Letters for the post were placed under his door, but he had no knowledge of how they got there. It was the same with the last letter. As usual, the letter was enclosed in a second envelope bearing the design of a scaffold, Hardigras’s seal. This being so, Pistafun knew what he had to do, and he took a delight in it for, speaking generally, these letters led to amusing practical jokes.
He was asked to produce the outer envelope. He made answer that he had torn it up, as usual. The examining magistrate told him that his explanation was intended to put them off the scent, and that unless he confessed to receiving the letter from Titin he would pay dearly. He was responsible for this letter, and they would have to draw from his silence conclusions unfavorable to the man who posted it.
Pistafun laughed openly.
“You’re not going to believe I did this horrible thing. Look here, don’t say any more or else you’ll put me in a hot rage.”
“The letter foretold the murder. That makes you an accomplice.”
“Nothing of the sort. I don’t know Hardigras or the other man either. But Hardigras of the Carnival did not write that letter. I was deceived like others, and with all due deference to you, in my opinion you are taken in also.”
Thus he defended himself and defended Titin step by step. To the warders who took him back to prison, he said:
“They won’t have me.”
All the same it followed that Titin was not dead, that he was charged with murder and was in hiding, and that Pistafun had posted the letter to M. Supia. At La Fourca, people were utterly nonplussed. A fever of uncertainty wrung every heart. The entire district took sides for or against Titin, and there was a noisy conflict of opinion. The people of La Torre, led by Bolacion, bearded the people of La Fourca in their dens. Since the inquiry lasted some months, ill-feeling during that time immensely increased.
The foreign element among the workmen mingled in the fray. Sewerage work was under construction in the Gorges du Loup and navvies from the four quarters of Europe were employed in it. The Arabs were not the least to be feared. Disturbances were multiplied. The ordinary citizen kept indoors after dark. Not a night passed unbroken by the sound of firing. Next morning some robbery, effected with marvelous skill, was discovered. The police, the gendarmery, were worked off their legs. But no trace of the guilty parties was ever found, and the whole thing assumed the aspect of an unfathomable mystery. The worst of it was that a feeling was abroad that these disturbances were the work of some master mind. Suspicion was rife on every side.
It was then that the worthy mayor, M. Arthur of Torre, bewailing these calamities, visited La Fourca with his municipal council, the leading citizens, and at least forty young men among whom were Bolacion, the two Barrajas, and Sixte Pastorelle.
When the La Fourca men saw this army marching towards them they sounded the alarm from house to house and inn to inn, as if the town were threatened with an attack. But, the enemy had already called a halt at the Rue Basse facing the statue of St. Helene, which stood, in its mourning veil, at the entrance to the Town. And Arthur stepped forward alone.
When they beheld his honest face, stricken by the calamities of the times, they realized that they need expect nothing from him but words of wisdom and peace. He asked to speak to the mayor. Le Petou, the mayor, who had run up to put himself at the head of his men, observing Arthur’s friendly gesture, replied to it by offering him his hand.
A dead silence fell in the two camps. Arthur, in a voice whose sympathetic tone found its way to their hearts, declared that they came as brothers, that the men of La Torre les Tourettes asked to be received by their brothers of La Fourca with the same sentiments as those animating themselves, that is to say without anger or ill-will — in short, they had confidence in them and left themselves in their hands.
“It is well to clear up this matter,” he went on, “and to put a stop to a state of things that never ought to have arisen again after the feasts — many years ago, alas! — in which we celebrated peace between us.”
“By all means, if what you say is true you are heartily welcome,” returned Le Petou, “for the evil that is preying upon us now has been a long-standing sore.”
But some of the La Fourca men, recalling Bolacion’s malevolence, pointing to him, cried:
“Leave him out!”
“I brought him here because you have more to forgive in him than in others.”
“Then let him come in.”
The two bodies of men watching each other in silence mounted the winding lanes to the parade. On arrival Arthur, with a gesture which seemed to embrace the vast reaches of earth and sky, cried:
“Ah, my friends, what a beautiful country lies before you. Is there a more delightful spot in the world, more beflowered, more fragrant, more beloved of the sun king of the heavens, more graced with the smiles of fair women, with softer olives, or more golden fruit, or finer or more sprightly wines for our fêtes? Between our mountains and the sickle of the blue sky, mirror of loveliness in which I perceive the picture of our beloved Nice, our land lies in a hollow like a charmed goblet out of which we should quaff the joy of life on bended knee. And we put poison in this divine cup. My friends, does not this fill your hearts with dismay?”
“Yes, yes,” shouted a hundred voices, already touched by his appeal. He knew what he was about, did Arthur!
“Then let us put a stop to our wrangles. In reality, while we are quarreling among ourselves the people who come here from poverty-stricken countries and to whom we have surrendered, out of good will, a little of our place in the sun, take advantage of us to do the despicable work of thieves, ravage our farmyards like foxes and wolves, disturb our households, harass honest folk, and give us a bad name. Is this not a disgrace?”
“Yes, yes,” they cried.
“It is not merely a matter of shouting ‘Yes, yes,’” returned Arthur, clasping together his plump, soft hands that might have roused the envy of a Roman prelate, “we must admit our faults — cry mea culpa, strike our breasts and say: ‘We will put a stop to this thing.’ We of La Torre confess our sins. Bolacion admits them. He wishes to make amends, but none of us, on either side, is a saint. And no one will be humiliated if you on your part come to us and say: ‘We, too, wish to express our sorrow.’”
Le Petou drew himself up on his short legs and cried: “Shake hands on it!” The cry was repeated on all sides, and when the two mayors fell into each other’s arms, loud cheers went up.
“He can talk as well as our Titin,” said Toton Robin.
His words were overheard and spread a feeling of gloom over the men of La Fourca. Arthur went on:
“My dear friends, I heard some one mention Titin’s name. I should not have spoken of him here because I know you are greatly troubled on his account, but I should like to say in my name and in the name of La Torre les Tourettes: whatever reason there may be for his disappearance and however black things may look against him, we remain at one with you and Toton Robin in saying: ‘It was not Titin who did this deed!’”
There were thunders of applause. “Three cheers for Arthur!” they cried.
The men of La Fourca escorted the men of La Torre les Tourettes to their own town. It was a day of rejoicing; and peace, it was believed, would reign once more. But as if to establish the fact that past crimes could not be laid at the door of either party, the mysterious happenings in La Fourca continued in all their horror, uniting in intense and fraternal anger the people of La Fourca, the victims, and the people of La Torre les Tourettes, determined not to allow suspicion to be cast on them.
Some days after the meeting, two persons disappeared: Mme. Paula, otherwise Manchotte, so called because she had lost an arm, and Mme. Cioasa, the “tyrant’s” own sister, who had not left La Fourca for thirty years. Both disappeared as if by magic.
Then followed the murder in the Rue de la Toussan. It may be remembered that Mme. Bruno alias Boccia lived in this narrow lane behind St. Helene church. One night at ten o’clock,
as she was darning stockings, she heard groans at the top of the lane near the buttresses, reinforcing the ancient building. The ordinary citizen, as we have said, dared not venture out after dark. Doors and shutters were closed and barred, and whatever happened passed unnoticed until the sun rose again and drove away the specters of the night. The neighbors heard the moans which seemed to come from some person in a death struggle, beseeching help. No one thought of venturing out. It was remembered that a week before at La Costa, Cauvin, alias Frussa, allowed himself to be caught by a trick. He opened his shutters, a gang of men made a rush at him, knocked him down, and plundered his house. Terrified by their threats, he had not even dared to call in the police. And he made answer to every question put to him by the authorities that the assault was so sudden that he never quite understood what had happened. He was unable, therefore, to give any description of his assailants.
The incident might well have been a lesson to Mme. Bruno, but the old woman had one failing that proved her downfall. She was inquisitive, she wanted to see. She cautiously opened her window. At the same moment, a shot rang through the room, she was struck in the head. She collapsed to the ground.
The facts were not established until next day. Shutters were not opened simply because the sound of a gun was heard. She was found dead near the window. Beneath the window hanging to a bar was a piece of paper on which was written: “Hardigras.” Then it was recalled that on several occasions she had indiscreetly blurted out her opinion of Hardigras. Mme. Boccia was the only person to whom Mme. Cioasa, whom she had tended years ago, ever spoke. The previous Sunday, Mme. Boccia as it happened, went to mass with Mme. Manchotte and stopped in the church porch to exchange a few words with Mme. Cioasa, then leaving the church. Instead of indulging in the usual small talk they discussed Hardigras, and Mme. Manchotte expressed her opinion, too. Indeed, she spoke loudly as though challenging those who did not share her views. This little colloquy, as we have seen, was to have its sequel.
CHAPTER XXIII
PISTAFUN IX COURT
EXAMINING MAGISTRATES, JUDGES, counsel, public prosecutors, and other limbs of the law whose office it is to hold even the scales of justice in Nice, are not hard men. The air of Nice is responsible for that. But, in truth, there are occasions in which indulgence would fail if it relapsed into weakness. The case of Titin and Pistafun was one in point. It stood out in so heinous a light and the proofs of guilt were so obviously cumulative that the judges’ duty was clearly defined: to present the case in its most lurid colors, set forth the facts to a carefully picked jury so as to prevent any unpleasant surprise, and to insure a death sentence to the first prisoner, and penal servitude, for a goodly number of years, for the second. It was a duty that these gentlemen from the examining magistrate to the public prosecutor, purveyor against his will to the public executioner, did not fail to perform. The indictment was a terrible one. There was nothing in it to provoke laughter. And yet Pistafun laughed.
At length the great day arrived and Pistafun appeared at the Criminal Court between his warders. Titin’s place was vacant. Needless to say tickets of admission had been sought for during the preceding month, as though some first night at a theater were in question. Never had the Presiding Judge been the subject of so many touching attentions, invitations, protestations of friendship, and other civilities from those ladies who, however good and virtuous they may be, love the dissection of a scandal.
Hippothadee himself was made much of. He was the man of the moment in circles where to be a somebody you must be talked about. His great friend, the Comtesse d’Azila, was proud of him. It was to her that her friends went for the latest “tips.” Through her it was known that Mme. Supia, still very weak and greatly changed by the weight of her sorrow, would not be able to give evidence. For that matter, M. Supia himself was emphatically against her presence in Court. But that was not generally known. It was under the seal of confidence that the Comtesse d’Azila, from whom her friend Hippothadee had no secrets, told her circle that the Princess Antoinette of Transylvania, whatever might be said to the contrary, had decided to be present. M. Supia and her husband, the Prince, had vainly striven to persuade her that she, too, might plead the state of her health, and it would suffice for her statement to be read in Court.
But she maintained a firm stand. She told them emphatically:
“No statement of mine is in the examining magistrate’s possession. I said that if I had anything to say I would say it in Court. Well, I shall say it....” That promised some interesting revelations.
On the day of the trial a great and fashionable crowd thronged the pretorium, and pressed behind the judges, the counsel, and the witnesses’ seats. The general public from Nice and the country round were relegated to the places where there was standing room only. Suddenly there was an upheaval. Aiguardente, Tony Bouta, and Tantifla appeared, fighting their way through the crowd. When Pistafun saw his three friends he seemed ready to spring from his seat.
“Hang it all, we’re a quartette now. We could have a game of cards!”
The three men, head and shoulders above the crowd, wore a serious expression. They waved their hands to Pistafun and shouted advice.
“Don’t play the fool. We are with you,” said Aiguardente.
“Hang it all, you don’t want me to take things too seriously,” returned Pistafun.
Just then a commotion was heard outside. Antoinette had arrived. She was very pale in her black dress. She stepped out of a carriage assisted by M. Papajeudi, his wife and three daughters. They, too, were clad in black, as though they were going to a funeral. M. Papajeudi’s eyes were red. Neither his wife nor his daughters understood his emotion and he had not thought fit to enlighten them. But as Toinetta had always been on the best of terms with the family and declared that she would only go to the Court with them, they felt highly flattered and shared her sorrow.
At last the Court opened and the trial began. Titin’s absence having been duly recorded, the Court proceeded to cross-examine Pistafun, who treated the Presiding Judge’s questions with exaggerated politeness. He all but told him that he was delighted to make his acquaintance! A ripple of laughter ensued which the Presiding Judge quickly repressed, threatening to have the Court cleared at the first demonstration. Next he told the accused that the weight of the charge fell on him by the very fact of Titin’s absence.
The warning was obviously intended to make Pistafun reflect and to induce him to “give Titin away.” But Pistafun was no fool. He grasped the meaning of the maneuver and winked knowingly.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. But if we are to remain good friends you must not set me against Titin. I don’t know where he is, I don’t know where he comes from, or where he’s gone. To my thinking he must have his reasons, and it’s not for me in my present position to run after him. But I am easy in my mind. He won’t leave me in the lurch. I have nothing more to say.”
He left it at that. For the rest he merely repeated his evidence before the examining magistrate. The procession of witnesses began with M. Supia. His statement was overwhelming. He related the facts as they had been pieced together at the preliminary investigation. Then he traced the affair back to its origin, declaring that he had tried to interest himself in the youth’s future to no purpose, that he had found him a place in his stores but had been rewarded only with ingratitude, that under the assumed name of Hardigras he had been up to all sorts of tricks to ruin him, and had robbed him disgracefully. Here he turned to the jury, made up, for the most part, of merchants, and reminded them that these robberies, unpunished so far, were in themselves an encouragement to disorder; lastly, that the wretched Titin had imposed on his ward, had kidnapped her on her wedding day, and had restored her only after so poisoning her mind that for some months she refused to hear a word about her fiancé.
It was then that he had threatened the family in such a way that the witness and Prince Hippothadee were constrained to postpone the wedding to a later date. And that when
some time after Mlle. Agagnosc, on her own initiative, asked for the marriage to take place as soon as possible, he and Prince Hippothadee, still influenced by Titin’s terrible threats, appealed to the police for advice and protection. Here they found themselves, as usual, confronted by M. Bezaudin, who had always shown an unaccountable weakness in dealing with Titin. He merely laughed at their fears. Titin would not, he said, go against Mlle. Agagnosc’s wishes: ‘You have nothing to be afraid of. He will do nothing....”
“M. Bezaudin bears the weight of a tremendous responsibility. ‘Titin will do nothing!’ A few days after that, Hardigras’s startling warning was received. That same evening my daughter met her end. Gentlemen, as a father, I appeal to you to avenge my daughter’s death.”
A dead silence ensued. Titin apparently was lost. A wave of sympathy passed through the court for M. Supia. Pistafun’s counsel thought it well to intervene in order to minimize the effect of evidence disastrous to his client, as an accomplice to Titin.
“Gentlemen,” he said....
But Pistafun came down with one of those blows upon the shoulder that flatten a man and glued the learned counsel to his seat.
“Shut up! Titin has done nothing. But this man’s daughter is dead, and he is entitled at least to talk about it.”
The Presiding Judge next questioned M. Supia on his sister’s mysterious disappearance. M. Supia declared that he had no doubt in his own mind that Mme. Cioasa was another of Titin’s victims. Every blow struck at him and his family was part of a scheme of revenge engineered by Titin. He respected no law, human or divine. Accustomed to give free rein to his fancies, he had at first made people laugh, and now he made them cry. He had spread terror everywhere. No one ventured to mention his name, even in La Fourca, without taking the greatest precautions. For daring to express her opinion the poor girl Manchotte had been kidnapped like Mme. Cioasa. And an old woman guilty in Titin’s eyes of admitting her friendship with M. Supia and his sister, and of pitying them, was found one morning at her window, shot dead.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 428
