The Nyctalope vs Lucifer 3: The Triumph of the Nyctalope

by Jean de La Hire

  “We’re almost there!” said Berge.

  “Yes!” said Corsat.

  The ten-kilometer route was perfectly straight. One kilometer still remained to be covered and nothing could be seen at the end but a white wall as high as the trench. Above it, to the right, was a black, grey and white architectural mass whose base as hidden by the wall of the trench.

  “A man!” said Pilou and Corsat, in unison.

  “Kill him!” said Saint-Clair, coldly.

  They were scarcely 400 meters away. A doorway had opened in the white wall, forming a black rectangle in contrast to the whiteness of the wall and the roseate exterior daylight. The man within it was bare-headed, clad in a military uniform of indeterminate color. He raised his arms and turned round, probably to go back inside and give a signal–but Corsat and Pilou had already taken aim and fired.

  The silent Brownings made their usual faint click and the man reeled sideways, falling full-length like a felled tree.

  “Some irresponsible subaltern,” Saint-Clair said. “He probably didn’t deserve to die–but left alive he’d have given us away, and that would have been too awkward. Stop!”

  The Nyctalope brought the rheostat’s slider to the zero position and used his other hand to turn the brake-wheel. He jumped down immediately, Browning in hand. Corsat and Pilou jumped with him, with Berge and Dopp behind them. The second group was already running forward, Girard at their head.

  The exit was a revolving door; they set it turning and passed through. They found themselves in a room that was obviously a guard-room. Two men were sleeping on wooden bunks. In the middle of the room was a chair and a fixed table, on which were a dozen numbered electrical switches. A single ceiling-light gave out a moderate light.

  Saint-Clair leaned over the two sleeping men. “Kalmuks,” he said. “No need to regret the death of the watchman.” He beckoned Dopp, who was nearest to him and came running. “Handcuff these two men! Stay here, Dopp. Orders: kill anyone who comes in.”

  “Understood, boss!”

  Saint-Clair did not hesitate between the four doors that could be seen in the guardroom’s interior walls. He remembered Rupert VI’s revelations word for word. The doors were numbered; he went towards No. 4. “Forward, my friends,” he said, in a calm and incisive voice that was scarcely altered by the microphone.

  It was an elevator; the nine suited divers filled it. Their leader pushed the button and the elevator went up.

  One floor, two, three, four–halt!

  The nine men came out into a long corridor extending to the left and the right, illuminated by ceiling-lights. No one was in it; there was silence.

  Saint-Clair knew the only double-paneled door opening on to this corridor–the others had only one section–was that of Glô’s personal apartment, his living-quarters. It was immediately under the tower, one floor below the large laboratory-cum-library whose ceiling supported the base of the dome of the crystal cupola, where the Teledynamo was.

  How was it possible, given the probable circumstances of that unique night, that there were no sentries or guards there? Within his carapace, the Nyctalope shivered, his emotion increasing. For 30 seconds, his thoughts became vertiginous. Was it possible that Laure, Grisyl and Romski had not yet arrived? That everyone at Fort Warteck, except for the Kalmuks on guard down in the access-bunker, was deep in that peaceful nocturnal sleep in which nothing troubles or threatens the human soul? Could it be that, in a bedroom, in the apartment whose double door was directly facing the elevator, the intangible, formidable, mysterious Lucifer was asleep? Asleep! Asleep, at the very minute when the Nyctalope...

  “Is it possible?” murmured Saint-Clair, disconcerted. “Such an easy victory? I know the secret of how to open and close that door and the ones within. Less than a week ago, only three men and one woman knew it–Lucifer, Wilfried, Rupert VI and Diana von Warteck, the monster’s mother. Rupert revealed it to me. Lucifer doesn’t know that, since he has not talked since then to Rupert, Lourmel, Sir Patrick Swires or me–so I can go in and...so simply? Let’s go, then! The die is cast.”

  He marched towards the double door, and his eight companions followed him.

  Wilfried, Krieg and Glass had obeyed Glô’s orders with the promptitude and docility habitual to every member of the Warteck family and household. The execution of the orders concerning Grisyl, Romski and the aeroplane only required ten minutes.

  In the vestibule of Diana’s apartment, Glass installed the sleeping Grisyl on two armchairs, sat down on a third, lit his pipe–which he was hardly ever without–and began smoking in a leisurely fashion, thinking about La Païli, the Opéra and Paris while awaiting the appearance of the maid allocated to the service of the Supreme Lord’s mother.

  Krieg had the aviator locked up in a subterranean cell by one of the Kalmuk sentries in the guardroom of the access-bunker and went back to his own apartment, where he went back to bed as complacently as anyone in the world and went to sleep.

  Meanwhile, Wilfried went to supervise the inventory–which he had already ordered on his on authority–of the aeroplane and its contents.

  The “front” of Fort Warteck was, in effect, the side of the complex which faced the railway to the submarine station. The “back” was, in consequence, the side parallel to that face, for the buildings formed a single square. At the four corners of the outer wall, at some distance from the central building surmounted by the tower and the dome, stood four square fortifications forming permanent guard-rooms. It was from one of these small forts that the light had been directed and the rain of soporific gas-shells launched after the appearance of the two human forms which had descended from the unexpected aircraft. It was the garrison of that same fort which had emerged and brought back, along with the three sleepers, the aeroplane itself.

  The aircraft was rapidly dismantled–specialists in aviation and mechanics were abundant among the ranks of the slave-workers–and it was introduced, piece by piece, into the large, almost bare room that occupied the ground floor of the building and served as an ammunition store. Inventory was immediately taken of the various objects contained in the aircraft; all Wilfried had to do was recapitulate and confirm this inventory. It took him five minutes.

  There was nothing unusual among these objects, because–perhaps fortunately for Saint-Clair and his 14 companions–Romski, Laurence and Grisyl had not brought sacks containing diving-suits; they did not even know of their existence, because the sacks had not been distributed to the other three aircraft until the RC3 had departed.

  Once the inventory was signed, Wilfried left the little fort and went back to the central building, where–like Krieg–he simply went back to bed.

  Long habit had accustomed these three men not to preoccupy themselves with anything that they were not specifically instructed to do. They had no freedom to act on their own when Glô was present, being entirely submissive to his decisions. This long habit of non-reflection and non-responsibility in the presence of the Supreme Lord had made Wilfried, Krieg and Glass into corporals devoid of initiative, almost indifferent to everything. Obliged to stay awake, Glass stayed awake, consoling himself with his pipe and reminiscences of his trips to Paris. Free to stay awake or sleep, Wilfried and Krieg chose the second alternative, because they were tired after the labors of the previous day and had a human need for sleep.

  It was for that reason that, 30 or 40 minutes after the ill-timed arrival of the aircraft, everyone in Fort Warteck who had the right to be asleep at that hour was asleep. The only men on watch were in the four little corner-forts and the access-bunker in the tramway terminus. What happened in the bunker was no concern of the sentries in the forts. That was why Saint-Clair’s tram had been able to reach its destination and the invaders were able to dismount without being troubled by anything but the preliminary appearance of a single man, of whom Corsat’s and Pilou’s silent Brownings had easily taken care. The watchmen in the forts had not paid any attention to the arrival of the tram; it was n
ot uncommon for carriages to pass back and forth during the nocturnal hours.

  That was why Saint-Clair and his companions were able to get as far as the door of Lucifer’s apartment, having killed only one man and taken only two prisoners. As for the absence of any guards from the long corridors, that was perfectly logical: they were at the North Pole! Fort Warteck was surrounded by defenses. Anyone attempting to get there by walking along the trench would have been electrocuted within 20 yards by contacts embedded and concealed in the basalt floor. The trench was impassable, except by tram–and how likely was it that an enemy might overwhelm the submarine station without Fort Warteck being alerted by a signal almost as rapid as thought?

  In taking all these defensive precautions, however, Lucifer had not taken into account the Nyctalope or Professor Lourmel. When the fighting man and the man of science had allied themselves against him, Lucifer had shrugged his shoulders and laughed, for he was at the North Pole and the Teledynamo would be ready on June 10! And finally, when Lucifer had learned at 3 a.m. on June 5 from the submissive mouth of Laurence Païli, that the Nyctalope and Lourmel were at Cape Flora, within 1,200 kilometers of the Pole, he had laughed and thought: We’ll put these crusaders to sleep and gather them up when they come, .just as the delightful and naïve Laure, my heart’s desire, was gathered up.

  Despite all his science, Lucifer was ignorant of the brilliant application that Saint-Clair had secretly made, by means of humble diving-suits, of the radioactive gas whose antiteledynamic properties Lourmel had discovered, and whose marvelous action La Païli had just described involuntarily. Lucifer had laughed again, then. Ah! If they all enclose themselves in the glass cage with the radioactive gas and wait for June 10, they will be prisoners and victims of their own discovery! And that point, the Baron had been utterly convinced of his own power and the definitive weakness of all other men–including such upstarts as Lourmel and Saint-Clair...

  Finally, finally, Lucifer had La Païli there, in front of him! And in less than 24 hours, the Lampas would come into the harbor of the submarine station, bringing Irène!

  It was for all these reasons, in sum, that Leo Saint-Clair, the Nyctalope, had arrived without any significant difficulty at the door of Lucifer’s apartment, with nothing between him and the monster but the mechanism of a lock, whose secret he knew.

  So the Nyctalope marched up to the door that had two panels, at a calm and rapid pace, followed by his eight companions.

  Behind that door and others, beyond several other rooms, was the blue bedroom. In that blue bedroom, La Païli had just completed her recitation, rendering account of everything she had witnessed since her resurrection in the Nyctalope’s house in the Rue Nansouty in Paris. When she had finished, Lucifer knew about the offensive that the Nyctalope’s three aircraft were trying to mount at that moment, but he was not worried, because there were sentries in the little forts and there was no shortage of gas-filled shells for the pneumatic cannons from which they were launched. Lucifer also knew about the offensive planed by La Païli and Grisyl, with the help of the Polish officer.

  He spoke aloud, as if Laurence could hear him consciously, saying: “Romski and Grisyl will be killed, but not you, my perfidious beauty. I shall wake you up and possess you without further delay. When your Saint-Clair arrives, you will display yourself to his eyes, O sublime lover, so that he shall have no doubt of his misfortune!”

  He sniggered. He was overwhelmed by such desire and such violent impatience that he forgot his ambition to take possession of La Païli while she was consenting and desperate at the same time. Since he had her here, now, he would wait no longer! Given the state of weakness she would be in when she came out of her hypnotic trance, she would not have the physical strength to defend herself, but she would be conscious enough to take account of the actions of others and her own sensations.

  Conclusively resolved, desirous that all should be consummated before the Nyctalope’s arrival–when he would be brought in unconscious, by virtue of the soporific gas–Lucifer made haste. First, he undressed the inanimate young woman, rapidly and brutally. When the splendid body was no longer clad in anything but the light silk underwear that La Païli had retained beneath her masculine garments, Lucifer hurriedly made the ritual gestures that would bring the hypnotic trance to an end.

  His hands were trembling. His face bore a livid pallor. His eyes were infused with blood.

  Extended on the divan, among the cushions, almost in the pose that Titian gave to his Danaë, but with the right leg dangling instead of folded,18 Laurence Païli woke up.

  She released a long sigh, opened her eyes slightly, closed them again, then opened them wide. With infinite lassitude, they expressed all the surprise of which a sleep-clouded mind is capable.

  The light emitted by the electric lamps was softened by pale blue shades. Perfume–chypre and violets–floated in the lukewarm air.

  “Where am I?” sighed Laurence, trying to sit up. She could only raise herself on to her elbow, but she held her head up and looked around.

  “Oh! Is it possible...?”

  Her face expressed immense amazement. She recognized the bedroom–it was the one in the lyrical drama that had contributed so much to her fame. A thousand memories flooded her mind. The illusion was so complete that it only awaited the entrance of the Prince Charming to become a perfect replica–so she looked at the door through which he ought to come.

  On the back of an armchair, within arm’s reach, the singer saw the large silk cloak in which she had wrapped herself at the end of the act. La Païli thought about her dress then, and made the habitual gesture necessary to rectify its folds–but her hand suddenly remained in suspense, for Laurence saw herself, and saw that she was almost naked.

  She sat up with a sudden start, her pupils dilated, her head pounding with blows that threatened madness. It was, indeed, only a start; the unfortunate girl was too weak to sustain herself. She fell back on the divan, among the cushions, into her original position, her body sprawling and her thoughts in disorder–but with her eyes still turned to Prince Charming’s door.

  The door opened–but it was Lucifer who made his entrance!

  She saw him. Her clouded mind was cleared, as if by a gust of wind. Her thoughts became focused.

  She remembered everything–everything, from the moment of her collapse on the polar ice amid the clouds of soporific smoke emitted by the shells that burst like grenades–and she understood.

  She tried to get up, in order to defend herself. She could only reach out as far as the cloak, seize it, draw it towards her and cover herself hurriedly and awkwardly.

  He came forward, grave and pale–so pale!

  Laurence understood, from the expression in Lucifer’s eyes, that she was utterly lost this time. She knew only too well, alas, that she was too weak to put up a fight. She looked around. No Grisyl, no Romski–no one at all. And no weapon...

  No weapon? Why, was she not a woman? Was she not a woman in love? Why was she here, if not to save her lover? Ah! She would sacrifice herself; she would save him. And then–benevolent death...

  La Païli found the sublime strength to smile. Laurence smiled at Lucifer! Artfully transforming her gesture of horrified defense into a charming gesture of fearful modesty, she stammered: “I have come... as you desired... and I am yours... but wait, wait for...”

  She fell silent, frozen by a nameless dread.

  Lucifer had cut her speech short with a gesture. “Shut up, Laurence!” he said, brutally. “No need to act the part–you’ve already spoken, and told me everything, in the hypnotic trance from which you’ve just emerged. You came with Grisyl to kill me, crudely, with a bullet in the head. No more tricks–it’s over. You’re mine. Defend yourself if you wish. You can’t do much. I’m stronger than you. And you’ll be conscious of my strength, in the most intimate depths of your being.”

  He took a step towards the divan–but stopped short. In front of him and to the left, a door had opened�
��and framed in that doorway, white in the blue light, was a form both human and monstrous.

  “Oh!” Lucifer exclaimed. He was transfixed, his eyes widening and his mind abruptly unbalanced, unable to understand or divine what was happening.

  That exclamation, his facial expression and attitude galvanized Laurence. She was able to sit up, turn her head and look. At first, she understood no more than he did–but almost immediately, she let out a sharp cry.

  “Leo! My beloved!”

  Joy overwhelmed her, although terror and despair had been unable to do so, and she fell back on the cushions in a faint, her body chastely covered by the sumptuous silken cloak.

  On the breast of the blanched diving-suit, scrawled in large black letters, was a name that Laurence had read, and which Lucifer now read: NYCTALOPE.

  Leo Saint-Clair came into the blue room then, and eight similar monsters followed him in. When the door was closed, though, a collective instinct impelled them to line up with their backs to the wall-hangings, to either side of the door.

  Saint-Clair came forward alone. Three paces in front of the petrified Lucifer, he stopped. He lifted up his helmet, which he had unscrewed from the collar of his suit in the elevator, in anticipation of this confrontation. With his head free and bare, his eyes fiery and his features set, he took two more forward steps. Then he raised his right hand, placed the index finger on Lucifer’s breast–a breast palpating beneath the blue silk pajamas–and pronounced, in an imperious and glacial tone: “I challenge you, Baron Glô von Warteck of Schwarzrock! I challenge you, Glô XIII, master of the Teledynamo! I challenge you, sorcerer, monster, Lucifer!”

  As Glô, finally able to react, shuddered and took a step backwards, the Nyctalope advanced by the same margin. “Listen to me!” he said, forcefully. “I could strike you down within a minute with a gunshot. These eight men could fire with me and you’d fall with nine bullets in you, as if before a firing-squad. I could do that–but I have not done it. It’s too easy and, in my opinion, it would be cowardly.” He fell silent and let his right arm fall back, divinely handsome in his mad bravery and cold determination.