the country!... But seriously, whatdid you want me for? Is there anything new?..."

  "A most mysterious scandal!..."

  "Another?"

  "Yes. You know Thomery, the sugar refiner?"

  "Yes, I know him!"

  "Well--he has disappeared!... No one knows where he is!"

  Fandor took the news stolidly.

  "You don't astonish me: you must be prepared for anything from thosesort of people!..."

  It was the turn of the secretary to be surprised at Fandor's calmness.

  "But, old man, I am telling you of a disappearance which is causing anyamount of talk in Paris!... You don't seem to grasp the situation!Surely you know that Thomery represents one of the biggest fortunesknown?"

  "I know he is worth a lot."

  "His flight will bring ruin to many."

  "Others will probably be enriched by it!"

  "Probably. That is not our concern. What we are after are details abouthis disappearance. You are free to-day, are you not? Will you take theaffair in hand then? I would put off the appearance of the paper forhalf an hour rather than not have details to report which would throwsome light on this extraordinary affair."

  Then, as Fandor did not show the slightest intention of going in searchof material for a Thomery article, the secretary laughed.

  "Why don't you start on the trail, Fandor?... My word, I don't recognisea Fandor who is not off like a zigzag of lightning on such a reportingjob as this!... We want illuminating details, my dear man!"

  "You think I haven't got any, then?... Be easy: this evening's issue of_La Capitale_ will have all the details you could desire on thevanishing of Thomery."

  Thereupon, Fandor turned on his heel without further explanation, andwent towards one of his colleagues, who went by the title of "Financierof the paper." The Financier had an official manner, and had an officeof his own, the walls of which were carefully padded, for Marville--thatwas his name--frequently received visits from important personages.

  Fandor began questioning him on the subject of Thomery's disappearance.

  "Tell me, my dear fellow, what is happening in the financial world, nowthat Thomery has disappeared."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Where is the money going--all the coppers?"

  "The coppers?"

  "Why, yes! I fancy that when an old fellow like that does the vanishingtrick, there are terrible results on the Bourse? Will you be kindenough to explain what does happen in such a case?"

  Very much flattered by Fandor's request, Marville cried:

  "But, my boy, you are asking for nothing less than a course of politicaleconomy--but I cannot do that--on the spur of the moment!... Stateprecisely what you want to know."

  "What I want to know is just this: Who loses money through Thomery'sdisappearance?"

  The Financier raised his hands to Heaven.

  "But everybody! Everybody!... Thomery was a daring fellow: without himhis business is nothing!... There was a big failure on the marketto-day."

  "Good, but who gains by it?"

  "How, who gains by it?"

  "Yes. I presume Thomery's disappearance must be profitable to someone?Can you think of any people to whose interest it would be that this oldfellow should disappear?"

  The Financier reflected.

  "Those who gain money by the disappearance of Thomery--only thespeculators, I should say. Suppose now that a Monsieur Tartempion hadbought Thomery shares at ninety francs. To-day these shares would not beworth more than seventy francs: Tartempion loses money. But let ussuppose some financier speculates on the probable fall of Thomeryshares, and has sold to clients speculating on the rise of these shares;these shares to be delivered in a fortnight, at a price of ninetyfrancs. If Thomery was still there, his shares would be worth, possibly,the ninety francs, possibly more. In the first case, the financier'sdeal would amount to nothing: in the second case, his deal would be adeplorable one, because he would be obliged to deliver at an inferiorprice, and would be responsible for the difference...."

  "Whilst Thomery dead ..."

  "Dead--no! But simply in flight, his shares fall to nothing, and thissame financier may buy at sixty francs which he must deliver at ninetyfrancs in fifteen days. In that case he has done excellent business."

  "Excellent, certainly ... and ... tell me, my dear Marville, do you knowif there has been any such deal in Thomery shares on a large scale?"

  "Ah! You ask me more than I can tell you now ... but that would be knownat the Bourse."

  No doubt Jerome Fandor was going to continue his interrogation, butthere was a great disturbance in the editorial room near by. They wereshouting:

  "Fandor! Fandor!"

  The editorial secretary entered the Financier's room, and, catchingsight of Fandor, he cried:

  "What's the meaning of this? What are you up to here? I told you thisThomery affair was important.... Be off for the news as quick as youcan.... Here is the _Havas_. It seems they have just found Thomery'sbody in a little apartment in the rue Lecourbe."

  Fandor forced himself to appear very interested.

  "Already! The police have been quick!... I also had an idea that thatThomery had more than simply disappeared!"

  "You had that idea?" asked the startled secretary.

  "Yes, my dear fellow, I had--absolutely!"

  After a silence, Fandor added:

  "All the same, I am going out to get news. In half an hour's time, Iwill telephone details of the death. Does the _Havas_ say whether it isa crime or a suicide?"

  "No. Evidently the police know nothing."

  * * * * *

  "Monsieur Havard, I am delighted to meet you!... Surely now, you willnot refuse me a little interview?"

  "Not I, my dear Fandor! I know only too well that you would not take'no' for an answer."

  "And you are right. I beg of you to give me some details, not as regardsThomery's death, for I have already made my little investigationtouching that; but as to how the police managed to find the poor man'sbody."

  "In the easiest way in the world. Monsieur Thomery's servants were verymuch astonished yesterday morning, when they could not find their masterin the house.

  "After eleven, Thomery's absence from the Bourse gave rise todisquieting rumors. He had some big deals to put through, therefore hisabsence could only be accounted for in one way--he had had an accidentof some sort.

  "Naturally enough, they warned Headquarters, and at once I suspectedthere might be a little scandal of some sort.... You guess that Iimmediately went myself to Thomery's house?... I examined his papers;and I found by chance three receipts for the rent of a flat, in the nameof Monsieur Durand, rue Lecourbe. One of them was of recent date. I, ofcourse, sent one of my men to ascertain who lived there! This manlearned from the portress that there was a new tenant there, who had notyet moved in with his furniture; but who, the evening before, hadbrought in a heavy trunk.... My man went up to this flat, and had thedoor opened. You know under what conditions he found Thomery's deadbody."

  "And you did not find indications which went to show why MonsieurThomery committed suicide?"

  "Committed suicide?... When a financier disappears, my Fandor, one isalways tempted to cry 'suicide'; but, this time, I confess to you that Ido not think it w
as anything of the kind!..."

  "Because?"

  "Because"--and Monsieur Havard bent his head. "Well, when I reached thescene of the crime I immediately thought that we were not face to facewith a suicide. A man who wishes to kill himself, and to kill himselfbecause of money affairs, a man like Thomery, does not feel thenecessity of committing suicide in a little flat rented under a falsename, and in front of a trunk, which you know, do you not, belonged toMademoiselle Dollon! One might swear that everything was arrangedexpressly to make anyone believe that Thomery had strangled himself,after having stolen the trunk, for some unknown reason!"

  "You did not find any kind of clue?"

  "Yes, indeed! And you know it as well as I do, for I have no doubt theextraordinary event has been the gossip of the neighbourhood. On thecover of the trunk we have once again found an imprint, a very clearimpression--the famous imprint of Jacques Dollon!..."

  "And you found nothing else?"

  "Yes, in the dust on the floor, we found the marks of steps, numerousfoot marks: we have made tracings of them."

  "My steps, evidently," thought Fandor. But what he said was:

  "What, in short, is your view of the general position, Monsieur Havard?"

  "I am very much bothered about it. For my part, I think we are onceagain faced by another of Jacques Dollon's crimes. This wretch, afterhaving attempted to assassinate his sister, has learned that we weregoing to search mademoiselle's room. He then made arrangements to stealthis trunk, by pretending to be a police inspector, as you know; then hebrought the trunk to this flat, examined its contents thoroughly, andhaving some special interest in the sugar refiner's death, he managed toget him to come to the flat, and there assassinated him, leaving hisdead body in front of this trunk, where it was bound to be seen; allthis he did in order to tangle the traces and perplex those on histrack...."

  "But how do you explain the fact of Jacques Dollon being so simple as toleave the imprints of his hand everywhere?... Deuce take it, thisindividual is at liberty: he reads the papers.... He knows that MonsieurBertillon is tracing him!... So great a criminal would certainly be onhis guard!"

  "Of course! Such a successful criminal as Dollon has shown himself tobe, must have resources at his disposal, which allow him to laugh at thepolice. He does not trouble to cover his tracks; it is enough for himthat he should escape us."

  As Fandor could not suppress a smile, the chief of the detective forceadded:

  "Oh, we shall finish by arresting Dollon, have no fear! So far he hasquite extraordinary luck in his favour, but the luck will turn, and weshall put our hand on his collar!"

  "I certainly hope you may. But what are you going to do now?"

  The two had stopped on the edge of the pavement, and were talkingwithout paying any attention to the passers-by who rubbed shoulders withthem. The well-known journalist and the important police official wereunrecognised.

  Monsieur Havard took Fandor's arm.

  "Look here, come along with me, Fandor? Just the time to telephone to apolice station, and then I will take you with me to make a freshinvestigation."

  "Where!"

  "At Jacques Dollon's studio. I have kept the key of the house, and Iwish to see whether I can find any other rent receipts made out in thename of Durand. Though I can see how Dollon inveigled Dollon into atrap, I do not understand how it came about that Thomery paid the rentof that trap. There is some subtle contrivance of Dollon's here; I wantto get to the bottom of it.... Will you come to rue Norvins?"

  "I jolly well will!" cried Fandor.

  The chief of the detective force telephoned to Headquarters, whilstFandor got into communication with _La Capitale_. He sent on a report ofthe Thomery case up to that moment.

  Quitting the police station, the two men hailed a cab, and were drivento the rue Norvins.

  * * * * *

  As far as they could tell, the artist's house had not been entered sinceElizabeth Dollon's departure.

  The neglected garden, with its rank growth of grass and weeds, gave anadded air of melancholy to the deserted house.

  Monsieur Havard put the key in the lock of the front door.

  "Don't you think, Fandor, it gives one a queer feeling to enter a housewhere an unaccountable crime has been committed?" The key grated in thelock, and Monsieur Havard added:

  "In spite of oneself, there is the feeling that some terrifying spectreis lurking within!"

  "Or a ghost!" said Fandor.

  And as the door was unlocked and opened, our journalist asked:

  "Where shall we start this domiciliary visit?"

  "Let us begin with the studio," replied Monsieur Havard, mounting to thefirst story.

  No sooner had they entered the room, than a double cry escaped from thetwo men.

  "Oh!..."

  "Great Heaven!..."

  In the very middle of the studio, there was the rigid body of a manhanging.

  They rushed forward....

  "Dead!" was Monsieur Havard's cry.

  "Horribly dead!" echoed Fandor.

  "Shall we never lay hands on those wretches?" Monsieur Havard stared,horrified, at the hanging corpse. He brought a chair, grasped the strongsharp knife he always carried about him, and, aided by Fandor, he cutthe rope, laid the hanged man flat on the floor, and proceeded toexamine the miserable remnant of a human being.

  The face was swollen, gashed, crushed....

  "The hands have been dipped in vitriol--they did not want finger printstaken--it is--it is Jacques Dollon!"

  Fandor shook his head.

  "Jacques Dollon? Of course, it isn't!... If it were Dollon, he would nothang himself here.... Why should he hang himself?"

  Monsieur Havard remarked:

  "He has not hanged himself. Again the stage has been set!... I couldswear the man had been killed by blows from a hammer and hangedafterwards!... It seems to me, that if death had been caused throughstrangulation, there would have been marks round the neck.... But see,Fandor, the rope has hardly made a mark."

  "No, the man was dead when they strung him up."

  "It is of secondary importance!" remarked Fandor, who was preoccupied.

  "You are mistaken: it matters a great deal! It decidedly looks as ifDollon had accomplices, who wished to be rid of him."

  Fandor shook his head.

  "It is not Dollon! It cannot be Dollon!"

  "Look at the vitriolised hands--that was a precaution."

  "I say, as you did just now: it's like a set piece--a bit of slagassassins' stage craft."

  "I say, in Dollon's house, we have found Dollon at home!"

  Fandor was not convinced. He felt certain Dollon had lied in the Depot.

  "Well, Elizabeth Dollon can settle the question for us. There may besome physical peculiarity, some mark by which she can identify herbrother's body!"

  But Fandor was examining the body very carefully. Suddenly he rose fromhis stooping posture, exclaiming:

  "I know who it is!"

  "Who?"

  "Jules! None other than Madame Bourrat's servant, Jules!... That is tosay, an accomplice whom the bandits we are after wanted to be rid of. Hemight give them away when brought up for examination. That was why theymanaged his escape: they killed him afterwards, because he had servedtheir turn, and was now an encumbrance."

  "Your explanation is plausible, Fandor; but how about the truth of it?"

  "This proves the truth of it!" cried Fandor, pointing to a cicatrice onthe back of the neck of the murdered man: it was the clear mark of wherean abscess had been.

  "I am certain I noticed a similar mark on the neck of Jules. He sat infront of me the other day, and I particularly noticed this mark. Thedead man is Jules. I am certain it is Jules!"

  Monsieur Havard was silent. Presently he said:

  "If it is Jules ... it must be admitted that we are no further forward!"

  Fandor was about to utter a protest, when there was a knock on thestudio door. Startled, the two me
n looked at each other anxiously.

  "It can only be one of the force," murmured Monsieur Havard. "I toldthem I was coming here with you, and that they were to send for me ifnecessary."

  The two men walked to the door. Monsieur Havard opened it. There stood acyclist member of the police force. He saluted respectfully, and toldhis chief that he had come with a message from Michel.

  "The message?"

  "That the arrest is successful, chief."

  "Which?"

  "That of the band of Numbers, chief."

  "Good! Whom have you bagged?"

  "Almost the whole lot, chief!"

  "That is to say?"

  "Mother Toulouche, Beard, Mimile, otherwise Emilet, and the Cooper--anda few more whose names are not known."

  Fandor said, laughing:

  "Not Cranajour, I am certain."

  "No. Cranajour has escaped," answered the policeman.

  Turning to Monsieur Havard, he asked:

  "You have no instructions, chief?"

  "No. Tell me, how did the capture go?"

  "Perfectly, chief. They were assembled in Mother Toulouche's store. Theywent like lambs."

  "Good!... Good!"

  Monsieur Havard gave the policeman some orders. The cyclist leaped intothe saddle and disappeared.

  "How did you guess that Cranajour was still at liberty?" asked MonsieurHavard.

  Fandor smiled.

  "Good business! You take me to be more stupid than I am. It isCranajour's information which has enabled you to arrest the band ofNumbers. Consequently!..."

  "Cranajour's information? You are mad, Fandor!... Whatever makes youimagine that Cranajour belongs to our force?"

  Fandor looked Monsieur Havard straight in the eye and said coolly:

  "Juve has never told me that he had sent in his resignation!"

  Monsieur Havard looked searchingly at our journalist, before remarking:

  "Come now! What is this you are telling me? Poor Juve?..."

  Fandor wished to save the chief of the detective department from tellinguseless falsehoods.

  "Monsieur Havard! Monsieur Havard! Interrogate the members of the bandof Numbers, and don't trouble about how I got my information ... but, besure of one thing, there are dead men of whom I could tell tales, ofwhose existence I am as well aware of as you yourself!"

  As the chief stared at the journalist, looking more and more astonished,Fandor added:

  "And I do not refer to Dollon! I am referring to Juve, to my dear friendJuve, the king of detectives!"