Then she left me and disappeared in the darkness. I closed the bag and seated myself on top of it, my collar turned up, the dark lantern in my hand, like a good subordinate, waiting for his captain’s orders.
In a little while her voice called to me from the landing of the stairs. I seized the bag, and, guided by my lantern, crossed the great hall and mounted the wide stair, whose banister was of carved wood like the railings of a cathedral.
“Don’t make so much noise,” whispered Helena.
I stopped short, a tightening in my throat.
“But you said there was no one to fear.”
“There isn’t... but we are working as if there was somebody asleep in the next room.”
“All right, I’ll be good. Had I better take off my shoes?”
“Yes, if you can’t walk any softer than that.”
I sat down obediently on the step and took off one shoe, holding my breath. Suddenly the shoe slipped from my hand and clattered down the stairs.
“You clumsy idiot!” said Helena savagely. “Are you determined to get us caught?”
This time I did not laugh. She guessed my shame and added more gently:
“Hurry up! We’ve got to work fast.”
I went up the rest of the way with one shoe, crossed the hall, and entered a room, from which Helena’s voice came.
“In here! See if you can find me.”
Were we going to play hide-and-seek? Well, I preferred that to burglary, even when there was nothing to steal.
My shaft of light circled the room, pausing on the chairs, the dresser, and the bed; then it swept under them. Not a sign of her. I heard her laugh close to me. I could almost feel her breath. I whirled about sharply. Still nothing! Blackness all around me. “Take off your other shoe,” said the voice. “You are ridiculous.”
My lantern followed the voice. No Helena. It was enough to make me doubt my senses.
“I refuse to take off my shoe until I have seen you,” I said.
The sudden flood of light in the room blinded me. She had turned the electric switch.
Helena stood within a yard of me, all in black; an exquisite little figure in close fitting black silk.
“Helena!” I cried. “You are adorable.”
And I tried to catch her in my arms.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, slipping away from me. “We must be serious. Put the bag on the table.”
“I thought at least I would recognize your face,” I persisted, “your eyes and your mouth, Helena. But I didn’t even see them behind the mask. A charming surprise!”
“Then don’t make me sorry that I did it.”
“All right, I am ready for work. I am listening, Professor. But aren’t you afraid that all this light...”
“There’s no danger in this room. Now, no more talk! Remember that you are working for our future.”
“As if I would forget it!”
She spread out the tools and a row of little glass jars that were in the bag. It was as if we were in a clinic. I looked about me, wondering what unlucky piece of furniture was to be operated on. With a brush which she dipped in a silver bowl, she covered all the instruments with a black coating.
She explained that this was a varnish which dried almost instantaneously — an invention of Durin’s. This avoided the necessity of bronzing the tools, which made them less malleable, and also prevented them from glittering, which was always dangerous. The first necessity for a good burglar is to be inseparable from the darkness. She explained all of these points in a crisp, professional tone, which was logical, unanswerable, and — to me — exciting.
One after another, she lifted out the different implements, turning them over in her slim, supple fingers, gloved in black, described the uses they could be put to, and taught me their technical names. First were the wrenches, twenty-one in number, picklocks, and hooks; four pliers... I could not resist the temptation to pick up one of these. (“That’s right,” she said, “familiarize yourself with it.”) I weighed it on my hand, held it erect, and balanced it, mentally measuring its force and resistance. Then I laid it back respectfully in place.
Next, the shears, thirty-five saws, a gauge, an emery, a strong brace, whose threads still showed, as Helena pointed out to me, a few traces of the varnish used on safety-vaults, a blowpipe and all its accessories. And finally, the treasure of the collection, Durin’s latest invention, a lever for cutting into safety vaults. “It is irresistible,” said Helena with pride, “yet a child could operate it.” In addition to the tools proper, of course, were the flasks of chloroform, the bundles of cotton, and similar materials. But no weapons, not even a dagger, and especially, no revolver. Thus, one knew in advance that one could count only on one’s skill, agility, and intelligence to avoid disaster. In an emergency one might perhaps make an unforeseen gesture with a pair of pliers. But under those conditions, no honest man could charge premeditation... an important point sometimes.
Helena then made me recite my lesson. I repeated the name of each tool, as a young mechanic names the parts of an automobile and describes their uses before he is allowed to work independently.
“Not bad,” said Lady Helena, “for the first time.”
I was feeling more and more humble in her presence.
“And now,” she continued, “we are going to give you a little practice.”
She picked up several tools and moved towards the door, which she locked.
“At first we’ll work in the light. Let us imagine that we have tried to pick this lock and failed. We are now going to force the door without making the slightest noise.”
But I have no intention of giving a lesson in burglary at this point. It is enough to say that with the traditional tools and Durin’s inventions, no obstacle withstood us. I say “us,” because I was ordered to take my part in the game. Helena’s ingenuity left me speechless with admiration, and in her turn she did not seem to find me entirely hopeless. Several times she complimented me, and once she added: “I think you’ll make a good burglar, Ruddy, my dear.”
She also taught me what can be expected of a good brace and a curved strip of brass properly inserted in a bolted door. With a little twist of the hand, from the outside, one can make the bolt on the inside slip quietly out of its socket.
The locks were easy. She made me try each of the tools after her, and I acquitted myself — if I may say so — with honor. With a good picklock in your hands, you can go far in life.
The room in which we had started had been finished in the first quarter of an hour. We had then gone through the other rooms on that floor, and descended to the ground floor. Doors and chests yielded to our persuasion with a gentle creak that would not have disturbed an owner suffering with insomnia. I was obliged to repeat the little operation that I would have to carry out at the hotel three times, and on the third Helena announced that she was completely satisfied.
She explained that she might have prepared the way for me at the hotel, when Fathi was not in his room, by partially unscrewing the lock on his door; but the investigation that was bound to follow would certainly bring out the fact and arouse suspicions of an inside job, which must be avoided above everything. Thus, I would be reduced to my own resources; but Helena reassured me, declaring that henceforth they would be perfectly adequate.
Without more delay, we hurried up to Sir Archibald’s room, where his private safe stood. It was then that I fully realized the genius of Mr. Flow. Durin’s little blade for cutting safes was certainly as easy to handle as a butter knife and required little more effort. Once the first perforation is made (either with a blowpipe or a chemical application, according to the nature of the safe) it is practically over. I had often had more trouble opening a box of sardines. Watch in hand, it took two minutes and forty-five seconds to open Sir Archibald’s safe. I was about to add: “Unfortunately, there was nothing in it.” And you must not blame me for my disappointment. When one plays a comedy, one enters quickly into the skin of the
character one has assumed.
More than two hours had passed while we had been engaged in these little exercises, and I confess that I had become so much interested (for a lawyer, especially, these things were useful to know) that I had not noticed the passage of time. It was Helena who reminded me:
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked. “You have certainly earned your supper, and I could eat a bit myself.”
At the mention of supper, I realized that I was hungry.
“Are there provisions here?” I asked.
“I brought them.”
We went back to the first room and once more stood in the light. Helena, in her black silk jacket and trousers, appeared more ravishing than ever. The prospect of a midnight supper at her side delighted me.
Once more she went into the inexhaustible bag, and spread out on the table a pâté de joie gras, fruits, rolls, a goblet, and a single plate. It was more than enough. “We have nothing to drink,” she explained, “but before he left, Sir Archibald stored some champagne, which he is particularly fond of, in the cellar.”
“I shall tell you whether I agree with him after I have tasted it,” I assured her, getting up.
“Alas, Ruddy, the wine-cellar is locked! But I don’t suppose a trifle like that can stop you now.”
“It will be an excellent ending to my lesson!”
“This will be all you’ll need,” she added, handing me a slender tool. And we crept down into the cellar together, laughing.
Five minutes later, we were back upstairs again with two bottles of Mumm 1910.
“I congratulate you!” cried Helena as I set the bottles on the table. “You are now a true burglar! Even Scotland Yard would admit your mastery.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that for the first time you have actually broken open a door that had something behind it. We shall have to baptize you with the water of the crime.” It was true. I had not even thought of it. This time I had really committed burglary... and to my shame I admit that I felt no regret.
The “water of the crime” sparkled in our goblet and was drunk with delight. A joyous baptism!... Helena cut the pâté, while rifled chests, opened closets and forced doors, looked on in bewilderment. The stage setting was complete. We had all the appearance of two thieves hurriedly eating a bite before making their getaway. The first bottle was emptied, and the second began to follow it....
The next afternoon the papers reported the visit of burglars to Sir Archibald Skarlett’s villa, “The Elms”:
“The marauders,” said the paper, “undoubtedly expected to find an important sum in the safe, which was opened. But they wasted their energy; the safe was empty. One detail which has aroused considerable speculation, in the investigation, is the fact that the burglars forced doors and drilled locks that were not locked from one end of the house to the other...”
CHAPTER VII
HELENA HAD NO intention of letting my enthusiasm cool. The next morning she informed me that we would carry out our plan that same night. After that she did not mention the matter again, leaving me to my own reflections.
They were by no means disagreeable. There would be a ticklish moment to get by, to be sure, but afterwards!... Besides, I was now madly in love with Helena.
To acquire a little extra confidence, I made a few visits during the day to various bars in the town, and with the help of my fellow-members of the International Bar Flies — for one finds them everywhere when corks are popping — was soon full of decision. The dice, however, continued to run against me. But I now had a way of saying to the bartender, “Just put that on my account for this evening,” which won me more respect than if I had paid. Needless to say, I avoided the Casino bar. At the Potinière, I got up from my seat while still talking with Harry, and moved gradually away without pausing in my conversation. Thus, day by day, I was learning how to live. I ceased to be amazed that, in these days of the high cost of living, people still put up a big front when there was nothing behind it. I myself had not a franc, yet I was living in a six hundred franc room in the best hotel on the beach, I had my table at the Ambassadeurs, and credit in all the bars. It was merely a matter of knowing how, and I was beginning to suspect that many of those about me were no richer than myself.
In the afternoon we went to the races (Helena had sent Fathi to buy tickets of admission). The weather was superb, the turf springy, and the crowd at its smartest. Helena was much sought after, and I felt proud to be at her side, especially as she frequently took my arm and leaned on it with an air of intimacy. Once she left me to talk a few minutes with Moor, the trainer, who passed us. When she came back, she told me in a low voice: “Moor has never given me more than two tips in his life, and both of them were good. He has just given me a sure one for Sunday.”
“The Grand Prize?”
“No, an unimportant race that everybody thinks is won in advance. But there is a secret agreement; the favorite is going to be scratched — at least, that is what I understood. Moor told me to bet on Spada. The odds were ten to one. Isn’t it exasperating, Ruddy, not to have a franc?”
“You shall have some tomorrow, Helena!”
“You are an angel.”
At that moment I noticed a quizzical eye on me, and recognized my old friend Victor. I had forgotten that his business included playing the races. But I gave no sign of seeing him.
Our dinner, at the Ambassadeurs, was of the gayest. Wit and champagne flowed freely, and I took my part in both. But I could not say now whether it was the champagne or the prospect of danger that stimulated me the most.
We left early, for she had rented a box at the opera. I remember that the lights, the music, and the presence of Helena lifted me to a state of ecstasy, but I haven’t the faintest notion what opera it was.
When the final curtain had gone down, we returned, still followed by Fathi, to the gaming hall. The heat there was unbearable, but Helena had concluded that the sight of gold changing hands about me would complete my preparation for the night’s work. She held me there, powerless, before the tables. Finally, I begged to leave.
“Not yet,” she explained. “I am looking after you, Ruddy. I had Mary find out the names of the people who live in my corridor at the hotel. There are still three of them here” — she pointed them out to me— “and when they have gone home, we’ll be safe. You will not have any embarrassing meetings in the halls.”
While talking to me, she exchanged a meaning glance with a man whom I knew well by reputation. It was one of the two jewelers I had overheard talking the first evening I had come to the Casino. Since then, I had made inquiries about him; his name was Abraham Moritz, and the summer before he had been thrown out of the Hotel Normandy by force. After following the gambling all night at the Casino, as usual, he used to pace the corridors of the Normandy till eight o’clock in the morning, outside the doors of those ladies whose losses had been particularly heavy and who owned valuable jewels. At the first sign of a maid he would send in word that “Monsieur Abraham was there and requested the honor of being received.” Sometimes he was and sometimes he wasn’t. Eventually the management grew tired of stumbling over him, and ordered him to clear out. This year, he had openly taken a room at the Royal, and apparently had no regrets, for he knew the financial straits that Lady Skarlett was in.
“Ah!” I whispered. “It’s our jeweler?”
“Yes, but don’t stare at him.”
She led me onto the terrace and outside the Long French windows of the Hall of Chance.
“No one must suspect that you have had anything to do with what is going to happen, Ruddy.”
“I agree with that perfectly.”
“We are going to finish up the evening at Leonie’s, and we shall undoubtedly meet him there, as well as several others. Don’t pay any more attention to him than to the rest and don’t worry if you can’t understand what is said. You are just a cheerful little Bar Fly who is interested in nothing but his drink. I am taking
you along because you amuse me and because I can’t be out alone at that hour. You understand?”
“Who is this Leonie?”
“Nobody in particular — a woman who runs a bar near the station. Now you wait here while I go back to the hotel, and meet me at the corner of Morny Square.”
She left me, and I glanced at my watch; two o’clock in the morning. At half past two I was cooling my heels at Morny Square. At that hour the neighborhood was deserted. The occasional passers-by gave me a wide berth. My cane in my pocket, my collar turned up, my hat drawn down over my eyes, I must have looked as if I was there for no good. This was the first act of our adventure, and the longer I waited the less enthusiasm I felt.
At length I caught sight of a feminine silhouette, wrapped in a dark cloak, and a hood over the eyes. I recognized the walk as Helena’s. She took my arm and guided me across the Square. All the cafés were apparently closed, but after a three minutes’ walk she knocked on a dark little door, which opened at once and closed behind us.
“Good evening, Lady Helena,” said Leonie, “you choose a good night to come; you will find pleasant company.”
“I am glad to hear that,” answered Lady Helena, “for I have been bored since Sir Archibald left.”
We had entered an ordinary workman’s café, and there was nothing to distinguish Leonie from the thousands of other good women who made their living by serving wine, coffee and liqueurs. She had the sturdy, buxom build of a farmer’s daughter, topped by an honest red face. Her business having dwindled during the daytime, she had conceived the idea of keeping open for certain customers at night, when all other cafés were closed. A private room was reserved for these special customers in the rear of the main bar. At that hour Leonie herself took the orders. There was no maid and Leonie paid no attention to the conversation; she contented herself with charging high prices for her drinks, and left her customers alone.
Passing down the middle of the bar, she opened the door into the private room, where we were heartily greeted by a half dozen habitués, all men, who did not rise at Lady Skarlett’s entrance, but shook hands with her across the table. Lady Helena introduced me, and I discovered that all knew who I was. Had I been less preoccupied, I might have realized from that fact what a prominent rôle I was playing in Deauville.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 461
