Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “You’ve told me your program,” said Chéri-Bibi, putting his elbows on the table, while the coffee was being served, “and I’m now going to speak of mine, if you don’t mind. I promise you that it will make another man of you, my dear old Dodger, and you’ll fancy we’re back again to the best days of our youth.”

  “I’m listening, Monsieur Casimir,” returned Hilaire, blowing smoke towards the ceiling and seemingly greatly interested in the rings which were forming above him.

  “I know nothing more likely to make one forget the worries of family life and the anxieties of business,” began Chéri-Bibi by way of prologue, “than to take a hand in certain schemes in which you have to bring into play some degree of cunning, presence of mind, coolness, and a great amount of pluck; in fact, all the qualities which enabled us in the old days to overcome very considerable difficulties. You cannot have forgotten them.”

  “Bless me, Monsieur Casimir, if I understand you aright, your program, while it offers us some amount of amusement, is not particularly one to go to sleep on.”

  “If you want to remain idle while I’m working, you can watch me on the job,” returned Chéri-Bibi in a gruff voice.

  “I should have some feeling of remorse, Monsieur Casimir—”

  “If you have too much feeling of remorse, you can take the next train back—”

  “Don’t be upset, Monsieur Casimir. You know as well as I do that my life belongs to you. I gave it to you once for all. I owe everything to you. I am not ungrateful. Tell me what you intend to do,” said Hilaire with a deep sigh. “Is there someone who still stands in your way?”

  “Yes, there is someone who still stands in my way, Monsieur Hilaire. You’ve hit it in one.”

  “It’s his own lookout,” said the grocer with another deep and mournful sigh. “Yes, it will serve him right. As long as he is in your way, he is in my way, too! And, look here, I had better tell you right now,” added the Dodger, who realized that it was not the moment for jesting, “that I shan’t be easy in my mind until that someone no longer inconveniences you. Then we shall be able to enjoy in peace the good things of this delightful country. Upon my word, I really believe that between us we shall know how to manage the affair so that he doesn’t worry us much longer.”

  “I didn’t expect anything else from you, my dear Dodger. You must know then that the person who annoys me is a certain gentleman whose service you will enter to-morrow as chauffeur.”

  “Is it possible!” sighed the Dodger. “You’ve already found me a job as chauffeur — to start tomorrow morning? What is this particular gentleman’s business?”

  “He is a gentleman very comfortably off. He has no business, and his name is M. de Saynthine.”

  “I’m much obliged to you, Monsieur, for finding me such a smart post. Since Monsieur Casimir is hall-porter to a surgeon-dentist, I see no reason why Monsieur Hilaire shouldn’t be chauffeur to an independent gentleman. What have I got to do?”

  “Well, you look after the car as you used to do at my house.”

  “And then?”

  And then you will keep a watchful eye on everything that’s happening round you.”

  “And what else?”

  “Listen to everything that’s said.”

  “Come, I say, that doesn’t sound very difficult.”

  “Your future governor, M. de Saynthine, is particularly interested in someone whom you know, my dear Dodger.”

  “Whom do you mean? I’ve met so many people since I went into business.”

  “You remember the man who came and knocked at your door one evening and mentioned me?”

  “Oh, yes, but I don’t even know his name.”

  “His name is Didier d’Haumont. He is one of the heroes of the Great War. Besides, he made a very fine marriage, which was reported in all the newspapers. When I send you customers, Monsieur Hilaire, I send you the very best.”

  “Oh, really!... I am very thankful to you. What has my governor, M. de Saynthine, to do with M. d’Haumont?”

  “He has this much to do with him: that he hates him like poison and has sworn to ruin him, and M. d’Haumont has no suspicion of it, the poor, dear man.”

  “Indeed! Well, let him lay hands on anyone who comes to me from you and says ‘Fatalitas!’” Chéri-Bibi put his mouth to the Dodger’s ear. “As long as M. de Saynthine lives, your customer, Dodger, won’t be safe for a moment.”

  M. Hilaire scratched his ear.

  “That being so, my governor’s number is up,” he sighed. “There’s another man who won’t make old bones!”

  “Yes,” growled Chéri-Bibi, “accidents will happen. Oh, by the way, your governor has a friend, a bit of a braggart, who acts as his factotum and whose name is Onésime Belon. De Saynthine picked this man, who is an old pal of his, out of the gutter, and he calls him in private the Joker, though no one has ever known why.”

  “Must I keep an eye on him, too?”

  “Keep an eye on him! I should think you must keep an eye on him. He is as dangerous to our friend, the Captain, as your governor is. Our friend will never have a quiet life so long as this Onésime Belon...”

  Chéri-Bibi did not finish the sentence, but brought his two hands together and gave a twist which left no doubt as to the necessity for disposing of this fellow also.

  “Ah, yes, that man too,” sighed Hilaire.

  “I might as well let you know also that Onésime Belon is mixed up with a certain second-hand clothes dealer in the old town — that accounts, perhaps, for his being so shabbily dressed — a man nicknamed the Burglar, who is easily recognized because he walks sideways like a crab, and can’t hide the fact that one of his shoulders is higher than the other. This man, the Burglar, calls himself in the old town Monsieur Toulouse....”

  “Does he, too, bear a grudge against Captain d’Haumont?” asked poor Hilaire with growing anxiety, while the sweat broke over his forehead in great drops.

  “Bear him a grudge! I should think he did bear him a grudge! He has sworn to ruin him or to cook his goose for him. Listen carefully. All those fellows are in possession of a certain secret, and they have determined to blackmail the Captain to the death.”

  “Blackmail him to the death! Yes, I can understand the whole thing. It’s not very complicated, this blackmail business.... So this man the Burglar...?”

  “This man the Burglar as well,” said Chéri-Bibi simply.

  “As well?”

  “As well.”

  “That makes three of ’em,” Hilaire ventured to observe.

  “You know how to count in the grocery business!”

  The tone in which this fearsome sentence was flung in Hilaire’s face sent a shudder through him from head to foot.

  Chéri-Bibi rose from the table, paid the bill and whistled to the Dodger like a master calling his dog. Hilaire gave a start and followed him like a puppy who has received a drubbing.

  “I’ve known you when you had more go in you, Dodger,” said Chéri-Bibi when they were in the street.

  “Well, curse me, three! You know, Monsieur le Marquis, that I’ve got out of the habit of doing these things. I’ve got a bit rusty in the Rue Saint Roch. Give me a little time to get used to the idea that we’ve got a little job under way.”

  “Look here, Dodger, I’m very fond of you, but don’t go on pulling such a long face at the thought of doing a service to a brave soldier — a thought which ought to move you to enthusiasm. Bear in mind that without our assistance he’ll fall a victim to those villains.”

  “Villains! You’re right, Monsieur le Marq... I feel my enthusiasm beginning to rise.”

  “They’re the cleverest of blackmailers.”

  “The mere thought of blackmailers always disgusted me,” declared Hilaire, with a gesture of repugnance.

  “Well done! That’s more like your old self. Don’t forget that we have to do our good deeds in the dark.”

  “Yes, yes; I shan’t forget. We must work in the dark as far as possi
ble. Certainly we shan’t receive a medal for striking this particular blow.”

  “No, but you will satisfy your own conscience.”

  “That’s good enough for me, Monsieur le Marquis. You have helped me to make up my mind to act,” declared Hilaire in a voice which was not entirely cheerful.

  “Well, now that you’ve come round to a sensible view of things, I’ll finish telling you the program.”

  “What’s that? Isn’t that the end of it?”

  “Nearly the end.”

  “Nearly!” exclaimed Hilaire with a profound sigh.

  “Well, what about it? What’s the matter now?”

  “It’s this ‘nearly.’ You said ‘nearly,’ Monsieur Casimir. Now I confess that this ‘nearly’ scares me. In the old days when you, Monsieur le Marquis... had ‘nearly’ finished a job we had enough in hand to last a week!”

  “What a pity. And all this fuss over a peddler of rugs,” growled Chéri-Bibi.

  “A peddler of rugs?”

  “Yes, a man from Tunis whom they call the Caid, and who lugs about on his shoulder all day a bundle of rugs — a nigger of no importance.”

  “Oh, if that’s all it is!” exclaimed Hilaire. “I fancy I see him now — one of those ‘me never ill and never die’ sort.”

  “Let him say it,” snorted Chéri-Bibi fiercely.

  “What do you mean, ‘let him say it?’”

  “Hang it all, if he says ‘me never ill, never die,’ he’s making a mistake, that’s all.”

  “Oh, very good indeed. You, Monsieur le Marq... always had a pretty wit. And afterwards? Aren’t there any more?”

  “No, I don’t think I’ve forgotten anybody. Besides, once for all, call me Monsieur Casimir.

  “Of course... of course, Monsieur Casimir. Hilaire did not utter another word. Monsieur Casimir respected his silence; and thus they came to within a few steps of the hotel.

  “Can I leave you and go to bed?’ asked Hilaire in a voice that failed him somewhat. “We’re not going to begin to-night?”

  “No. Go and have a good night’s rest, and, above all, no bad dreams.”

  “Good night, Monsieur Casimir.”

  “Good night, Monsieur Hilaire.”

  CHAPTER XVII

  M. DE SAYNTHINE

  HILAIRE HAD BEEN in the service of his new master for several days. So far, he was extremely satisfied with his new and singular position. His pay was by no means small. When he first called on M. de Saynthine he was subjected to a searching scrutiny, and his master said: “He looks an ass, but he must be pretty quick-witted.”

  Such criticism was hardly likely to meet with Hilaire’s approval, but he was consoled by the first part of the sentence, and he said to himself:

  “I look what I wish to look at the moment.” After closing the door of the study in which he interviewed him, M. de Saynthine, who was a well set-up, middle-aged man, went on arranging his tie before the glass, which enabled him to watch Hilaire’s every movement.

  “You were recommended to me, my lad,” he said, “by a friend of Mlle. Nina Noha, who told me that you have a very reliable character” (M. Hilaire bowed), “and are so discreet that you would even decline to tell me the extent of your zeal in your late master’s interests. I understood that you rendered him very substantial services, which were only interrupted by the unexpected outbreak of war. That suits me admirably. I am told, also, that you are not the sort of man to work for nothing, and your devotion doesn’t run counter to your interests. I will give you a thousand francs a month. Will that satisfy you?”

  “That will suit me to begin with,” returned Hilaire, without moving a muscle.

  “Then we are agreed,” concluded M. de Saynthine. “But it is understood that you do absolutely as you’re told without asking questions, or endeavoring to understand what is not explained to you; and you will pretend not to understand when you do understand. Moreover, you must not be surprised at anything.”

  “Monsieur, that’s settled. It’s just the sort of place that I’ve been looking for.”

  “Well, go and see M. Onésime Belon, who will tell you what you have to do from day to day. He is the man with whom you will have to deal when it’s a question of any special business. You must take your orders from him as though he were myself...

  Hilaire was also extremely satisfied with M. Onésime Belon. Taken all round, the situation was an easy one.

  Hilaire had sharp ears and an inquiring eye. When he had a moment to spare he went to report the result of his observations to the hall-porter at Dr. Ross’s, for the Boulevard Victor Hugo, in which the dentist lived, was not far away.

  Dr. Ross never received patients after five o’clock in the afternoon. Thus, at that hour the hall-porter would close his office. He was a queer porter, for, in order not to be disturbed by the night bell, he rented and slept in a small house at St. Jean, on the sea coast, not far from Cape Ferrât.

  Now and then the Dodger found time to go with him, even to this distant neighborhood.

  One night, as they were passing near Mont Boron, they met a certain peddler of rugs, who must have said some very unpleasant things to them, for a more or less violent quarrel ensued. The Dodger was very excited about it when he left his friend a quarter of an hour later at the cross-way on the road from Villefranche.

  “That’s one point scored,” he said with a deep sigh.

  “Oh, that man doesn’t count,” returned Chéri-Bibi in his gruff voice.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE NUT ON THE RACK

  BUT WE MUST return to M. de Saynthine. That evening when he left M. Onésime Belon, with whom he had a long discussion, he passed through the little door leading to the deserted street on the seafront, and turned his steps towards the light of the town. He walked past the pier, crossed the public gardens, stopped before Violette’s shop and exclaimed: — Hullo, Giselle is working late to-night!”

  M. de Saynthine was in love. In reality M. de Saynthine was always in love, on principle. He possessed the sentimental temperament of a certain Arigonde, alias the Parisian, who, in his youth, had achieved notoriety as a squire of dames.

  We know that this notoriety had landed him in the Assize Court, and even beyond that Court, as a result of irretrievable accidents which had befallen the ladies to whom he paid court. The few years that he had spent in the convict settlement had by no means extinguished his ardor.

  In the early days this lady-killer was prodigal of his favors and not very particular in the choice of his partners. But he had become tired of so many commonplace adventures and victories won, as it were, before a shot was fired, that he felt the longing for an affair which would be more difficult to complete, more serious and more lasting. He had encountered Giselle at Violette’s shop in Paris, for Nina Noha was one of its customers.

  Nina Noha, to serve her own purposes, which may be imagined — particularly if it is remembered that she was of Hungarian descent and quite recently naturalized — never lost an opportunity of introducing M. de Saynthine into society circles as an old friend, who was interested in stock breeding in the Argentine, and who had come to France on the declaration of war to discover the most effective means of serving his country.

  The truth — unfortunately only too obvious — was that enemy propaganda, which was always on the lookout to increase its army of spies in the old as well as the new world, had its ramifications even in the gold-diggings in Guiana, and had enlisted the Parisian and his gang at a moment, when, having escaped a second time from their prison, they reached, in utter destitution, the frontier of Dutch Guiana.

  Enemy agents had at once seen how to turn those miscreants to account, and had supplied them with the necessary social status to enable them to live in France.

  Nina Noha had to take the Parisian in hand, and when she was entrusted with the mission of organizing a system of espionage among the fashionable crowd on the Riviera, she brought the Parisian with her, and his gang followed.

  Th
e Parisian’s first intention had been to make love to the dancer, but she repressed him so remorselessly that he accepted his rejection without demur.

  “We are not here to amuse ourselves,” she flung at him.

  The consciousness that he was her subordinate was extremely distasteful to M. de Saynthine. Until he had succeeded in striking the blow which he was meditating against the Nut, he sought, therefore, to pass the time and console himself for Nina Noha’s contempt by engaging in one of those little sentimental intrigues in which he was a past master. Giselle’s handsome face, with its touch of sadness, appealed to him from the first — from the day on which he saw her when he accompanied Nina Noha on one of her visits to Violette’s.

  While he was at Nice he happened to pass Violette’s shop and he caught sight of the young girl. After that he endeavored, without success, to induce her to respond to his advances, and he was delighted with her. Some degree of opposition was by no means unwelcome to him.

  That evening again his footsteps led him quite naturally to Violette’s shop. And now he was watching Giselle, not without excitement, putting things back in their proper places before her departure. He knew that she lived in the Rue d’Angleterre, for he had followed her so far, and he determined to make the same little trip that evening.

  Accordingly it was with a feeling of great annoyance that, when the shop door suddenly opened, he saw standing before him Nina Noha and her maid.

  “What are you doing here, de Saynthine? I say, come along with me to my place. I want to talk to you.”

  “But, my dear lady, I happen to have an appointment—”

  “Tut, tut! You’re waiting for Giselle, aren’t you? Oh, you wonder how I know what you’re up to! Giselle made a complaint to the elder Mademoiselle Violette, and she told me all about it. But your love affairs are no business of mine. Come with me. Someone is waiting to have a chat with you.”

  He could not choose but obey. He was incensed. He thought that he might even yet be able to meet Giselle before she reached the Rue d’Angleterre.