“Oh, my Rudy is going to love me to-day? He’s not so horribly mean as he was the other day...? Where are you going, my dear?” she continued, laughingly.
“Over to the Cambridge in the hope of seeing you. I heard you were going there this evening.”
I told her that a little man named Gorshman had learned the good news from the doorman, and added that this Gorshman was in love with her.
“Oh, I know, I know,” she answered. “That ugly, fat fellow. Still, he may be useful some time. But he mustn’t find out anything. I’ll manage that.... But come, Rudy, come with me. I want to dine with my darling in a little garden, and to-morrow I shall lunch with my darling in a little garden; and all my life is to be a garden.”
I asked no questions. She was here — what more? I loved her, and her only. When I told her my car was at the door she was delighted.
“Oh, darling, you’re getting to be a real man. Drive me wherever you want to.”
While I was threading my way through the town traffic I thought of Helena’s poetic words, “All my life is to be a garden.” What did she mean? Had she come to stay with me always? But the necklace Durin had taken from me, the twenty-million necklace — was she giving it up? Never mind. Let us take all the joy of the present moment — this exquisite moment. The car purred up the Champs-Elysées. We entered the Bois and drove under overspreading trees. Then out upon the highway. We would drive straight on towards the unknown, towards all the endless delights of love — fearless, beyond the law. On, on, wherever Helena chose to go!
How beautiful she was! Her black eyes caressed me and I thought I heard her say to herself, “This is my lover. This is the one I’ve chosen; he belongs to me.” She seemed to be saying that in me she found everything she wanted.
We found delicious food, served with Helena’s favourite wine. We got back to Paris late. She had taken the wheel and driven with that self-composure I knew so well. She stopped in a little street in Passy and we got out. She opened a door. We were in a quaint little hotel, comfortably furnished.
“This is our home,” she said. “Here we are free — free.”
A little later she explained.
“Absolutely free, my dear Rudy. But that is not enough. Good is not good enough.”
She sighed, and her eyes were full of sleep.
“He is far, far away. In India... may he never come back. I have my sweetheart now.”
What a divine week! Sometimes she asked, “Are you happy, Rudy?” As though she didn’t know. I did not know what was in store for me; it didn’t matter. The future will always be brightened by this glorious experience.
At the end of the week she suddenly decided to leave.
“I must see the ocean, breathe the salt air. I cannot live long amidst a city’s stifling atmosphere.”
Insatiable woman! “Good is not good enough!” was her motto. I could be happy in this blissful existence — happy even though we were far from the ocean. But I didn’t dare say so. Antonin Rose would dare to; but Rudy would seem middle-class if he said it.
“We have been happy here,” she said, “but I want to be happier still.”
And so we left.
“We are not going to Deauville, darling. I want to have the ocean and my Rudy all to myself.”
She chose Luc-by-the-Sea. Here we stayed for a few days in September. The beach was deserted — the few remaining vacationists took us for rich English tourists and left us to ourselves.
Perhaps I was mistaken, but Helena seemed to have changed. From time to time a hard look come into her eyes. Was she getting ready for some new adventure? Were those few days of calm the necessary preface to some mysterious undertaking? Had she brought me here, had she intoxicated me with her love because she had need of me later?
Well, so much the better! I would accept my destiny and obey!
But I’d like to know if she had told me everything. If I had faith in her, why didn’t she have faith in me? Why didn’t she tell me what she had in mind? Wouldn’t she have told me if she really loved me?
One night I asked her: “You’ve brought me to Luc-by-the-Sea, Helena, for a purpose. What is it?”
She thought a minute.
“Yes.”
“Tell me why?”
“Because we’re quite near Lion-by-the-Sea. I wanted to see if you would go to Lion... that is all, darling.
.. Now I know, and if you’re tired of it here we can go wherever you wish.”
“And what made you think I’d want to go to that little place?”
“Oh, my little sister-in-law might lure my Rudy there. Don’t deceive me, Rudy. Or else Lady Philip Skarlett might want to make the acquaintance of Lady Helena Skarlett.”
“You’re not jealous of Lady Clotilde?”
“Oh, very, very jealous. When you spoke of her one night at Deauville you spoke too well. And I wanted to be sure it was only make-believe.”
A hard, cold look flashed across her face. She’d kill Clotilde if she knew!... The very best way to lie is to tell as much of the truth as possible. Therefore, I said boldly:
“Clotilde! You’re jealous of her! Why, I saw her at Biarritz two weeks ago!”
“And you’re not telling me until now, darling....
Ha, I knew it all the time. You did well not to stay at Biarritz.”
“Helena, you know I love you, don’t you?”
“Yes, but, darling, I want to be the only one you love. Oh, I never make scenes. That’s not my way. But don’t cross my path with any woman you want to see happy. This one has tempted fate by marrying a Skarlett. Heaven help her if she offended fate by taking my lover, even for an hour. You’re mine, Rudy, and I intend to keep you. Don’t I deserve to have my lover for myself alone?”
I found no answer. Helena? jealous! To think she loved me enough to be jealous! But I must dispel her suspicions at any cost.
“When I went to Biarritz I didn’t know I would see Clotilde.”
Suddenly she took my head in her hands, and said:
“Swear you will never deceive me. Swear it, Rudy.”
“If you promise to be with me always I’ll give you my word of honour to be faithful to you.”
* * * * * *
Several minutes later I said:
“Even if you do leave me, Helena, I’ll be faithful to you for ever!”
XIII.
HOLIDAY DISTRACTIONS
HELENA WAS HAPPY again. We took long trips in the car, dined in the open and returned late at night. I lived only for those delightful hours spent with this incomparable woman; all the others were only a preface.
I passed the days in a kind of waking dream out of which I awoke to be loved by Helena.
One night I told her of my Paris exploits; how I had robbed Gorshman, Petit-Jean, Chavrier.... Her eyes glowed with pride as she listened.
“And you weren’t afraid, dear; you weren’t afraid?”
She knew as well as I that the terrible anxiety which seizes one in those tense moments must not be confused with fear. True, it is akin to fear; but it is an altogether different feeling — a thrilling one.
In the Chavrier burglary, she declared, I had taken too long a chance; I should have left without taking the blue diamond.
“Durin also thinks you did wrong to play with danger so long, out of pure amusement. But, darling, I was dying to join you and be amused too. You have no idea how danger thrills me! I’m rich now — rich. And don’t play any more. Perhaps I have too much money. Sometimes I want to don my little burglar costume, just for the fun of the thing, just as you do. You know; when you’ve entered a house, and you’re busy in front of a well-locked chest, and suddenly something snaps! Maybe someone is creeping up on you! You stop; you don’t dare stir; you think you feel a hand clutching at your throat. You snap off your flash; you shiver.... Ah, darling, there’s nothing like it!”
She was now lost in reminiscence. She seemed to live in the past. Then she sighed, “All over! that.. in the tone
of an old warrior dreaming of past campaigns.... I, too, saw myself in Chavrier’s room, and heard myself saying, “Hello, Edmond!” I recalled little Mme. Parmin, with her big blue eyes, bluer even than the diamond. I saw myself climbing up on Petit-Jean’s flower-boxes.
“Oh, darling, some night... tell me... wouldn’t you like...?” I knew what was in her mind.
Her soft hand found mine, and she whispered:
“You said yes, darling; you said it in your heart and I heard it.”
A beautiful villa... we scaled the wall easily. We crossed the lawn in silence. Even in the pitch blackness we picked our way without the slightest sound.
Before a low door she held the light while I worked on the lock, ft was a beautiful job and Helena admired my skill. We closed the door after us. We were in a spacious drawing-room. Quick, what should we take? There was a fine pastel, probably a Perronneau. But pictures are awkward. Something that could be carried easily. We looked all through the house for the safe... there must be one amidst all this display.
What stingy devils must live here! Nothing worth taking — all the drawers empty or full of trash — nothing at all!
But Helena wanted to do everything according to custom, and it’s customary for the burglar to refresh himself, at the expense of his victim. We found the kitchen — nothing to eat. The house had been empty for several days. But in the cellar we came across some excellent champagne. I took three bottles back to the big diningroom. We had nothing to fear — we were alone in the big house. While I was enjoying the thrill of drinking stolen champagne at midnight in an unfamiliar country-house, Helena threw her arms around my neck.
“Rudy, darling, I love you.”
We returned to the automobile hidden in some bushes a few feet down the road. Helena took the wheel and we were off.
“Great progress you’ve made, Rudy. No longer the little amateur of last year. I wanted to see you at ‘work’ so I could admire you a little more.”
I wanted to laugh when I thought later that I wouldn’t even be able to recognize the place we “worked,” and that I didn’t even know the name of the locality. It was Helena who had stopped the car, saying: “Perhaps it would be amusing here, Rudy.”
And now, after we had been driving along for about half an hour, she stopped again.
“Oh, what a pretty spot this is, darling! It would be nice to stroll a minute or two in the moonlight!”
She got out and I followed. We were walking along a hedge, when suddenly she said:
“Wait for me here a few minutes, Rudy. I’ll be back soon.”
Before I had time to question her she jumped over the hedge and disappeared. What was she up to now? But... I seemed to recognize the place. Weren’t we in Lion-by-the-Sea? And had Helena gone into the garden of the château?
I knew where I was now. It was here I hid to watch Clotilde and Sir Philip. Oh, I hoped Helena was not going to do Clotilde any harm!
Perhaps she wanted to frighten me; wanted to know if I would follow her, if I would prevent her going. I would not stir. In about five minutes she came back.
“Oh, darling. Don’t scold me. I just had to see the little château, and it was such an opportunity in this moonlight!”
We went on. She was tired but happy. “Rudy, my dear, I’ve had a very nice day,” she said as we reached home.
And I, too, could say I had had a very nice day. Not much booty; but I had left my signature on the diningroom table — MR. FLOW — written in capital letters on a piece of paper I took from the desk. Would they believe it was I, and would my faithful public in Paris think their idol had been shattered? A deserted house! Three bottles of champagne! I was curious to know what to-morrow’s papers would say.
XIV.
HOW MANY MR. FLOWS ARE THERE?
NOTHING IN THE paper to-day. That was not surprising, for probably our burglary hadn’t been discovered as yet; to-morrow no doubt. I was very impatient, very restless. But I shouldn’t do anything impulsive. That was the way to arouse suspicion — to appear too interested.
At bottom, my position was far from secure. At any moment I might be clamped into jail. We must get away, perhaps to Paris. I would talk to Helena about that.
But Helena was still asleep. Sometimes she stayed in bed all day. Not because she was ill, but because she needed rest.... No noise would rouse her — she slept as though she would never open her eyes again. Then, towards night, she would wake up, ring for Mary, dress and go forth in all the splendour of her beauty — ready for any adventure. To-day she was sleeping.
She arose very late and came to kiss me, looking very tall and beautiful.
“What is Rudy thinking?”
“That we must go away, Helena. I am anxious; exactly what worries me I can’t say. Let’s go back to Paris.... I feel we ought to.”
“I know we ought to, baby mine. But why hurry?
I’m happy here, aren’t you? My Rudy is tired of his freedom? He doesn’t love me any more!”
As a matter of fact I had everything I had dreamed of, hadn’t I? Helena all to myself, Durin out of the way? At the first possible moment hadn’t she kept her word and come to me?
Why should I suspect there was something behind it all?
The next day I got the Paris papers. One front-page story said:
“Mr. Flow carried on his operations last night in two different localities!”
What did that mean? Reading on, I learned that Mr. Flow had broken into Sir Douglas Sherfield’s villa at Etretat as well as Sir Philip Skarlett’s chateau at Lion-by-the-Sea!
It was true about Etretat. While I hadn’t known where Helena was driving me, I had no doubt now that it was Etretat, and that it was Durin’s villa. The burglar had taken nothing. He tore some miniatures off the wall, but left them. But he did drink three bottles of champagne. Fine! I had broken into Durin’s house without knowing it!
But I hadn’t robbed the chateau at Lion-by-the-Sea. Yet the papers said both crimes bore the trademark of Mr. Flow. The police recognized the handiwork of Mr. Flow at Etretat and at Lion-by-the-Sea; they were sure of it. There was no getting away from it. I must have broken into the château!
If Natalie believed it, I was lost.
What had Helena done? What?
She couldn’t have broken in during those five minutes she was gone! All the furniture had been left topsy-turvy, it seemed, and I knew how long it took to do that kind of job. And yet it was at that very time that the chateau was broken into. I’d ask her what she knew about it....
Helena, have you seen to-day’s papers? You knew we were in Durin’s villa, didn’t you?”
Yes, of course I knew it. I wanted some fun, and there wasn’t the least danger, with Durin in India and the old caretaker’s lodge so far away. A wonderful spot to play, wasn’t it?”
But the terrible thing, Helena, was that while we were in Etretat someone broke into the château at Lion-by-the-Sea.”
Oh, really? The château of my sister-in-law you love so much, Rudy? Did they take much?”
Nothing, so the papers say. The burglar made a thorough search, but nothing was stolen. And as nothing was taken at Sir Douglas Sherfield’s house and nothing at Sir Philip’s, the papers think they see a connection. You understand, Helena? They recall that Sir Douglas married Sir Archibald’s widow, and they are wondering if Mr. Flow was after some private papers. Perhaps the police will want to question you, Helena. They will surely try to find you; and they’ll find you here with me. Then what?”
“Nonsense! But Sir Philip mustn’t learn that we are living so close to him. If you only knew how wicked he is, darling! I wouldn’t want to give him a chance to suspect me; he’s always despised me. Do the papers say where he is now?”
“Yes, at Biarritz. If you fear him we should leave at once. He’ll probably be here this evening, or at least to-morrow.”
“Leave? Why? Nothing was taken, and there would be no reason for him to follow us. Fortunately I did not meet the b
urglar in the garden. You don’t believe me, Rudy, do you?”
I looked at her. Was she joking? Was she making fun of me?
It was a very serious matter that she went into the garden just when the thief or Mr. Flow II was rummaging through the château. No one knew she was there. But I did. I couldn’t help wondering if it was a mere coincidence. All my old suspicions flashed back. What were we two doing here? Into what new intrigue had I fallen? Who was this Mr. Flow who worked the same night as the other Mr. Flow, and like me had taken nothing? Was he looking for papers? Was Helena, perhaps, looking for papers?... or for something else?
“Don’t be alarmed, baby mine,” Helena said. “What do you think can happen?”
“I don’t know. But I’m worried.”
The following day the papers carried an amazing story. It was not enough that there should be two Mr. Flows; there was a third. And that third Mr. Flow, according to the papers, was in Scotland and had ransacked the castle at Black Rooks, which I knew so well. Wasn’t it in this castle that Sir Archibald was killed last year by Durin! And wasn’t it made to appear as though he had been killed by a spurious clergyman, who was really Antonin Rose.... Ah, yes, I knew Black Rooks, and the mere thought of that tragic dwelling peopled with ghosts made me shudder.
So Mr. Flow was at Black Rooks? And he broke into the castle, but just as at Etretat and at Lion-by-the-Sea, he took nothing at all. He opened all the closets, visited all the rooms... perhaps looking for private papers. The English detectives were as sure it was Mr. Flow operating at Black Rooks as the French detectives were certain it was Mr. Flow at Lion-by-the-Sea. Wheels within wheels.
Three Mr. Flows! Up to the present I knew two: Durin, who was now in India, and myself, who was here. So who broke into Lion-by-the-Sea and into Black Rooks in Scotland the very same night? Even if Helena had lied to me and Durin was not in India, how could he be in France and in Scotland at the same time? There must be a Mr. Flow unknown to me; perhaps, even, there are two. I’d like to know. Did Helena know? Could she tell me? Would she tell me?
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 487
