Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  When he entered the Court, Talon, the concierge, who had denounced him the day before was on his trial.

  M. Barkimel asked to be heard, and taking off his insignia of office and placing them on the table at which he had so often presided, he resigned his position as a judge on the ground of his unworthiness to hold it, acknowledging that he had in fact harbored in his flat an enemy of the people as stated by the accused. Then turning to the concierge he added:

  “Let this man go in peace. He told the truth. Let me be tried in his place. I deserve the penalty of death, and I ask to be sentenced with no more pity than I have shown to the unfortunate prisoners who have appeared before me in this Court.”

  Shouts of fury greeted M. Barkimel’s heroic utterance, and five minutes later he was duly sentenced to death as he desired and taken down to the temporary lock-up for condemned prisoners.

  It was impossible to execute him that day, for the tumbril had already set out for the Place de la Revolution, but he was lodged in a cell which the warder thought was empty. The previous evening a condemned prisoner had been placed there too late to be included in that day’s batch of executions.

  When the cell door was closed and the sound of the turnkey’s footsteps had died away in the corridor the forgotten man, whose eyes had become accustomed to the semi-darkness, exclaimed:

  “Why, it’s Barkimel!”

  “Florent! So you’re still alive!”

  “That’s not your fault.”

  “May be,” exclaimed Barkimel, flinging himself into Florent’s arms, “but it is also my fault that I am here. I felt so much remorse for what I had done that I asked to be sentenced to death to-day just as I sentenced you yesterday. And I shan’t die happy unless you say you forgive me.”

  “We will die together,” cried Florent, “and future generations” — M. Florent never lost an opportunity to call future generations to witness— “will look upon us as an example of true friendship.”

  Nevertheless, after this heroic outburst they began to condole with each other on their fate, regretting all the same, like respectable tradesmen, which they had never entirely ceased to be, having to die before their time.

  CHAPTER XXX

  IN WHICH M. HILAIRE HAS AN OPPORTUNITY OF DECLARING THAT HONORS DO NOT NECESSARILY BRING HAPPINESS

  PARIS LEARNED ALL of a sudden that the trial of Subdamoun and his supporters, or rather such of them as were still left, was fixed for the next day. It was a blow struck by the Commune against Versailles, for the National Assembly, according to Coudry and the General Vigilance Committee, were on the point of betraying the Revolution and playing the game of the reactionaries in the provinces.

  All Subdamoun’s friends, secret or avowed, were in the plot. Therefore Coudry no longer hesitated, on his own responsibility, to throw them the Major’s head as a challenge. And on the evening of his decision two thousand armed men were stationed round the Conciergerie Prison and Law Courts. He was afraid lest certain divisions might rise in support of the Major.

  It was six o’clock when Inspector-General Hilaire appeared at the wicket gate. He asked to see the Governor at once. M. Talbot sent word that he was waiting for him in the Tour de l’Ouest.

  M. Hilaire seemed somewhat dejected. M. Talbot remarked on the fact. M. Hilaire gazed at himself in a small mirror hanging on the wall and sighed.

  “You are not so badly off,” said Talbot, lolling in an easy chair. “Suppose you were in my place? Do you know that I haven’t slept a wink since you told me there was a plot to secure Subdamoun’s escape?”

  “You will be able to sleep to-night. Two thousand men are in the street to keep guard, not to mention your own little garrison, and to-morrow he will be sentenced and executed. Why, if I were in your place it is not the fear of Subdamoun breaking out of prison that would keep me awake.”

  “What would keep you awake, pray?”

  “Why,” returned M. Hilaire, putting his mouth to Talbot’s ear, “simply my regret at having Garot and Manol in my prison. There you have a couple of tough customers that respectable people would like to see sent to the devil. Their trial, you know, comes before the Assize Court at the beginning of next week, and their friends on the Vigilance Committee are in a considerable funk. Between ourselves, they are quite right, for there is no doubt the two bandits will turn informers.”

  While M. Hilaire was speaking M. Talbot changed color.

  “Have you seen Coudry?” he asked.

  “Yes,” returned M. Hilaire. “He said to me: ‘Your friend Talbot is a wonderful jailer. As long as he is the Governor there’s no fear of Garot and Manol giving us the slip.’”

  “He said that?”

  “Well, yes. Those were his exact words. He added: ‘That is a service the Republic will never forget.’”

  Talbot gave a start, rose to his feet, and took up a position facing M. Hilaire.

  “Is it my fault if they refuse to go?”

  “Ah tush!” said M. Hilaire in ingenuous surprise, “why do they refuse to go?”

  “Because they are not satisfied with any of the schemes that I have suggested to them.”

  “Deuce take it!” said M. Hilaire. “They are very difficult to please. After all, these fellows are right to take every precaution. An escape that failed would do for them for ever.”

  “They ask the impossible. They want a regular release. Something carried out in due form bearing my signature. The Governor’s official stamp — a mere nothing. But what about me? What would become of me after a thing of that sort? I should be left in the lurch by everyone.”

  “Why?” asked Hilaire, suddenly stopping the irritating swing of his long legs.

  “What do you mean— ‘Why?’... Are you making game of me? Because I alone would be held responsible.”

  “You would not be responsible for anything at all. Is not Coudry all-powerful?”

  “Tut! Tut! That won’t do. No, no, I have let these men know that they mustn’t count on me for an affair of that sort. Hang it all, there are other ways. A wall is soon jumped over, a rain-pipe soon climbed.”

  “A bullet soon received.”

  “Those miscreants don’t worry about bullets.”

  “You see that they do. Look here, my dear fellow, I am sorry for you — a man of your intelligence. I said again this afternoon to one of your friends: ‘It’s incredible that a clever man should allow himself to be stopped by such a trifle.’”

  “And what did he reply?”

  “That he was as surprised as I was. Of course, we are agreed that it would be difficult for a Governor of a prison to do willingly what these two fellows ask, but we fail to understand why you can’t give way to force.”

  “Force?”

  “Yes, Talbot. When one really wishes to give something and does not wish to give it willingly one allows it to be taken by force. Do you follow me?”

  “Oh, that’s absurd. How do you suppose they can take my signature by force?”

  M. Hilaire laid one hand solemnly on M. Talbot’s shoulder.

  “It’s not absurd, and it’s exactly what will happen, my dear M. Talbot, or to-morrow you will cease to be Governor, and I wouldn’t give much for your precious skin. At half-past seven you will ask to see Garot and Manol in your office. They will be brought here by their warders. They will state in the presence of the two men that they have a confession to make to you, but they wish to make it in private. You will order the warders to retire, waiting instructions at the foot of the staircase. When Garot and Manol are alone with you they will go for you. They will bind you hand and foot and gag you. On your desk there will be the necessary writing materials. And when they leave your office you will all be in order — you and the two prisoners! No one will be able to reproach you with anything. It will not be the first time that an escape has been made in such circumstances. It is almost a recognized method!”

  “The warders at the door would never allow them to pass, even if their papers were in order. They
would know what had happened. They would come to me for a confirmation of their release.”

  “They won’t come to you for anything of the sort. Your two warders will be relieved by two others whom I shall bring along myself, and these men will be surprised at nothing, my dear M. Talbot, any more than the turnkey or the concierge. I shall be the only one to be surprised at the length of the interview in your room, and at supper time I shall come to disturb you!”

  M. Talbot coughed, took a pinch of snuff, and stared M. Hilaire in the face.

  “Have you spoken to Coudry about all this?” he asked after a pause.

  “Well, you know the sort of man he is. I spoke to him about it vaguely as if the thing might happen to any Governor of a prison. He gave a smile. That is more than we want.”

  “Perhaps. Look here, I have an idea — which will prevent the affair coming as a surprise to anyone,” said Talbot not without embarrassment, shovelling another big pinch of snuff into his capacious nose.

  “What is it?”

  “Our arrangement is not until half-past seven. I have plenty of time to make a call at the Town Hall.”

  “As you please,” said M. Hilaire.

  “I don’t like the way you said that. Do you see any objection?”

  “Well, if you ask my opinion, I think our friend would be none too pleased to receive a visit from you on the eve of a thing of this kind. There are malicious people about who might perhaps remember it next day.” As he spoke M. Hilaire, with a doleful air, retied the knot of his sash. “Whatever happens, it’s fixed for half-past seven, isn’t it?”

  “Look here, on further reflection I think it would be well to leave Coudry out of it,” said the Governor.

  “I agree with you.”

  “I know you are on very excellent terms with them. I can trust you.”

  “I believe your trust will not be misplaced, my dear M. Talbot. So it’s fixed for half-past seven. Get everything ready on your desk. Have you a revolver?”

  “Yes, in the drawer. I’ll take it out to show that I was prepared to defend myself.”

  “If you take it out Manol and Garot, who have no scruples and are without weapons, might take it away from you! Give it to me. I will put it beside you when I come to see you after you are bound and those fellows are gone. That will make the thing more certain.”

  “You think of everything,” said Talbot, handing the revolver to M. Hilaire, who put it in his pocket.

  “Good-bye for the present, my dear Governor. I’ll have a look at Manol and Garot and make certain that we understand each other.”

  After M. Hilaire’s departure his anticipations were realized. Talbot left his office and soon afterwards the prison. Hilaire, who was watching him from behind a pillar in the guard-room, at once made his way to Baron d’Askof’s cell and was shown in. D’Askof was alone. Their talk lasted ten minutes.

  On leaving d’Askof, Hilaire paid a visit to Subdamoun’s cell, where he distributed a few peanuts, amusing himself by cracking them during his inspection. Subdamoun was reading. On hearing mention of peanuts he looked up. Hilaire bowed to him and suggested with a laugh a few peanuts, as he had done to the warders. Subdamoun held out his hand. M. Hilaire counted out a certain number, and Subdamoun said: “Thank you.”

  Then the Inspector-General went to the part of the prison occupied by the cells, inspecting them thoroughly, remaining some time, however, in the cell in which Manol and Garot were incarcerated.

  He returned to the guard-room and went upstairs to the Tour de l’Ouest. He knocked at the door of the Governor’s office. Receiving no answer, he went in, closing the door after him. The room was empty. He looked at the clock.

  “Talbot won’t be back from the Town Hall for another twenty minutes,” he said aloud.

  Then he walked round the room, casting his eyes over everything. There was no furniture — at least very little. A desk, some chairs, an arm-chair. A window, heavily barred, pierced the thick wall and looked on to the quay.

  Nothing in the nature of a surprise seemed possible in this bare room, whose spacious fireplace was not hidden by any fire-screen. At that season of the year a fire was unnecessary. The empty hearth was as clean as the floor.

  M. Hilaire stopped at the fireplace, turned his back to it, and clasped his hands behind him. He seemed worried, and now and again a deep sigh escaped him. Doubtless he was looking back with regret to the days when grocers played no part in the conduct of State affairs.

  Suddenly he quivered from head to foot — a peanut had fallen at his feet. He seemed worried, and still with his back to the fireplace said in an undertone, though no one could be seen either in front or behind or round him:

  “Everything is ready. I’ve had a look at Manol and Garot and given them the twenty thousand francs, the revolver and the saw. They’ll break out to-night through the courtyard. The warders will be taking them direct presently to the Visitors’ Room. I have just came back. No need to worry. It’s pretty well pitch dark there. I shall take d’Askof and Subdamoun there myself. I shall stay outside with the warders, who will be under my command. I have handed over the false wigs and beards to d’Askof. Our men will exchange clothes with Manol and Garot in the Visitors’ Room. The whole thing will be done in a tick. Afterwards the warders will bring d’Askof and Subdamoun here to the Governor’s office on my orders in the belief that they are in charge of Manol and Garot. Talbot has gone to see Coudry, who will read him a pretty lecture.”

  M. Hilaire finished speaking. He stooped, picked up the peanut, and ate it. As he was munching it his eyes suddenly fell on a letter which lay on the desk addressed to the Governor and marked “Urgent.”

  “Hullo,” he said, “I know that handwriting,” and without further consideration opened it. He uttered a cry:

  “Good God! It’s all up with us!”

  And he collapsed.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  IN WHICH CHÉRI-BIBI IS MORE THAN EVER IN THE GRIP OF FATALITY

  AT THE CRY uttered by M. Hilaire a sort of fantastic gnome came crashing from the chimney and grew visible in the waning light whose shafts floated through the little barred window. The gnome leapt forward to M. Hilaire, still holding the ominous letter in his hand. It snatched the paper from him and read it. A sinister grunt accompanied the reading. And then it made a rush at M. Hilaire, who had dropped into a chair, shook him by the shoulders, and pulled him to his feet.

  “Stand up, Dodger. Where did you find this letter?”

  M. Hilaire pointed to the Governor’s desk.

  “Was it open?”

  “No.”

  “Did you open it?”

  M. Hilaire made an affirmative motion of his head.

  “Then nothing is lost as the Governor knows nothing about it.”

  “Pah!” said M. Hilaire in a voice of gloomy despair, “he is bound to know about it since d’Askof has given us away.” And Hilaire could not remove his eyes from the letter wherein he read:

  “I entreat the Governor of the prison to come and see me in my cell at once without arousing the suspicions of any person and without, if possible, being seen by the Inspector-General. What I have to say is concerned with the escape of Subdamoun.

  D’ASKOF.”

  “We will do without d’Askof,” snorted the gnome. “Come, pull yourself together, and I promise you everything will be all right.”

  “We can’t do without d’Askof,” said M. Hilaire in a doleful voice, shaking his head. “It is too late to work up a new scheme. It’s a wash-out.”

  Suddenly M. Hilaire leapt aside. He felt the cold muzzle of a revolver on his forehead. Chéri-Bibi had straightened his back, and there was no doubt the monster would have sent M. Hilaire to his last account had he not on this occasion resolved to recover his usual self-control. He fully understood.

  “I am at your service, monsieur le Marquis,” he said at once, “as in the old days.”

  “Good. Listen to me,” said Chéri-Bibi, darting a look at him fr
om a pair of scorching eyes. “Listen and understand and act or I swear on Subdamoun’s life you shall never sell groceries again.”

  “On the day I met you after so many years, monsieur le Marquis,” said M. Hilaire slowly, “I realized, amid the joy of our meeting, that I should have to give up business.”

  “This is the last time I shall want you, Dodger. After this I promise to leave you in peace.”

  “Oh, if you don’t want me after this I doubt if I shall want anyone either!”

  “See how simple it is,” said Chéri-Bibi with all the deadly clairvoyance of a great captain who changes his tactics on the field of battle. “Talbot hasn’t received this letter and won’t know anything about it. He hasn’t seen d’Askof, and won’t see him. As soon as he returns from the Town Hall he will come straight here. You will then start on your job. When the whole five of you are in the Visitors’ Room — you, Subdamoun, d’Askof, Manol and Garot — you will all go for d’Askof and do him in. You will come out with Subdamoun only, who will make up to look like Garot, and you’ll get through. When you reach the Governor’s room you must give out that Garot first wishes to speak to him alone — and the trick is done. I will see that it’s a success for no one shall come in here. Do you follow me?”

  “God help us,” returned M. Hilaire simply. “If d’Askof kicks you may leave him to me.”

  “You can kill him, you know,” said Chéri-Bibi, whose eyes gleamed with rage at the thought of the treachery that jeopardized his whole plan.

  “I understand,” returned the Dodger, who since he was to sacrifice his own life reckoned other lives as of no account.

  “Have no more pity on the Baron than I shall have on the Governor of the prison,” insisted the monster.

  Chéri-Bibi stole towards the chimney. He went up, and suddenly emerged once more head downwards, his eyes below, while his lips above moved to say: