CHAPTER IV
WHO DO THEY THINK I AM?
The first faint light of dawn was filtering through the dusty windows ofthe police station.
Sergeant Masson, pushing aside the game of dominoes he had been playingwith his subordinate, declared:
"I must go and see the chief."
"At his house?" demanded the other in a tone of alarm.
"Yes; after all, if I catch it for waking him that won't be so bad ashaving him come here at ten."
The sergeant rose and stretched himself. He had entire charge of theStation and was responsible for all arrests. As a rule he felt himselfequal to the task, but this time the tragedy of the Rue Monceau and thepeculiar circumstances surrounding it seemed too much of a burden tobear alone.
Ought he to have arrested the individual now at the Station? Had he beensufficiently tactful? What was to be done now?
"Yes, I'm going to see the chief," he repeated, "besides, I shan't begone long. Anything that 'he' asks for let him have, you understand?"
It was about five-thirty, and the sky threatened snow. The air was freshand not too cold. A few milk carts were the only vehicles in thestreets. Porters were busy brushing off the sidewalks. Paris was makingher toilette. Sergeant Masson stopped at a small house in a quiet streetand mounted to the third floor. There he hesitated. The wife of thechief was known for her sharp temper. However, there was nothing to bedone but ring, and this he did in a timid manner.
In a few moments he heard the door-chain withdrawn, and a woman's voicecried:
"Who is there?"
"It is I, Madame, Sergeant Masson."
"Well, what do you want?"
"The chief is wanted at the Station right away."
At these words the door opened wide and the woman stood revealed. Shewas about forty, dressed in her wrapper and with her hair still in curlpapers.
"Louis must go to the Station?" she demanded.
"Yes, Madame, an arrest has been made ..."
"He must go to the Station?" she repeated in a menacing tone.
Sergeant Masson retreated to the landing. He simply nodded his head.
"But he _is_ there! He told me he was! Ah, I see how it is!... He's beenlying again. He's been running after women ... all right, he'll pay forit when he gets home!"
The door shut with a bang and the lady disappeared.
"What an idiot I've been," muttered the discomfited sergeant. "I oughtto have known better. Of course he's not with his wife, he's with hismistress!"
Several minutes later he reached another apartment in a neighboringstreet.
This time he had no misgivings and congratulated himself upon hisprofessional cleverness in tracking his man down.
The same performance was gone through. A ring at the bell brought ananswer to the door.
"Who is there?" said a man's voice.
"It is I ... Sergeant Masson."
The door was opened and a young man stood in the hall. He was aboutthirty and wore an undershirt and drawers.
"Well, Sergeant!"
The sergeant shrank back; he would have been glad if he could havedisappeared in the walls. The chief's secretary stood before him.
"I was ... was looking ..." he stammered.
The secretary interrupted with a smile.
"No, he's not here. In fact, we are rarely found together."
Then putting a hand on the sergeant's shoulder:
"As gentleman to gentleman, I count on your discretion."
The door shut softly and the sergeant turned sadly and went back to theStation, pondering over the personal annoyance this general post atnight occasioned him.
He was greeted on his return by a few sharp words.
"Ah, there you are, Masson!... At last!... An event of the firstimportance occurs, an amazing scandal breaks out and you desert yourpost.... It's always the way if I'm not here to look after things. Ishall have to report you, you know. Where have you been?"
The speaker was a man still quite young, who wore the ribbon of theLegion of Honor. It was the chief himself. On the way home from somelate party he had dropped into the Station out of simple curiosity.
* * * * *
Was he awake or was he dreaming?
Fandor felt stiff all over, his head was heavy and his mind a blank....And then came a thirst, a devouring, insatiable thirst.
Where he was and how he had arrived there were things past hiscomprehension.
So far as the feeble light permitted, he made out the room to containthe furnishings of an office, and by degrees, as his mind cleared, herecalled with a start his arrest.
He was at the police station.
But why in this particular room? The walls were hung with sportingprints. Bookshelves, a comfortable sofa, upon which he had spent thenight, all these indicated nothing less than the private office of thechief.
And then he recalled with what consideration he had been conductedhither. Evidently they took him for an intimate friend of the King.Nevertheless, he was under arrest for murder, or at least as anaccomplice to a murder.
"After all," he thought, "the truth will come to light, they'll capturethe murderer and my innocence will be established.
"Besides, didn't the King promise to see me through. Probably beforethis he has already taken steps for my release."
He then decided to call out:
"Is there anyone here?"
Scarcely had Fandor spoken when a man entered, who, after a profound bowto the journalist, drew the curtains apart.
"You are awake, Monsieur?"
Fandor was amazed. What charming manners the police had!
"Oh, yes, I'm awake, but I feel stiff all over."
"That is easily understood, and I hope you will pardon ... You see, Ididn't happen to be at the station ... and when I got here ... why, Ididn't like to wake you."
"They take me for a friend of the King of Hesse-Weimar," thought Fandor.
"You did perfectly right, Monsieur ..."
"M. Perrajas, District Commissioner of Police ... and the circumstancesbeing such ... the unfortunate circumstances ... I imagine it was betterthat you did not return immediately to your apartment ... in fact, Ihave given the necessary orders and in a few moments ... the time to geta carriage ... I can, of course, rely upon the discretion of my men who,besides, are ignorant of ..."
"Oh, that's all right."
Fandor replied in a non-committal tone. It would be wiser to avoid anycompromising admission. A carriage!--what carriage, doubtless the BlackMaria to take him to prison. And what did he mean by 'the discretion ofhis men?'
"Well," thought Fandor, "he can count upon me. I shan't publish anythingyet. And after all, it's going to be very hard for me to prove myinnocence. Since I must rely on the King getting me out of this hole, itwould be very foolish of me to give him away."
"Besides," continued the officer, "I have had the concierge warned; shehas received the most positive orders ... and no reporter will beallowed to get hold of ..."
The officer became confused in his explanation.
"The incidents of last night," added Fandor.
A knock at the door and Sergeant Masson entered.
"The coupe is ready."
"Very well, Sergeant."
Fandor rose and was about to put on his overcoat, but the man dartedforward and helped him on with it.
"Do you wish me to come with you, Monsieur, or would you prefer toreturn alone?"
"Oh, alone, thanks, don't trouble yourself."
The door was opened wide by the polite officer and Fandor passed throughthe main hall of the Station, where everyone rose and bowed. Gettinginto his carriage, he was disagreeably surprised to see an individualwho appeared to be a plain clothes man sitting on the seat. In additiona police cyclist fell in behind the carriage as escort.
"Where the devil are they going to take me?" he wondered.
To his intense surprise, they stopped ten minutes later at the RoyalPala
ce, the most luxurious hotel in Paris.
With infinite deference he was then conducted to the elevator and takento the first floor.
"Well, this lets me out," thought Fandor. "Evidently the King has sentfor me ... in a few minutes I shall be free ... what a piece of luck!"
He was shown into a sumptuous apartment and there left to his owndevices.
"Wonder what's become of Frederick-Christian," he muttered, after a waitof twenty minutes. "It's worse than being at the dentist's."
As the room was very warm, Fandor removed his overcoat and began aninvestigation of his surroundings. Upon a table lay several illustratedpapers and picking one up he seated himself comfortably in an armchairand began to read.
Some minutes later a Major-domo entered the room with much ceremony andsilently presented him with a card. This turned out to be a menu.
"Well, they're not going to let me starve anyway," he thought, "and aslong as the King has asked me to breakfast, I'll accept his invitation."
Choosing several dishes at random, he returned the menu, and the man,bowing deeply, inquired:
"Where shall we serve breakfast? In the boudoir?"
"Yes, in the boudoir."
The bow ended the interview and Fandor was once more left alone. But notfor long. Close upon the heels of the first, a second man entered andhanded the journalist a telegram and withdrew.
"Ah, now I shall get some explanation of all this mystery! This shouldcome from the King.... Has he got my name?... No!... the Duke ofHaworth ... evidently the name of the individual I am supposed torepresent."
Fandor tore open the telegram and then stared in surprise. Not one wordof it could he make out. It was in cipher!
"Why the deuce was this given to me!... what does the whole thing mean?Is it possible they take me for...."