Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  I dreamed that someone was knocking on my door. It was Helena, followed by the Commissioner of Police.

  Behind them stood Durin, laughing.... But they were still knocking, knocking. Why did they have to knock so loud and so long?

  It was the bell-hop, saying: “It is five o’clock, sir.”

  Of course! I had left a call for five. I must get up and be back home before the janitor was awake, so as not to startle him with the spectacle of a wrinkled man of sixty. Up! up! And quick to the Gare du Nord, to throw the police off my track — for they would be coming soon.

  I got up, turned on the water in the tub as if I were bathing, and gave instructions to have coffee and rolls served me in my room, and my bill sent up.

  I breakfasted, paid my bill, and left quietly. A taxi was standing at the door.

  “Gare du Nord!” cried the doorman.

  Ten minutes later, and I had already left the Gare du Nord. I had taken off enough of my make-up in the cab so that the Frenchman of sixty who had slept for two hours in the Hôtel Cambridge had disappeared for ever. And a quarter of an hour later I was in my room in the rue des Bernardins. Let the 100,000-franc-detective look for me there!

  VI.

  IN WHICH MR. FLOW IS OUTWITTED BY MR. FLOW

  IT WAS NOON when I woke up. And I was hungry. The Hôtel Cambridge breakfasts were not intended to carry a man for seven hours.

  A cold bath, a vigorous rubbing of my face. Once more the mirror showed me my own features. I laughed and hummed as men in -good health do while splashing in a shower; this was the reward of going in for sport.

  I began to feel curious as to just what I had stolen during the night. A necklace and several rings, that was all I could remember. No money, of course. The richest people never carry much cash. They pay with cheques, or not at all....

  I opened the bag. The necklace was truly magnificent. But...

  No, it could not be possible. I was mistaken.

  My thinking of Helena had led me to imagine I heard her speak during the night. And now, from thinking of Helena, I was imagining I saw her necklace. The same hallucination pursued me.

  Yet... I could not be mistaken in her necklace. I had seen it on her throat too often for that. If it was not hers, it was one exactly like it — incredibly like it. How could Junius Walter have come into possession of a necklace so like Helena’s?

  This was a mystery that must be cleared up at once, or I should go mad. Was it my imagination that lent traces of Helena’s fragrance to these pearls? I must pull myself together. It was not Helena I had robbed, but Junius Walter, famous for his gold mines in America.

  Yet an inner voice whispered to me: “Are you sure?”

  Of course I was sure; I had entered apartment 29, and there could not be two apartment 29’s at the Cambridge.

  Yet... I seized my hat and scrambled down the stairs like a lunatic. I must know who it was I had robbed. No, no, surely not Helena...!

  The noon editions of the papers were already sold out. “All gone in five minutes,” the news-stand woman told me. “There’s another Mr. Flow story.”

  Damn it, that was just what I wanted to see. But, finally, at the Place Saint-Michel, I found a newsboy out of breath: “Extry! extry! Big burglary at the Hôtel Cambridge! All about Mr. Flow!...”

  I snatched a copy from his hands and, without waiting for my change, opened the paper feverishly:

  “Before the excitement caused by the burglary of the Chavrier mansion had died down, another burglary, in which the hand of the famous Mr. Flow is seen, has put the police department’s teeth on edge....”

  This was the true style. Ruskin himself could not do it better. But I was not interested in style.

  “At a quarter to one this morning, a tall, grey-haired traveller, apparently about sixty years old, arrived at the Hôtel Cambridge and asked for a room, explaining that he was merely passing through Paris and was taking a train at the Gare du Nord at six o’clock. He left a call for five. The night clerk tried in vain to rouse him by telephone, and a boy had to be sent to his room to wake him.

  “Having at last been aroused, the stranger ordered breakfast, paid his bill, and left for the Gare du Nord, stepping unhurriedly into the taxi which the doorman had called for him. He had no other luggage than a handsome travelling-bag, which the bell-boy reported was unusually heavy.

  “Two hours later, a rich Englishman, Sir Douglas Sherfield—”

  So that was it! It was Durin, Helena’s present husband. I had not been dreaming the night before when I thought I heard someone call me. Nor had I been dreaming just now when I recognized Helena’s necklace....

  “ — Sir Douglas Sherfield, who had arrived at the Cambridge the evening before and was occupying a luxurious apartment, summoned the manager to his room. He had just discovered that during the night a burglar had entered his room and forced the safe in which he kept his valuables. The thief had stolen a pearl necklace belonging to Lady Sherfield, who is accompanying her husband. The English nobleman, however—”

  Humph! That was going pretty strong. Durin, an English nobleman! The simpletons!

  “ — the English nobleman, however, remained calm, and seemed in no way disturbed by his loss.

  Your Mr. Flow may be a good burglar,’ he told the detectives, ‘but he is no connoisseur of pearls. Otherwise, he would have left the imitation in my safe, where I had put it purposely for him. Lady Sherfield’s real necklace is safe in another place.’”

  So you were trying to make me look ridiculous, were you, Durin? Take care!... I glanced over the rest of the story, which contained only uninteresting details and, for lack of anything better, an interview with the bell-boy who had waked me and who declared he had never known anyone to sleep as soundly as I did. The following paragraph almost escaped my attention:

  “The head of the detective bureau said, as he was leaving the Hôtel Cambridge, that in his opinion Mr. Flow had slipped up badly in this job. Apartment 29, which Sir Douglas Sherfield is now occupying, had been reserved by Junius Walter, head of the American Gold Mines, Inc. On receipt of a cable yesterday afternoon, Mr. Walter left for London sooner than he had expected, which Mr. Flow apparently did not know. This was much to be regretted, added the chief, for Mr. Walter had taken especial precautions, and if the burglar had entered his rooms while he was still there, Mr. Flow would have been caught red-handed.”

  Splendid! In that case I had had even better luck than I thought. Aimée had not lied to me. Good girl! It was she who had brought me luck. On the one hand, I had escaped being arrested; on the other, I had found Helena once more. A new life opened before me now. It’s either you or I, Durin! And if it were true that I had the false necklace, I would certainly find a way of getting the original and also snatch Helena from your clutches. Or die in the attempt — but not until I had killed Durin.

  In the first place, was it true that the necklace was false?

  * * * * *

  Oh, ho! I realized suddenly that I must hurry back to my room. There was now someone in Paris who knew me, who knew my address, and could enter my room whenever he wished. No longer could I afford to be careless and leave the blue diamonds, Marguerite Chavrier’s rings, and all my other booty lying about. Perhaps, while I was reading my paper in the Place Saint-Michel, Durin already had been in my room, helping himself to my treasures. Had I done all my work merely for his sake? Was he to carry off in a second what I had won at the risk of my neck? Not if I could help it! Anything but that.... Quick, a taxi: “Rue des Bernardins, driver, and to hell with the traffic cops!” I jumped to the kerb, and tossed the astonished driver ten francs for my two minutes’ drive. Breathlessly I questioned the janitor:

  “Has anybody asked for me? Did anybody go up to my room?”

  “Why no,” said the janitor in surprise. It had probably never occurred to him that anybody could be looking for me. In all the time I had been occupying that dreary little room, no one had ever asked him, “Which is M. Rose’
s room, please?”

  I leaped up the stairs, three at a time, and jammed my key feverishly into the lock. It would not turn. The devil! Had I forgotten how to open my own door? Or had I grown so used to burglars’ tools that I could no longer use a key?... Or was it simply that I was trembling so much?

  At last, “Ouf!” The bag was still there. I opened it — the necklace was there. In my bureau drawers I found the blue diamond and the other jewels. Durin had not come; that is, Durin had not come yet.

  I determined to return all Chavrier’s things that same afternoon. Thus I would be sure of not having worked merely to fatten Durin’s pocket-book — Durin, Sir Douglas Sherfield, the “English nobleman.” I stuffed Mme. Chavrier’s necklace and rings and Edmond’s bonds into a cardboard box.

  But as I was about to drop the blue diamond in with the rest, I changed my mind. I could not give Chavrier that much satisfaction. Surely I could find a safe hiding-place for one stone.

  Sitting down at my typewriter — a second-hand one, which had grown venerable and decrepit in service — I typed the following note:

  “Mr. Flow regrets that he feels M. Chavrier’s punishment should continue for some time yet. But M. Chavrier will see his blue diamond again if he is good, and if he stops employing stupid detectives.”

  I dropped the note in the cardboard box, and tied it up. That could be delivered later on. For the moment my mind was at rest on that score.

  Next I made a careful examination of Helena’s necklace. That self-styled English nobleman, Sir Douglas Sherfield, had told the truth; these were not Helena’s pearls. For I knew how the real necklace was to be recognized. I had not thought of it before, because I had been convinced it was Junius Walter I had robbed and not “Sir Douglas Sherfield.” But now I remembered....

  One evening the summer before, at Deauville, I had been feasting my eyes on Helena at the Royal. Ah, she was beautiful enough to damn any man — and I, for one, was surely damned. As I gazed at her she had blushed and whispered, “Don’t look at me like that, Rudy. People will notice you. Look at my necklace, if you must look at something....”

  And so, as if I were playing a game with her, I had looked at the necklace, counting the pearls. One, two, three... “Oh!” I exclaimed suddenly, “there’s something the matter with the twelfth.”

  She frowned slightly:

  “How could you?” she said. “You remind me of my bitterest grief. That poor twelfth pearl! I thought I would kill Mary, my maid, the day it happened. She was trying to mix some kind of astringent for my toilet, and spilled a few drops of an acid — I don’t know what it was. But one drop fell on the necklace, and that pearl, the twelfth, was ruined....”

  It was thus I had learned that Helena’s real necklace, the one she could never wear except when she was accompanied and watched over by Sir Archibald’s Hindu servant, could be known by the twelfth pearl. Once more I looked at the necklace, and counted; the twelfth pearl was without blemish. Durin had told the truth. I had stolen a necklace of imitation pearls! How he must have chuckled! How they must have laughed together — for surely she was laughing with him. And she would admire him again, the man who robbed others but could not be robbed, who foresaw every possibility and carefully locked imitation pearls in a safe, so that fools like myself would waste their time in breaking it open. There was no doubt about it, I was a “stupid little Frenchman,” as he had called me. I had accomplished miracles and risked going to prison for life; I had overcome difficulties with recklessness and skill — and all for a string of false pearls! No, I was not Mr. Flow. I was just a clumsy beginner, an amateur. Durin was the master. He was now “an English nobleman.” He had made a success of his career; he was rich, he owned châteaux in two or three countries; the police of the world treated him with deference. But, above all else, he had won the most beautiful woman in the world, the woman of whom I still dreamed, and who had loved me — or at least had appeared to love me — who had taken me into her arms and taught me the intolerable delights of love. I could forgive her all her falseness and treachery; I could even forgive her for having all but sent me to the scaffold; I knew I would forget all this if she came back.... But I could never forgive him. To humble him and hold him in my power would be the dream of my life... to strip him of all his ill-gotten wealth, and carry off Helena, as a tiger in the jungle carries off the mate of its vanquished foe.

  The first step would be to get hold of the real necklace. That must be mine, even if I had to slay Durin.

  From now on I had a purpose in life. It would no longer be necessary to make little nocturnal excursions here and there. No longer would I crave the plaudits of the public. A passion had taken complete possession of me. I would place all the ardour of my youth, all the patience of a man aged by suffering, at its service. I could await the hour of my triumph as long as necessary. But sooner or later it would strike. Of that I was sure.

  First, the past must be liquidated. All that belongs to Edmond Chavrier must be returned.

  Yet, since I was now entering upon a finish fight, which might prove costly, would it not be better if I kept something? And, for that matter, would it not be perfectly fair? For, if the detectives to whom Chavrier had paid a hundred thousand francs were to come to him to-morrow and say, “I can get back all your jewels and securities for a commission of a million,” I had no doubt the sugar king would accept. Therefore, since I was returning them myself, I was entitled to this commission.... Besides, all such scruples were stupid. Having once decided to subordinate everything to the task of crushing my rival, I should begin by subordinating my bourgeois principles. Let me see what there was that might be useful.

  Rapidly I sorted out my booty. All the men’s jewellery I would keep for myself. I could get rid of it whenever I wished, through certain persons of experience I had met the summer before with Helena, who frequented the casinos. There was also a snug little package of bonds, payable to bearer. I must take care not to arouse suspicion in disposing of these; but that could be arranged. Finally, there was a thick stack of English banknotes. This would come in handy for the gentleman for whom I might occasionally be obliged to substitute. I would keep that. This left Mme. Chavrier’s jewels — Marguerite’s, as her good friend Aimée said. All that should go back, except the blue diamond. I was not robbing women. All in all, I had a little less than a million. By the time that was gone, Durin would be crushed. And I could then pay back to Chavrier what I had borrowed.

  Meanwhile, I must send back what I did not choose to keep. Having tied up the cardboard box again, I set out for a large department store, where I bought a number of things, which I ordered to be delivered to M. Chavrier’s address. As the clerk was wrapping them up I held out my cardboard box, saying, “Will you put this in with them, please?” The clerk automatically placed my box with my purchases and continued wrapping.... The next morning the sugar king would receive his wife’s jewels direct from the largest department store in Paris.

  The newspapers the following afternoon were much amused by this trick. But I was now indifferent to their praise, out of which I had always got such a thrill. My thoughts were fixed now on the job that lay ahead of me; to get possession of the original necklace. Whoever had that necklace, had Helena.

  Mr. Flow disappeared from the news. The public lost its greatest entertainer. For a few days the papers tried to keep the story going by publishing interviews with all those who had been even remotely involved in my escapades. The clerk who had tied up the Chavrier package was found. He told what he could, which was nothing at all. Yet I must give him this credit; he had noticed my eyes, and was not mistaken about their colour. He maintained that they were blue. This detail caused considerable argument: did Mr. Flow have black eyes or blue eyes? The papers discussed this problem through several days. And of course they speculated as to how long I would keep the blue diamond. What was the extent of the punishment I had decreed for Edmond Chavrier?

  The sugar king found ways of backing d
own from the position he had assumed without making himself too ridiculous. “I begin to believe that Mr. Flow is cleverer than all the rest of them put together,” he told the reporters. “They will not catch him until he wants to be caught. As for me, I shall simply await his pleasure, or chance. Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible to cash in on a stone that every jeweller in the world knows. Let him keep it as long as he wishes. I am confident that he will return it eventually. No, I have no idea who he is. But he seems to be moved by a spirit of sport rather than greed. It was not really a burglary he committed in my house. It was a practical joke, and one that at first was highly disagreeable to me, but I am beginning to find it amusing.”

  “Then you have given up trying to find him?” asked the reporters.

  “What is the use of trying to find him, when it can’t be done? I am past the age where I waste my time trying to accomplish the impossible.”

  And to their account of this interview, the newspapers added: “What will Mr. Flow do next?”

  I could have told them that Mr. Flow would do nothing they would hear of. He was thinking of other things. The blue diamond was well hidden under the eaves in Antonin Rose’s little room, and would not come to light again until later on — when opportunity permits. At present Antonin Rose was seldom home. And he was still less often at the court-house, where he had once been the most persistent of briefless lawyers. If you had wished to meet him, you would have done better to try the restaurant of the Cambridge, where he was drinking champagne like everyone else, and occasionally dancing.

  Yes, I had grown worldly. But it was not until I had taken certain precautions so far as my colleagues were concerned, lest so sudden a change in my habits should arouse suspicion. I confided to Gorshman that an uncle of mine in the provinces had been considerate enough to die and leave me a comfortable little fortune. As a result, he became more intimate with me than before. I invited him to dinner and treated him royally. He returned my invitation and began to give me good advice on the handling of my money. He passed on to me the tips he received from his stock-brokers. I speculated and frequently won! They were good tips. Consequently, he was not surprised to see me spending more freely, nor to see me appear one evening with a handsome pearl stud in my shirt. He admired it greatly. He urged me to move out of the rue des Bernardins and come to his neighbourhood, where he knew of good apartments that were vacant.