When he made an effort the muscles under his convict’s jumper stood out in startling prominence.
He invariably wore this jumper. No one had ever seen him, as they had seen his fellow-convicts, at work or walking about stripped to the waist. It was said that upon his chest was tattooed the mystery of his life and that these marks expressed the secret of his heart. Chéri-Bibi was a man of great reserve in love affairs. This man, whose crimes were beyond computation, had always possessed, as the phrase goes, irreproachable morals.
Chéri-Bibi and the Nut imagined that they were alone. They did not observe the Burglar warily retrace his steps and hide behind a rock in order to keep an eye on them and overhear their conversation. Chéri-Bibi sat down beside the Nut and proceeded with the carving of his piece of wood.
“What’s that?” asked the Nut.
“That’s the key to freedom,” returned Chéri-Bibi.
“What do you say?” exclaimed the Nut, turning pale.
Chéri-Bibi heaved a sigh that might have softened the hardest heart.
“I like you, old chum, and should have been glad of your company,” he said in a voice that failed him somewhat, “but I see clearly enough that you are worrying yourself to death here. Cheer up. You will soon be free. You will be able to go back to France, old man.”
The Nut knew that when Chéri-Bibi spoke he spoke to some purpose. He believed in him; and he was buoyed up by an immense hope.
“Back to France,” he gasped.
“Twenty-two!” whispered Chéri-Bibi.
Twenty-two signified in convict language: “Look out!”
The Nut turned his head slightly and caught sight of the figure of a convict guard passing not far away from them, his rifle slung over his shoulder. The man cast a glance in their direction and disappeared, strolling along the sea-front. The Burglar still occupied his post of observation.
“I may tell you that I shall provide you with the papers of an honest man. You shall have everything necessary to start afresh and be happy.”
“Heavens above!” moaned the Nut.
He took a long look at Chéri-Bibi. Chéri-Bibi was weeping. The Nut felt a thrill pass through him. Tears in the eyes of Chéri-Bibi! It was a sight to which he was unaccustomed. Chéri-Bibi stuck his fists into his eyes, as a punishment, doubtless, for that moment of weakness, and uttered a frightful oath.
“Why don’t you get away with me?” asked the Nut.
“Because I should be in your way, old man.
You’ll soon forget all about Chéri-Bibi, I assure you.”
“Never!” exclaimed the Nut. “You are the only man here who has been decent to me. You have always stood up for me.”
“Stood up for you! You don’t need anyone to stand up for you. Under your somewhat ladylike ways you are as strong as I am. If you had given those fellows who are always jawing at you a sound thrashing they would have soon stopped humbugging you. But you are too much of the gentleman to fight them. For that matter, that’s what attracted me to you. I like people who have been well brought up; and then I like an honest man, and you are an honest man. I believe you when you tell me that you are innocent. I remember the time when I hadn’t yet used the knife. Oh, it remains impressed on my memory, does that first blow. I always carried a knife in my belt. I was a journeyman butcher in Le Pollet. Do you know Le Pollet? It’s near Dieppe. No doubt you’ve been to the races there in the summer. You were always a smart chap.... Why are you so pale again?”
“Because I’m thinking of the races at Dieppe,” returned the Nut, closing his eyes.
“Yes, those were jolly days. Believe me, that was the place for smartly dressed people. The pink of fashion, swagger officials in full fig, and English swells. And the chorus girls, what brazen hussies!. — . — . But to come back to my first affair with a knife, which happened on the cliff at Dieppe. Some blackguard was about to do in a decent fellow. I arrived on the scene. I tried to get at the blackguard with my knife, but killed the honest man instead. And I was sentenced. Fatalitas! That was the beginning of all my troubles. But I don’t want to think about them, nor about France nor anything else. I have perpetrated more murders than there are fingers on my hands. But always with the best intentions! You know what I mean; it was hard luck. Fatalitas! So it’s better for me to remain here forever, don’t you think? A penal settlement, you see, was made for me; it’s my hearth and home. You, you are young, and that’s quite another pair of shoes. You can build up a new life. Marry an honest woman and make her happy. Take my advice, and keep away from the other sort of women. You’ve had your lesson in that particular, I dare say.”
“You bet!” returned the Nut smiling, greatly astonished to hear such moral sentiments from Chéri-Bibi’s mouth. “But you haven’t yet told me what you are making.”
Chéri-Bibi did not answer immediately, but raising his eyes to the jetty, the head of which sheltering the small natural harbor, could be seen, said:
“Take a squint yonder.”
The Nut turned his gaze to the harbor. A large motor launch, evidently from the wood-cutting establishments at St. Laurent-du-Maroni, drew alongside. An officer landed and was received on the jetty by a number of officials.
“See what’s taking place,” went on Chéri-Bibi. “What do you make of it?”
“Well,” returned the Nut, “it’s the officer who has just finished his tour of inspection. They must be asking him for news of the war. It doesn’t seem to be good news. They don’t look a bit pleased with themselves.”
“What then?”
“The lieutenant is stooping towards the launch.”
“Ah, there you are,” said Chéri-Bibi. “Well, what else?”
“The engineer is standing on the deck-house and has handed him something which he is putting in his pocket.”
“Stop! You’ve seen enough and now have a look at this.”
Chéri-Bibi pointed to the piece of wood upon which he was no longer working.
“This is an exact copy of the thing that the inspecting officer put in his pocket. Do you know what that thing is? It is an indispensable part of the motor, and without it the engine won’t go. When he has it in his pocket he is easy in his mind. There’s no hope of the convicts making use of the launch. When I went on fatigue duty to St. Laurent I had the opportunity of examining that part. I assure you that this one is the fellow to it, and if anything is missing, I’ll make it this evening.”
“This evening!” exclaimed the Nut.
“Yes, old man, you shall be free this evening, I give you my word. I’ve finished digging a hole in my hut. We shall see some fun this evening. Look out!... Warders coming. They’re sounding the fall in.”
The two men sprang up. The Nut was behind Chéri-Bibi, quivering with a new hope. They went off to line up with the other men of their section in a sunk road which was dominated by a government office. It was here that they were employed in laying out a new road across the island.
During the whole of that day every movement by the Nut and Chéri-Bibi was spied upon by the Burglar, and not a word was exchanged by them which was not either overheard or guessed by him.
The Burglar said, between times, to the Parisian, the Caid and the Joker:
“Hold yourself in readiness. Something’s going to happen to-night when we’re having a game of dice.”
After the last muster at six o’clock the convicts turned their steps towards their prison almost with an air of cheerfulness. The day’s work was done. The men were then locked up in their prison, which consisted of one large dormitory, and were left to do as they pleased, sleep or drink or play games, free from the presence of the guards. Chéri-Bibi, the Nut, the Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker shared the same dormitory with some twenty other men. That evening the officer made a tour of inspection.
Standing in line in front of a double row of hammocks, they listened to his remarks. He told them that he would not allow any noise in the prison. They might consider themsel
ves in their own homes, with doors closed, but they were there for sleeping purposes, and if any complaint was made against them, he would send the entire section to the cages in the main building.
Before leaving he asked:
“Has any man anything to bring to my notice?”
The Nut stepped forward.
“There’s a rumor, monsieur, that bad news has been received from France.”
“What interest can that be to you?” returned the officer harshly. “Men like you have nothing more to do with France.”
The Nut grew pale. A threatening murmur swept through the ranks. The guards enforced silence by drawing their revolvers. Nevertheless one of the men could not refrain from shouting: “Give us a rifle and you’d soon see that we know how to die like other men.”
“You are not fit to shoulder a rifle,” retorted the officer, and he walked away.
The door closed after him. The convicts raised their clenched fists in the air. A tumult of oaths filled the dormitory. The Nut flung himself into his hammock and covered his face with his hands.
For men like the Nut, who had been laid low by the hand of fate, the hours spent in the dormitory, however popular they might be with other men because of the absence of all restraint, were undoubtedly the most merciless which human justice could inflict. The herding together of these men was an abominable sight. Every passion and vice, kept alive by drink and gambling, had full rein. It was a veritable inferno. Fortunately for the Nut fate, which was so cruel in other respects, had vouchsafed Chéri-Bibi to him as his comrade. His presence and the terror which he inspired forced the men to leave the Nut comparatively undisturbed.
As he lay in his hammock, he closed his eyes to shut out the vision of those hideous faces, but he could not stop his ears. And it was too awful. Bottles of rum, playing cards, money, appeared from no one knew where, and the nightly revel began.
Chéri-Bibi lifted one of the slabs with which the floor of the prison was paved without troubling about what was taking place around him. A gaping cavity stood revealed before him, and he descended it. For the last two months he had been digging at that outlet. Once he broke off his work to get himself sent to solitary confinement for a week in order quietly to finish carving the piece of wood which would enable him to make use of the motor launch.
When he was digging at his hole his fellow-convicts helped him in the morning to remove the earth which had collected during the night, so that the warders might not perceive anything unusual. He promised them that when his plan was completed there would be an opportunity for any of them to escape if they had a mind for it. He did not enter into any further explanation, and they let him go his own way, wondering what it was that he was about to attempt.
The Parisian and his gang did not betray him for many reasons, not the least of which was that Chéri-Bibi had declared that if they gave him away he would know who did the deed, and, in any case, even if the Parisian and the Burglar were innocent, he would cook their goose for them. Another reason was that the Parisian and his friends were themselves cherishing the idea of flight.
They retained the hope that Chéri-Bibi’s scheme, when they knew it in its entirety, would be useful to them. That evening, seated on their kit-bags, in a corner, the Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker watched Chéri-Bibi as he slipped into his underground passage.
“Will your hole be ready soon?” asked the Joker.
“Give me another week,” returned Chéri-Bibi, as he disappeared from view.
The four convicts fished out their dice and began to play in the dismal light of the lanterns hanging from the prison roof. Darkness had fallen, for night comes quickly in tropical countries. In every part of the dormitory men began to play games. Some of them were at cards. Bottles were opened and the pungent odor of rum permeated the air.
The Nut was seemingly asleep in his hammock.
“Chéri-Bibi is lying to you,” whispered the Burglar to his three confederates. “Chéri-Bibi is tricking us. He’s going to do the job to-night. He’ll get out through his underground passage, and put off in the motor launch. He has found some dodge of making the engine go. The Nut is to follow him in half an hour when he’s ready to start the engine. But our pals will prevent the Nut from getting away, and it’s we who’ll do a guy. When Chéri-Bibi finds that the Nut doesn’t turn up he’ll come back to fetch him, and we’ll take the opportunity of jumping into the launch, and off we’ll go!”
The plot was cleverly contrived. The other “jailbirds” were furious when they learned that Chéri-Bibi was putting them off, and held themselves in readiness to act on a signal from the Burglar.
The Nut pretended to be asleep. Nevertheless he was consumed by a feeling of intense excitement. At that terrible and decisive moment his thoughts turned to his mother, who had died of grief, and he prayed to her — his mother! He thought of the golden days of his youth. He lived the past over again. He beheld the radiant picture of himself when life smiled at him and he had but to stoop to pluck its most fragrant flowers.
CHAPTER III
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST
RAOUL HAD NOT known in that enchanted garden how to cull the flowers. It needs very little to transform paradise into a garden of suffering. At the dawn of life, as at the dawn of the world, it is enough for the gesture of a woman to bring about the catastrophe.
What acts of folly he had committed for Nina Noha, the capricious dancing-girl who scoffed at him and ruined him, tormented and drove him mad with jealousy, and forced him into the worst excesses of gambling!
Thus he had weakly allowed himself to find an excuse for his early excesses. Though the dancer was his first passion, she was not his first love. It was in her society that he strove to forget a woman, a young friend of his mother’s, unhappily married to a man who loved her but whom she did not love. She soon came to her senses.. — .
But for Raoul and this woman it had been a bitter experience, the secret of which now filled him, when he thought of it, with a feeling of pain and sorrow.
But he quickly forgot the first incident in his life when he was in the dressing-room at the theater, where Nina Noha every night made up her voluptuous beauty anew after she had finished her dances which, frenzied and languorous by turns, drew all Paris. He wanted to be the sole master of this public favorite.... Stupid pride!... Madness!... At the price of his inheritance he had purchased a few hours of pleasure, every one of which he had to fight for.
The pity of it! He called to mind a first performance one evening in a fashionable theater on the boulevard, in which Nina had made a huge hit. She promised to go to supper with him. To enter a smart restaurant at one o’clock in the morning with this woman, covered with jewels, on his arm, was for Raoul a dazzling joy for which, like a child, he was ready to give up everything that he possessed.
She was very amiable that evening and permitted him to make a parade of her. Roaul de Saint Dalmas in the eyes of everyone present was the fortunate friend of Nina Noha. What an unforgettable moment! He saw in imagination the warm room, resplendent with light and gaily bedecked women. He heard the Hungarian band and its wild music. He could have repeated the remarks of his friends who did homage to Nina. But Nina that evening gave no ear to them. Her smiles were reserved for him who had promised to give her next day his last twenty thousand francs.
Twenty thousand francs for a smile from Nina was a trifle. But to pay for it in a penal settlement was somewhat dear.... Open your eyes, Raoul, and look round you, and see the party which is present at your feast to-night. Here are faces which are somewhat different from the faces that you saw at those festal occasions on the boulevard.
With what looks of deadly hatred the convicts bend over their unhappy victim. The Nut does not say a word. He remains silent, this dog of a Parisian who was as strong as a Turk and for over ten years had not once condescended to come to blows with them. What were his thoughts under his closed eyes? Oh, they were capable of tearing open those eyes to discov
er what his dreams were about.
Poor, unfortunate Raoul, who in the gloom of prison could bring to life again the glitter of those Parisian feasts and the glowing memory of Nina Noha.... She was more cruel than his present taskmasters, was that beautiful dancer who gave him short shrift when he was ruined. Then his thoughts harked back to his sole refuge, his mother, who had received the prodigal son with joy.
“Now you must work,” she said. He promised sincerely to atone for his sins. Mme de Saint Dalmas took her son to an old friend of the family, Charles Raynaud, a banker in Paris, who agreed to find an opening for him in his business.
Raynaud was a very decent fellow whose own youthful days had not been without blemish, but that did not prevent him from settling down later on to work, and acquiring a considerable fortune. He himself determined to train Raoul in memory of his father who had been a loyal friend. He made him his private secretary and placed him in his own office. After a few months, Raoul, who had shown a great will to work and an uncommon intelligence, became Charles Raynaud’s confidential man.
The unfortunate part was that Raoul had not ceased to think of Nina. He endeavored to renew his relations with her. She declined even to see him in her dressing-room at the theater. He greatly felt her contemptuous treatment of him. That was the origin of the tragedy that followed.
On the Saturday before the races at Dieppe, Raynaud came into his office with a friend at the moment when considerable sums of money were passing through Raoul’s hands and he was preparing to hand them over. While he was counting bundles of ten thousand francs, Raynaud said to his friend:
“It’s a certain tip. Volubilis is a twenty to one chance... a walk over.”
Just then the banker was called away to the next room. His friend did not wait for him. Raoul’s brain was on fire. He had arranged to go to Dieppe the following day, less to see his mother who was on a visit there, than because he knew that Nina would be at the races... Nina... Volubilis... A twenty to one chance and he had but two louis in his pocket! His hands feverishly crumpled the bank-notes, one of which would suffice to bring him a small fortune.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 186
