Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “Good-bye for the present. Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  “Dearest!”

  “I say Maxime, are you ill? You seem to have changed during the last few days — since your fainting fit. One moment you are all affection and the next you are abstracted, absent-minded...”

  “It’s your fancy Cecily, it’s your fancy.”

  He heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel path and slipped away. He hastened to his room and sank into a seat. A mirror hung in front of him. He saw that he was ashen in the face.

  “Why but what’s the matter with me?”

  He might have looked out of his bedroom window into the garden to see what was happening. Strange to say he dared not. He was smarting under the blow of a great and inevitable misfortune. And quivering all over he thought only of putting off the evil moment when he would possess the dire certainty of the irretrievable catastrophe. At length he heaved a sigh, reasoned himself out of his fears, argued that he was foolish to become so excited because he was to meet at lunch a doctor who resembled the Kanaka, a doctor who was bringing his wife with him. Why should the doctor not be married. What business was it of his?

  He rose to his feet, took a few paces, plunged his face into a basin of water, called himself a silly ass, brushed his hair, pulled down his cuffs, coughed and said aloud: “Come monsieur le Marquis don’t be childish” and went downstairs.

  As he drew near the drawing room he could hear voices and his limbs trembled under him. Still he forced himself to open the door, and he saw before him the two guests who had risen to meet him. Luckily he still held the handle of the door. He could lean on it. Facing him was the Countess with dark red hair instead of her wonderful black hair, but unmistakably the Countess, and of necessity he no longer doubted the doctor’s identity.

  “Good gracious how pale you are” exclaimed Cecily.

  The three of them sprang forward to support him, but he had already recovered himself.

  “It’s nothing, nothing... I felt dizzy... You must forgive me Madame.”

  He endeavoured to fight against the shock, to act the strong man, and he knitted his brows. He would have liked to appear at that moment terrible. But the effect was almost pitiable. Cecily was grieved beyond measure, and explained that her husband for some time had been far from well, and she asked the doctor to call and examine him carefully and prescribe some proper form of treatment.

  Chéri-Bibi interposed, cleared his throat, and looked fondly at his wife seeming to acquire renewed strength and a firm determination to brave the danger.

  “We’ll say no more about it, at least for the present” he said. “The Marchioness didn’t invite you to lunch to consult you about my health. I may tell you that I had no time to breakfast this morning which is the cause, perhaps, of a certain physical discomfort. I have a wolfish appetite. I hope, Madame, that you are equally ready for lunch. Let’s begin. Doctor, give my wife your arm.”

  He offered his arm to the Countess who pressed it with a mysterious smile.

  They went to the verandah where the luncheon table was laid.

  Chéri-Bibi had Madame Walter on his right. He found courage to look at her, to talk to her. He questioned her about her travels, and while she readily described the splendours of the Ganges and the wonders of Benares, he marvelled that she should still retain her youth and beauty.

  He bore without flinching her piercing gaze.

  He recalled to mind that she had loved him, and that he had treated her with disdain. He thought to himself that she, too, would wish to be revenged on him. But now that the first stroke had fallen he knew that he had the power to give them battle.

  A fierce hatred began to possess him against the two beings who were so deliberately attacking him when his cup of happiness was full. Yes, he would have to set to work again. They had willed it so. He would not shrink from the task. The wretched creatures had brought it on themselves. They only had themselves to blame... He would show them what Chéri-Bibi was capable of doing even though he wore the skin of the Marquis du Touchais.

  And so he had with him in his Villa on the Cliff, seated at his table opposite his wife, his adored idol, this wretched woman, this flower from the penal settlement, this companion of convicts and hardened criminals who struck terror in the hearts of the most callous by her ferocity at the time of the mutiny on the “Bayard,” and amused the most cynical by her extraordinary command of slang.

  Of course she had helped him when he escaped from his manacles, and he would never be able to forget it, but she had acted under the impulse of the worst of passions, the desire to hold in her arms Chéri-Bibi, the celebrated criminal, the famous man of blood as he then was. Faugh! it filled the Marquis with disgust.

  The very thought that he had been in contact with that wanton and was forced to repel her reckless advances, brought a blush of shame to his cheeks. And now she played the lady, was full of affectations, gave herself airs, and astonished Cecily and the Marquis du Touchais himself by her assurance, her elegance, and her choice of language, which was pretentious and artificial almost to the point of absurdity.

  Women know how to dissemble. However eager she was to be revenged against Chéri-Bibi, against Chéri-Bibi’s happiness, against the love that he had for another woman and refused to her, she smiled at him, she made herself agreeable. “What an awful creature,” the Marquis thought to himself.

  Just then he felt a knee brush against his own. He drew back slightly. But the knee pursued him, pressed against him, and a little foot fixed itself upon his.

  Chéri-Bibi did not budge this time nor did he speak. It was as though he had been turned to stone.

  Oh the cool impudence of it in Cecily’s presence! She was but a couple of steps from his wife! He was bound to permit this odious contact in order to avoid a scene. It seemed to him that, as a respectable husband and father, he was committing a sacrilege in allowing that foot to rest upon his own. Nevertheless he did not repulse her, not only because he wished to avoid any action which might arouse suspicion in his wife’s mind, but also because it suddenly occurred to him that the Countess still loved him and had not abandoned the hope of making him love her.

  If that were so, his defence against the Kanaka would become less difficult. He might, perhaps, make an ally of her even if he had to get rid of her as occasion offered after he had disposed of her husband.

  It behoved him to learn as soon as may be, what precisely he had to fear from the Kanaka, what scheme was being hatched against him; in a word what the Kanaka’s plan of campaign was. It he played his cards well the Countess might end, perhaps, by revealing the whole plot.

  He responded to the pressure of her foot by a sympathetic movement and he at once perceived from her look, from the inflection of her voice, from her entire bearing which was not sufficiently reserved, that she was grateful. Fortunately Cecily was far from suspecting any such duplicity.

  Nevertheless, Chéri-Bibi was not easy in his mind and he very gently withdrew his foot from under hers. But at that moment, in order doubtless that he might be fully conscious of the agitation that his presence produced in her, she placed her hand, her small hot hand on his, and said in the most animated manner:

  “And you, monsieur le Marquis, you also have travelled a great deal. People haven’t yet forgotten that terrible affair of the “Bayard.” You were made prisoner by convicts. Oh, how I should love to hear the story of your adventures. The very thought gives me a thrill.”

  Dr. Walter did not hesitate to add his entreaties to his wife’s and Chéri-Bibi whether he liked it or not had to comply.

  Dr. Walter went so far as to ask some particulars about the famous Chéri-Bibi and also the Kanaka.

  “I understand there was a woman on board whom they called the Countess” said Mme. Walter replacing her foot in a peremptory manner on Chéri-Bibi’s.

  “Yes, Madame,” returned the Marquis, who would have liked to choke the life out of the pair of them on the spot. “
She was as it happens, the Kanaka’s wife.”

  “Was she a beautiful woman?

  “Well, Madame, she was very handsome.”

  “I hear that at one time she was a woman of fashion.”

  “I have heard so.”

  “It was said, too, that she was in love with Chéri-Bibi. Is that true?”

  “I can’t say, Madame. I was not in her confidence. Still I believe that Chéri-Bibi had a certain liking for her.” Gratitude from Mme. Walter expressed by a movement of her foot under the table. Shame on Chéri-Bibi who dared not look at Cecily, and regarded himself as the worst of men, the lowest of the low... Oh the scoundrels... They should pay dearly for it, the pair of them!

  “Is Chéri-Bibi really dead?” asked the doctor abruptly, looking the Marquis straight in the face.

  He did not lower his eyes; and his voice when he answered assumed so grave an accent that Cecily was surprised.

  “Yes doctor yes. Chéri-Bibi is dead. I myself saw his body thrown into the sea tied up in the usual sack, and for some days before that he was little more than a corpse. His sister who lives in this neighbourhood was present like myself at the funeral service. He is dead. And you can take it from me that he won’t come to life again.”

  “Why do you say that dear?” asked Cecily who did not grasp the importance or the expediency of the declaration.

  “Because Dr. Walter seems to doubt it.”

  “That’s because Chéri-Bibi is an extraordinary being, and it is difficult to imagine that he died a... natural... death” replied the doctor with a composure which at least equalled the Marquis’s. “Other people have said the same thing before. Listen, two years ago — perhaps he still comes to Dieppe — there was a Detective Inspector...”

  “You mean of course a man called Costaud” said Chéri-Bibi, with disarming frankness.

  “Yes, that’s the man. Well Costaud does not believe in Chéri-Bibi’s death. It’s no use telling him what you have said to us, his invariable reply is: ‘Chéri-Bibi is not dead. It was his interest to disappear. He deceived everyone on the ship as he deceived everyone at the penal settlement. And, mark my words, one day people will learn that he escaped death just as he escaped from Cayenne. He will pop up again under another name or under another disguise.’ Costaud seemed convinced of it in his own mind when he said that.”

  “Everything is possible” said the Countess, “but nothing can be less certain. What you say is what we call a gratuitous assumption” she added turning to Chéri-Bibi, and from the look in her eyes he realised that she was on his side, and left it to him to play the game with her against the Kanaka.

  He thanked her quietly with his foot under the table. And he had a feeling of renewed hope, notwithstanding the diabolical audacity with which Dr. Walter proceeded to enlarge on the matter:

  “I assure you that one never knows what may happen with such people. How do we know that we are not rubbing shoulders with him every day, that we don’t come up against him in the Casino? Costaud said to me: ‘I don’t despair of seeing Chéri-Bibi again in Dieppe. He belongs to the place. It was the scene of his first exploits. He will come back again.’ For my part, I who am very fond of serial stories and find a relaxation in them from my daily routine, I confess that it would amuse me greatly... Suppose they should arrest him one evening in the Casino? People might have had dealings with a man, thinking that he was a marquis or a baron and then find out all at once that he was Chéri-Bibi!”

  “You have remarkable powers of imagination” said the Marquis, who turned slightly pale.

  He stood up. Coffee was served in the garden. Cecily and the doctor were the first to leave the verandah. Certain that she could not be observed the Countess motioned to Chéri-Bibi to remain behind.

  “We know all about his imagination” she muttered between her teeth, but loud enough for the Marquis to hear.

  She had taken his arm and Chéri-Bibi pressed her hand warmly.

  “I still love you” she whispered.

  “What are you here for?” asked Chéri-Bibi, keeping still further behind.

  “To save you Chéri-Bibi... To save you if you will have a little pity on me. They are preparing a frightful blow against you.”

  “Who are ‘they’?”

  “The Kanaka and Little Buddha.”

  “I thought as much... The blackguards.”

  “But nothing is lost if you’ll listen to me.”

  “I’ll kill the Kanaka.”

  “That won’t help you. He has taken every precaution I know! He told me so himself. He has written out your story and made his will in which he discloses your real identity and furnishes the means of proving it. The whole thing is in a sealed envelope which is to be opened the day of his death.”

  “Then I can’t go for him.”

  “That’s why he thinks he’s so clever. Book at him. I loathe him.”

  “I’m done for, Countess.”

  “We must see about that.... Do you love me?”

  Before Chéri-Bibi had time to reply Cecily turned round and called them. While she was serving the coffee her husband watched her graceful movements without concealing his extreme dejection. The Countess’s revelations had paralysed him. He was foiled; he was powerless against the Kanaka. He would be a mere plaything in his hands. The Kanaka would be his master, his torturer, his executioner, and he would be debarred from any thought of getting rid of him. Such a crime would be the signal of his downfall, his ruin.

  Oh, the Kanaka had prepared for every emergency. And Chéri-Bibi would have to submit to him to the uttermost, until he had stripped him of the last farthing — him and his. Poor Cecily! Poor little Jacques!

  Chéri-Bibi slipped one of his hands underneath his waistcoat and under his shirt, and his nails tore the skin of his chest causing red streaks in the infamous and indelible blue tatoo-marks which stamped him as Chéri-Bibi for life and even beyond the grave.

  Cecily and the doctor walked away to admire the view from the top of the rising ground whence they could have a sight of the sea.

  “But look here,” growled Chéri-Bibi when he was once more alone with the Countess, “how much money do they want?”

  “The lot.”

  “But what will be left for me?”

  “That’s what I asked him. He replied that you would be left with your love for your wife. If you really love her, Chéri-Bibi, there’s your consolation!... And at the finish, it’s I who will have nothing at all. Oh! see that quite plainly. I noticed how you looked at her just now.’

  “Don’t talk about it; that’s no business of yours.”

  He flung the words at her savagely and she muttered in an extraordinary transport of delight:

  “Oh that’s almost like your old self before he flayed your jaw Chéri-Bibi!... Well, I assure you that the last word has not been said between the three of us. I hate him and I love you. The rest will come in due course.... You mustn’t lose faith in Providence.”

  “Look here, what scheme have you concocted? You can very well tell me. How is it he came here two years ago? Did he leave the ‘Bayard’ at once?”

  “Yes, directly after you did. We returned to France where we thought we should meet you again. Of course he always intended to blackmail you on a big scale. The million francs were a mere nothing to him. His life’s work was you. He had failed with so many others. You can imagine that he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight after making a success with your face! No, the million francs were of no account. He proved that by losing them in a month on the gaming tables at Monte Carlo. It was then that he came and established himself here, thinking that you would arrive soon.”

  “What about you?”

  “I left for the Indies with a rich Englishman. I preferred to get away. I had no wish to take part in what was to come. It hurt me too much. And then I was still thinking of you. You have always treated me like a dog, but you are a part of my life.... Oh don’t speak, I’m not asking you for anything, Chéri-
Bibi. I know how to wait. My time will come....”

  “The villains,” growled Chéri-Bibi to himself.

  He longed to have a knife at the end of his fingers and to plunge it into his flesh and to lacerate and mortify himself for putting himself in the power of those two beings who were about to crush him when he had attained the summit of happiness.

  The Countess fixed her eyes on the Kanaka and the Marchioness who were on the hill discussing the landscape and breaking into raptures over the view, and she went on with her story in quick sentences. It was the Kanaka who introduced her to the Englishman with a view of “clearing him out,” because they needed money until the Marquis’s great stroke was a definite success. She continued to send him money from abroad. The Kanaka held her by the link of the awful past that they had in common. The Englishman died leaving the Countess a considerable sum and the Kanaka — informed by his police, the international police of convicts, which is the most effective police of all — rejoined her at a time when she was hoping to be rid of him. During the last year they had been living on the money left to the Countess. Now that it was exhausted, they were preparing their blow against the Marquis. And this time the Kanaka was determined to make himself rich for life. That was the scheme. It was a simple one.

  “You’ll have to submit to whatever he pleases my poor Chéri-Bibi. Oh you thought of killing him. But you can’t kill him.”

  “I can’t kill him nor can I kill myself, for I know what he would do after my death.”

  “He would blackmail your wife by pointing to your body and by disclosing to her that her son was Chéri-Bibi’s son.”

  “Oh don’t, don’t” said Chéri-Bibi in a hoarse voice, and he uttered a hollow groan: “Fatalitas!”

  “Be careful, here’s your wife... I was saying to your husband that you have a delightful place... Oh delightful... The view from here is wonderful and the air delicious. It is very different from “The Fronds” where we live, and where the damp penetrates everything. I don’t know why my husband took the tumble down old place. It’s not a cottage, dear madame, it’s a sponge! I assure you it’s a sponge. The doctor who suffers from gout will soon find this out... Beware of rheumatism dear!”