Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “You don’t say so!” exclaimed de Lauriac, rising from the table. “Convincing proofs?

  “Proofs beyond dispute.”

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  TWIN ACCOMPLICES

  AT THAT MOMENT the head waiter came in and announced in German that “the new Loie Fuller,” was about to begin her dances. The twin conspirators, however, did not care a pin for the performance on the stage. Madame de Meyrens ordered liqueurs, and when they were served locked the door. Then she drew from her corsage a kind of satchel in the shape of a pocket-book, which appeared to contain a number of valuable papers, and went over and sat down beside de Lauriac.

  “You see these two letters?” she said, taking them from the satchel. “They are short, but when you have read them you will cast aside your doubts.”

  “Who wrote them?”

  “Odette.”

  “May I ask how you managed to get hold of them?”

  “Certainly. I got hold of them in the simplest manner. I stole them from Rouletabille one day when his flat was broken into. I said to myself that if he noticed their disappearance he would attribute it to the burglary. But he never gave a thought to these letters reposing among other private correspondence in a secret drawer which I knew about, but which the burglars did not in fact discover. He thinks, of course, that he still has them.”

  She handed de Lauriac the letters.

  His hand shook as he took them. They were written on two thin sheets of notepaper which bore Odette’s monogram and the engraved heading “Viei-Castou-Nou.”

  He had never received letters from her like these. And this is what he read. It was the first in date:

  “MY DEAR LITTLE ZO, — I made up a story for father. I leave here in the morning and shall be in Paris the day after to-morrow; I can’t hold out any longer. I must see my little Zo. No one will know anything about it. Be careful not to come to the station to meet me.... Secrecy and prudence!... Let there be no one at the flat, and keep it from Jean. You are my last hope.

  Your little ODETTE.”

  “Ah, this Jean, I hate him.”

  “Indeed,” said Hubert, as he wiped his streaming forehead. “This, of course, seems to me conclusive, and agrees entirely with the disclosures which were made to me recently by a dying man.”

  “A dying man?” questioned Madame de Meyrens.

  “Yes, Rouletabille’s man-servant.”

  “Olaja’i. Be careful of Olajaï. He would go through fire for Rouletabille.”

  “He has already gone through fire for him, madame, returned de Lauriac with a grim smile. “Yes, the poor fellow has come to grief. He left France with the gipsies who carried off Odette, and being convinced that he was in league with his master, who was following them up, they burnt the soles of his feet at the stake. I found him in that state. As he had also received several stabs with a knife, it was a piece of luck for me to come upon the scene before he actually died. I should have been sorry to miss him for he confided to me certain things of interest — among others that Mademoiselle de Lavardens had recently been in his master’s flat in Paris. Besides, this journey coincided with Odette’s escapade — a few days before de Lavardens’ death — which resulted in the dismissal of the old servant who went with her and could refuse her nothing.” —

  “You see it all fits it,” said Madame de Meyrens, offering a cigarette to de Lauriac who in his agitation had let his own go out.

  “Yes, it all fits in, but I was far from suspecting that a visit to Rouletabille could have so much importance. I assumed that de Santierne was aware of it, and that this particular journey was arranged with him and perhaps by him.”

  “How easy it is for one to be mistaken!”

  “In the face of this letter you are quite right I can no longer entertain any doubt about it.”

  “Read the other letter.”

  The second letter was equally brief, but its significance was not less than that of the first:

  “My DEAR LITTLE Zo —— I arrived home safely, Father’s suspicions had been aroused. In the end he made our poor ‘mama ‘ speak out. There was a violent scene and he dismissed her. I cried a great deal, but I don’t regret anything. Only my little Zo can comfort me We shall meet again soon, I hope. Happy times will come back to us.” —

  “This is too much of a good thing,” snorted de Lauriac loosening his collar. His face was scarlet. He swallowed a large glass of water. He loathed Rouletabille now more than he did Jean.

  Well,” he went on, handing back the letters to Madame de Meyrens, who asked for them and carefully put them away in their receptacle. “Well I can tell you one thing: neither Jean nor Rouletabille shall have her, and I will now give you proof of that.”

  “Ah, confidence is restored.”

  “We have joined forces. We are guided by a common interest. A woman like you and a man like me must inevitably win, particularly as the game is already half won de Lauriac, taking from the inside pocket of his jacket a piece of carefully folded parchment. You are aware, perhaps,” he went on, “that the reason why the gipsies set so much store on Mademoiselle de Lavardens is because they wish to make her their queen.”

  “Yes, that story is beginning to be spread everywhere. But why Mademoiselle de Lavardens?” because she was born under conditions foretold in the Book of Ancestors — that is, her mother was a Princess of Sever Turn, and her father a noble alien — none other than Monsieur de Lavardens.”

  Very interesting,” said Madame de Meyrens who was listening avidly to every word. “But I don’t see where you come in.”

  “You’ll soon see. One of the pages of the Book of Ancestors is missing, a page which contains the sequer to this prediction, and this page was in the hands of the art dealer at whose shop you saw me call not long ago.”

  “And at whose shop I saw Rouletabille call earner.

  “Exactly. That page is now in my possession.

  “It’s a splendid piece of work. What a pity you folded it,” exclaimed Madame de Meyrens who had the artistic sense and could appreciate beautiful things.

  “Unfortunately I can’t carry it about in a frame, it would be too cumbersome and not sufficiently secret. But such’ as it is it will serve its purpose Besides I intend to sew it into the lining of my coat to-night tor “But security.”

  “But what does the page contain? Do you understand Romany?”

  “Yes, I will translate the contents to you.

  Madame Meyrens had just before locked the door. De Lauriac now rose and closed the two wings of the window between the room and the balcony with its balustrade.

  The room was just then plunged in darkness, and Loie Fuller’s disciple, who alone was bathed in light, traced as she danced the outlines of flowers which were also flames, beneath which the twin stalks of her bare limbs blazed in a voluptuous whirl. —

  De Lauriac returned to Madame de Meyrens side at the moment when the lights in the theatre were switched on again, and a thunder of applause shook the house And it was during this general tumult that he translated into Madame de Meyrens’ ear the Romany page torn from the Book of Ancestors. —

  De Lauriac could be easy in his mind for Madame de Meyrens alone heard him, and he had reason to be satisfied with the effect which he produced on her.

  “Now I understand,” she cried, beaming. I follow you... I congratulate you, old thing.

  De Lauriac added a few words in her ear She nodded her head in token of agreement, and he returned the page to its place. A quarter of an hour later they left the festive scene where both had done such excellent business. Suddenly Madame de Meyrens became thoughtful.

  “But how did Rouletabille discover that you were going to Innsbruck to see that art dealer?” she asked.

  “Upon my word, I have no idea.”

  “Why, he knows everything.”

  “Yes, it’s past belief.”

  “Be on your guard, I say again. He is aware that you have that page on you. The fact that he asked the art dealer
to translate it, shows that he doesn’t know what it means, but he understands that it is of vital importance to you. He will do anything to rob you of it.”

  “I’ll have it fixed under my skin rather than part with it.”

  The carriage which had brought them was waiting outside the music-hall. Madame de Meyrens took leave of de Lauriac, saying aloud:

  “We shall meet again — you know where.”

  They shook hands and the carriage drove off. De Lauriac returned to his hotel on foot, reflecting on what the evening had brought forth, and feeling that his time had not been wasted. He failed to perceive a dark form which was shadowing him.

  That dark form was Jean.

  Let us hark back a little in point of time; in other words, let us, with the help of Rouletabille’s diary, set down the events as they occurred a few hours earlier.

  Rouletabille and Jean continued to watch de Lauriac closely. They wondered with a vague misgiving, what the purport of this letter was, which had been delivered to him at an hotel where, only at the last moment, they had decided to stop.

  “Perhaps the art dealer has written him a line,” suggested de Santierne.

  “That’s what we’ve got to find out,” returned Rouletabille. “Meantime I will question the pageboy.”

  The boy told him that the letter was brought by a messenger whom he did not know.

  While Rouletabille remained in the hotel to keep an eye on de Lauriac, Jean called at the dealer’s, and artfully questioning him, learnt for certain that the letter did not come from him. He returned to the hotel.

  “De Lauriac has not left his room. He seems very restless, almost anxious. He has read the mysterious letter several times,” said Rouletabille.

  Just then de Lauriac came out of his room and suggested a stroll. They went together to the old town, admired the ancient buildings with their many contrasting colours — yellow, green, pink, blue — and their queer looking corbelled windows, broke forth into raptures over the famous mausoleum of Maximilian I in the Church of the Franciscans, and then retraced their steps to the hotel.

  Now and then Rouletabille entered a shop to make a purchase, for his mishap in the train had bereft him of everything, since Andréa and Callista had omitted to throw his valise out of the window after him.

  They dined together on the best of fare, seemingly forgetting their anxieties. After dinner de Lauriac wrote a long letter which he took to the post. Rouletabille and Jean went with him.

  “I would give a great deal,” said Rouletabille to Jean, “to know the contents of that letter. He is taking too many precautions. It must be the answer to the letter which he received a little while ago.”

  De Lauriac declared at nine o’clock that he was done up, and being “in arrears with his sleep,” was “going to catch them up.” He shut himself up in his bedroom, and a quarter of an hour later could be heard snoring loudly.

  Jean’s room was divided from de Lauriac’s only by a partition. Rouletabille’s room was opposite Jean’s on the other side of the passage. Hence he had command of both doors. When he heard de Lauriac’s snore, however, it seemed to him that he might tell Jean that the day’s work was done.

  Jean did not agree with him.

  ‘He may be shamming sleep,” he objected.

  “Well, if he slops snoring come and tell me.” And he retired to his room.

  Jean took off his boots noisily, threw himself on his bed, making the mattress creak, and stealthily putting on his boots again waited events.

  A few minutes later the snoring ceased and a door was opened slightly. —

  “Certainly Rouletabille is getting played out,” thought Jean, and priding himself on having foreseen the trick, soon made sure that de Lauriac had left his room and was descending the stairs with as little noise as might be.

  Jean left his room in his turn and opened Rouletabille’s door. The latter was in his shirt sleeves and Jean rapped out:

  “De Lauriac is scooting. I’m going after him.”

  Then without waiting to hear what he had to say, Jean darted after de Lauriac, who had not yet had time to leave the hotel. And so he followed him without being observed to Rose Park. And so, a quarter of an hour later, he saw the carriage drive up and de Lauriac step into it.

  Jean caught a glimpse of a feminine form, and wondered if he had not wasted his time by merely witnessing a lovers’ assignation of no interest to him. On reflection he came to the conclusion that de Lauriac was in no mood to think, so to speak, of gadding about with any woman, and he hastened after the carriage which was proceeding at a slow pace.

  An empty cab was coming towards him. He stopped it, and told the driver, to whom he promised an extra tip, not to lose sight of the cab ahead of them. Thus when he drew near the music-hall he saw de Lauriac enter it with the mysterious stranger.

  She had lowered her veil, but at the first view of her figure Jean recognized her.

  “The Octopus!” he said to himself. “That’s the Octopus!”

  He pushed his way through the crowd after them.

  He saw them go upstairs to the private rooms, and decided to wait and “make assurance doubly sure.”

  He saw them again as they left the music-hall. It was the Octopus right enough. He watched them say good-bye, and again followed de Lauriac when the cab drove off at a smart pace.

  “The wretches!” thought Jean, “I wonder what they have been plotting together. The Octopus here! And with de Lauriac. That explains why he wanted to come to Innsbruck — he had an appointment with the Octopus. And Rouletabille had no suspicion of it.”

  De Lauriac walked slowly away smoking a big cigar.

  “Perhaps he is not going straight back to the hotel, and his movements might tell me something,” Jean thought. —

  But after turning down a few dimly lit streets in which, moreover, he seemed to have gone astray, he got back to the! hotel. As soon as he was again in his room Jean made one leap to Rouletabille’s door.

  He found him admiring himself in his new pyjamas, and performing his breathing exercises in front of his wardrobe mirror.

  “Ah, there you are,” said Rouletabille, when his eyes fell on Jean. “But you look quite upset. What’s happened?”

  “Do you know who’s here?

  “Indeed I don’t.”

  “The Octopus.”

  “What’s that!”

  “The Octopus. I say that the Octopus is here.

  “Why, it’s out of the question, or else it’s a pure accident. In reality we have no reason to get excited over it. What is it to do with us?”

  “Ask de Lauriac, who had an appointment with her at Rose Park to-night, and was with her nearly a couple of hours.”

  “That’s more serious,” said Rouletabille, who had stopped his gymnastics. “Yes, that’s much more serious, because she didn’t know him, and obviously it was not to discuss the weather that they arranged to meet.”

  Wrapped in thought he began to fill his pipe as was his wont when some particular train of thought obsessed him. He would fill it... fill it... until he saw the position clearly. Then he would light it, and have what he called a “delightful smoke.” But he did not light his pipe that night.

  “It means that I am no longer a favourite with the Octopus,” he observed at last. We didn’t part on very good terms, you know.”

  “Let me tell you that this woman will ruin you as she has ruined so many others. Haven’t I said so often enough?”

  “Meanwhile, don’t let’s waste time in futile chatter,” broke in Rouletabille. “We’ve something better to do than that to-night.”

  “What is that?”

  “Go to bed.”

  “Is that all you can suggest? To think that while de Lauriac and that woman were plotting some fake or other against us, you were trying on your new pyjamas!”

  “Still don’t take me for a bigger fool than I am, old man. I shouldn’t like that. I may say that when you told me that de Lauriac had left his ro
om I was delighted. You were following him so I felt quite easy on that score, and certainly I couldn’t have done better than you did. During your absence, and before I started my breathing exercises in my beautiful new pyjamas, I searched his room.”

  “Have you got a key?”

  “No, but a burglar friend of mine taught me how to open doors even when I have no key. So I ransacked de Lauriac’s room, his luggage, his haversack, and hunted high and low for the Romany page without finding it, of course, because he dare not let it out of his possession. But I had a look at the Book of Ancestors again, and something can always be learnt from it though I don’t understand a word of its contents.”

  “If the Book of Ancestors which you are for ever talking about is invaluable to de Lauriac, it must be equally invaluable to us. I’ve known the time when considering the sort of man we are up against, you wouldn’t have hesitated to...

  “Say the word—’ steal’ it.”

  “Let’s say ‘borrow’ it... and be content to return it when you have finished with it.”

  “You have a nice way of expressing yourself. Be assured that the Rouletabille of to-day is just as good as he was yesterday. Why, this book has become as useless to us as it is to de Lauriac — nay more, it is a positive danger. Be that as it may, I prefer it to be in his haversack rather than ours.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “Well, of course, since you don’t yet see through it. Attend to what I am saying and lean as I always do on ‘the right end of your judgment.’ When de Lauriac left for Sever Turn with that splendid old book, he placed his hopes in the ‘recompense’ which was promised to the person who restored it. He felt certain, in his mind, of obtaining Odette’s release through the intervention of the Patriarch, but he learnt on his way that Odette was being received with open arms as a gipsy princess and was to be crowned queen. His hopes founded on the book fell. They would grant him anything he pleased save Odette. Therefore he turned back hot foot to Odette, intending to try to rescue her by his own resources.”

  “With the assistance of the Octopus,” exclaimed Jean. “You will see that these two have come to an understanding to carry her off under our very noses and to laugh in our beards.”