A Nest of Spies

  II

  DOCUMENT NUMBER SIX

  "Hullo!... Am I speaking to Headquarters of Police?"

  "Yes?"

  "To the sergeant?... Good!... It is the superintendent of the WagramQuarter who is telephoning.... They have just brought here the body ofan officer who has died suddenly, Place de l'Etoile, and I want you tosend me one of your inspectors.... This officer was the bearer ofimportant documents.... I must send them direct to the militaryauthorities.... Hullo!... Good.... You will send me someoneimmediately?... An inspector will be here in ten minutes?...Splendid!... Very good!"

  The superintendent hung up the telephone receiver and turned to thepoliceman, who stood motionless awaiting orders. He was visiblyembarrassed.

  The police superintendent of the Wagram Quarter was a man of decisiveaction. He possessed in the highest degree the quality, the mostprecious of all for those of the police force, whose functions call themto intervene continually in the most surprising adventures--presence ofmind.

  A few minutes before this the taxi with its tragic burden had stoppedat his police-station, and the men on duty had carried in the body ofthe unfortunate captain.

  Called in all haste, the sergeant had immediately made a rapidinvestigation. He examined the documents in the victim's portfolio.

  "Here's a go!" he muttered--"'State of munition supplies!' 'Orders forthe eastern fortresses!' I do not want to keep such importantdocuments longer than I can help."

  He had immediately telephoned to Headquarters. Reassured by thesergeant's reply, the superintendent turned to the policeman.

  "You have made out your report?" he asked curtly.

  The honest guardian of the peace touched his cap, looked perplexed,and scratched his head.

  "Not yet, Monsieur. No time, Monsieur. But I will write it out atonce."

  The superintendent smiled at his embarrassed subordinate. "Suppose wedo it together!"

  "Let us see now! The deceased was a captain--isn't that so? The papersfound in his portfolio and the name written on it let us know that hewas called Brocq, and that he was attached to the Ministry. So muchfor his identity. We will not trouble about his domicile, the Placewill tell us that! Now let us go into the details of theaccident--tell me, my man, exactly how his death occurred!"

  Again the worthy guardian of the peace scratched his head with ananxious look.

  "I saw nothing of it, Monsieur," he replied.

  "And the taxi-driver? You have his deposition?"

  "He did not see anything either, Monsieur."

  "Call this chauffeur."

  A few minutes after, the superintendent dismissed the chauffeur. Ashort interrogation revealed that the taxi-driver had not only seennothing, but that he could do nothing to help the enquiry.

  The superintendent recalled the honest policeman.

  "Come now! You are certain that the victim died immediately?"

  "Well, you see, Monsieur, while I was dispersing the crowd, a doctorcame up, and it was he who told me how the dead man died!"

  "This doctor did not point out to you the cause of death?"

  "No, Monsieur. But he gave me his card."

  The policeman drew from the pocket of his tunic a dirty note-book. Hetook a card from it and handed it to his chief. "There, Monsieur!"

  The magistrate looked at the name. _Professor Barrell, of the Schoolof Medicine_. Turning the card, he read aloud a few words in pencil:

  "_Sudden death, which seems due to a phenomenon of inhibition._"...

  "This professor did not explain what he meant by 'death due toinhibition'?"

  "No, Monsieur."

  "Annoying!... I do not know what that means."

  The superintendent was about to continue his enquiry when there was aknock at his office door.

  A policeman informed him respectfully: "There is an inspector,Monsieur, from Headquarters detective department who asks to see youon urgent business--he declares you have sent for him."

  "Tell him to come in."

  No sooner had this personage from "Headquarters detective department"appeared in the doorway, than the superintendent rose, and advancedwith outstretched hands.

  "You, Juve! I am delighted to see you! How are you?"

  It was, in truth, the celebrated detective, Juve.

  Juve had altered but little. He was always the same man; ratherthick-set, vigorous, astonishingly alive, agile, as youthful as ever,in spite of his moustache turning grey, in spite of his roundedshoulders which, at moments, seemed to bend under the weight of thetoils and fatigues of the past.

  This magic name evoked memories of terrible stories, stories ofdangers encountered, endured, overcome; of brave deeds; of desperatestruggles with the worst criminals.

  Juve! He was the man who, for ten years, had represented to all,ability, audacity, limitless daring! He was the man who best knew howto employ wiles and stratagems to secure the triumph of society in theincessant combat it had to sustain against the innumerable soldiers ofthe army of crime.

  * * * * *

  When the terrible Dollon affair had come to an end, Juve had beenblamed officially, and the detective could not help feeling angry andexasperated, for, after all, if he had failed, he ought not to havebeen treated as a culprit. Not a soul had had the slightest suspicionof how the affair had ended. Not one of them knew the incredibletruth--how the marvellous, the redoubtable, the incredible Fantomashad elected to make his escape at the very moment when Juve waspreparing to put the handcuffs on him.

  And the detective, disheartened, but determined not to give up thefight against this deep-dyed criminal whom he had been pursuing foryears, had asked for a few weeks' holiday, had lain snug, then hadreturned to his post at Headquarters, had made a point of keeping inthe background, only awaiting the moment when he could resume his huntfor the ruffian whom he looked on as a personal enemy.

  Since then, nothing had happened to put him on the track of Fantomas.No crime had been committed in circumstances which could leave him tothink that this elusive murderer was involved in it.

  Our detective had begun to ask himself if, not having been fortunateenough to arrest this king of assassins, he had not at any ratesucceeded in unmasking him, in compelling him to fly for his life, inputting him out of power to do harm.

  * * * * *

  Rapidly the superintendent put Juve in possession of the incidentswhich had led him to telephone to Headquarters.

  "You have done well," said Juve. "Have you the portfolio of this deadman?"

  "Here it is, my friend."

  Juve opened it.

  "If you will allow it, Monsieur, I am going to make a complete list ofthe contents. This list I shall leave with you. I shall take a copy:that I shall deposit at the office of the Chief of Staff, obtaining areceipt for it. This will relieve both you and myself of all furtherresponsibility on this head."

  For some moments Juve and the superintendent occupied themselves ingoing over the papers of the dead man. Suddenly the detective got up,and, holding a paper in his hand, began walking up and down the room.

  "You have read that?" he asked, turning to the superintendent.

  "What is it? No."

  "Read it!"

  The superintendent read:

  "_Inventory of the documents which were submitted to me by the SecondBureau of the Staff Headquarters, for which I have signed a receipt,and I have undertaken to return and deliver them up to the SecondBureau of the Staff Headquarters, Monday, November 7th, when given areceipt to that effect._"

  "Well, what of it?"

  "Well," replied Juve. "Compare the documents given on this list withthose we have found in this portfolio ... they tally."...

  "Of course. That only proves, I imagine, that this officer died at thevery moment when he was on the way to his office to return the papersentrusted to him. What do you see surprising in that?"

  Juve shook his head. "I see, Monsieur, that what I feared is true:yes, th
is is certainly the list of documents contained in thisportfolio, but."...

  "But, one is missing!"

  The two men checked the papers of Captain Brocq. Juve was right. Therewas a document missing--Number Six.

  "Whew!" murmured the superintendent. "How are we to know whether thisdocument has been dropped in the taxi, or has already been returned bythe captain, or whether."...

  "Or whether it has been stolen from him," finished Juve.

  The supposition which the detective had put into words was so grave,so terrible, so weighty in its consequence that the superintendentcried, in a shaking voice:

  "Robbed! Robbed! But by whom? Where? How? On the way from the Place del'Etoile here? While the body was being brought to the policestation?... Juve, it's incredible!"

  Juve was walking up and down, up and down. "I don't like affairs ofthis sort, in which officers are involved, and most particularlyofficers connected with the Second Bureau of the Military Staff: theyrequire the most careful handling.... You never know where they willlead. These officers are, owing to their functions, the masters of allthe military defences of France.... Confound it!"

  Juve stopped short. "You had better let me see the body of this poorfellow."

  "Certainly!"...

  The superintendent led Juve towards one of the rooms, where the corpseof Captain Brocq was: it had been laid down on the floor. Pious handshad lighted a mortuary candle, and, in view of the position held bythe dead man, two of the police staff were keeping watch and warduntil someone came to claim the body of the deceased.

  Juve examined the corpse. "A fine fellow!" he said quietly.

  He turned to the superintendent.

  "You told me just now that Prof. Barrell chanced to be present at themoment of death?"

  "That is so."

  "What did he suppose was the cause of death?"

  The superintendent smiled. "Now you have it! Possibly you can throwlight on it, my dear Juve, for I could hardly make head or tail of hisdiagnostic. The professor claims that death is due to a _phenomenon ofinhibition_. What does that mean exactly?"

  Juve shrugged his shoulders.

  "Inhibition!... Peuh!... It is a learned word--very learned!"...

  "Which means to say?"... pressed the superintendent.

  "It does not mean anything."

  Juve's tone was a mixture of contempt and anger. The superintendentwas staggered. Juve's anger increased.

  "It does not mean anything," he repeated. "Inhibition! Inhibition! Itis the term reserved for deaths that are unexplained and inexplicable:it is the term with which science covers herself when she does notwish to confess her ignorance."

  The magistrate was smiling now.

  "So then, Juve, you conclude that Professor Barrell has declared thatthis officer had died through inhibition because, in fact, he wasignorant of the cause of death?"

  "Exactly!" snapped Juve.

  He was kneeling on the floor, bending over the body. Slowly, minutely,he was examining it with his keen eyes, by the flickering light of themortuary candle.

  He had examined successively the face of the dead man, then the arms,the trunk, the shoulders, the whole body. He did not utter a word.

  "What are you looking for in particular, Juve?"

  "The cause of this _inhibition_," replied the detective, whopronounced the word with unconcealed anger and resentment. He seemedto harbour some subtle rancour regarding the doctor. Suddenly he gotup and, turning to the policeman, commanded:

  "Undress this body!"

  The superintendent interposed.

  "What for?"

  "It will be useful for your report."

  "Come, now! In what way?"

  "For that," said Juve, pointing a finger at the officer's shortcoat....

  "That? How that?... I don't see anything," protested thesuperintendent.

  Juve knelt down again, and made a sign to the superintendent to dolikewise.

  "Look, Monsieur! Just bend down and look at this tiny graze on thecloth."

  "Yes!... Well?"

  "Does that not tell you anything?"

  "No it does not."

  Juve rose and repeated his order. "Unclothe this corpse!"

  Then, turning to the superintendent, he added:

  "What that tells me is, that this man has been killed by a shot from agun or a revolver."

  "Oh, come, now!"

  "You will see."...

  "The garment is not pierced."...

  Juve began to smile.

  "Monsieur," said he, "you must know that arms of high penetratingpower, firing projectiles of small diameter, grooved projectiles,cause only the slightest graze in the materials they pass through: thedamage is almost imperceptible. Numerous experiments have demonstratedthis. You see the passage of the projectile is so rapid, its gyratorymovement so accelerated, that, in some way, the threads of the fabricare not broken: they are only pushed aside. They come together againafter the passage of the ball, and unless a very careful examinationis made, one would never know that a projectile had perforated thematerial."

  The two policemen were undressing the corpse.

  Scarcely had they undone the waistcoat than the shirt of theunfortunate man was seen to have a spot of blood on it, in the regionof the heart.

  "See," cried Juve. "It is just as I said: a ball of small diameter,propelled by a formidable power of penetration, has caused immediatedeath, producing a wound which has hardly bled at all, so precise andclean has the wound been!"

  Juve again bent over the corpse.

  "It is plain to see that this officer's death has been caused by aball in the heart, right in the centre of the heart."

  The superintendent now protested:

  "But what you are telling us, Juve, is terrible, it is inadmissible!How could this person have committed suicide without having been seenin the act by someone? Without anyone finding his revolver? And thatat the very moment when he leaned out of the window of the vehicle togive the chauffeur his instructions?"

  Juve did not seem disposed to answer this. But, after remaining silentfor a minute or two, he took the superintendent by the arm in familiarfashion, and drawing him away said: "Let us return to your office, Ihave a couple of words to say to you."

  When the superintendent and the detective had entered the room, whenthey were alone together, when the detective had made sure that thedouble door was shut tight, and that not a soul could hear them,Juve, his hands resting on the writing-table, looked thesuperintendent straight in the face. The latter, having seated himselfin his chair, waited for the detective to speak.

  Juve spoke.

  "We are thoroughly agreed, Monsieur, are we not, regarding theconditions of the accident?... This officer has been shot through theheart, when he was crossing the Place de l'Etoile in a vehicle, and atthe precise moment when he leaned over the door of that vehicle, andthis, without anyone having seen or heard what happened?"

  "Yes, Juve, that is so. This suicide is incomprehensible!"

  "It is not a case of suicide, Monsieur."...

  "What is it, then?"

  "A crime!"

  "A crime!!!"

  "This man has been killed by a shot from a gun, a shot fired from adistance. No one saw the assassin do the deed: the Place de l'Etoilewas crowded with people. It was a shot fired from a distance, becauseof an important point, Monsieur. The deceased was attached to theSecond Bureau of the Ministry of War. At the time of his death he wasthe bearer of important documents: one of these important documents ismissing! I assure you, Monsieur, this not only determines the fact ofthe crime, but furnishes us with the motive for that crime!"

  The superintendent of police stared at Juve, speechless. At last hesaid:

  "But it is impossible! Absolutely impossible, I tell you! What you areinventing now is impossible!... You forget that a shot from a gun, ashot from so powerful a weapon, makes a noise. Why, deuce take it, thedetonation must be heard!"

  "No, Monsieur! There are now weapons which
are perfectly silent. Forexample, there are guns in which liquefied carbonic acid is used,which fires a projectile at more than 800 yards, and all that can beheard is a sharp snap when the projectile speeds off."...

  "But, look here, Juve! Such a crime as this partakes of the nature ofa romance! The criminal must have taken aim in the midst of a crowd!Who, do you suppose, would have been mad enough to attempt it? Whatscoundrel would ever have run such a risk?"

  Juve, very calm, very much master of himself, was standing in front ofthe superintendent. His arms were crossed: he seemed to defy him, asthough he knew beforehand that in him he was to encounter theincredulity of the average person.

  "You ask me," replied he, "what criminal could be daring enough to dothis? What criminal would have carried out such a murder successfully?Sir, that murderer's name is synonymous with all the maddest attempts,with every kind of atrocity, with every species of cruelty, with allthe talents!"...

  "And, it is."...

  Juve suddenly stopped short, as if he were afraid of the word he wasabout to pronounce.

  "By jove!" he declared, "if I knew the name of the guilty person, Iwould go and arrest him!"...

  * * * * *

  While the unfortunate Captain Brocq collapsed inside his carriage,mortally struck by the mysterious shot, pretty Bobinette, who couldhave had no idea of the accident to her lover, following hard in herwake, continued her drive. She ordered her chauffeur to stop at theriding-alley which passes behind the Chinese Pavilion.

  A lingering ray of sunshine still illuminated the thickets of theBois, but already those out for an airing were hastening towards thecity, when Bobinette, discharging her taxi, entered the little pathwhich runs beside the equestrian's track.

  She seemed full of the joy of life, stepping smartly along,appreciating the pleasure of this quick, free, independent walk. Soon,however, her pace slackened. She spied an unoccupied seat, looked ather watch, and sat down. She cast a sharp glance towards the far endof the path.

  "We are both up to time," she murmured, recognising a figure stillsome distance away.

  Bobinette drew from her muff a small roll of papers.

  The advancing person was a seedy-looking individual, stooping,seemingly bent under the weight of a bulky accordion. He looked aboutsixty; his long white beard, untrimmed and badly neglected, disguisedthe lower half of his face, while his luxuriant moustache, and hislong hair, arranged artist fashion, largely hid the upper part of hiscountenance.

  A beggar? Not at all! This personage would most certainly have spurnedsuch an epithet with a gesture of offended disdain. Live by charity?Not he! Was not his accordion there to show that he possessed aregular means of livelihood? He claimed to be a musician.

  He was well known throughout one quarter of Paris, was this poor oldman who chanced to be passing along that path in the Bois de Boulogne.He was a perfect specimen of the unsettled type of human being,savagely enamoured of liberty, going from court to court playing withwearied arms the ballads of the moment, indifferent to their melodies,to their rhythms, to their beauties, to their ugliness.... No one knewhis real name. They called him _Vagualame_; for his plaintive notesinspired sad thoughts and an indefinable trouble of the nerves inthose unlucky enough to listen to him for a time. This nickname stuckto him.

  He was quite a Parisian type, this Vagualame: one of those faces atonce odd and classic, such as one comes across in numbers on thepavements, known to all the world, without anyone knowing exactly whothey are, how they live, where they go, or whence they come....

  * * * * *

  The old man had, on his side, caught sight of Bobinette. He hastenedtowards her as fast as his legs permitted; and as soon as he was nearenough to speak to her without raising his voice, he questioned her:

  "Well?" It was the interrogation of a master to a subordinate.

  "Well?" he repeated. His tone was anxious.

  Bobinette calmed the old man's apprehensions with a nod. "It's done,"said she.

  Holding out to him the roll of paper, she added: "I could only getthem at the last minute; but I've got them, and I don't fancy hesuspects anything."

  As Bobinette uttered these last words, the old accordion playerchuckled sneeringly:

  "So that's what you think? As a matter of fact, it is evident that hesuspects nothing now!"

  The way in which the old man pronounced the word "now" puzzled thegirl.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Captain Brocq is dead."

  "Dead!"

  Although she did not love her lover much, at this startling piece ofnews Bobinette had jumped up, wringing her hands in horror. She grewstrangely pale.

  "Yes, dead!" replied Vagualame coldly. "Kindly sit down please! See toit that you play your part! You are a young woman speaking to an oldbeggar, and you are not to forget it."

  Bobinette sat down mechanically. She questioned him, and her voice wastrembling.

  "Dead? What has happened, then?"

  "What has happened is that you have played the fool! Brocq saw clearlythat you had stolen the document from him."

  "He saw?"...

  "Yes, he saw it! I had my suspicions, fortunately!... Then this cursedcaptain threw himself into a taxi and followed you.... At the momentwhen your own auto turned on the Place de l'Etoile, his was going tomeet it! Brocq was already hailing you, and you would have been caughtwithout a doubt had I not come to the rescue."

  "Great Heavens! What have you done?"

  "I have just told you. Clic-clac! A bullet in his heart, and heremains on the spot."...

  Bobinette was dumbfounded. She did not speak for a minute or two. Thenshe asked anxiously:

  "But where were you?"

  "That does not concern you!"

  "What must I say, then, if, by chance, I am questioned?"

  "What must you say! The truth."...

  "I am to confess that I knew him?"

  Vagualame tapped his foot impatiently.

  "How stupid you are! There is one thing you must understand. At thepresent moment it is almost certain that this good fellow's identityhas been established. The devil's in it if some policeman is not athis domicile already and if enquiry is not being made into the life ofCaptain Brocq. To learn that he is on terms of acquaintanceship withyour patron, de Naarboveck, is child's play! To prove that he hasreceived a visit from you to-day, to prove that you were hismistress--or, at the very least that you had come on an errand fromNaarboveck's daughter, Wilhelmine, why anybody can discover that!To-morrow you will read the details in all the papers, for thereporters are going to get hold of this affair: it is inevitable!Consequently, do you not deny anything: it would only compromise youto no good purpose. You will say."...

  Vagualame stopped short. He raised the accordion which he carriedslung over his shoulder, saying in a whisper:

  "People are coming. I leave you. I will see you again, if necessary.Do not be anxious. I take all on my own shoulders. Attention!" Andsuddenly changing his tone, he began to speak in a voice calculated toexcite pity:

  "Grateful thanks, kind lady! The good God will rain blessings on youfor it.... I thank you, kind lady!"

  Vagualame moved off.