Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  M. Ordinal bowed to the Princess and offered Titin his hand:

  “Without ill-feeling?”

  “Not without ill-feeling, but I’ll shake hands all the same. With you, too, my dear M. Souques,” said Titin.

  “I, too, will shake hands, but not without ill-feeling.... Remember Naples,” said Souques.

  Titin could not help laughing at this reference to that ludicrous, enforced journey.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE SIEGE OF LA FOURCA

  A WEEK AFTER these events a terrific beating of drums was heard throughout the district. It was the work of half a dozen young men of La Fourca seated in a covered cart which bore, between two upstanding poles spread out like a sail, a large white sheet, containing an announcement.

  The cart was driven everywhere, stopping at the smallest turning and open space in the villages. The young men made music with their drums while the public gathered in crowds and read:

  “To the people of La Fourca and neighborhood — Greetings!

  “Titin le Bastardon, who so often in the past delivered judgment in matters of dispute to the satisfaction of all concerned over a friendly glass of wine, claims in his turn to be judged by the same method. On Sunday next at two o’clock the said Titin purposes to appear in person, in the upper square of the old town, in order to vindicate himself from the many charges of murder, outrage, and violence, with which his name has been sullied, and that of Hardigras disgraced. He hereby takes it upon himself to summon Giaousé, alias Babazouk, Tulip, chief clerk to the La Fourca solicitor, and Bolacion of Torre les Tourettes, to appear at the same hour on the same day to give evidence in their own defense.”

  The excitement created by this itinerant poster may be imagined. If Titin, condemned to death, did not hesitate to appear among them defenseless, it meant that not only was he certain of the justice of his case but— ‘which was more important — that he was in a position to prove it. Then it seemed to follow from the actual terms of the poster, that he summoned Giaousé, Tulip, and Bolacion to submit themselves to judgment, not so much to obtain evidence in his own favor as to use this evidence against themselves. And in this way, Toton Robin’s incomprehensible words were confirmed: “Our Titin has been saved by traitors.”

  To which ordinary common sense made answer:

  “But for those traitors he would none the less have been executed.”

  A new uneasiness took possession of them. Nor was the absence of Babazouk and Bolacion calculated to calm the general anxiety. As for Tulip, he scarcely ever left his office, absorbed by the work which had resulted from the deaths in the Supia family. Toton Robin in his smithy rained heavy blows upon his anvil and sent up great sheaves of sparks from the red-hot metal. Did he know more about the truth than the others to display such scarcely repressed rage? It was quite possible; for it was in his name and by his orders that arrangements had been made for the ceremony on Sunday. He had had many consultations with Petou, the worthy mayor of La Fourca, and the Innkeepers of the old town, over the erection and plan of the tables and the bar of honor, which in the old days Titin, as President, used to occupy.

  On Tuesday, casks, flasks, and pitchers were hauled to the upper parade in La Fourca, where the “Court” was to be held. But it was possible that the authorities would not allow the jury time to linger over their wine as was proper in proceedings which would lose their force if they were hurried. So soon as Titin appeared he might be arrested, and then good-bye to any verdict. Would it not be as well then, in view of the circumstances, to let judgment be given in his absence?

  To this suggestion which came from M. Petou, and was supported by M. Arthur, the mayor of Torre les Tourettes, Toton Robin made answer that he had no idea how the proceedings would be conducted and his part was restricted to calling together the jury. Toton Robin, who had been to the hut in the mountains at Barnabé’s request and had seen Titin with the chamois hunter, knew what he was about.

  Meantime, the entire district was thronged with police, and the upper and lower Fourca with detectives. At Grasse troops were confined to barracks for the following Sunday, and even the fire brigades of the small towns round about received orders to hold themselves in readiness, in case of necessity.

  Titin had retired to Barnabés hut, according to Souques and Ordinal’s instructions. The chamois hunter was well-known in the Vesubie district. He was the cleverest shot in the mountain and had an extensive knowledge of contraband. He was a striking and picturesque figure — the sort of character that the men attached to Cooks Motor-car Excursions point out to their tourists. Therefore, he was invited to lunch at the hotels where the cars pulled up. During the meal he opened his lips only to eat and drink, and it was to no purpose that he was invited to relate his achievements. He was no fool.

  Titin and Barnabé were old friends though they had never indulged in long speeches. Barnabé explained to him that from where they were they commanded a gun-range over a radius of more than three miles, and that no one could come near them unobserved. Neither Giaousé nor Bolacion — to whom Barnabé had sent word through the pastry-cook in St. Martin, who received letters for them, that they were expected by Titin — put in an appearance. A letter addressed to Tulip by the same means remained unanswered.

  At last after four days Souques and Ordinal appeared as they had promised. Titin was eagerly and anxiously on the lookout for them. Had they brought the solution of the riddle with them?

  “We have seen the marriage certificate,” said Ordinal. “You will understand what it means. Through this marriage M. and Mme. Pincalvin recognize and legitimize a son born some twenty-five years ago. That son is no other than Giaousé Babazouk, who, therefore, becomes through his mother, the Supia’s sole heir....

  “We learned a great deal more. This boy was born at Mme. Boccia’s. The mother was led to believe that the child died. Mme. Boccia acted under Supia’s orders, receiving a sum of money that enabled her to buy the cottage in the Rue de la Tousson and placed her beyond the reach of want. She continued to interest herself in Babazouk. She placed a sealed letter with the La Fourca solicitor in which the facts were set down establishing Babazouk’s parentage. This letter was to be delivered to Mme. Cioasa after Mme. Boccia’s death, thus assuring Babazouk’s future without prejudicing her own position while she lived.

  “It was Tulip who received the letter. He was an inquisitive person and an adept at opening letters however carefully sealed. When he learnt the facts, his fiendish mind saw the use to which they could be put. The first thing to do was to involve Giaousé so deeply in the scheme that he could not draw back. It was then that Bolacion and Tulip, close friends, assisted by a gang of men who presently make another appearance in this story, brought about the meeting between Titin and Nathalie at ‘Le Père la Bique’, and arranged Nathalie’s disappearance so as to lead Giaousé Babazouk to believe in an understanding between Titin and her. At the same time they informed Hippothadee who brought Toinetta on the scene, spoiling Titin’s chance of marrying her. They shunted Giaousé on to Toinetta out of a spirit of revenge. It was an easy matter. Giaousé’s liking for Toinetta had not escaped Nathalie’s notice and she had warned Titin of it on several occasions.

  “That, of course, would be a masterly stroke, a crowning triumph for Tulip’s scheme. Both fortunes in one hand! Babazouk, the sole heir of the Supias and Agagnoscs.... The immediate necessity was to discover Micheu. They soon traced him. Micheu was almost an honest man. He knew that in the circumstances he was doing a good stroke of business for himself. But he had no suspicion of the many crimes that lay behind his marriage. Mme. Cioasa was a worthy, but unhappy woman. She had never ceased to think of Micheu. She readily returned to him. They were anxious, of course, for the marriage and the subsequent recognition of their son to be kept secret in order that no suspicion should be aroused. Hence their retirement to that lost corner of the world in the Jura mountains.

  “Meantime, they hinted to Mme. Cioasa that her son was still a
live. They prepared her for the joyful news. But they had to act quickly. The letter containing the necessary proofs would not be handed over to her until Mme. Boccia’s death. That explained the murder in the Rue de la Tousson and the disappearance of Mme. Manchotte whom Mme. Boccia had taken into her confidence.... They undoubtedly sent Mme. Manchotte to join Nathalie.... Where?... Poor women!...

  “Well,” ended Ordinal excitedly collecting together his bundle of papers, “what have you to say?”

  “The whole thing is too awful,” returned Titin. “But I should like to know exactly what part Giaousé played in all these horrors. That’s the question I’m going to ask him.”

  “But are you mad?” exclaimed Ordinal. “You must not think of doing that. We have in this report full proof of your innocence. You should come back with us to Nice. As to Giaousé, we will undertake to bring him to you escorted by two gendarmes, and in safe company....”

  “But I’ve been condemned to death, my dear Ordinal,” said Titin. “It is for you two to go back to Nice and let me know when I can turn up there without danger to myself.”

  They left him with a gesture of dissent. Titin said to Barnabé:

  “Certainly there are things which should be cleared up. But I can’t forget that Giaousé risked his life to save mine.”

  It was then that Titin with the help of Toton Robin announced with a flourish of drums the “judgment over a glass of wine”. One of the darkest days in the history of La Fourca, one of those days which are long remembered, and the story of which is handed down from generation to generation, was about to dawn. On Saturday the inns remained open for the best part of the night. No one knew what was going to happen. Toton Robin was not to be seen. The mayor and the rector were ill at ease.

  The mayor had made his money in the olive trade, and besides possessing two or three houses between La Fourca Nova and La Costa, he had a good substantial house in the old town. It was here that Mme. Petou invited her friends to sample her famous jams and liqueurs. It was here, too, that the mayors seated facing each other were waiting impatiently for Toton Robin, who had not come.

  “There’s going to be more trouble,” said Arthur.

  “I fear so,” agreed Mme. Petou.

  Arthur, the mayor of Torre les Tourettes, had reached La Fourca on the stroke of midnight and was remaining with Petou, who told him as much as he himself had heard from Toton Robin.

  “By Jove, if this is the case we may fear the worst,” exclaimed Arthur. “They’ll do their best to prevent Titin from turning up.”

  Just then a loud knock came at the street door. Mme. Petou went and slid back the shutter of the wicket.

  “Toton Robin!” she cried.

  They made a rush on him. She closed the door. His face was distorted.

  “No news of Titin! He ought to have been in hiding at the doctor’s last night. I suggested to the doctor: ‘Let’s get to Barnabé’s.’ We drove off in a motor-car for St. Martins Vesubie. Barnabé did not come down the mountain to meet us. We went up to him.... We found him up there in his hut... alone... murdered.”

  M. and Mme. Petou and M. Arthur uttered a cry:

  “What about Titin?”

  “That’s just it. Where is he? What’s happened to him? They took him by surprise, obviously. Titin wanted to see Giaousé and Bolacion, and sent for them. They came. But they didn’t come alone, you may be sure. And as they’ve got him, they’ve got us as long as they hold him prisoner. I drove back to St. Martin’s. The doctor and I telephoned the news to Grasse and Nice, and here we are. I said to myself: perhaps you may have heard something.... Listen.... Someone’s calling you, Petou. It’s Mme. Closs’s voice.”

  They heard, too, the sound of the cart being drawn by the mule. They ran to the door. The market gardener had pulled up outside and was holding her lantern above a body lying stretched upon her baskets and vegetables.

  “Ah, my friends, I lifted her up as best I could. She was almost dead.... I found her a little way past La Costa in the middle of the road.”

  “But who is it?”

  “Oh, you don’t recognize her all at once. It’s Nathalie, poor thing.”

  Toton Robin had already lifted her out of the cart.

  “She is covered with blood. Put her to my bed and send for the doctor,” said Petou.

  Meantime Arthur felt her heart.

  “She’s still alive. Good Lord, how they have knocked her about.”

  Petou slid a glass of brandy between the poor girl’s lips.

  “If she could only speak,” said Robin. “We shouldn’t need to look very far to find Titin.”

  As though she were waiting for the mention of that name she suddenly recovered consciousness and opened her eyes.

  “Titin!” she said in a weak voice. “You want to know where Titin is.... Ah, that’s you Toton Robin.... Petou.... Have I come in time? They’re going to murder him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At Touet du Loup.”

  “In the quarries?”

  “Yes.”

  “Off we go!” said Toton Robin.

  “How can you think of doing such a thing! You must all go there — there’ll be none too many of you. Rut don’t lose time. When Mme. Manchotte told me they had brought Titin there, and what they were going to do with him, I thought to myself I must save him. Mme. Manchotte helped me. I learnt all about it from her, and I will tell you everything...

  An hour later the people of La Fourca poured out of the town once more through every lane and footpath. But it was no question now of witnessing Titin’s execution. They were determined to save him, to wrest him from the rabble in the Gorges du Loup. In silence, long files of men wound their way like black serpents over the roads. They disappeared from view and came into sight again on the ridge of the mountain, and at length effected a junction at the entrance to the passes where they were joined by Arthur’s men. For, the people of Torre les Tourettes declined to leave the honor and danger of an expedition which would make history, to La Fourca, alone.

  The men of La Fourca marching further ahead, reached the narrow pass to the quarries from which the eye could take in Touet du Loup. Meantime the men of Torre les Tourettes led by the wily Arthur, struggled up numerous rocks and down numerous precipices to attain the enemy’s rear beyond Touet du Loup and close in upon him the circle of death.

  When the men below led by Toton Robin, assisted by Petou’s prudent counsels saw that Arthur had completed his encircling movement, they made ready to attack. The assault must needs be overwhelming to succeed. They brought up a large number of ladders and ropes. Their main object was first to rescue Titin. A resin torch lit by Mme. Manchotte, as had been agreed between Nathalie and her, was to indicate the exact spot to which he had been taken. A last council of war at which Nathalie, carried on a stretcher, was present, enabled them to arrange the details of their plan of campaign. Truth to tell the attack was bound to succeed for the enemy camp was in a merry mood. Titin’s capture had been the signal for a wild outburst of drinking.

  It was four o’clock in the morning when this side of the mountain became transformed into a volcano. Multicolored fire, mine explosions, the sound of guns, yells, despairing appeals, harrowing cries, an indescribable frenzy — all these things seemed to combine to create the illusion of hell let loose wherein everyone of these unhappy madmen would meet his death and his damnation.

  In the background of a sort of tunnel, which crossed the mountain, could be seen two men with bare breasts dripping with the blood of the enemy, advancing, retiring, smashing, crushing with uplifted, or whirling club like two splendid and terrible heroes from the pages of Homer. It proved to be Toton Robin at one end of the tunnel and Titin at the other. A voice from below shouted words of encouragement: “Go for them! Go for them!” It was Nathalie’s voice.

  The battle was over in less than an hour. The seriously wounded surrendered and “there were not many of them,” to quote the traditional account of the battle.
It was no more than the truth, for the rabble in the Gorges du Loup received that night a right royal “thrashing”, quite sufficient to keep them quiet for many a long day. And peace descended once more on the district.

  The victors returned in triumph. They brought with them a few prisoners intended to create a sensation in the “judgment over the wine”. Bolacion had received a blow from Titin’s club cutting open his head, and he was losing his demoniacal brain. All the same he was brought along in a cart to be “judged”, side by side with Giaousé, who was also severely wounded. Tulip alone was missing. He had been far too cautious to set foot in the incriminating haunts of Touet du Loup.

  As the cart containing the prisoners passed La Costa, Jean José Scaliero’s wife opened her door and handed over Tulip. She feared lest the people of La Fourca might learn one day that she had given refuge to him, and set fire to her house. She, probably, was not far wrong. Tulip could not stand on his legs and his limp form was pushed at the back of the cart. Titin was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared under a tarpaulin while Nathalie unburdened herself to him. She told him the story of her martyrdom, bringing tears to his eyes. It was on his account that she had so greatly suffered.

  While the procession marched towards the place of “judgment”, the rumor of the battle reached the government authorities, who at once gave orders for the police and others forces to hasten to Touet du Loup and put an end to the slaughter. But, of course, the forces arrived after the battle was over. And, on returning to La Fourca, they found the old town in a position of defense, about to deliver its “judgment”, and opposed to any outside interference. La Fourca was surrounded as though it were to be carried by assault. The story of the siege, which lasted twelve hours only, was no more grotesque than the siege of Fort Chabrol in the heart of Paris in 1899, when one man for three weeks kept at bay the entire forces of the capital.