A Nest of Spies
X
AUNT PALMYRA.
Early in the morning of the day on which the meeting took place in theprivate office of the Under-Secretary of State, the proprietor of _TheThree Moons_ at Chalons was busy bottling his wine. Dawn was justbreaking, and the good man had a spirit lamp in his cellar to throwlight upon his task.
Suddenly his bottling operations were disturbed by an unknown voicecalling him insistently from the top of the steps.
"Hey, there! Father Louis! Where is Father Louis?"
Fuming and grumbling, the innkeeper mounted his cellar-steps, andappeared on the porch.
"I am Father Louis! What am I wanted for?"
The publican found himself face to face with an enormously stoutwoman: a grotesque figure clad in light-coloured garments, so cut thatthey exaggerated her stoutness; a large, many-coloured shawl wasthrown round her shoulders; on her head was a big round hat, tied withstrings in a bow under her chin. This odd head-gear was topped with abunch of gaudy feathers, ragged and out of curl. A veil of flowerydesign half hid this woman's features: though far from her firstyouth, she no doubt wished to appear young still. The skin of her facewas covered with powder and paint, so badly laid on, that daubs ofwhite, of red, and blue, lay side by side in all their crudity: therewas no soft blending of tints: it was the make-up of no artist's hand.
"What an object!" thought the publican, staring at this oddity, whohad seated herself on the porch seat and had placed on the ground agreat wicker basket filled with vegetables.
"Ouf!" she cried. "It is a long step to your canteen, Father Louis!My word, I never thought I should get here! Well now, how is my littlepet of a girl?"
Nonplussed, suspicious, Father Louis looked hard at this strangevisitor: never had he seen anyone like her! What astonished him was tohear her calling him by the name used only by his familiars.
"Whoever are you?" he asked in a surly tone. "I don't remember you!"
"That's not surprising," cried the visitor, who seemed of a gaydisposition, for she always laughed at the close of every sentence."My goodness! It would be queer if you did not recognise me,considering you have never seen me before!... I am Aunt Palmyra, letme tell you!"
The innkeeper, more and more out of countenance, searched his memoryin vain.
"Aunt Palmyra?" he echoed.
"Why, of course, you big stupid! Nichoune's aunt--a customer of yours,she is! She must have mentioned me often--I adore the little pet!"
Father Louis had not the slightest recollection of any such mention,but, out of politeness, he murmured:
"Of course! Why, of course!"
"Well, then, old dear, you must tell me where she hangs out here! Imust go and give her a hug and a kiss!"
Mechanically, the innkeeper directed Aunt Palmyra.
"On the ground floor--end of the passage!... But you're never thinkingof waking Nichoune at this early hour! She'll make a pretty noise ifyou do!"
"Bah!" cried Aunt Palmyra: "Wait till the little dear sees who itis!... Just look at the nice things I've brought her!" and, showinghim the vegetables in her basket, she began to drawl in a sing-songvoice:
"Will you have turnips and leeks? Here's stuff to make broth of thebest! It will make her think of bygone days when she lived with us inthe country!"
"My faith!" thought Father Louis, "if Nichoune opens her mouth!"
Aunt Palmyra was knocking repeatedly at Nichoune's door, but there wasno response.
"Well, what a sleep she's having!"
"Likely enough," replied Father Louis, "considering she was not in bedtill four o'clock!"
All the same, this persistent silence puzzled the innkeeper. He triedto peep through the keyhole, but the key was in it. Then he quietlydrew a gimlet from his pocket and bored a hole in the door. AuntPalmyra watched him smiling: she winked and jogged his elbow.
"Ho, ho, my boy! I'll wager you don't stick at having a look at yourcustomers this way, when it suits you!"
With the ease of practice the innkeeper glued his eye to the hole hehad just made. He uttered an exclamation:
"Good heavens!"
"What is it?" cried Nichoune's aunt in a tone of alarm. "Is her roomempty?"
"Empty? No! But."...
Father Louis was white as paper. He searched his pocket in feverishhaste, drew from it a screwdriver, rapidly detached the lock, andrushed into the room, followed by Aunt Palmyra, who bawled:
"Oh, my good lord! Whatever is the matter with her?"
Nichoune was stretched out on her bed, and might have seemed asleep toan onlooker were it not for two things which at once struck the eye:her face was all purple, and her arms, sticking straight up in theair, were terrifyingly white and rigid. Approaching the bed, theinnkeeper and Aunt Palmyra saw that Nichoune's arms were maintained inthis vertical position by means of string tied round her wrists andfastened to the canopy over the bed.
"She is dead!" cried Father Louis. "This is awful! Good heavens! Whata thing to happen!"
Aunt Palmyra, for all her previous protestations of affection for hercharming niece, did not seem in any way moved by the tragic discovery.She glanced rapidly round the room without a sign of emotion. Thisattitude only lasted a moment. Suddenly she broke out into loudlamentations uttering piercing cries: she threw herself into anarm-chair, then sank in a heap on the sofa, then returned to thetable! She was making a regular nuisance of herself. The innkeeper,scared and bewildered, did not know how to act: he was staring fixedlyat the unfortunate Nichoune, who gave no sign of life. Involuntarilythe man had touched the dead girl's shoulder: the body was quite cold.
The innkeeper, who had been driven into a state of distractedbewilderment by Aunt Palmyra's behaviour, now bethought him of hisobvious duty: of course he must call in the police, and also avoidscandal. Also he must stop this old woman's outrageous goings-on.
"Be quiet!" he commanded. "You are not to make such a noise! Staywhere you are! Don't stir from that corner until I return ... and,above all, you must not touch a single thing before the arrival of thepolice."
"The police!" moaned Aunt Palmyra. "It is frightful! Oh, my poorNichoune, however could this have happened?"
Nevertheless, scarcely had the innkeeper retired than the old woman,with remarkable dexterity, rummaged about among the disorderedfurniture, and seized a certain number of papers, which she hid in herbodice.
Hardly had she pushed them out of sight when the innkeeper returned,accompanied by a policeman. It was in vain that Father Louisendeavoured to get the policeman into the tragic room. He did not wishto do anything.
"I tell you," he repeated in his big voice, "it's not worth my whilelooking at this corpse ... for the superintendent will be hereshortly, and he will take charge of the legal procedure."
At the end of about ten minutes the magistrate appeared, accompaniedby his secretary, and immediately proceeded to a summary interrogationof the innkeeper; but, in the presence of Aunt Palmyra, it wasimpossible to do any serious work. This insupportable old woman couldnot make head or tail of the questions, and answered at random.
"Leave the room, Madame, leave the room, and I will hear what you haveto say presently."
"But where must I go?" whined Aunt Palmyra.
"Go where you like! Go to the devil!" shouted the exasperatedinspector.
"Oh, well, I suppose I ought not to say so," replied the old woman,looking seriously offended, "but, though you are an inspector, youhave a very rude tongue in your head!"
To emphasise her majestic exit, Aunt Palmyra added:
"Fancy now! Not one of you have thought of it! I am going as far asthe corner to look for flowers for this poor little thing."
* * * * *
Either florists were difficult to find, or Aunt Palmyra had no wish tosee them as she passed by, for the old woman walked right through thetown without stopping. When she reached the railway station she lookedat the clock.
"By the saints! I have barely time," she ejaculated.
The old termagant traversed the waiting-room, got her ticketpunched--it was a return ticket--and stepped on to the platform at theprecise moment a porter was crying in an ear-piercing voice:
"Passengers for Paris take your seats!"
Aunt Palmyra installed herself in a second-class compartment: "_Forladies only._"
* * * * *
The train rolled out of the station.
An inspector was examining the tickets at the stopping-place atChateau-Thierry.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, waking a passenger who had fallen fastasleep--a stout man, with a smooth face and scanty hair--"Excuse me,Monsieur, but you are in a '_For ladies only_!'"
The man leapt up and rubbed his eyes; instinctively, with the gestureof a short-sighted man, he took from his waistcoat pocket a large pairof spectacles in gold frames, and stared at the inspector.
"I am sorry! It's a mistake! I will change into another compartment!"
The stranger passed along the connecting corridor, carrying a smallbundle of clothes wrapped in a shawl of many colours!... An hourlater, the train from Chalons arrived at Paris, ten minutes behindtime. Directly he stood on the platform the traveller looked at hiswatch.
"Twenty-five past eleven! I can do it!"
He jumped into a taxi, giving his orders:
"Rue Saint Dominique--Ministry of War!... and quick!"
* * * * *
Shortly after the unexpected departure of Colonel Hofferman, Juve,judging it useless to prolong the conversation, had quitted theUnder-Secretary of State's office. Instead of mounting to the SecondBureau, he sent in his name to Commandant Dumoulin. Although theiracquaintance was but slight, the two men were in sympathy: eachrealised that the other was courageous and devoted to duty; both wereenamoured of an active life and open air.
Juve was hoping that at all events he would hear something new, if notfacts about the affair he had in hand, at least with regard to theattitude which the military authorities meant to take up. CommandantDumoulin, however, knew nothing or did not wish to say anything, andJuve was about to leave, when Colonel Hofferman entered.
Hofferman looked radiant. Catching sight of Juve, he smiled.
"Ah! Upon my word! I did not expect to find you here, Monsieur ...but, since you are, you will be glad to get some news of the Brocqaffair."...
Juve's eyes were shining notes of interrogation.
"I rendered due homage to your perspicacity just now," continued thecolonel: "you were absolutely right in your prognostication that Brocqhad a mistress; unfortunately--I am sorry for the wound to yourself-esteem--the correctness of your version stops there! Brocq'smistress was not a society woman, as you thought: on the contrary, shewas a girl of the lower orders ... a music-hall singer, calledNichoune ... of Chalons!"
"You have proof of it?"
The colonel, with a superior air, held out a packet of letters toJuve.
"Here is the correspondence--letters written by Brocq to the girl! Oneof my collaborators seized them at girl's place."...
Juve scrutinised the letters.
"It's curious," he said, half to himself.... "An annoying coincidence ...but the name of Nichoune does not appear once in these letters!"
"No other name appears," observed the colonel: "Consequently, takinginto consideration the place where these letters have been found ...we must conclude."...
"These letters had no envelopes with them?" questioned Juve.
"No, there were none, but what matters that?" cried the colonel.
"Very queer," said Juve, in a meditative tone. Then raising his voice:
"I suppose, Colonel, that your ... collaborator, before takingpossession of these letters, had a talk with the person who hadreceived them. Did he manage to extract any information?"
Hofferman interrupted Juve with a gesture.
"Monsieur Juve," said he, crossing his arms, "I am going to give youanother surprise: my collaborator could not get the person in questionto talk, and for a very good reason: he found her dead!"
"Dead?" echoed Juve.
"That is as I say."
The detective, though he strove to hide it, was more and more takenaback. What could this mean? No doubt he would soon secure additionalinformation; but what was the connecting link? where, and who was themysterious person who was really pulling the strings? The sarcasticvoice of the colonel tore Juve from his reflections and questionings.
"Monsieur Juve, I think it is high time we had some lunch ... butbefore we separate allow me to give you a word of advice.
"When, in the course of your career, you have occasion to deal withmatters relating to spies and spying, leave us to deal with them, thatis what we are here for!... As for you, content yourself with ordinarypolice work, that is your business, and, if it gives you pleasure,continue your hunt for Fantomas, that will give you all the occupationyou require!... Yes," continued the colonel, while Juve was clenchinghis fists with exasperation at this irony which was like so manyflicks of a whip on his face, "Yes, leave these serious affairs tous--and occupy yourself with Fantomas!"