Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  When I saw Jim bind the Admiral hand and foot I felt sure that I should witness a sight that my nerves would not be able to bear, and, like the doctor, I longed to be elsewhere. But the door was locked, and no attention was paid to us. Moreover there are moments when horror deprives one of every power of movement and every exercise of will, and this was such a moment. When I add that at heart I was not a bit sorry for Von Treischke, I shall be forgiven for not showing greater eagerness to fly from a scene which looked as if it might violate the ordinary laws of humanity.

  The reason why I did not protest against the execution which was in preparation was perhaps because I had not entirely lost my sense of the ridiculous, for after all it was I who had handed Von Treischke over, and in handing him over I could not have thought that Gabriel would limit himself to offering him a cocktail.

  I will be perfectly frank, as I have always been, in these memoirs and confessions, and admit that I very distinctly heard the Admiral say in his fury:

  “Herbert of Renich, you are a traitor and a coward, and if I ever get out of this, I will make it hot for you.”

  It must not be forgotten that this threat coming from a man like Von Treischke was not directed against me only, but was aimed equally at my poor mother who was in his power, and it will be seen that I had good reason to hope that he would never be in a position to put his threats into execution.

  I remained silent, therefore, and I confess that I uttered no protest against what was in preparation.

  Von Treischke and Fritz were bound and gagged. Gabriel had drawn his cutlass, and I could see that I was not mistaken. It was a fine blade — solid, sharp, pointed. Gabriel was kneeling down beside Von Treischke, neglecting Fritz for the moment, and looking round to Dolores he asked quietly:

  “Where do you wish me to begin, my love?”

  Dolores left her seat and made a slight noise with her tongue, whereupon there was a considerable stir, and a dark object slipped from under the counter, behind the señorita, close to the high heels of her small shoes, and we beheld the huge form of a mastiff.

  “I’ve brought the butcher’s dog,” explained Dolores, in a soft and languid voice, “and I’ve promised him that man’s heart.”

  At these words, the doctor tried to make a gesture of protest, but Gabriel told him roughly to turn himself to the wall if the sight was not to his liking, and not to disturb other people in their diversions. Each of us knew what he meant, and afterwards let things take their course.

  The “middy” looked as if Dolores’ idea had taken his fancy. I have already said that he was a young man who in reality, made fun of everything, for he had no personal animus against the Huns.

  “That’s your affair, dear queen of Galicia.... I’ll give you this man’s heart and you can give it to your dog,” said Gabriel.

  “Oh, it’s not my dog,” she replied, waving her fan. “If he belonged to me I wouldn’t feed him on a Hun’s heart, you may be sure.”

  Gabriel unbuttoned the Admiral’s jacket, and opened the garments underneath which covered the Tiger’s heart. With the object of diverting my thoughts I kept repeating to myself, the while, fiercely and eagerly as though it were a litany: “It will be over in a moment. It will be over in a moment.” Gabriel had already made a slight incision when there was an upheaval like the coming of a whirlwind. A sort of tempest burst through the ventilator, crushing us against the walls and throwing and driving and bumping us from corner to corner.

  Dolores took refuge behind the counter but Gabriel had no time to move. He was caught while he was on his knees sketching a little shutter on the monster’s chest which would have to be lifted to reach the heart. Like the rest of us he was bowled over by the tornado.

  Jim in the doorway was the only one who stood firmly on his pins as an ex-champion of the Home Fleet, without flinching, his powerful arms folded on his powerful chest. I have always thought that Jim was expecting the tornado.

  In short, in less time than it takes me to describe it, Gabriel, the “middy,” the doctor and myself were solidly bound hand and foot, and reduced to the same helplessness as Von Treischke and Fritz. And I heard the familiar voice of the Irishman with the lifeless eyes — the man whom, to my misfortune, I had met in the perfumed gardens of Funchal — saying to the dozen men who acted so brutally towards us:

  “Now, off we go to the ‘Vengeance.’ The Captain will be well pleased with you,”

  They did not touch Jim, nor did they touch Dolores, who wasted her breath in hurling at their heads a thousand petty insults, nor did they trouble themselves about Gabriel whom they had bound and whom the “dear queen of Galicia” fiercely guarded — she had her fan to defend him with — but they carried off Von Treischke, the “middy,” the doctor and myself.

  Nothing would be gained by analysing the mingled feelings which agitated our minds while Lieutenant Smith, the Irishman, and his men slipped us, as though we were the spoils of a burglary, through the ventilator to the cellar, from the cellar to the street, and from the street to a huge closed car like one of those Black Maria’s which are used for the conveyance of prisoners.

  Nevertheless, as far as I was concerned, the reader will recall that my greatest desire a few hours before this last event, was never to see again a submarine landscape — no matter what the pretext or what the reward. I had had enough of submarine landscapes. And here was I returning to the “Vengeance.” And in what circumstances!... With Von Treischke.... I who had left the “Vengeance” only to prevent him setting foot in her!

  Was I, alas, deserving of such adversity? For as I thought of what was in store for me now that Captain Hyx had his Von Treischke, and had me who worked so hard to prevent him from capturing the Tiger, my hair stood on end in terror.

  CHAPTER XXV

  IN WHICH BY DEVOTION AND SELF-SACRIFICE I CONTINUE TO BE EVERYONE’S SERVANT AND FIND THE SITUATION MORE DIFFICULT THEN EVER

  THE CAR TOOK us to La Plage de Corza, which is one of the most deserted spots in the Bay of Vigo. Here we were transferred to a launch the thud of whose motor we could already hear.

  An hour and a half later, in the open sea, off St. Martin’s Island, and outside Spanish territorial waters, I distinguished a dark mass on the sea; and above this dark mass an object was fluttering in the wind. I recognised, not without the feeling of emotion, the ominous black flag.

  We were released from our bonds. We were searched and disarmed. We were no longer to be feared — have I personally ever been feared? — and we had only to do as we were told. Not a word was spoken among the prisoners. Von Treischke darted a look of fury at me. The doctor rattled his keys in a manner that set our nerves on edge. And as to Fritz whose face was formerly so pale, his complexion had become quite rosy. I fancied that, with little heart for crime, he was delighted that his victim was still alive, and he need no longer dread her ghost. For the rest he left himself in the hands of his good old German God!

  And now here I was once more on board the “Vengeance,” I saw her again. Here were her dark green shape, her mysterious conning tower, her ladders, her companion ways, her alley-ways.... How many memories, acute, painful, diabolical, were called up at every step.... My limbs trembled under me.

  Where are they taking us? How would they treat us? Would the tragedy of which the capture of Von Treischke was obviously the signal begin at once? I thought it might do when, by the Irishman’s orders, we entered the main alley-way and were conducted to the little chapel.

  How can I describe the feelings of anguish and despair which took possession of me as I beheld once more those places in which I had passed so many memorable, amazing and frightful hours... as I recognised those places in which I had suffered when I thought of Amalia. Amalia! Had I but returned to the “Vengeance” to witness her martyrdom, and to ensure her undoing, I who had brought back with me the monster so eagerly expected by the executioners?

  And certainly when I reflected upon my doings in Vigo I did not find in them any partic
ular signs of discretion. Captain Hyx’s police, as was now proved, were at least as active as Von Treischke’s men. Consequently who was to say that it was not I, I alone, who by my actions, perhaps by my words, had betrayed Von Treischke’s presence at Vigo? Moreover, was it not I who had conceived the fine stroke of inducing the Tiger to come to the lair where his enemies lay in wait for him? Clearly I was not a success when I cast aside my neutrality. There are some people who never succeed in anything.... And then no doubt I had shuffled, weighed the pros and cons, waited too long before abandoning my neutrality, so that when the moment came for action, it was too late.... Why did I not lay the Tiger low when first he came to my house at Renich?... Now I felt that I was an object of indifference to one side, had excited the fury of the other, and was destined to be the scapegoat of both sides when the moment came to settle accounts.

  I shuddered as we drew near the little chapel. In some of the alley-ways we encountered faces that showed great hostility to us. We saw wild eyes gleaming in the dim light. And we were ordered to step forward more quickly... more quickly.

  We reached the little chapel. We took off our hats. We walked behind Von Treischke and Fritz as though we belonged to their party or as if we were their accomplices. A feeling of shame came over me; shame that made the blood rush to my face, and I pulled myself up. I was not anxious to go much farther.

  The doctor also stopped. The “middy” continued his way as though he were alone, looking above and below him like a visitor, a connoisseur of little chapels, a man who deigned to interest himself in what was most exquisite in its flamboyant Gothic architecture, and most marvellous in the colours of its stained glass windows.

  But I, I saw in the distance at the back.... I saw, surrounded by his chief officers and seated on the cathedra, on the right of the altar, like a prince of the church on his throne, I saw Captain Hyx, no longer wearing a mask.

  Something must have happened on board the “Vengeance” for the master of the ship to show himself thus openly.... Something that was new. And this new thing was the Tiger, who went up to Captain Hyx. This new thing was the Tyrant of Flanders, the pledge and signal for the torture to begin. We were nearing the end of the tragedy. Captain Hyx had no further need to conceal his identity. He could show his face to the men who were to die.

  Look at the face of this man, O, Herbert of Renich, It is the face of a real man. You may think of him what you will — if you still have time — and write about him what you will — if he gives you the opportunity — and declare that he was wrong here and right there, a man of God here and a man of the devil there.... But he was a man; a man with a will. He knew how to choose between the Hun and the anti-Hun. He was the anti-Hun. You may think and write that he was the anti-Hun so far as to commit crime. That may be. That was his affair. Let him have it out with his conscience. Bow to this man!

  And I humbly bowed to Captain Hyx. But he paid no heed to me. His eyes were fixed on Von Treischke with a thunderous look, and the Almighty, on the day of judgment, would not look down on a sinner who had lived but to shame the world, with more sacred indignation.

  Thus begun, I expected to witness a scene of biblical grandeur between the pillar of Satan and the bearer of the sword... But it suffered for a short phrase uttered by Von Treischke to bring things down to the level of human argument.

  Instead of two natural forces arrayed one against the other, instead of two conflicting minds, of two opposite poles charged with electricity whose contact might reduce us to nothingness, there were but two men each claiming his wife.

  I shall remember — if I live, which I begin to doubt — I shall remember for a long time how Von Treischke fearlessly and firmly approached Captain Hyx and declared unceremoniously:

  “Your wife is alive, Monsieur.”

  And I shall remember for a long time how Captain Hyx started in his chair as if he had been blown up by the explosion of a mine, and fell back like a limp rag murmuring.... What did he murmur?... What did he say? His words had neither sense nor form nor meaning, and served only to show us what, at heart, an archangel of the waters was; neither more nor less than an ordinary man, like the rest of us, when the name of a particular woman is uttered in our presence.

  Was he suddenly ashamed to lay himself bare before us who had known him in the pride of his armour and his impressive mask? Did he wish to be undisturbed in the discussion of a reciprocal treaty — you give me back my wife and I will give you back yours — a discussion which would be lacking, assuredly, in grandeur and sovereignty as they say in French opera? One thing is certain, he waived us to the door and swept us from his presence with a gesture. He recovered sufficient authority to drive us out. He wanted to remain in the little chapel alone with Von Treischke; and we readily left them as may be imagined.

  We were huddled into a small room beside the little chapel which communicated, I believe, with the apse. And matters did not go smoothly in the chapel, for we heard from time to time the rumbling of thunder and I learnt, to my detriment, that it was but the rumbling of Captain Hyx’s wrath. Indeed, at the end of a little more than a quarter of an hour I was sent for and ushered into the little chapel.

  I found Captain Hyx alone in the midst of the Book and the Law, his tabernacle, his cathedra, and his green account books, fallen to the ground. What had happened to Von Treischke? What had the Captain done with him? For by the Virgin of the Pillar — as Spaniards say in French novels — it was no longer a limp rag that I had before me but the fiercest corsair that could well be imagined even in the halcyon days of the filibusterer. However, Von Treischke had disappeared. And the Captain — I thought, in truth, that he was going to jump down my throat — shouted or rather spluttered at me:

  “Give me the letter which your master entrusted you with.”

  My master! Von Treischke was my master! I had come to that. Before this gust of violence I swung round like an imbecile or a top, searching my pockets for the letter which had never left my possession, and which, of course, I could not find simply because I was in a state of frenzy. At last I laid hands on the famous missive and gave it to the Captain. He drew several large sheets of paper from the envelope and skimmed them, breathing heavily and uttering angry exclamations; and then he tore diem up, destroyed them in a terrible outburst of passion.

  “Woe-betide.... Woe-betide both of you,” he shouted, “if you have invented between you this torture of making me believe for a second that my wife is still alive so as to filch from me your Amalia, for I swear by the Bible, by Heaven and Hell, that I shall know how to invent punishment for the both of you such as has never been thought of in the torture chambers.”

  He was foaming at the mouth, and I fell on my knees.

  “I swear that your wife is alive, Captain. I swear as I hope for salvation, and on my mother’s life, that what the Admiral told you is true. Mrs. G — is alive. I swear that I spoke to her yesterday. I swear that you will see her again.”

  These words instead of pacifying him seemed only to increase his delirium. He made a rush, and I thought that it was all over with me. And then suddenly his fury was, as it were, suspended over me. His face which was on fire became, by degrees, pale and assumed an ashen grey and then a greenish hue. He was stifling. His hands went to his throat and tore off his collar, and be breathed heavily in gasps. He was saved. He sank into his chair and flung at me:

  “Monsieur, I give you until midnight. If my wife is alive, there is no need for words, or stratagems, or messengers, or papers, or sealed envelopes, or to enter into the details of an impossible deal which Von Treischke proposed to me and which reeks with treason — if my wife is alive let her write me a line and then we will talk seriously.”

  “You are right, you are right,” I cried, for I now understood the fury of the man. How could he do other than suspect some subterfuge? Had I not myself — I who had seen the veiled lady — had I not given up trying to understand, trying to explain her singular attitude? “Yes, she must write, and
I have always thought so, but unfortunately she won’t write. She told me so herself.”

  “Monsieur,” said the Captain in a weary and lower tone of voice, “if my wife is alive, which I no longer believe, she must have told you things when she was in your master’s, Von Treischke’s, prison, which he required her to say. But now that Von Treischke is in my prison, she has nothing more to fear from him, and she will not tell you again that she refuses to write. So let her write to me. You are free, Monsieur. You are free until midnight. If at midnight you are not here with a message in my wife’s handwriting, wherever you may be, you will be a dead man. Go, Monsieur. Lieutenant Smith will place himself at your disposal.”

  I should have liked to enter into some further explanation, but there was no time. Captain Hyx went away and the Irishman sought me out. He gave me a pass signed by Von Treischke enabling me to enter Goya Castle and ordering his nephew to take me, immediately on my arrival, to the veiled lady.

  We put off at once in the same motor launch, and then I perceived that the “Vengeance” had drawn considerably nearer the Cies Islands, for in less than half an hour we landed on Coresju Beach from which we had previously started. Here a car was in waiting to take us to Vigo.

  I asked lieutenant Smith if he saw any harm in our calling at my hotel before proceeding to Goya Castle, and he answered that I was entirely free in word and deed, and that he was present only to be of service to me. I knew what he meant. I was free till midnight; free till the hour of death. Nevertheless I took advantage of my liberty to go up to my room where I had the good fortune to find Potage.

  Potage was in a state of despondency on his little wooden platform, because, he explained, he did not “live” in my absence, and the work for the veiled lady’s escape was not moving as rapidly as he anticipated. I was considerably more perturbed by this latter disclosure than by the former. As a matter of fact I no longer relied on anything but the veiled lady’s escape to save me from the frightful dilemma in which I had so lightly entered.