Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “Leave us if you don’t mind,” she said. “You have made enough hullabaloo for one day.”

  Contrary to expectation, Thélise accepted only the help of the Prince, who had managed to whisper in her ear: “I am not the wretch you imagine.” And the three of them shut themselves in.

  When the door was opened again their eyes were red but they were friends once more. Beaten in business, Hippothadee had exercised all his powers in the domain of love. He had no difficulty in satisfying Thélise that he had been constrained to yield to M. Supia’s suspicions and avarice; that marriage in such circumstances was ruin to him personally, but that he had not hesitated to accept the “tyrant’s” terms for the sake of peace and quietness. Lastly, while Thélise continued her attentions to her daughter, who had not yet come to herself, he gave her to understand that it would have been unsafe to continue to take advantage of Caroline’s credulity, and the best solution of their numerous difficulties was to be found in his marriage with Antoinette.

  Having thus persuaded Thélise, he was not yet at the end of his tether. When Caroline opened her eyes and was able to understand him, he swore that he had never loved any one but her, but that since he was penniless M. Supia had rejected him as a son-in-law, which, moreover, was what was to be expected from the old miser. It was a wonder that he had thought of giving him Antoinette, a questionable plan from which his good faith revolted. But, he had agreed to it, nevertheless, because it would enable him to enter the family and see daily the one of whom he had never ceased to think.... In other respects it behooved them to have patience. With a nature like Antoinette’s, and her peculiar tendencies, she would soon put herself in the wrong. And divorce had not been invented for nothing.

  Thereupon, they all kissed affectionately, and having thus sealed their reconciliation sought out M. Supia to tell him the good news. But they failed to find him, for meantime that gentleman had received a shock. A notification had come from M. Bezaudin, the Commissary of Police, informing him that they had at last received news of Souques and Ordinal. The two detectives had been discovered in Naples in a very grievous state. They had been found in an old coasting vessel, in which Hardigras, with the help of a friend, had obtained a free passage for them. Details were lacking.

  Souques and Ordinal still raging from their experience had telegraphed that they would shortly be back in Nice, and that they relied on nothing being done in their absence, for they would take everything upon themselves. But M. Supia had had enough of the police and he took advantage of being alone with Antoinette to put aside his self-conceit and ask her if she was still of the same opinion that only one man in the world was capable of arresting Hardigras.

  “I still believe so, godfather,” she returned. “You have only to call on Titin le Bastardon from me and say: ‘Toinetta wants you to arrest Hardigras’. and he will bring him to you bound hand and foot.”

  CHAPTER VII

  TITIN LE BASTARDON

  IT WOULD HAVE been beneath M. Supia’s dignity to go in search of Titin le Bastardon, himself. Descending to his private office he had a brief interview with Hippolyte Morelli, who at once set out for the Place d’Arson.

  This popular square afforded a pleasant sight with its bowlers, their “coats off” revealing under their open shirts their tanned muscles, broad shoulders, bull necks and brawny chests. They delivered the bowl with a spirit and a natural gayety that came to a head whenever one of them made a shot that swept the field.

  Was it possible to be in ill-humor in the Place d’Arson? One would scarcely think so. And, moreover, what reason could there be for such a thing? None of the young fellows there could have had any excuse to pull a long face. They had never been condemned, like so many others, to work eight hours a day. Their desires, which were to eat and drink well, to amuse themselves within reasonable limits, and to take no heed of the morrow, demanded no great effort from them, and thus they were able to reserve their energies for bowls and public affairs — we mean politics — which should, at certain times, occupy the attention of every self-respecting man ready to do his duty as a citizen. For, he may find his reward in sundry good things such as banquets, junketings, fêtes and other festivities to which ladies are invited....

  The unfortunate M. Morelli’s duty was to disturb these men at play.

  “Look out!” exclaimed one of the players on catching sight of “his majesty”.

  Pistafun cocked up his nose and greeted Bella Nissa’s staff controller with a wave of his hand.

  “Well, Mr. Hippolyte,” he rapped out without seeming to attach any importance to “his majesty’s” unaccountable presence in a place reserved for popular sports. “How are you?”

  “Gentlemen,” said M. Morelli, doing his best to show a brave face amidst the general curiosity. “I was passing this way when I remembered that M. Supia had said to me: ‘If by chance you see Titin le Bastardon, tell him that I should be glad to have a word with him. He is a good fellow and I have always wished him well.’”

  He paused, but no one answered him. They seemed to ignore his presence. He went up to Pistafun, who had just delivered his shot and was now assuming an air of indifference.

  “Come, Pistafun, can you tell me where Titin is?”

  “Titin le Bastardon?”

  “Yes.”

  “He hasn’t played a game here for over a month,” said one of the players. “Hang it all, he can’t be in Nice or we should have seen him.”

  “The last time I saw him,” said Pistafun, “was at Le Peillon where he was managing a wedding fête, distributing bouquets to the bridesmaids, handing round appetizers, arranging the ball and the firework display. That’s some time ago.”

  “I saw him,” said Tantifla, “at La Colle where he was organizing high mass, standing drinks before the concert and arranging various sports. That was long ago.”

  “I saw him last summer in St. Jeannet,” declared Aiguardente, “in connection with the feast of St. John the Baptist, and then in Biot for the feast of St. Julian, and then in St. Vallier de Thiev for the feast of St. Constant. Oh, I was forgetting St. Julian in Roquebilliére. Titin is an honest man who would not miss a saint’s day, as you may suppose, but would celebrate the event according to custom and with the necessary ceremony which he knows better than any one. That’s why there’s never a saint’s day without Titin. You’ve only to look at the calendar, M. Morelli, and you’ll find Titin.”

  “It’s possible Titin will be in La Fourca to-night,” suggested Tony Bouta. “To-morrow they’re having a goat show. He is to arrange the distribution of cockades and rehearse the brass band.”

  M. Morelli thought the men were probably right. He would see Mme. Bibi in La Fourca; she would know where to find Titin le Bastardon. But it was too late to take the train to Grasse and he postponed his departure until next day. He did not leave the Place d’Arson without thanking Pistafun, Bouta, Tantifla, and Aiguardente. But he refused their invitation to have a drink with them at the hut.

  Next day at three o’clock, M. Morelli reached La Fourca Nova.

  La Fourca was an old town of no great size whose golden pyramid of time-honored houses nestling one against the other, stood on an eminence and was dominated by a medieval tower from the top of which the surrounding country, from far-off Grasse to the blue sea, could be discerned. The tower in days gone by was surmounted by a gibbet intended to remind the inhabitants of the plain that the Lords of the Moat and Castle had power of life and death over them; whence came the name of Fourca — the fork, the gibbet — a name at long last adopted in all the region watered by the Loup.

  The river Loup which rose some miles distant from the wildest and most precipitous gorges that the mind could conceive, flowed to the coast through a country now as verdant as Normandy and now as bedecked with flowers as a garden in the Arabian Nights. These two tragic names apart, it was a smiling and enchanting land.

  La Fourca Nova which stretched to the foot of the old town of Fourca was a holiday
resort. The Delamarres possessed a commodious square-built house with crimson-colored walls, tiled roofs and windows decorated in fresco in the Italian manner. Large grounds, a kitchen garden, an orchard, a poultry yard — these things were once the scene of great activity. But they were now more or less neglected, imparting to the villa an aspect of luxuriance and rusticity which failed, however, to attract M. Supia, whose leanings were towards the chateau style of domain.

  Nevertheless, as the land increased in value year by year, he had retained the house and outbuildings. Better still, he had bought under different names, the adjacent fields. And it was in this way that, by making a bargain which completely had mystified Mme. Bibi — a disguised robbery — he had secured a small farm which the husband of this honest peasant woman had taken twenty years to acquire.

  Since then Mme. Bibi had lived in a hut in which during the war, she had found shelter with her two goats. On his return from the trenches Titin le Bastardon, her adopted son, who had not a penny to bless himself with, but whose fertile mind was full of resource, secured for her a small grocer’s shop in the street which led, from the old, to the new town.

  Titin le Bastardon never went past the closed iron gates of the Delamarre’s villa, La Patentaine, without a sigh. It was here that little Toinetta, in other words Mlle. Agagnosc, was brought up, and where he and she had played many games together....

  M. Delamarre had called his villa La Patentaine, which signifies in the local dialect, La Prelentaine — the gadabout — because it was here that he decided, once his fortune was made, he would live and die merrily on the fat of the land. Alas, he did not enjoy La Patentaine for long, and though he died merrily he died too early in his opinion, and in Toinetta’s opinion, too — as we know.

  M. Morelli strode past La Patentaine without a sigh, and began to climb the back lanes which mounted the hill to the open space where, from time out of mind, the fêtes were held. He turned down by the old church with its Romanesque base reinforced by a Renaissance column, inside as rich as a cathedral with relics and ornaments dating as far back as the eleventh century, when every Philistine purchased his place in Paradise with wealth that he imagined he would no longer require in this world.

  Then the labyrinth of lanes became steeper, and M. Morelli passed under archways whose purpose was less to connect one house with another than to hold them in place. At last he emerged into the sunbathed glories of a fête which had lasted for four hours and in which Titin le Bastardon seemed the principal figure. Standing between the Mayor — a real old peasant of the outskirts, still robust and drinking hard in spite of his seventy years — and Mme. Bibi who was seventy-five and seemed at least to resemble her goats in her sharp face, bright eyes, and heavy quarters, Titin was in the act of delivering one of those speeches of which he possessed the secret enabling him always to hold his audience, whatever he said. He was the mouthpiece, the organizer, the main-spring, to use a common expression, of the general gayety.

  His highly-colored style, harsh and flattering by turns, lashed and cajoled his hearers according to the whim of the moment. They invariably shouted “Hear! Hear!” because he knew how to have the laugh on his side. The authorities were often spoken of in uncomplimentary terms. But not one dared take offense; for this youth, without house or home, possessed an immense influence in political matters.

  Every girl fell in love with him. He was not so broad shouldered as his friends, Tantifla, Bouta, Aiguardente, and Pistafun. Of medium height and well-proportioned, with admirably developed muscles, he had indulged in every form of athletics in the army, and had endured terrible hardships during the war on the Somme, Verdun, and Champagne, receiving the compliments of his officers, who all but condemned him to be shot for breaches of discipline....

  As a youth he fought all and sundry. Not one of the young fellows present who would not have admitted that he had received a good drubbing from him when he was first breeched, and even in his first games of bowls; for the rest they were all proud of the fact.

  It could not be said that Titin was good looking, but he had fine eyes — two splendid dark orbs which gleamed under his long lashes. His mouth was a little wide, and the curl of his lips showed his dazzling teeth; all else vanished in the brightness of his smile. It was enough to have seen him once to say: “Here’s a man glad to be alive.” When his friends spoke to him of marriage he burst out laughing:

  “Family life means perpetual quarrels.... No more comfort and enjoyment; and it’s all up with honest pleasures which are — eat well, drink well, and don’t worry.”

  “Well the race would die out.”

  “Not a bit. Nature which is responsible for everything did not invent marriage, particularly in our bright little country where men allow their wives to do what they please...

  CHAPTER VIII

  IN WHICH TITIN LE BASTARDON IS OFFICIALLY REQUESTED TO ARREST HARDIGRAS AND THE RESULT THEREOF

  SO TITIN WAS making a speech. What we he talking about?

  About everything and everyone. Everything that came into his head likely to please the good people who open-mouthed listened to him. Titin’s speech, at the end of a feast, was interspersed with an incredible number of wishes and vows for the prosperity of each one and the community at large. Nor would it have been a success had they not risen to clink glasses, lift elbows, and let the brandy flow as was proper after a banquet.

  He had the gift of exciting good-natured laughter at the expense of the guests whom he dealt with in turn and held up under the most humorous aspects. He wound up with a few bold moral and philosophical reflections couched in the form of aphorisms of which he seemed to possess a rich supply, ready at hand. And his sayings usually displayed a wisdom and an experience of a man far beyond his years: “It is not enough to be an honest man, you must above all appear to be one.”

  “A favor is always thrown away.”

  “Many relations much trouble.”

  “Too great cost too little pleasure.” And he invariably concluded by remarking: “It’s no good worrying” because “when one door closes another opens.”

  M. Morelli prudently waited until Titin had finished his speech amid a great hubbub and thunders of applause. He had waited quite an hour. And when, at length, he went up to him, young women already were surrounding him; for, the sound of the fiddles could be heard, and he was about to open the ball.

  Mme. Bibi already had turned up her skirt showing her two drumsticks in their new white stockings. He led the old lady to the dance as though she were a young lass. She was proud of the encouraging cheers and clapping of hands that greeted her on the way. But, she was still prouder of her Titin on whom she beamed enraptured, showing her last tooth....

  When Titin led Mme. Bibi back to her seat after kissing her on each lean cheek, “his majesty” was able to approach him.

  “M. Supia would like to see you as soon as possible,” he said, taking him by the arm. “It would be as well to come at once.” Then putting his mouth to his ear: “I come from Mlle. Antoinette.”

  At the mention of Supia, Titin seemed ready to send M. Morelli about his business; but, on hearing Antoinette’s name, he made an affirmative sign that he would follow him at once. The company had no inkling of what was happening, and the fiddles were waiting. When they saw Titin put on his coat and make for the archway, leading to the old town, where M. Morelli was waiting for him, there was general amazement and consternation. He left without offering any explanation; not even a good-bye to the poor peasant mayor, nor a friendly wave of the hand to Mme. Bibi.

  “All that for Supia!”

  “Oh, of course, he’ll come back,” said Anais, the elder daughter of d’Esteve, the baker in the Rue Montante.

  “Not at all,” returned Nathalie. “He won’t come back. He wouldn’t put himself out for Supia, that’s a certainty. It’s for Toinetta.”

  “Well, what about it?” interrupted Giaousé Babazouk. “He puts himself out to please himself. He has no need to explain
what he does to anyone. It’s no business of ours. It’s not for us to interfere in his policy, I suppose.”

  Nothing more could be said. After the mention of Titin’s “policy” no one was clever or daring enough to breathe another word. They started the dance again. But it was not the same thing....

  M. Morelli at once took Titin to M. Supia. He told him nothing. But Titin was so pleased at the thought of seeing Antoinette again that he did not even ask himself what she wanted him for. When he was confronted with M. Supia instead of Antoinette he began to pucker his brows. The two men had small love for each other. On his discharge from the army Titin had called to see Antoinette. He had been received, but Mlle. Lévadette was present at the interview, and showed clearly how unbecoming she regarded the young man’s persistence in wishing to see again a “young lady” with whom he may have scoured the country when he was a boy, but about whom it was his duty no longer to think.

  This first rebuff had not discouraged Titin. On the contrary, whenever he got back from La Fourca his first business was to hasten to Bella Nissa with some of Mme. Bibi’s cheese and flowers as offerings to his young friend. On each occasion M. Supia cut short the interview. One fine day he wrote Titin a letter in which he asked him to put a stop to his visit to his goddaughter, and to act in future as though he did not know her. He had consented to open his door “to a soldier who had returned from the war after honorable service,” but that Mlle. Agagnosc could have nothing to do with a youth who was “the scandal of the town.”

  M. Supia considered it strange that Titin should always have money in his pocket, though he had no regular occupation.

  He had no occupation! He had a dozen, according to the season, the day, the hour. Now it was some difficult work of negotiation, now a helping hand to a friend, now his sardine fishing — in short a number of occupations which called for considerable skill and understanding.