Messengers of Evil

  XIX

  CRIMINAL OR VICTIM?

  At the bottom of his trunk Jerome Fandor was foaming with rage, furiousat being caught in the trap and uneasy as to how this adventure wouldend.

  Whilst he was realising that his unknown porters were carrying theirheavy weight with difficulty to the pavement of rue Raffet, he made uphis mind to a definite course of action: regardless of consequences, hewas going to shout, move about, make a regular disturbance, rouse theattention of the passers-by--if there happened to be any--but, at allcosts, he meant to get out of the trap!... He saw a ray of hope: MadameBourrat had accompanied her visitors as far as the gate. In presence ofsuch a witness, they would, at least, hesitate to do him serious bodilyharm when he made his presence unmistakably known, furious though theywould be. He would take every advantage of the situation....

  Fandor was about to act: a second more and he would have started, whenhe heard them speaking. He kept quiet.

  "We must have a taxi, or at the very least a cab to transport this bigtrunk. Do you know where one is likely to be found?"

  "I doubt if one will be passing at this hour, monsieur. We retire earlyin these parts; but, if you like, Jules can go to the station."

  "That's settled. Let him go as fast as he can!"

  "Well, that is reassuring," thought Fandor. "If these fine fellows takea cab, it is not with the intention of chucking my cage and me into theriver--and that is what I feared most. They may be going to leave me ina cloak-room till called for; or they may pack us off as luggage to somedestination unknown! ... Oh, well, I shall only be a traveller without aticket and I shall be sure to find some way out of the difficulty! Andthen, what stuff for an article I shall have when I get back to _LaCapitale_!... What must they be thinking at the offices! It'sforty-eight hours since I put foot in them! Never mind! When theyknow!..."

  Fandor was listening with all his ears; but the bandits had little tosay; and, when they did speak, their voices were plainly disguised. Wasit as a general precaution, or was it on account of Madame Bourrat?...But, unless they were known to her, why the necessity? If, however, sheknew one or more of them personally, why, they must have disguised theirfaces and figures as well as their voices!... If only he could have apeep at them!

  The sound of wheels made him suppose that Jules had succeeded in gettinga cab at the Auteuil station. Then the trot-trot-trot of a horse becameaudible: a few moments later a cab drew up at the edge of the pavement.

  A hoarse voice was heard.

  "It's not a long journey, I hope!" said the hoarse, grumbling voice ofthe cabman.

  "To Police Headquarters," replied the pretended police inspector.

  "We shall see about that!" thought Fandor. "That address is to throwdust in Madame Bourrat's eyes. They will change their destination on theway. I bet on it!..."

  "The brutes! Are they going to jam my cage and me on to the seat?"Fandor asked himself, for they had seized the trunk and were beginningto lift it up. ... "Am I to be stuck upside down beside the driver? Idon't fancy so!... We must weigh at least ninety kilos, as I weighseventy myself!"

  Fandor's mind was soon made easy on that score. After a fruitlessattempt to hoist the trunk to the box seat, they decided to put it on tothe back seat of the Victoria. One of the bandits planted himself on thelittle folding seat opposite the trunk: the other bandit mounted to thebox seat next the driver.

  The two bandits took leave of Madame Bourrat. The rickety old vehiclestarted off. Presently, Fandor heard what he had expected to hear: oneof his captors told the driver to take them to some other address thanPolice Headquarters. Owing to the rattling of the ramshackle cab--itlacked rubber tyres--Fandor, though listening with ears astretch, couldnot hear one word distinctly.

  Soon pale gleams of light began to filter through the wickerwork: dawnwas near.

  "Ah, we shall soon reach our destination," thought Fandor. "I don'tfancy my trunk lifters will wish to be seen with this turnout in broaddaylight! Now, where the deuce are we going?"

  In vain did Fandor strive to follow the route taken by the bandits! Hehad noted each shock and counter-shock produced by cobbled streets andsmooth roads, by bumping against pavements, by crossed tram lines andsharp turnings!...

  The cab stopped with a jolt and a jerk. The two men got out. The trunkwas lifted down to the pavement. The driver was paid. He rattled off.

  "Now trunk and I are in for it!" thought Fandor.

  A bell pealed. A courtyard entrance gate was thrown open. The two menlifted the trunk, cursing under their breath at its weight.

  In passing under the archway they called some name unknown to Fandor andso unintelligible that he could not remember it; then it was a painfulascension: up a staircase they went with prodigious effort, stopping ontwo landings.

  "Two floors," counted Fandor. "We are coming to the end, and, all saidand done, I would rather be in a house than at the bottom of the river!"

  A key turned in a lock; the trunk was pushed rapidly inside; then thenoise of a door being shut.

  Fandor was in a room; no doubt, alone with the two bandits, and at theirmercy! He was plunged into complete darkness. Evidently the shutterswere still closed. The noise made by footsteps on the floor showed thatit was uncarpeted. Judging from the sound, there seemed to be littlefurniture and no hangings in the room.

  "Am I and my cage in an ordinary room, in a studio, or in a hall?"wondered Fandor. In any case, the fellows who had brought him thereseemed anxious to avoid making a noise.

  Then he felt the cover of the wickerwork trunk bend slightly and heardit creak. For a moment, he thought the two men were about to open hisprison. He had his revolver ready: every inch of him was on thedefensive! Then he realised that his captors had merely seatedthemselves on the trunk to rest!

  They began to talk.

  "This," thought Fandor, "is splendid! I shall hear everything they say.Why, it is a conversation in my honour! What luck!"

  Fandor was delighted: thanks to his position he would hear someinteresting secrets. He listened. Alas! He could hear every word theyuttered, but he could not understand what they were saying! Fandor sworestrictly to himself. The two wretches were conversing in German.

  To the best of his judgment, a good hour had passed since the falsepolice inspector and his acolyte had left the room. They had simplydrawn to the door behind them, not troubling to lock it, much to the joyof Jerome Fandor.

  Absolute silence reigned.

  Fandor attempted some discreet movements as a test. The wickerworkcreaked as he gently shook the trunk at short intervals. Not ananswering sound came from outside! Menaced with cramp, Fandor felt thatthe moment of escape had arrived.

  He was, certainly, the only living soul in the place: listen as hemight, and his sense of hearing was acute, he could not hear any soundof breathing. Yes, the time to quit his prison had come!

  Fandor had with him, besides his revolver, a box of matches, and ahunter's knife consisting of several blades, and a little saw. Gettingout his knife with some difficulty, he began to hack at the wickerwork.Dry and pliant, the interlaced rods did not long resist the saw's steelteeth. It took him a bare ten minutes to make an opening, sufficientlylarge to push his head and shoulders through: the rest of his bodyfollowed easily. Such was his haste to be free, that he tore, not onlyhis clothes, but his elbows and hands, on the jagged ends of the brokenwickerwork: large drops of blood fell on the flooring.

  "Bah! I've got off cheaply!" cried Fandor, standing up to relax hiscramped muscles and stretching his aching legs and arms.

  "Unless I am jolly well mistaken, I am lord of all I survey. I am alonein my glory! There's not a soul in the place! Good luck indeed!"

  He turned for a last look at his broken prison house, the cage in whichhe had spent such exciting hours. He suddenly stiffened and drew back: anervous trembling seized him--the nervous trembling due to sudden shock.Between the trunk which had been dumped down in the centre of a largesquare room, without a scrap of furniture in it,
and the window, throughwhose shutters the rays of morning sunshine shone, Fandor had caughtsight of a body lying on the floor--a man's body! Fandor leapt forward.Was this same cunning criminal feigning sleep for some evil purpose?Standing over that motionless figure, Fandor bent and touched one of theman's hands: it was ice-cold and rigid. The man was dead!

  To see his face was imperative: it was turned towards the floor. Withdifficulty Fandor raised the head and shoulders, for they were unusuallylarge and strongly built. Fandor glanced at the face and suddenlywithdrew his hand: the corpse fell back on the floor with a thud!

  "Thomery!" murmured Fandor. "Why, it's Thomery!"

  It was the well-known sugar refiner's body. The face was purple, thetongue protruding. Round his neck was tied a tricoloured scarf, thescarf of a police inspector! Was this the murderer's ironic touch?

  Fandor sank down quite overcome. He tried to collect his thoughts.

  "A disgusting joke this! If someone should take into his head to enterthe room at this moment, what kind of explanation could I give? Here Iam, alone with the dead body of a man I know, and in a room I don'tknow, in a neighbourhood whose whereabouts I know no more than the manin the moon."

  "Where am I?... In whose house?... For what purpose?... Have thosebeauties of last night no suspicion of the truth?... Did they leave mein this lair of theirs of set purpose, knowing I was cooped up insidethe trunk?"

  Just then, Fandor felt a slight moisture on the palm of his hand: it wasall red: the scratches, made by the jagged edges of the wickerwork, werestill bleeding.

  "Better and better I declare!" murmured Fandor. "If I don't look like alittle holy Saint John! A corpse, and a man with blood on his handsseated beside the dead body of this murdered man! Nothing more isrequired to jail me with all the power of the law!... To go to prisonunder such suspicious circumstances is serious!... The police, who arefloundering about in a maze of investigations, without any result sofar, will be only too delighted to kill two birds with one stone--tosuppress a journalist and discover a criminal!... I have got to get outof here; that is plain as a pikestaff!... Get away? Yes, but with thehonour of war!... I must establish an alibi--that is absolutelynecessary.... I like to think that my false police inspector and hisaccomplice have cut and run for some time; at any rate, that they willbe in no hurry to come back to see what is happening where they have soneatly and nicely left the corpse of this Thomery.... What part did thisfellow play in the drama?... Criminal or victim?"

  Fandor had reached the door of the hall opening on to the mainstaircase. He was listening.... He had explored the flat. It was empty.He had found water in the kitchen, had washed his face, and removedevery trace of blood from his person. It was a flat suitable for amiddle-class household. There were three large rooms, decorated with acertain amount of luxury.

  Fandor looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. He stood listening.Someone, a man, was coming downstairs: someone, a woman, was coming up.They met on the landing just outside.

  "Monsieur Mercadier, here are your letters! I was bringing them up toyou!"

  "It was hardly worth while, my good lady. I have to come down, you see,so you can save yourself five flights of stairs!"

  "Oh, no, monsieur! I have to come up to go down my stairs."

  Monsieur Mercadier continued to descend, and the portress continued tomount.

  Fandor's heart beat faster when he realised that she was approaching thedoor. Would she come in and find him there? Had the new tenants left akey of the flat with her? No, the portress dusted the landing quicklyand continued her ascent: he heard her going up and up....

  He made up his mind to slip out on to the landing. Despite his efforts,he could not prevent his shoes creaking: it was spring-time, and alreadythe stair carpet had been taken up. He was on the point of goingdownstairs, when he heard the portress calling from above:

  "Who's there?... What do you want?"

  Had she heard him leave the flat? Was he to be stupidly caught, just ashe was escaping?... He must act at once. He went up a step or two of thenext flight of stairs and called out:

  "Is Monsieur Mercadier at home?"

  "Ah, no, monsieur! He has just this minute gone out! I am surprised youdid not meet him!..."

  "Very good, madame. I will come another time!"

  Fandor turned on his heel, and, whistling, with hands in pockets, hegained the ground floor, passed the entrance gate, and found himself inthe street. He mingled with the passers-by, and learned from the firstplaque he came to with the name of the street on it, that he was in rueLecourbe, Vaugirard....