Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “You forget that we are both clean shaven, and that I have the nose of a sleuth hound.... And now tell me, did you catch any word of their conversation?” —

  “Yes. When she left de Lauriac she said: — We shall meet again, you know where.’”

  “Obviously she meant Sever Turn. For our part, we will take the train to Temesvar Pesth to-morrow morning, and see if the Octopus follows us.”

  “But Odette won’t be there yet.”

  “Of course not, but we’ll wait for her. Good night, Jean.”

  “Good night, Rouletabille.... A bad day!”

  “Tut tut,” said Rouletabille.

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  STRICT ORDERS

  “NOT POPPY NOR mandragora,

  Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world...”

  — Othello.

  THE gipsies had pitched their camp not far from Temesvar Pesth. It was night and mountainous black clouds swept the sky; the sombre forest shook to its very heart. Never had Odette felt so sad and hopeless. What dreams dwelt within her as she pressed her face to the window pane of her wheeled cabin?... What was this murmur of the fir trees.

  This quivering of all nature if it were not in pity for her?

  The days were long since she was carried away to some mysterious fate. The days were long since she became a prisoner.

  Would she ever escape from the horde which encompassed her and grew in numbers as they drew nearer the East? Would she ever throw off Zina, whose caresses now filled her with horror?... If she could but steal a horse! If she could but fly from the forest, like some fabulous creature, and waking from her nightmare, behold once more the golden plains of her native Provence.

  She was weary of the mournful sighing of the wind among the branches, of those accursed faces revealed by the night fires. They were enough to make her close her eyes and stop her ears. Often she wished she were dead. Rouletabille had failed her. Jean himself had forsaken her.

  The caravan door is opened. Who is it that enters now? ‘What does she want, this wicked little old witch of a woman — this Zina? She brings in a cracked jug containing smoking-hot soup. Let her keep it. Let her keep her loathesome stew!

  “Go away, Zina. Go away or I shall strike you. I don’t want anything to eat.”

  “You haven’t eaten anything for two days,” said Zina tearfully.

  “It’s your fault, you old owl. You cook food as if it were for a wagoner. Take your stuff and give it to the men on the road.... Here... Suco will make a feast of it.”

  “My queen, my queyra, I’ll get you anything you wish. What would you like? Will you have a basin of fresh milk?”

  “Your milk is nasty — as black as your hands. Do you understand? I’ll take nothing but the food that you do know how to prepare....You can cook very good fare when you set your mind to it.”

  “Speak out, little gift of God.”

  “Well, make me some of your real witch’s fare, from the herbs which you know how to find, you old witch of a woman — herbs which bring forgetfulness and make one fall asleep for ever.”

  “You’ll be the death of me.”

  “Die then.”

  She burst into angry sobs, throwing herself on her pallet with its lace coverings. Zina, distraught, tried to approach her, but it was an unlucky thought. She received a push which sent her sprawling on the floor with her jug of stew....

  Almost at the same time, a young man wearing a check suit and cap stopped outside a house in Temesvar Pesth, over the railed gate of which hung a flag. The door was guarded by a policeman, who refused him admission. There was first an altercation and next a hustle. The young man would not be denied; the policeman shouted, and both entered simultaneously a small evil-smelling room in which an officer was seated at a table.

  “What does this mean, monsieur?”

  “I am Joseph Rouletabille.”

  “If you were the Pope himself I should not permit you to enter this room in this off-hand manner.”

  “I am well aware that the Pope would not take upon himself to do so, but I am not the Pope. I have already said that I am Joseph Rouletabille and I have come in the best way I can.”

  “Rouletabille?... Never heard of him.”

  “You are the only one.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  “I want your assistance in releasing a young girl. And, as the matter is urgent, you will excuse me if I have...”

  “I accept your apology. What is the trouble?”

  “Trouble with gipsies.”

  “Indeed,” said the officer, sitting down again. “That’s serious.”

  “It is serious for the young girl whom they have kidnapped, but it is not serious for you, who have but one word to say and one thing to do. You have doubtless heard of the abduction of Mademoiselle de Lavardens by a band of gipsies? The newspapers are full of it.”

  “Yes, monsieur, as a matter of fact I know about it. It appears that the gipsies have recovered in Mademoiselle de Lavardens a princess who was abducted from them when she was a child.”

  “What’s that?” exclaimed Rouletabille, breathing heavily. “You say that she was abducted from them?”

  “Yes, that is how the matter stands, it seems. I recently had a chat about it with the Consul for Transylvania, for the incident caused a certain stir in this neighbourhood, owing to our proximity to the Patriarchate, and he explained to me that the young woman was a gipsy princess and, what is more, destined sooner or later to be crowned queen of the Romanys.”

  “Did the Consul for Transylvania tell you that this young princess was abducted by her father?” growled Rouletabille, who had some difficulty in restraining Ms indignation.

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “And do you call that abduction?”

  “As for myself, I may say that I don’t care a rap what anyone calls it. It’s the Consul who calls it ‘abduction,’ and it seems that in his view he is entitled to do so.”

  “Oh, you don’t mean to say so!”

  “He showed me writings which make it clear that a gipsy princess remains a gipsy whatever happens, and if she is horn in the Patriarchate she cannot leave it without the sanction of the Patriarch.”

  “Therefore it follows?...”

  “Therefore it follows that Monsieur de Lavardens ill repaid the hospitality with which he was treated in Sever Turn...”

  “By stealing a gipsy princess,” interrupted Rouletabille, “Monsieur de Lavardens is the thief.”

  “That’s rather strong language.”

  “And the gipsies, in stealing Mademoiselle de Lavardens in their turn, are only getting their own back. Why don’t you say it?”

  “I say it because you ask me and because I think it.”

  “You refuse to interfere?”

  “Don’t, I beg you, monsieur, blame me for anything. I have received strict orders. We have to avoid any conflict with the Patriarchate of Transylvania.”

  “It’s monstrous.”

  “No, it’s policy.”

  The officer rose from the table, leaving no doubt that the interview was at an end. Rouletabille burst out laughing. Moreover, he had to let himself go in some way, otherwise he would have suffocated.

  “Well, monsieur, you don’t surprise me. This is not the first time that I have asked the police to interfere. Listen to this: — At New Wachter the gipsies who carried off Mademoiselle de Lavardens murdered my servant. I must tell you that he too was a gipsy. I tried to stir up the municipal authorities to issue an order for all gipsies passing through the place to be stopped and questioned. Do you know what their answer was? ‘Stop gipsies passing through the place! Why, we would rather pay them something to get away a little quicker. As for your servant, whom they so cruelly treated — a gipsy quarrel! It’s no business of ours.’ And you, monsieur, answer me in the same strain: ‘Mademoiselle de Lavardens — a gipsy affair! It’s no business of ours.’ Why, the gipsies would be really silly to restrain themselves. They are the real
masters of the road.... All right, monsieur, I will do without you. I will do without anyone’s assistance. I will work on my own.”

  CHAPTER XXXV

  “DON’T WORRY” (WISDOM OF THE NATIONS)

  OUR THREE TRAVELLERS arrived at Temesvar Pesth some days before the gipsies, in accordance with Rouletabille’s new plan of preceding instead of following them, and they spent their time in fully taking their bearings. In those districts, where gipsy caravans invariably halted before the last stage of their tramp from or to Sever Turn, the local authorities had allotted certain places, away from the towns, where the wanderers could halt and pitch their camps.

  In these circumstances it was easy for Rouletabille, Jean and de Lauriac to study the country minutely, and to consider beforehand how best to turn their knowledge to account.

  The partnership still held good, but as the crucial moment drew near it seemed as if the mistrust which loomed over the little community had become accentuated. Jean found points in Rouletabille’s conduct which bewildered him and roused a feeling of uneasiness. Why, for instance, was he so insistent from the first on their acting alone, without recourse to the local police? Why, in this respect, did he share the opinion of de Lauriac, who had good reasons, obvious to them both, for appearing as little as possible in a business in which he reckoned, by hook or by crook, to be the only one to benefit?

  Rouletabille had advanced certain arguments based on the indifference or the repugnance of the authorities to interfere in the gipsies’ private affairs, but Jean did not regard his reasoning as unanswerable.

  “You represent one of the chief newspapers in the world,” he persisted. “You are Rouletabille. You are a known force which has to be taken into account by everyone. In an affair which has caused so much commotion, you would be listened to. In any case, it is unthinkable that, with the immense power of the press behind you, you should make no attempt in this direction. If we come to grief through working alone, you will have assumed a great responsibility “Very well,” returned Rouletabille at last, “I will call on the authorities since you insist upon it. But in that case it will be futile to hide our identity. People will know that I am here. Remember that the gipsies, especially at the present time, have their secret agents in the place.... My presence here is well known.... They will at once be warned.”

  “We’ll say no more about it. I see now.... You are right to be careful.”

  “Look here,” rejoined Rouletabille, incensed. “Do you suppose that I am ‘careful’ on my own account? Do you suppose that I am afraid?

  “Calm yourself, Rouletabille, I did not say so.”

  “But you probably thought so. Hell and fury, you shall have your own way. I’ll take this step.”

  It was in these circumstances that Rouletabille introduced himself to the Chief of Police at Temesvar, clad, too, in his usual check suit which was, so to speak, his own special uniform — to show that he was not afraid.

  In reality he looked for no good to come from this visit, and as the reader is aware, his expectations from this point of view were fulfilled. He refrained from making the attempt, however, until the gipsies had arrived and settled down, and he was sure that Odette was with Zina and Andréa and Callista and the rest of the band, who formed a sort of royal guard. Now he must not wait until they learnt of his visit to the police. He would have to act quickly — that very night, in fact. The next morning would, perhaps, be too late: the gipsies would have been told of his interview with the Chief of Police and taken their precautions.

  Temesvar Pesth, which must not be confused with the fortified town of Temesvar on the right bank of the Bega, is an ancient city of no great size built on an upland which overlooks the Danube, in sight of the Iron Gates. Not far from the city stands the narrow pass which, crossing the Transylvanian Alps on the borders of Roumania, leads to the lesser ranges of the Balkans, behind which lie Sever Turn and the Patriarchate of Transylvania.

  When Rouletabille left Temesvar Pesth he sent his horse at the gallop over the Puszta towards the inn where the three men had established their headquarters. It was the inn at which de Lauriac had stopped with the gipsy from Sever Turn, when he learnt of the queyra for the first time.

  Just then Jean cast a last glance at the two horses which were tethered at the inn door. The three allies had bought three fine, wiry, vigorous animals, capable of a sustained effort and having a nice turn of speed. They preferred to buy horses rather than a motor-car in a country wherein roads were scarce and badly maintained, especially as they would probably have to take action in the Balkans, which were not far away, and in which they might have a breakdown at the first impediment. Lastly, with this arrangement they could, as opportunity arose, make an investigation together or divide forces and combine again afterwards to the best advantage.

  After making sure that the horses had had their provender, Jean went into the general room, which was empty. Almost immediately a door facing a staircase was opened, and a man appeared whom Jean did not at first recognize, mistaking him for a gipsy.

  As a matter of fact he was dressed like Andréa, with weapons in his belt and wide breeches held in by top boots. His sunburnt face was adorned with a pair of flowing black moustaches. It was de Lauriac, who began to laugh.

  “Well, Monsieur de Santierne, what do you think of me?”

  “A capital disguise, but what’s the object?”

  De Lauriac took a seat, lit a cigarette, crossed his legs, and said:

  “I am the only one among us who can speak Romany, and the only one who can get within reach of Odette. They will take me for one of themselves. Trust me!”

  Jean turned very red at de Lauriac’s statement: “I am the only one who can get within reach of Odette.” He threw a fierce look at the man who seemed to be setting him at defiance.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t trust you, Monsieur de Lauriac,” he said.

  “You make a mistake,” returned the other, in no way disconcerted. “Of course, in trying to set Mademoiselle Odette free, I am working in my own interests, but have no fear, I have no intention of marrying her by force. Besides, there are two of you to prevent me if needs be. Act, therefore, or rather let me act, as if you did trust me, Monsieur de Santierne.”

  “I don’t trust you and I will tell you why, since an explanation has become necessary between us.”

  “I am in no hurry, you know. We might just as well defer it for the time being.”

  “Monsieur de Lauriac, you wish to betray our confidence, but you won’t succeed. I followed you the other night in Innsbruck.”

  De Lauriac could not refrain from giving a start.

  Nevertheless, he soon recovered his composure and began to smile.

  “I saw you with Madame de Meyrens,” ‘“Jean continued.

  “Well, what about it?” exclaimed de Lauriac, turning right round and keeping his eyes fixed on Jean’s face. —

  “Madame de Meyrens is our worst enemy.”

  “Oh, you don’t say so. That’s very strange. I thought she was only Rouletabille’s enemy.”

  “That ought to have been enough to prevent you, in present circumstances, from keeping any appointment with her.”

  “Look here, Monsieur de Santierne,” returned the other with increasing calmness. “I did not know the lady, and I swear on Mademoiselle de Lavardens’ life, which is at least as dear to me as to you, that I was unaware of her presence in Innsbruck. She followed you when you left France, feeling sure in this way of again seeing Rouletabille, whom, from what I can gather, she loathes. To my great surprise she wrote me a letter at Innsbruck asking me to meet her.”

  “What then?” asked Jean, impressed by de Lauriac’s tone of sincerity.

  “Then I was naturally curious to know what this woman, a stranger to me, had to say.”

  “Your conversation must have been interesting,” said Jean sarcastically.

  “It was quite interesting,” returned de Lauriac emphatically, with a grim smile. “ Madam
e de Meyrens merely wished to tell me that your friend Rouletabille was not working in this affair either for you or, of course, for me, but solely for himself. He is in love with Odette.”

  Jean’s cheeks blanched.

  It’s an infamous lie,” he flung out in a hoarse voice.

  “That’s pretty well what I told her.”

  “I doubt it, monsieur,” said Jean, scarcely able to control the rage which made the blood dance in his veins. “I doubt it, for if my memory serves me, you used certain language during the magistrate’s examination — it is odds on that this examination would have been fatal to you if the man whom you slander to-day had not proved your innocence — which might have made me suspect Rouletabille’s good faith and friendship. Fortunately — I have known — him long enough to feel that he is incapable of such treachery.”

  “The peculiar circumstances in which I found myself,” returned de Lauriac, whose self-possession contrasted more and more with Jean’s excitement, “made me use language the meaning of which I did not fully realize. I was the victim of both of you, and the injustice to me, which was your doing, lay heavy on me, and led me to say things which certainly were not intended to be agreeable to — you, but between that and making any charge against Rouletabille there is a wide gulf. Madame de Meyrens made the charge against him. You were curious to know what she told me. I have accurately reported her conversation.”

  “And, of course, you entered a protest...

  “I asked for proofs.”

  “And she gave them to you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You have either said too much or too little. I am entitled to know all. What were the proofs?”

  “Are you aware that Mademoiselle de Lavardens went to Paris a few days before the tragedy at Viei-Castou-Nou?”

  “Paris!... What nonsense!... I should have been the first to be informed. I knew that she went on a visit.”