Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  I gave a sceptical grin.

  “So you too believe in Mr. Flow, do you?”

  “Do I believe in him?” echoed Ruskin in amazement. “Of course I believe in him. Mr. Flow is a fact. The things he does are incredible, but he does them. It certainly isn’t the likes of you or me who climbs a ladder and gets into Chavrier’s mansion. Or who takes Petit-Jean’s postage stamps and knocks him goofy....”

  “Is Petit-Jean really out of his head?”

  “Pretty damn near it. He’s down south, and he’ll probably never come back to his job. At least I don’t think he will. He has what they call acute neurasthenia. That is, the only way he can recover is by a complete change of ideas. So Petit-Jean will never do any more sleuthing. Somebody told me yesterday they heard he was taking a job as salesman for some wholesale wine distributor. It’s a shame, too, because he was a good man — probably the only one who could have landed Mr. Flow. You make me laugh when you say you don’t believe in Mr. Flow. Are you trying to kid me?”

  I protested that nobody would be foolish enough to try to kid Ruskin. All I meant was that — as I had said at the time of the Gorshman burglary — there was not one Mr. Flow —

  “Stop there!” interrupted Ruskin. “I know what you are going to say, and it doesn’t hold water. I was talking about that theory yesterday with the Chief of Detectives. They thought of that for a while themselves, you may be sure. But you can’t get around the fact that the finger-prints were the same every time, and that the tools used were the same. Mr. Flow is a reality, and there is only one Mr. Flow.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said, “for in that case they’ll get him sooner or later.”

  “Why?”

  “Because one man can’t outwit the whole police force indefinitely.”

  “That’s just where you’re wrong!” exclaimed Ruskin. I noticed that our waiter was listening to him as if to an oracle. “It is precisely because he works alone that he has every chance in the world of eluding the law. A lone wolf is hard to catch. In the first place, there is nobody to sell him out — and that’s important. Most criminals are caught because somebody puts the police on their trail. But who is going to show them the trail of a man who does his job alone, goes back home, and says nothing to anybody? If he only tried to cash in on his loot — as the Chief said to me yesterday — they might trace him through the fences he worked with. But this man gives the stuff back. What can you do with a man like that?”

  “Since he gives back what he takes, he is not a thief. He is a sportsman. They ought to leave him alone.”

  “But you can’t let people indulge in that kind of sport!”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Good Lord! Because it’s intolerable that a man should go into other people’s houses and take whatever he chooses. It makes the police look foolish, and if the public lose confidence in the police, society will collapse.”

  “Yes, of course. I was only joking.... But, tell me, do you think he will give the blue diamond back?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Ruskin. “Poor Chavrier is all upset. He would give a million not to have offered that half-million reward.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No. He won’t see anybody. And I don’t blame him. But that alone proves his state of mind.”

  I had hoped that Ruskin had seen Chavrier. If he had not, he no longer interested me. I let him go on talking without interruption. My revenge would not be complete until I knew what was going on in Chavrier’s mind. His distress would be my dessert.

  If Ruskin did not know, who could tell me? A thought flashed into my mind — a mad one. Hadn’t I promised to meet Mme. Parmin this very day?... No! That would be too reckless. I must stay away from her.

  Yet there was no denying that Mme. Parmin was pretty. And besides, she was no doubt in Chavrier’s confidence.

  Yes... but suppose she turned me over to the police?

  Nonsense! Why should she want to have me arrested? She must still love me a little. And Mr. Flow was not to be arrested as easily as that. Others had tried it before her.

  “What is the matter with you?” asked Ruskin. “You look as if you were a thousand miles away. I’ll bet you were thinking about Mr. Flow, weren’t you?”

  “No. To tell the truth, I was thinking about Antonin Rose. I was wondering if you would do something for me, Ruskin. I need a good client. I am not joking. Times are hard. With all the people you know, you might put in a good word for me...

  “I’ll keep you in mind,” said Ruskin, condescendingly. “If you get stuck, you can count on me. As you say, I know a good many people.... And if I can be of service to you, I’ll be glad to.”

  I thanked him warmly and left at once. I needed to be alone. I was seriously tempted to go to the Champs-Elysées.... I would at least take a little stroll to clear my head.

  And I needn’t tell you that my stroll led me towards the spot Mme. Parmin had suggested.

  She was walking at a languorous pace under the chestnut trees. Her little scoop-shaped hat came down over her forehead so that her eyes were barely visible. People turned around to admire her slender figure. But certainly no one suspected she was “the charming heroine, the plucky young woman,” who had dared stand up against Mr. Flow.

  I followed for a while fifty paces behind her to find out if by chance any city or private detectives were keeping her under surveillance. Considering Chavrier’s offer, it would not be surprising if some private detective bureau had decided to shadow all those who were in any way involved in the burglary. And the suspicions of the police department might have been aroused when it discovered that the only jewels I had not taken were those of this exquisite woman.

  But the police were more stupid than I had thought. None of them had thought of following her.

  If I were writing a fiction story, I would have to change that. At this point I would tell how I fooled men from headquarters by a few ingenious tricks....

  But I am telling the plain simple truth. I did not have to outwit anyone; there was no one to outwit. No one in the world had suspected Mme. Parmin of having a rendezvous with the elusive Mr. Flow, at four in the afternoon, on the Champs-Elysées.

  I quickened my step and overtook her. Bowing low, hat in hand, I exclaimed in a loud voice what a delightful coincidence it was that I should have chanced to meet her there.

  Without the slightest hesitation she took her cue, asked how I was, and where I was going. We walked along exchanging conventional remarks on how blue the sky was and how fresh the grass looked.

  But suddenly she murmured anxiously: “We are crazy to do this! Call a taxi.”

  When we were seated in the cab, she pressed against me:

  “How could you be so reckless? It is my fault, I know. I told you to meet me on the Champs-Elysées. But how did you dare to come?”

  “Oh, I have no fear,” I answered, with what was no doubt a fatuous smile. Then I added tenderly, “You are worth any risk.”

  At this banal flattery she melted in my arms.

  “Do you mean that?” she quavered. “If you only knew how I need sympathy!”

  She told me something of her life. She spent most of the year in a sort of chateau outside a small provincial town, where her husband owned a factory. He was wrapped up in his business and neglected her. She was lonely, her life was empty.

  Frankly, I was beginning to get bored. Her story was the old, old one that a hundred thousand women in France repeat every day. I had expected something more original from Aimée Parmin. Had she not just told me her name was Aimée?

  To my relief, however, she dropped her laments as suddenly as she had begun them, and exclaimed: “But I am talking about nothing but myself! What an egotist I am! Now that you are here, I can forget all that. Oh, how you frightened me the other night! Why did you go back into Edmond’s room? If you could only see him now! He’s furious.... If he ever catches you! He nearly died of apoplexy when he read your humiliati
ng warning in the Paris News. And his wife keeps reproaching him all the time; she says that if she never sees her blue diamond again, it will be because he was foolish enough to defy you. Then he nearly goes insane. He says all women should be put under lock and key; that any bandit who comes along is at once their hero; and that, if necessary, he will offer a million, two million, or ten million.... And if Mr. Flow doesn’t like it, Edmond will make him like it. That a man like himself is not in the habit of truckling to thieves; that if the Police Commissioner were not such an ass, you would have been arrested before this; and so on and so on.

  “This morning, when he was ranting, Marguerite replied that you were certainly not so despicable as he claimed, for you had always behaved like a gentleman, and that if she knew you...

  “But he didn’t let her finish. He got up from the table, threw down his napkin, and went out slamming the door.... I don’t know what he is going to do, but he is a man to beware of. Up to now he has always got his revenge. You must be careful, my darling, be careful!”

  “That big bungler can’t do me any harm,” I said reassuringly. “He will never find me.”

  “But you must not take any chances. He has hired a private detective, and given him a hundred thousand francs drawing account. This detective has guaranteed to get you. That is what makes Marguerite furious.

  ‘How do you expect your poor little detective, who probably spends his time shadowing wives for jealous husbands, to arrest Mr. Flow?’ she asked Edmond. ‘All you had to do was wait, and all our things would have come back, and I would not have lost my blue diamond. Hasn’t he returned everything else he has stolen so far? He does this for fun, to amuse himself and annoy you. Aside from that, he has never done any harm, except to knock down some people who interfered with him or put others to sleep when they were foolish enough to scream.’

  “Edmond sneered and said, ‘So he is a gentleman, is he?’ And she answered, ‘Exactly. He is a gentleman.’ Edmond left the room as if he were going to kill somebody. And it was time too, for she was about to add:

  ‘He is not like you!’”

  You can imagine the satisfaction with which I heard these details. But I merely shrugged my shoulders.

  “Don’t worry, my love,” I said to Aimée. “Chavrier’s detective will not keep me from doing what I please.”

  I could see she was still uneasy, however, and she soon explained why.

  “According to what Edmond told us yesterday, the detective has an idea that is not bad. He says the only hope of catching Mr. Flow is to nab him at the very moment he is committing a burglary, and arrest you red-handed. He thinks that this month, when there are lots of foreigners in Paris, you will probably choose the richest, and he proposes to watch them. For example, there is a wealthy American at the Cambridge Hotel now, named Junius Walter.”

  “Walter, who has the gold mines?”

  “Yes. The detective figures you will plan to rob Walter. So he is guarding the hotel, especially apartment 29, which is Walter’s. Chavrier can’t think of anything these days except you and apartment 29. You mustn’t go there! Please — I can see that you want to. You have the same expression you had the other night when you went back into Edmond’s room.”

  It was true. I already felt a hankering to outwit the sugar king’s private detective.

  There was something terrifying in being built as I was: to be a timid and unlucky little lawyer, who at certain times found himself transformed into a sort of champion, when the passion overcame him to play the rôle of Mr. Flow — the Napoleon of burglary, as the reporters had dubbed me. Already the outline of a plan was taking form in my mind.

  “Promise me!” Aimée begged. “Promise me you won’t go there. Otherwise I shall die of fright. I am going home to-morrow, and I shall tremble every day until I see the papers. Please, sweetheart!”

  I tried to reassure her, but she insisted. I must give her my promise.

  “I know you will keep your word. You came to-day in spite of all the danger, because you promised me you would. So, if you give me your word, my mind will be at rest.”

  I could not help smiling at such naïveté. But I was touched by it, too. I took her in my arms and gave her all the promises she wished. Soon she was just a trembling little creature, ready to follow me to the end of the world. But she had no need to go so far to find her gallant Don Juan.

  V.

  A STRANGE IMPRESSION

  WHEN I LEFT the charming Mme. Parmin, about seven o’clock, I was fully determined not to keep the promise she had made me repeat a score of times. Antonin Rose might make promises, but Mr. Flow did not ratify them. Or perhaps it was the other way around. In truth, I no longer knew which I was.

  In my room in the rue des Bernardins I got out Lady Helena’s travelling-bag and packed it with care. I was to be an English traveller, who would presently be welcomed with every attention at the Hôtel Cambridge. A man who had once known how to disguise himself as Mr. Hooker, and had been so skilful in painting on his cheek “that honourable scar,” as Helena had called it, would have no trouble in giving his face an English cast.

  But perhaps it would be better to be Spanish or Italian? Since Mme. Parmin had told everybody I had an English accent, Chavrier’s detective would probably pay no attention to a man with the accent of the Mediterranean in his speech.

  Or suppose I were to be simply French. No one would imagine that the Napoleon of burglary was a Frenchman....

  I left my room about midnight. The janitor could not guess that it was Antonin Rose, who now had several wrinkles across his forehead, a net of crows’-feet about the corners of his eyes, and hair that had prematurely whitened at the temples. Nor could it occur to him that it was I who was carrying Lady Helena’s handsome morocco bag.

  A taxi took me from the Boulevard Saint-Germain to the railroad station at the Quai d’Orsay. There I paid the driver, passed through the station, and at the gate for incoming passengers took another taxi to the Cambridge. Thus, as in the Gorshman incident, I should have no taxi-driver’s testimony to fear. At the hotel I left word to be called at five in the morning. I had to be at the Gare du Nord at six thirty-five....

  The next problem was to find apartment 29, where Junius Walter slept. I explored the halls with the soft tread of a wolf. Ah, here was 29. The door was locked and a safety bolt shot. Good. Such details would not stop me.

  A small reception room. Nothing there to steal. Was this the bedroom door, at the right? No, another sitting-room. Then it must be the one at the left. The door was not closed. Junius Walter was careless. Too careless, in fact, to seem natural.

  A shiver, starting from the nape of my neck, ran down my spine. Suppose this was a trap and I had walked into it? Perhaps already a line of silent men were waiting in the corridor to seize me when I came out.

  Silently I retraced my steps and opened the door a crack. The corridor was empty.... Had Aimée been mistaken?

  But perhaps the police were in the bedroom itself.... For a moment I thought of giving up this dangerous adventure. After all, I was Antonin Rose, not Mr. Flow.

  I stood motionless in the obscurity.

  Then once more the mad love of risk, the longing to try my luck, and the pride in showing myself better than all my foes put together swept over me. No, I was not Antonin Rose! I was Mr. Flow, and the world should not be allowed to forget that fact.

  I returned to the bedroom door and opened it wide — the best way to keep it from creaking. And I waited....

  Not a sound! So this was the sort of detective Chavrier had hired! I should have been caught twenty times by now.... But enough time had been wasted. To work!

  The gleam of light from my flash danced over the furniture. There stood the wide bed, at the right. A soft breathing warned me it was occupied. Aside from that, not a person in the room. Good. The rest was simple. I had merely to go through all the drawers and take what I pleased.

  In the wink of an eye I had opened lock after lock. What
! Everything empty? Had Junius Walter left all his valuables in the hotel safe? It would not be surprising. These millionaires were all cautious....

  How foolish of me not to have thought of it sooner.... In an apartment like this there must be a private safe! Of course! There it was in the corner, just like the one Gorshman had kept his bonds in. A joke for me....

  Quick! The holes had to be bored. Then Mr. Flow’s good saw.... Never had I worked so fast or so easily. Durin himself, or rather Sir Douglas Sherfield, since that was now his name, could not have operated more promptly, nor with fewer waste motions. If Helena could only see me now! Ah, she would surely say, “My little darling....” —

  Was it I who had spoken? And was there an echo in that dark room? Or was I dreaming? I had just heard a sound like a faint sob, or a stifled laugh. For nothing is closer to laughter than a sob, and nothing resembles it more. And surely I had heard “My little darling....” I remained frozen, clamped suddenly to the floor in front of the half-emptied safe, listening. Nothing.... I must have been mistaken. It was an hallucination.

  Yet the silence still quivered with those three whispered words that had been born in the fumes of my imagination and hung over me now in the air.

  I resumed my work with the saw, and murmured, as one who will never again see his beloved murmurs in desperation, “Helena! Helena....”

  But no echo replied, and I could no longer even distinguish the breathing I had heard before. Enough of this nonsense! I could think of Helena later if I wished. I must finish my job. A section of the steel plate came away neatly in my hands and I slipped one arm through the opening. Ah, ha! A necklace. I might have expected it. Every hotel bedroom nowadays has its pearl necklace.... More pearls! They followed the necklace into the black silk bag between my knees.... Well, Mr. Detective? Chavrier wouldn’t have to make good his offer of half a million this time.... For in another two minutes I had left with my booty, glided down the long hall, and slipped into my own room. Tumbling everything into the travelling-bag without so much as a glance, I crawled into bed and dropped off to sleep.