Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “You will come back, Helena? You will come back, won’t you?”

  “To-morrow perhaps; but don’t worry, and do nothing about Durin. I love you, Rudy. The day you want me, I am yours, yours only. You have only to say, ‘I want.’ That moment I shall want you too. Together we shall flee; we shall flee from all this! Leave behind us all your fears... all mine, too.”

  “How can we do that, Helena? How?”

  “It’s so simple, Rudy, provided you have faith in me... so easy. We can leave to-morrow, since you have the necklace.”

  Heaven help me! What a liar this woman was! She had just made me understand clearly that I must be discreet, that Durin wanted me to be. She had just filled my mind with terror about Victor, that ghost, who I thought had disappeared for all time. And now she suggested that I go off, leaving behind me these two terrifying enemies. We would hardly step aboard ship before we would be accused, or rather I would be, for by hook or by crook she would save herself, I was sure. What kind of trap was she setting for me now? Where did she plan to lead me? And when would she broach the subject of the imitation necklace?

  “Helena, yesterday you said, ‘Give me back the necklace since you think it’s an imitation.’ I’m going to give it back to you now, Helena. You can do as you like with it.”

  She hesitated a moment, then said decisively:

  “No, Rudy darling, keep it — but keep it well hidden.”

  I didn’t understand at all, or rather, I understood too well. Even if she was so clever, she had just given herself away. The necklace was false, as was shown by the fact that she didn’t want it back. I had known it all along! But now at last I had her word for it. Consequently, her idea was to trap me into a seeming escape that without any doubt would lead me into some new crime. I would have to find out her scheme so I could thwart it.

  “When we leave here, Helena, where shall we go?”

  “To India, of course, darling. To India, first.”

  Ah, yes, to India, where she had lived with Durin, where she married Sir Archibald Skarlett — a country she knew very well, and where she was very well known too. So this was where she wished to go to hide, was it! She still thought I was a stupid little Frenchman!...

  She is about to leave. I must be careful not to show her how sad her going makes me. She has the upper hand over Antonin Rose... and don’t forget that Durin has the same hold too.

  “Good-bye, my Rudy.”

  “You will come back, Helena; say you will come back....”

  X.

  WHAT HAPPENED TO CLOTILDE

  I MUST LOOK over the whole situation.

  These two crooks had just made me understand that from now on I could not dream of going contrary to their wishes in any way.

  Certainly, they were scheming to lure me into some sort of adventure.

  I was their confederate; they had no intention of relaxing their hold on me.

  She had used the name of Gorshman to frighten me, and Durin had used Victor’s. Also, she wanted to take me to India.

  What would they do with me? Nothing. They were strong, I would be stronger than they. I would have to go slowly, but the time would come when I would be master. You are looking for a fight, Durin? You shall have it. No one is mightier than Mr. Flow. No one, except Mr. Flow. You are Mr. Flow, but I am Mr. Flow too. We’re going to see if Mr. Flow No. I will overthrow Mr. Flow No. 2.

  The first thing to do was to whet all my faculties; my senses had been dulled by a rapid succession of emotions. I needed a little rest — rest before the battle. I was tired, terribly tired. Where should I go? What I wanted was a nice quiet little place down by the sea. What if it was expensive? I had money.

  What had I to fear? Gorshman? But Helena assured me that Gorshman would not say a word so long as I was obedient. Victor? Victor hated Durin... hadn’t he betrayed him? But there was no reason why Victor should hate me especially. As I saw it, I would not be in any danger unless Durin was in it too. At any rate, there was no immediate danger. Why not go away for several days?

  But where?

  Couldn’t I pay a little visit to Natalie and Clotilde? Natalie would be a little disagreeable, as usual. But that didn’t matter and perhaps the good sea air would have made her more amiable. Clotilde, I knew, would be altogether cordial. I could see it now, their little villa, “Our Delight” — the walls made of rough boards, the roof of tarred paper, the stovepipe fireplace, the two-by-four space in the middle, which was kitchen, diningroom, living-room and bedroom. I could see the studio, furnished with two tables and two chairs. We would sit on the sand and eat mussels and crabs. But now that I was rich I would invite my rue des Bernardins neighbours to dine with me at Deauville. What a good time we would all have! If only Helena didn’t bother me! And if she did, I would marry Clotilde. The mere thought of these fine girls restored my spirits and made me happy again.

  So that was settled. I’d start at once, and to-morrow at dawn I’d knock on the door of “Our Delight.”

  So I told the janitor that if anyone asked for me I had been called away suddenly by the illness of an uncle and that I’d be back next week.

  Of course, that was in case Helena came back. But something told me she would not come back. And whether she came or she didn’t was the least of my worries.

  Anyway, that’s what I thought just then. When a man loves a woman only for her beautiful body, love dies with satisfied passion. And to-day I had had enough of Helena’s kisses. Next week, perhaps? Or, who can tell, perhaps never.

  Lion-by-the-Sea. I left my bag at the inn and struck off on foot to my friends’ “villa.” On the way I thought up all kinds of practical jokes to play on my friends, and of the delightful excursions we would make.

  But what had happened to their “villa”? It was no longer there! Instead, I saw a beautiful, wrought-iron gateway, embellished in gold. And over it a medallion with the initials P.C. Could it be that my young friends had sold “Our Delight”?

  I walked up to the gate and looked through the grill-work. There was the “villa” just as I knew it, but locked tight. That was funny, to enclose a little three-hundred-franc bungalow with a handsome wrought-iron fence costing a hundred thousand!

  “P.C.” Why P.C.? They were not the initials of Clotilde and Natalie. They had probably sold out to a man who had begun to make improvements with a wrought-iron gate. The paths were neatly raked and trimmed, and I noticed some lovely flower-beds that weren’t there last year.

  Suppose I ring? No answer. I looked around. No face appeared at the one window or at the only door. Evidently the “villa” was unoccupied.

  I went back to the inn. The woman who served my lunch seemed to want to talk.

  “Down there on the dunes,” I said, “I noticed a superb iron gateway. At first I thought it must lead to a château, but there is only a modest bungalow.”

  “Oh, so you saw it? Several weeks ago there was a wedding there.”

  “A wedding?”

  “Yes; it’s quite a romantic story. You remember those terrible storms we had in July? Well, one night a beautiful white yacht ran aground up there on the beach. The captain, seeing a light, knocked at the door of the little bungalow. A young lady opened it. I forgot to say that two young ladies live there every summer. I know them well. Who they are, heaven only knows — there are all sorts of rumours, of course. I don’t think anyone really knows. Be that as it may, the captain knocked at the door; they asked him in and, while he was drying his clothes, they listened to his story of the storm. It seems he was an Englishman, and a rich one, too. And lo and behold, soon we heard he had married one of the sisters.”

  “You don’t mean it? So he married one of the sisters? Which one?” I asked.

  “Well, I think it was the younger — a pretty girl, hair a little over-reddish, but pretty all the same. Oh, the affair was all over in ten or twelve days — everything all arranged. You saw the chateau down there? That was for sale. The Englishman bought it — furniture and
everything, just as it was. And there the three live. So he had an iron fence put around the bungalow — they’re going to keep it for sentiment’s sake. Well, thanks to a storm, that girl fell into a fine fortune of millions and millions.”

  “And those initials? What do they stand for?”

  “Oh, they must stand for his name,” answered the woman very seriously.

  “And what about the bride’s sister; does she live with the young couple?”

  “Yes, she also lives in the château. But don’t call them a young couple! If you could see him! Sixty years old, if he’s a day. Tall, thin, very nice-looking. But old, yes, indeed, old! And not very agreeable either. But then, no one ever thinks any man with money is as old as he really is; isn’t it so?”

  No one could have told me more clearly that Clotilde had sold her beauty for an old man’s millions. So that is what humanity is like? Clotilde loved me. And for two years she wrote in her diary that she thought only of me; that if I didn’t marry her she would marry no one.... And then an old, storm-tossed Englishman knocked at her door. She set him down in front of the stove to dry, and when he was well dried off she married the old mariner! If he’d been a poor man she’d have given him a crust and sent him on his way. But he had millions, and a yacht, and so was not to be resisted. In exchange for a few kisses she got a few yellowbacks and some jewellery! I was more honourable, more sensitive than these people. At least I got my wealth at the peril of my life, liberty, everything. After I had made love to Mme. Parmin, I gave her back everything I stole, didn’t I? I would have been ashamed to keep her jewels; I never mixed money and kisses.

  Rather Helena, the thief. I had more respect for her; at least she was more honest.

  I hoped I’d see Clotilde on the arm of her worn-out old husband — then she’d see the disgust in my eyes. I would pass her by without any sign of recognition.

  “Is the château far from here?” I asked the proprietress.

  “No, only about half a mile. When you turn to the left, you’ll see it right ahead of you. Are you stopping here for the night?”

  “No, no. I’m not.”

  Indeed I was not. I’d take the first train back to town. I’d just go and have a look at the ill-gotten chateau and then back to Paris and rue des Bernardins....

  I paid my bill. Probably she was cheating me a little; and why not? Apparently there was no such thing as honesty in the world. Steal a little, madame; just as I do, as Helena does, as Clotilde does.

  I started walking and came to the château — a square house — not a château but a beautiful house with a handsome slate roof and doors polished like mahogany. The lawns and paths were carefully kept. Fine old trees surrounded the place. You couldn’t resist all this wealth, could you, little Clotilde?

  I looked around carefully as I hid behind the hedges. I heard a voice. Someone was coming! Clotilde!

  A tall, dry gentleman with white hair and pale eyes accompanied her.

  I knew him!

  Or was I dreaming? If not, I knew this tall, smooth-shaven old man who walked with Clotilde. I had seen him before; I knew the exact day and the very place — I saw him last year in the court-room, accusing my client Durin, and saying, “It is Mr. Flow!”

  The tall gentleman was Sir Philip Skarlett.

  What a scandal he made last year! Everything was going along fine, Durin playing the dolt and I silent as the judge was about to parole Durin because Sir Archibald Skarlett had forgiven him for the theft of his scarf-pin. It all happened when this Philip, whom I had been watching closely, stepped up to the rail and, asking permission to speak, declared that Durin was none other than Mr. Flow. His brother Archibald cursed him and flatly denied his statement, insisting that Philip was not to be taken seriously. The court-room was in an uproar. Everything that Sir Philip had said was true — even though he did not know the whole truth. If he had ever guessed that I had been playing Durin’s rôle during his imprisonment, he would have held the key to the mystery. Thank heaven he didn’t, that Durin was paroled and that I escaped the penitentiary. Victor — that same Victor that Helena and I were speaking about yesterday — Victor, so clever at make-up, could have explained everything. But just at that time Victor was loyal. Later, he sold himself to Sir Archibald. Lucky for me! It would have been the end of me if he had gone over to Sir Philip!

  Now there he was, the old gentleman, walking along the path and tenderly watching his young bride. Was the Skarlett family always to cross my path and make my heart thump faster? Sir Archibald was Helena’s husband; now Sir Philip was Clotilde’s.

  They disappeared among the trees and shrubs and I came forth from hiding. But suddenly I was obliged to stoop again. An automobile was awaiting them at the gateway, and I must not let them see me as they passed. Gallantly Sir Philip assisted his wife into the car and then took his place at her side. The driver turned his head to get his orders. As he did so I recognized him. I knew him well, too.

  It was Victor — Victor the hairdresser, Victor the “make-up” man, Victor — the traitor!

  Whatever it all meant, I must tell Helena at once — Durin too — all three of us must be on our guard. Now I knew why Helena asked me yesterday, right out of a blue sky, if I remembered Victor.

  At the time I had thought she was only trying to frighten me. And yet, after all, she might not have wanted to frighten me; perhaps it was because Durin had been talking about him a great deal. Doubtless he must know that Victor was Sir Philip Skarlett’s chauffeur — a piece of news which had disquieted him. He mentioned it to Helena — and she was merely echoing his nervousness.

  Quick now — I must get back to Paris and warn Helena. She was strong, was Helena, and so was Durin. I must no longer think of fighting them, rather we should get together. No matter what I might do it was impossible for me to win out alone. When such dangers threatened me! Quick, the station, the train, Paris! Victor was Sir Philip’s chauffeur. That was serious — the most serious thing that could happen.

  Once back in my room I tried to think things out. But it was difficult — I was beside myself. Victor, with his yellow skin, his thin lips and his green eyes, and Philip, tall, spare and implacable — these two leagued together were going to penetrate the mists shrouding the hiding-place of Mr. Flow. A battle I had not foreseen was being planned. Lady Helena’s necklace — that was what it was all about. I must save myself and Durin, and then make up my mind to return to my former honest mode of living. The delight of dining again at the dairy lunch-room! And realize that the only way to be happy is to be honest — even if poor.

  “Back so soon?” my janitress asked, surprised.

  “Yes, vacations are too expensive these days. No news of Miss Clotilde?”

  “Not a word. She’s having a good time, probably — too good a time at Lion-by-the-Sea. You’ve not been down there? It seems one can have a villa for very little.”

  “Yes... even a château.”

  If only Helena would come to see me this morning!

  The bell rang; three knocks on the door. Helena! She wore a small, close-fitting hat, and a tailored suit that was perfection. I couldn’t help thinking of Clotilde. Could she compare with Helena... in fact, could any other woman!

  She pressed her cheek against mine, then looked at me.

  “What’s the matter, Rudy? You look tired!”

  “I wanted you, Helena. We are in great danger.... Victor!”

  “Why bother about Victor, darling, he’s of no importance. You haven’t kissed me yet.”

  I obeyed, dutifully.

  “I saw Victor yesterday,” I said.

  “Where? In Paris?” suddenly serious.

  “No, Helena, not in Paris.”

  I told her the whole story — Sir Philip’s recent marriage; his château at Lion-by-the-Sea; Victor, his chauffeur.

  She paled. She demanded all the details — the location of the château, the walks, the hedges, the gateway. I went over this description time and again, answering h
er questions.

  “Oh, darling, how exciting! And you had to crouch down by the hedge? Didn’t anyone see you?”

  I suspected that she insisted on these details to report back to Durin. All the better. If we were to rely on Durin for protection, he ought to know everything.

  Then she smiled again.

  “You mustn’t worry about it, darling.”

  But I lacked her self-control. I now was in abject fear of Victor and of Sir Philip.

  “We are in great danger,” I repeated.

  She did not agree with me. She even seemed to make light of my fears. Could she be right, for didn’t she know more about Victor than she had admitted?

  “The most important thing, my darling, is that you love me. With your love we have nothing to fear.”

  She was right, she was sight! Why not forget everything... and love her! Anyone could love her, even on the steps of the scaffold.

  “Rudy darling,” she said, “we shall not leave each other any more. I am not asking you to go away with me, even though you promised you would. I want you to stay right here with me in Paris. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to prove I love you. And if you love me, too, then...”

  “But I do love you, Helena!”

  And when I said this I was not lying. After having seen Clotilde on the arm of her aged husband, I thought Helena no worse than any other woman. So why shouldn’t I love Helena, since she was beautiful beyond comparison!

  “No matter what you are, Helena, I shall always love you!”

  “No, Rudy dear, you don’t love me as much as I want you to. But some day you will, and then we will be stronger than all the Durins and all the Victors and all the Sir Philipses in the world. You will have no fear then; it will be you who will be the master!”

  “Helena, you don’t understand. I have always been madly in love with you. Tell me everything.”