The men who, one after the other, mounted guard at the cabin door exchanged their opinions, and these were now circulating through the ship. The thing that surprised them more than anything else was the unwonted silence.
When the Marquis and Chéri-Bibi were alone in the cabin, the guards did not hear a murmur, though necessarily the slightest conversation would have reached their ears. In the same way, when the Kanaka and the Countess entered the cabin, their visit was not followed by any talk which the guards could hear.
The domestic services were entirely performed by the Countess, and these were reduced to very small proportions.... Hardly any food was taken in from outside, and it consisted only of a few basins of herb-tea and a little broth, and even so these were not required every day. It was as though the cabin were inhabited by ghosts.
Nevertheless, on the final day a guard heard terrible gasps. He was not, of course, able to say from whom they emanated.
As may be imagined, the appearance of the Kanaka and the Countess that day was impatiently awaited. Neither of them was seen, though occasionally their footsteps were heard.
The Dodger, who lay awake for several nights, at last gave way to sleep, although he had tried hard to keep his eyes open. He was sleeping like a log when one of his friends who had just been relieved from mounting guard at the cabin door awakened him.
The man had, this time, heard Chéri-Bibi’s voice quite clearly. It was a weary voice which said with a groan — at least the guard thought so— “Not his hands.... Not his hands.” The Dodger was on his feet in an instant.
“Some accident has happened to Chéri-Bibi, that’s a certainty.”
Since it was impossible for him to go near the cabin, he would make his way into the sick-bay on some pretense or other and by flattening his ear against the new partition he might perhaps hear something.
He reached the place a few minutes later in a state of terrible anxiety, and as a matter of fact he did hear something.... The guard had not been dreaming. Chéri-Bibi was continuing to lament, but — and this was the amazing part — his words, which on every other occasion proclaimed his personal suffering, were now uttered in compassion for the other. For there was no possibility of error; he wanted the other man to he left alone. Therefore, what was being done to him? Chéri-Bibi’s voice could be heard saying with a groan: “That’s enough as it is. Leave him his hands. It’s too awful. Oh no, not his hands, not his hands.” And thereupon Chéri-Bibi heaved a tremendous sigh. As to the other man, his voice could not he heard. No lamentation came from him. It was incomprehensible.
Nevertheless the Dodger knew a great deal. During the time that he was associated with Chéri-Bibi, he was the recipient of many confidences from him. And when the Dodger learnt that one of the shipwrecked persons was the Marquis du Touchais, he trembled for the rich nobleman’s life. That Chéri-Bibi would be revenged on Cecily’s husband, by torturing him or having him tortured, was in keeping with the methods of convicts. But since it was the Marquis who was being tortured why was it Chéri-Bibi who was gasping and moaning?... And such gasping!
The Dodger shuddered to the very marrow.
At that moment he recognized the Kanaka’s hard voice:
“You know, Chéri-Bibi, you must not talk.”
“All right,” returned Chéri-Bibi, “I won’t say another word, but you’ve gone far enough as it is. Leave him alone. Don’t touch his hands, I can’t endure it. No, no, not his hands.”
Three nurses, of whom one was a woman, had joined the Dodger, and they listened behind the partition without understanding what it all meant, but they had the sensation that something monstrous was taking place in the cabin.
They would have liked to communicate to each other their impressions, their apprehensions, but the Dodger held up his hand in token of silence, and they resumed their listening.
A hush had fallen once more in the cabin.
They could no longer hear speech, or moan or gasp or sound. A quarter of an hour elapsed and the Dodger and his companions stood up, tired of listening in their cramped positions, when the Countess’s voice, which they had not caught until then, reached their ears very distinctly.
“If Chéri-Bibi were sensible,” she said, “we could finish the job at once.”
“Yes, but he’s not sensible,” answered the Kanaka. “He has only himself to blame.”
And then they distinguished Chéri-Bibi’s voice: “Leave him his hands, leave him his hands. You see yourself how much I’m suffering.”
What were they doing to the Marquis’s hands, and what had the Marquis’s hands to do with Chéri-Bibi’s suffering?
It was enough to drive him out of his senses, especially as Chéri-Bibi was moaning again, and at each moan the Dodger felt sick at heart. The poor fellow was almost fainting. Moreover, the remainder of the conversation was not calculated to bring him round.
“Oh, the devils... the devils... the devils,” panted Chéri-Bibi.
“If you talk again,” the Kanaka broke in, “I shall be forced to gag you. Countess, pass me the gag.”
“No, no, don’t gag me. I won’t speak again... but leave him his hands. Oh, he’s had enough of it. How I suffer... how I suffer.”
The Dodger, who was trembling in every limb, was at the end of his endurance. In a hollow voice which fear had entirely changed he cried:
“I’m here, Chéri-Bibi.... Do you want me?”
A great silence reigned in the cabin.
The Dodger took up anew his appeal in more and more despairing and supplicating tones:
“It’s I, Chéri-Bibi, the Dodger.”
He showered blows on the partition with his fists. But at the same moment someone tapped him on the shoulder. The Toper stood behind him.
The guard had called up the Toper, and by Chéri-Bibi’s orders “the Dodger was to be put in irons for twenty-four hours.”
“Is it true that you’re having me put in irons, Chéri-Bibi?... You?... I can’t believe it. Shout no, and we’ll come and set you free.... Chéri-Bibi.... Chéri-Bibi.”
But no answer came from Chéri-Bibi and the Dodger was dragged away.
“Damn it all.... What’s happening in that cabin,” groaned the unhappy man as he went off with the Toper.
The Dodger served his twenty-four hours in irons. As soon as his time was over he hastened to seek information. There was nothing fresh. The Kanaka had not yet left the cabin. The Countess came out for a few minutes, ran to the galleys to warm some broth into which she poured some ingredient, nobody knew what, and returned to the Kanaka without answering the questions that were put to her. She was enveloped in an overall which covered a white smock-frock the lower part of which was bloodstained, and she was wearing gloves. Her face, it appears, was terrifying to see. She left in the Toper’s hands a written order:
“All’s well. The Kanaka is my man. Chéri-Bibi.”
“They make him believe just what they like, those ruffians,” exclaimed the Dodger. And he asked if any more wails and groans had come from the cabin.
Nothing more had been heard. Ah, yes... the Kanaka’s voice was heard telling the guard at the door that the crew would see him during the day, and they needn’t worry themselves.
“We needn’t worry ourselves! He’s a beauty, he is.”
Of course the Dodger did worry himself.
And then in his turn he disappeared.
He went off and ransacked the Kanaka and the Countess’s special cabin. He found the medicine chests and surgical instruments belonging to the doctor who had died on the field of honor, in short, nothing of any importance. But he did not leave the cabin. It occurred to him that sooner or later the Kanaka and the Countess would return, and he would not be sorry to overhear their conversation.
With this intention, he hid himself under a bunk, and waited patiently for some three or four hours. At long last the Kanaka and the Countess came in. They closed the door. They had the faces of ghosts who had suffered the tortures or savored
the delights of the damned, and they quickly threw off their outer garments and removed their gloves. They were covered with blood. It looked as if they had come from a blood bath.
The Dodger, who was of a somewhat nervous temperament, uttered a groan and was on the point of fainting.
The Kanaka and the Countess at once bent down and discovered the poor fellow, dragged him from under the bunk, and stood him as best they could on his feet.
“What are you doing here?” demanded the Kanaka, whose rage was terrible to see.
His eyes sent forth angry flashes and his teeth were thrust forward as though he were about to eat the wretched Dodger, who trembled and leaned against the bulkhead but who was not devoid of courage.
“I wanted to catch you out, murderer,” he cried. “Cannibal!”
The Countess shot him a blow in the face with all her might.
“Leave him alone, Ketty,” said the Kanaka, making a grab at the Countess’s arm, which had already started on a second journey. “Leave the poor fellow alone. Chéri-Bibi himself will see that he’s punished.”
“What have you done with Chéri-Bibi, you scoundrels?” went on the Dodger as he rubbed his smarting cheek. “Have you eaten him, too?”
This time the Kanaka sprang at his throat, and the Dodger panted for breath under his clenched fingers.
“Beg the Countess’s pardon. Beg the Countess’s pardon,” he spluttered furiously.
But the Dodger was unable to utter a word. He was choking. His tongue protruded from his mouth like the tongue of a man who is hanged.
“Luckily for you, you villain, we caught you at once. If you had heard a single word of what’s no business of yours, your goose would have been cooked. Now clear out!”
He threw him into the alley-way. The Dodger fell his length on the deck and lay there for a few moments before he could recover his breath. The Toper and Carrots, who were passing, picked him up and he told them the story of his encounter.
He went off with them, cursing the Kanaka and his wife, and declaring that things were happening on board which no one could understand, and they would all “suffer in the end.” His two “pals” dared not say a word in reply, but he was conscious that they shared his opinion.
The mystery in which the inexplicable absence of Chéri-Bibi was enveloped was beginning to weigh heavily on board; secret meetings were held in every corner. Once more there was a disbelief in an epidemic. Obviously it was not for the purpose of tending patients in a fever that the Kanaka and the Countess were “dressed like butchers.”
In short, the crew were agreed that at all costs they must know the truth about Chéri-Bibi. They must see and have speech with him. Such was their general frame of mind when the Kanaka sent to inform the officers that he was waiting to see them in the Captain’s cabin.
The officers lost no time in obeying the summons.
The Kanaka received them imperturbably seated at the little writing-table, examining with seeming tranquillity of mind various papers, and the officers were at first reassured. True, the Kanaka was pale and seemed overtired; but all the same he did not have the appearance of a man who was the bearer of bad news.
He opened by referring to their various duties, and asked several questions about the prisoners, the store of provisions and the quantity of coal still remaining in the bunkers. The Kanaka was the only man among the officers, perhaps, who knew anything about navigation; his knowledge was sufficient at any rate to correct the ship’s course, and to take command of the old crew who were obliged to continue their duties under pain of death. Therefore as a general rule he was listened to and obeyed.
But on this occasion he had to deal with absent-minded men whose thoughts were concentrated only on Chéri-Bibi. They were surprised that he did not speak of him, since the state of his health was the only question which interested them. Their stupefaction knew no bounds when they received the order to retire.
They remained in their places.
The Toper opened fire.
“Commander, we shall be in Cape Town in a few days,” he said with an affectation of great politeness and strict discipline.
“Yes, what about it?”
“Many serious matters will have to be decided.”
“Well, what then?”
“We can’t decide them without Chéri-Bibi. Commander, our men are very anxious about Chéri-Bibi. We can’t go on much longer without knowing what’s the matter with him. I felt bound to tell you that. We should like to see Chéri-Bibi.”
“Yes, yes. We want to see him,” chimed in several voices.
“Impossible,” replied the Kanaka laconically.
“Of course,” said Little Buddha, “he may not be able to see us all, but we could delegate one of our number to see him. Look here, we’re not asking a great deal. Let the Dodger see him for five minutes, and then we shall be easy in our minds.”
“Neither the Dodger nor anyone else. It’s quite out of the question,” returned the Kanaka obstinately.
“Well, in that case, let us speak to him at the door and let him answer us.”
“Chéri-Bibi just now can’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because he can’t speak.”
“Then let him write and tell us what has happened and set our minds at rest. Should there be anything that must not be known generally, a couple of us only will read the message, and we shall be satisfied.”
“Chéri-Bibi can’t write.”
“Look here, Kanaka, you’re pulling our legs,” he blazed out, forgetting discipline and losing the dignity which pertained to his new position. “You’re not going to leave here until you’ve given us some explanation.”
“You can do what you like, but you’ll get no explanation from me.”
“We’ll force our way into the cabin....”
“You can do as you like, I tell you. Only afterwards don’t come and claim the five millions..
“Oh, it has to do with the five millions...”
“What do you suppose it has to do with? Let Chéri-Bibi work the Marquis in his own way. There’ll be plenty of time to ask him to explain matters when he has made the Marquis fork out the shekels. And now, gentlemen, I won’t keep you any longer.”
They left the cabin with considerable misgivings. The Dodger did not utter a word. They asked him what he thought of it all. He shook his head and answered that he had his own idea.
The crew became more and more alarmed. How was it possible for Chéri-Bibi to “work the five millions” if he could neither speak nor write?
Next day, after the Kanaka and the Countess were shut up with Chéri-Bibi and the Marquis for half an hour, extraordinary howls were heard proceeding from the cabin. It was like a dog baying at death. Men crowded into the alley-way and all eyes were fixed on the door while the howls grew louder — louder and more frightful. Only a wild beast or a madman could howl like that. And this time they clearly recognized the Marquis’s voice, particularly when mingled with the yells they caught the sound of words babbled in pain though they could not grasp the sense of them.
And then the howls changed to shrieks, to fierce barking, to wild sobs. And then suddenly they stopped.
The crowd of convicts stood in the alley-way for another quarter of an hour with a look of terror in their eyes. And by slow degrees, as nothing further was heard, they melted away.
Later in the night more groans were heard, and these also came from the Marquis. They did not hear Chéri-Bibi’s voice again. And it was this which produced a greater strain of anxiety than when the groans came from him.
The Dodger, gloomy and sullen, did not leave the deck, nor did he answer anyone who spoke to him.
One evening the lookout man cried:— “Land on the port bow!” and the Dodger said with a sigh: “At last!”
Some minutes later the Kanaka came to meet him.
“Dodger, we’re near land,” he said. “In a few hours we shall be at Cape Town. You know that we are to l
and you a little below Malmesbury. Pack up your traps, my lad. We shall give you all the necessary papers, and you’ll find the complete scheme of what you’ve got to do written out in Chéri-Bibi’s handwriting. Are you ready?”
“No,” returned the Dodger, who had been nursing an idea.
“Why not?”
“Because I refuse to take upon myself this job until I’ve had a final interview with Chéri-Bibi.”
“You’ve made up your mind?”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“Can I tell Chéri-Bibi so?”
“By all means, Kanaka....”
The crew were soon aware that the two men were at variance, and they considered that the Dodger was in the right. Excitement was general, and there was no doubt that the most reckless among them were inclined to take extreme measures when the Kanaka came back and said simply:
“Chéri-Bibi will see the Dodger before he goes.” The crew gave way to shouts of joy and cheers. The Dodger left them to pack up his things in a state of great emotion. It was quite dark when the Kanaka came to fetch him. The Dodger followed him trembling in every limb. At last the cabin door was opened; and the Toper, Little Buddha, the Top and Carrots waited outside to hear the result of the interview.
When he first entered the cabin the Dodger could distinguish absolutely nothing. No light was burning. Then gradually, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw by the faint glimmer that filtered through the port hole, the upstanding outline of the Countess, and afterwards, at his right and left, two bodies lying on bunks, or rather two mere shadows deprived of all power of movement.
He could not have said which was Chéri-Bibi and which was the Marquis.
The sound of Chéri-Bibi’s voice soon put an end to his doubts.
“Sit down here, Dodger.”
A chair was drawn up, and as he dropped into it he whispered:
“Chéri-Bibi!”
“So you wanted to see me before you go, my dear fellow.”
“My dear Chéri-Bibi.... Have you been very ill, then?... Are you getting better now?... Give us your fist, old pal.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 159
