A Nest of Spies

  XXV

  THE ARREST

  The Dover Express, the Continental Mail, was moving out of CharingCross station.

  Three travellers were seated in a first-class compartment. They weresmoking big cigars: their eyes were bright, their cheeks flushed; theylooked like big men who had dined well. These were Butler, Tommy andPaul, leaving for Belgium: otherwise Juve, Loreuil and Vinson boundfor France! Copious libations of generous wines and strong liqueurshad reduced Butler-Vinson to the condition of a maudlin puppet: Tommyand Paul had made Butler most conveniently drunk.

  The train rushed forward through station after station, brilliantlylighted, then plunged into the obscurity of the country. A stupefyingwarmth from the heating apparatus impelled slumber. UnfortunateButler-Vinson, lulled by the regular movement of the train, was soonfast asleep.

  Juve and Loreuil kept vigil. They were sitting side by side facingtheir captive.

  "Dover will be the difficulty," whispered Juve, who had drawn closerto the captain.

  "Yes, that is the crucial point," agreed Loreuil....

  The express was entering the tunnels pierced in the precipitouscoastline of the Channel near Dover. There was a short stop at DoverTown station before it drew up on the Pier. There the travellers wouldembark. Of these there were two distant streams: those crossing toBelgium: those bound for France. Butler-Vinson still slept soundly.Juve was waiting till the last minute. Then he would awaken hisprisoner as he already considered him and shepherd him aboard theCalais boat.

  Captain Loreuil got out and went on ahead.

  "Come along, Butler!" Juve cried suddenly. He shook the slumberingtraitor sharply.

  Butler-Vinson leaped to his feet with frightened eyes and gapingmouth.

  "What is it?" he stuttered. "What do you want with me?"

  Juve's smile was a masterpiece of hypocrisy.

  "Why, old fellow, you must wake up! We must go aboard our boat!"

  The corporal heard men shouting:

  "Steamer _Victoria_ for Ostend! Steamer _Empress_ for Calais!"

  "We must hurry!" cried Juve, pushing the bemused Butler-Vinson out ofthe compartment.

  There was a sea fog growing denser every minute. Without theirpowerful electric lights it would have been impossible to recognisethe boats or the gangways leading to them.

  Juve had Butler by the arm: a necessary precaution, for the wretchedman could scarcely keep on his feet. Juve propelled him towards agangway: a minute later both were on the boat.

  Vinson caught sight of the inscription _Empress_ on the lifebuoys. Aflash of reason illumined Butler-Vinson's drink-soddened mind. Hehesitated, drew back with a frightened look.

  "Didn't I hear just now that this boat goes to Calais?"

  A passing sailor heard this question. He was about to enlightenButler-Vinson, but Juve pushed him aside--this imbecile was going tospoil everything!

  "No, old fellow, you are quite mistaken! It is the _Victoria_ thatgoes to Calais: we go to Ostend with the _Empress_."

  Butler-Vinson accepted this statement as true.

  An ear-piercing whistle sounded; the cables were drawn up: a vibratorymotion told the passengers they were off.

  The mast-head light was extinguished: the mail-boat silently made itsway out to sea.

  There was a dense fog in the Channel. The fog-horn sounded itslugubrious note.

  The sea was rough: a strong wind from the south-west had been blowingall the afternoon. The boat began to pitch and toss: the passengerswere drenched.

  Though nothing of a sailor in the nautical sense, Juve took hisduckings with equanimity: a bit of a pitch and toss would keep Vinsonoccupied.

  The fog was Juve's friend: it lent an air of vagueness, of confusion,to Butler-Vinson's surroundings. The vagaries of the steamer wouldfurther distract what thoughts he was capable of. Still, they were onan English boat, and should the corporal grasp what was happening andrefuse to disembark, Juve would be in a fix. Butler-Vinson must bekept in ignorance of the truth till they were on French soil.

  Captain Loreuil had remained at Dover, declaring he still had much todo in England. Besides, he could not be brought to consider that toarrest criminals came within the scope of his duties: to mark themdown, point them out, yes. Thus he had tracked down the traitor andleft him in good hands.

  Meanwhile, Butler-Vinson was suffering from a severe attack ofsea-sickness. His head seemed splitting with throbbing pain.

  "How long shall we be getting across?" he asked in a faint voice.

  "Three hours," said Juve: this was the crossing time between Dover andOstend.

  Heavy cross-seas were running. Those who braved the buffetings anddrenchings above deck were now few: it was a villainous crossing!

  At the end of an hour and a half the odious waltz of the steamerslowed down. The fog-horn was silent: the _Empress_ moved alongsidethe jetties of Calais.

  The gangways were let down; porters invaded the deck, carrying awayluggage to the trains awaiting the travellers in the terminus station.

  "Now for it!" thought Juve.

  Once on French soil it was all up with the liberty of Corporal Vinson!His arrest would be immediate.

  Juve considered the miserable heap collapsed on a side bench: thistraitorous rag of humanity had once been an upright man--a truesoldier of France! It was terrible! It was piteous!

  Juve raised Butler-Vinson. The wretched fellow could hardly stand up.Juve signed to a sailor, who took the corporal's left arm while Juvesupported him on the right. Vinson disembarked. He set his feet on thesoil--the sacred soil of France!

  The crowd was pouring into the great hall, where customs officers wereexamining the small baggage.

  Juve drew Butler-Vinson to the left: the traitor must not catch sightof the French uniforms. An individual seemed to rise out of the groundin front of them: Juve said to him in a low voice:

  "Our man!"

  * * * * *

  Revived by a cordial, Vinson gradually recovered his senses. Painfullyhe raised his heavy eyelids: he looked about him curiously, anxiously.He was in a large, square room, dimly lighted, almost empty, with barewhite walls.

  "Where am I?" he asked Juve. Three men surrounded him. Juve's was thesole face he knew.

  Juve wore a solemn look: his words were gently spoken.

  "You are at Calais, in the special police quarters connected with thestation. Corporal Vinson, I am sorry to have to tell you that you areunder arrest."

  "My God!" exclaimed the traitor. He attempted to rise, but fell backon his seat: his eyes were staring at the handcuffs on his wrists! Heburst into tears.

  Juve felt pity for this miserable being, huddled up there in thedepths of humiliation and terror. But the dreadful factremained--Vinson was a criminal, a traitor! Perhaps his errors weredue to a bad bringing-up, to deplorable examples, alas!... Juve wasnot there to pass judgment, but to deliver the guilty wretch into thehands of the authorities.

  "Come now!" he said, tapping Vinson on the shoulder. "Come, we areleaving for Paris!"

  Corporal Vinson, traitor, raised supplicating eyes to Juve: then,realising all resistance was vain, he rose painfully: he assumed anair of indifference.

  A policeman from Headquarters had joined Juve. The three men got intoan empty second-class compartment.

  In a voice quivering with shame, Vinson begged Juve not to allowanyone to enter. "I should be so ashamed," he muttered, with hanginghead and hunched shoulders.

  "We shall do our best to prevent it," Juve assured him. After anexplanation with the station-master, the compartment was labelled"_Reserved_."

  The train started. Vinson was wide awake now, and dejected to the lastdegree. After a hand-to-mouth existence, but still a free one, inEngland, he had allowed himself to be nabbed by the police, like theveriest simpleton! The papers would be full of it!

  Vinson, who had been led into criminal ways by his love for a badwoman, troubled himself much less regarding the punishment to be metedou
t to him than about the dreadful distress his arrest would cause hismother. The old Alsatian mother, when she learned that her son was inprison charged with treason to France, would die of grief. Vinsonwished with all his heart that he had stuck to his firstdecision--that he had killed himself rather than make confession tothe journalist, Jerome Fandor, who had wished to save him, and hadhelped him to escape, but who had really done him a bad service,since, deserter as he was, he had been caught like the most vulgar ofcriminals!

  The train stopped at a station.

  "I am dying of thirst," mumbled Vinson.

  Juve sent his second in command for a bottle of water from therefreshment buffet.

  Vinson thanked Juve with a grateful nod.

  Refreshed, Vinson pulled his wits together.

  Juve, noticing this, began questioning him, promising to treat him aswell as he possibly could, if he would speak out, in confidence;assuring him of the leniency of the judges if he consented to denouncehis accomplices.

  When Vinson realised that he was to stand his trial for spying, forbetraying his country, as well as for desertion, he was only too gladto obey Juve's suggestion.

  "Ah!" murmured he, while tears rolled down his cheeks, "Cursed be theday when I first agreed to enter into relations with the band ofcriminals who have made of me what I am to-day!"

  Vinson gave Juve a full account of his temptation, his errors;nevertheless he did not tell the detective of his relations withJerome Fandor. Had he not promised absolute secrecy? Traitor and spyas he was, Vinson had given his word of honour, and this journalisthad been kind to him in return, had given him a chance to escape andstart afresh: not for anything in the world would he have betrayed hisoath!

  Juve was a hundred leagues from suspecting the substitution which hadtaken place between Vinson and Fandor. He was convinced he hadCorporal Vinson before his eyes; but he also thought he had his gripon the individual who had left Paris the night before, accompanied byan ecclesiastic, for the purpose of handing over to a foreign power amost important piece of a gun stolen from the Arsenal, as well as thedescriptive plan that went with it.

  But when he cross-questioned Vinson on this point, the corporal didnot in the least understand what he was driving at! Juve, who had beencongratulating himself on his prisoner's frankness, grew angry withwhat he believed was a culpable reservation. Why did the corporal,who, up to this, had spoken so freely, now feign ignorance of the gunpiece affair?... Well, he would find out his prisoner's reasonspresently.... Not wishing to scare him, Juve changed the subject....He had any number of questions to ask the culprit. Did he not knowVagualame, the real Vagualame?

  Vinson told him many things about the old accordion player with thepatriarchal white beard which he already knew; but one remarkparticularly impressed him.

  "If only the police knew all that goes on in the house in the rueMonge!"... Vinson stopped short.

  This remark opened new horizons to Juve. When they arrived at theNorth station, some hours later, and Juve had transferred his prisonerto a cab, giving the driver the address of the Cherche-Midi prison,our detective had learned that Vagualame-Fantomas was in the habit ofvisiting a mysterious house in rue Monge. Here he met many of hisaccomplices. It was here the band of spies and traitors, of which heseemed chief, disguised themselves, issuing forth to ply theirnefarious trade and mock the police.

  Juve made a compact with himself.

  "As soon as I have handed my corporal over to the military jailors, Iknow where I shall go to smoke a cigarette!"