A Nest of Spies

  XXXII

  FREE AND PRISONER

  Isolated in the cell which had served him as dwelling-place for thepast fortnight, Jerome Fandor had had his ups and downs, hours ofdeepest depression, hours of violent exasperation when he suffered anintolerable martyrdom between his four walls--suffered morally andphysically.

  Yet his imprisonment had been rendered as tolerable as possible. Hecould have his meals brought in from outside and obtain from thelibrary such books as there were.

  How he longed for a talk with Juve; but that detective was rigorouslyexcluded from the prison. Juve was to be a witness at the trial.

  As Fandor was to conduct his own case there were no consultations withhis counsel to relieve the monotony of the days; nor were newspapersallowed him. He had no friends or relatives to visit and console himor divert him.

  In his sleepless hours Fandor's thoughts would revert to his past, tothe frightful drama of his boyhood, to the assassination of theMarquise de Langrune, when he, a youth of eighteen, had beensuspected, had even been accused of committing this murder, theaccuser being his own father![8]

  [Footnote 8: See _Fantomas_: vol. i, Fantomas Series.]

  He remembered that, commencing the very day after the discovery of thecrime, his existence had been that of a pariah flying from the police,from those who knew him; remembered how he had assumed disguise afterdisguise, denied by his father, ignored by his mother, an unfortunatewoman who had lost her reason and was shut up in a lunatic asylum.

  The only gleam of happiness which had come to illumine the drearydarkness of his youth resolved itself into a memory picture of a paledawn when the lad, Charles Rambert, leaving a wine-shop, had beencaught by Juve, who, believing in his innocence, had taken him underhis protection, had given him the name of Jerome Fandor, and helpedhim to start a new life.[9]

  [Footnote 9: See _The Exploits of Juve_> vol. ii, Fantomas Series.]

  From then onwards that timid lad, disheartened by his misfortunes, hadregained courage and hope, and had boldly plunged into the struggle tolive.

  His heart and soul were in his journalistic work. Of an enquiring turnof mind, Fandor had not been content with the episodic work of a merereporter: he eagerly pursued the guilty, took a lively interest in thevictims, and became Juve's valuable collaborator, with whom the bondsof friendship strengthened day by day.

  Thus Fandor, in Juve's company, was drawn into the hurly-burly, intothe troubles and torments of criminal affairs so mysterious, sophenomenal, that, for several years in succession, they created asensation, not only in Paris but throughout France.

  He constituted himself one of the most implacable enemies of Fantomas.The more so, because he was satisfied that the "Genius of Crime," asthis monster had been called, had had a considerable share in thevicissitudes and troubles of his own life. Fandor felt that thismonster's sinister influence was still being exercised against him.

  Too often, in those wakeful hours when he reviewed his life, followingthe course of it in a kind of mental cinematograph, did Fandor thinkof Elizabeth Dollon. It was with sad yet sweet emotion, with apiercing regret, but with an unfailing hope, that he saw before hisinner vision the charming, the adored face, and figure of ElizabethDollon, for whom he had felt, and felt still, an affection profoundand sincere. He loved her: he would always love her.[10]

  [Footnote 10: See _Messengers of Evil_: vol. iii, Fantomas Series.]

  He thought of her brother's death and the extraordinary disappearanceof his body, of his own pursuit of the assassin, of the discovery,made with Juve, that the murderer of Jacques Dollon was none otherthan the elusive Fantomas.

  Assuredly that ill-omened bandit was responsible for the suddendeparture of Elizabeth, immediately after Fandor had obtained from hercharming lips the sweet avowal of her love.... He owed to Fantomasthat he had been unable to join his life to that of this exquisitegirl: to Fantomas he owed it that he could not trace her to herunknown retreat. Was she still in the land of the living? It wasultimately to Fantomas that he owed his present dreadful position--tothis thrice accursed Genius of Crime--Fantomas.

  * * * * *

  That evening Fandor's absorbing reflections were broken into by theturning of a key in the lock of his cell at an unusual hour. Throughthe half-opened door he heard the close of a conversation between hisjailor and an unknown person.

  "I also give notice, my good fellow, that my secretary will come tojoin me presently," said the strange voice. The jailor replied:

  "That is quite understood, Maitre. I will warn my colleague, who willcome on guard in my stead in ten minutes' time."

  Fandor saw a barrister entering his cell. He supposed him to be theofficial advocate prescribed by the Council of War.... Not in theleast disposed to unbosom himself to this defending counsel imposed onhim by law, Fandor was about to give him a freezing reception, but atsight of the new arrival's face our journalist stood speechless. Herecognised under the barrister's gown someone whose features weredeeply graven on his memory, though he had not met him but once.

  "Naarbo."... escaped his lips.

  A brusque warning movement of the new-comer cut Fandor short. At thesame time he closed the door with a lightning quick movement. Thepseudo advocate then approached Fandor, saying in a low tone:

  "Do not seem to recognise me. Yes, I am de Naarboveck.... It isthanks to a subterfuge that I have been able to get near you."...

  Fandor was nonplussed. A hundred questions rose to his lips, but hedid not speak. He had better await developments. As de Naarboveck hadrun such risks to enter his cell so disguised, he must have somethingextraordinary to say to the prisoner, Jerome Fandor!

  De Naarboveck seated himself on the one bench the cell contained. Heinvited Fandor to sit close to him, so that they might converse in lowtones.

  "Monsieur," began the baron, "I obtained a permit to visit you as theofficial advocate allotted to you by the president: that official'svisit is due to-morrow.... Well, a favour is never lost when one isnot dealing with the ungrateful!... Some weeks ago, when you came tointerview me with regard to the deplorable assassination of CaptainBrocq, I spoke freely to you, and at the same time asked you to giveme your word not to put into print a number of those personal detailswith which journalists like to sprinkle their pages."...

  "I remember," agreed Fandor.

  "I confess I did not put much faith in your discretion, being ajournalist," went on the baron. "I was then agreeably surprised tofind that I had been interviewed by a man of tact. Since then I havefollowed with sympathy the tenebrous adventures in which you have beeninvolved.... It was not without emotion that I learned of the grievousposition you are now in. I will come straight to the point--I am hereto extricate you from that position."

  Fandor caught de Naarboveck's hands in his, and pressed them warmly.

  "Can what you tell me be true?" he exclaimed.

  The diplomat hastily withdrew his hands from Fandor's grasp, opened aheavy portfolio such as advocates carry, and drew from it a black gownlike his own, an advocate's cap, and a pair of dark coloured trousers.

  "Put these on as quickly as possible," said de Naarboveck, "and wewill leave here together."

  Fandor hesitated: de Naarboveck insisted.

  "It is of the first importance that you leave here! I know whereproofs of your innocence are to be found.... We have not a minute tolose: besides, as a member of the diplomatic service, it is of theutmost interest to me that the document stolen from Captain Brocqshould be recovered.... I know where it is. I want you to return it tothe Government. That will be the most striking proof possible of yourinnocence."

  Fandor's critical faculties were momentarily suspended: he seemedmoving in some dream. Mechanically he clothed himself in the get-upwhich the baron had thought good to bring him.

  Fandor had seen so many extraordinary things in the course of hisadventurous existence, that he did not stay to question the reason forthis diplomat's interest in his poor affairs--
an interest so strongthat he had run serious risks to reach the prisoner and make himselfthe accomplice of that prisoner's flight.

  Out of prison, free, Fandor could and would act!

  The two apparent men of the law gently opened the cell door. DeNaarboveck cast a rapid glance up and down the corridor, on to whichhalf a dozen cells opened.... The corridor was empty and silent. DeNaarboveck and Fandor stepped out, gently closing the cell door.

  "The opening of the prison door is our next difficulty to beovercome," whispered de Naarboveck: "I warned the jailor that Iexpected my secretary. Let us hope he will take you as such and let uspass out unmolested."

  * * * * *

  The military prison of the Council of War of Paris is not like otherprisons: that is why de Naarboveck's plan had a fair chance ofsuccess. It would certainly have failed had it been attempted at LaSante or at La Roquette.... This building had been a private hotel ofthe old style.

  On the first floor, the former reception-rooms had been divided intosmall offices, and the principal drawing-room had been transformedinto a court-room. On the ground floor, what were evidently thekitchens and domestic offices in the last century now constituted theprison proper, for in these quarters are arranged the cells where theaccused await their appearance before their judges. No oneunacquainted with these arrangements would suspect that the low door,scarcely noticeable in the vestibule facing the staircase leading tothe first floor is the entrance to the prison.

  Yet those who pass through this low door find themselves in thecorridor lined with prison cells.

  At the door of the prison a warder is posted, whose role is not somuch to watch the prisoners and prevent any attempt at escape as toopen to persons needing to enter that ill-omened place. At night-timesupervision is relaxed. The warder has to keep the offices in goodorder, and when he has his key in his pocket, certain that the heavybolts and locks cannot be forced, he comes and goes about the house.

  De Naarboveck was not only well posted in these details, but was awarethat up to the day of Fandor's trial, in view of the extra coming andgoing, it had been decided to give the guardian an assistant, and thatthis assistant would be at his post from six o'clock onwards.

  It was past six o'clock.

  The chances were, that when the false advocates knocked from theinside, the prison door would be opened to allow them egress by thesupplementary guardian. De Naarboveck tapped on the peephole made inthe massive door.

  The noise of heavy bolts withdrawn was heard; the prison door was halfopened: the warder's face appeared. Fandor stifled a sigh ofsatisfaction: it was a jailor who did not know him: it was thesubstitute counted upon.

  "Ah!" cried he, saluting the gentlemen of the long robe: "Why, thereare two of you!"

  "Naturally," replied de Naarboveck: "Did not your colleague let youknow that my secretary had joined me?"

  "I knew he was coming, but I did not understand that he had alreadycome," replied the man.

  De Naarboveck laughed.

  "We leave together--what more natural?"

  "It is your right," grumbled the man: "Have you finished yourinterrogation of the accused Fandor?"

  As he asked this pertinent question, the jailor made a movement toenter the prison and make sure that the prisoner's cell was locked. DeNaarboveck caught his arm.

  "Look here, my man," said he, slipping a silver coin into the jailor'shand: "We are not suitably dressed for the street, and our ordinaryclothes are at the Palais de Justice. Will you be kind enough to stopa cab for us? We can get into it at the courtyard entrance!"

  The jailor decided that he could safely postpone his visit to Fandor'scell. He went out into the courtyard with the two apparent advocates.Standing on the step of the courtyard gate he looked out for a passingcab.

  A taxi-driver scented customers. He drove alongside the pavement. In amoment de Naarboveck and Fandor were seated inside it, and, whilstwaving his hand to the respectful and gratified warder, he instructedthe driver in a clear voice:

  "To the Palais de Justice!"

  As soon as they reached the rue de Rennes, de Naarboveck changed hisdestination....

  * * * * *

  He turned to Fandor.

  "Well, Monsieur Fandor, what have you to say to this?"

  "Ah, Baron, how can I ever express my gratitude?"

  De Naarboveck smiled.... He gazed at the journalist. There wassomething in the situation he found amusing....

  Following the baron's directions, the taxi went up the rue Lapic, andreached the heights of Montmartre. It stopped at last in a littlestreet, dark and deserted, before a wretched-looking house, whosefront was vaguely outlined in a small neglected garden.

  De Naarboveck paid the driver, passed under a dark arch, crossed thegarden, and reached a kind of lodge. He let himself in, followed byFandor. They went up a cork-screw staircase to the floor above. DeNaarboveck switched on a light, and Fandor saw that he and his rescuerwere in a studio of vast proportions, well furnished.

  Thick curtains hung before a large glass bay: it was a lofty room withvery slightly sloping walls.

  Two or three rooms must have been thrown into one, for several thicksupporting columns of iron crossed the middle of the studio.

  Fandor failed to find either piece of furniture or picture he couldrecognise: everything in the place was new to him.

  De Naarboveck had slipped off his gown at once. He was in elegantevening dress.

  Fandor also threw off the advocate's gown. He wore the black trousersde Naarboveck had brought him, but was in his shirt sleeves. TheVinson uniform had been left in the cell.

  Having sufficiently enjoyed the surprise of his protege, the baronasked:

  "Do you know where we are, Monsieur Fandor?"

  "I have not the remotest idea."

  "Think a little!"

  "I do not know in the least; that is a fact!"

  "Monsieur," said de Naarboveck, coming close to Fandor, as though hewas afraid of being overheard: "You know, at least, by name a certainenigmatic individual who plays an important part in the affairs ofwhich we both are victims, in different ways.... I will no longer hidefrom you that we are in this individual's house!"

  "And," gasped Fandor, "this individual is called?"...

  "He is called Vagualame!"

  "Vagualame!"

  Fandor was aghast! Had the devil himself appeared before him he couldnot have been more dumbfounded. Vagualame, the agent of the SecondBureau--Vagualame, whom Fandor, for some time past, had taken to be aspy with more than one string to his bow--it was he, then, who was theauthor of the crimes for whom search was being made, in whose steadFandor himself was suffering humiliation and imprisonment, withfurther dreadful possibilities to come! Fandor recalled hisconversation with Juve the day after Captain Brocq's assassination: inthe course of their conversation Juve had asserted that Fantomas wasthe criminal.

  Fandor himself had not followed the mysterious evolutions of thissinister accordion player as had Juve; but now he wondered whetherthere might not be a connection between Vagualame and Fantomas.... Allthis was obscure: Fandor felt he was groping amid dark mysteries....

  De Naarboveck was moving hither and thither in the studio: at the sametime he was observing Fandor, listening to what he had to say: heseemed to be reading Fandor's thoughts.

  "Your friend, Juve, has been hotly pursuing this Vagualame for sometime," remarked De Naarboveck: "Famous detective as he is, he hassuffered more than one check, has been routed, rebuffed, discomfited,on several occasions by this same Vagualame, who has proved that he isnot such a fool as he looks! Possibly Juve will soon have a furtheropportunity of realising the truth of this--however."...

  Fandor interrupted:

  "I hope my friend, my dear friend, Juve, does not run any risk!... Ibeg of you, Monsieur, to tell me whether he is in danger!... You see,I am free now."...

  "Attention, Monsieur Fandor!" de Naarboveck cut in. "Bear in mind that
you are an escaped prisoner, that your flight must not be known! Be onyour guard, then! As to your friend, Juve, be reassured on thatpoint!"

  Abruptly he changed the subject.

  "Vagualame had a collaborator, a young person whom youknow--Mademoiselle Berthe, called Bobinette.... Bobinette has donewrong, very wrong, but we will speak no more of her--peace to hermemory--she has expiated her crime!"

  "Is Bobinette dead, then?" asked Fandor.... Immediately a convictionseized him that the girl had fallen a victim to this mysteriousassassin whom no one could lay hands on.

  The studio clock struck ten.

  The lights went out.

  Fandor stood startled, in deepest darkness.

  Before he could utter an exclamation, move a finger, he was swathed ina cloth, seized, bound, with the utmost brutality. Mysterious handsfixed a supple mask on his face, pressed something on his head.Dragged violently along, the cords cutting his flesh, Fandor realisedhis attackers were fastening him to something which held him stifflyupright. It must be one of the iron columns.

  Fandor thought he heard a receding voice mutter: "As Bobinette died,so shalt thou die--through Fantomas!"

  Had he heard aright? Was it some illusion of sense and brain?... Wasit not he himself who had cried it? For Fandor, whose mind had beenfull of Vagualame, had, at the moment of attack, spontaneously thoughtof Fantomas.

  Fandor strained at his bonds and thought of the baron.

  "Naarboveck--To me! Help!" he shouted.

  No answer came through the darkness.

  Did he hear a distant, stifled groan?

  Dazzling light flooded the studio.

  Fandor, who could see through the eyeholes of the mask, supple asskin, stared about him with intense curiosity.

  This extraordinary studio revealed a blood-freezing spectacle.

  Facing him, immobile, rigid, was stationed a being whom Fandor had hada fleeting glimpse of two or three times in his life. He had seen thisenigmatic and formidable being under circumstances so tragic, onoccasions so phenomenal, that this being's outline was graven on hismemory for ever!

  There was the cloak of many folds, dense black; the hooded mask, thelarge soft hat shading the eyes; the strange inimitable outline!...Fandor was facing Fantomas!

  Fantomas!

  With bent shoulders and straining muscles, Fandor made desperateattempts to free himself, the while his eyes were fixed on theterrifying apparition confronting him!

  It was a mocking Fantomas he saw; for the abominable bandit wasmocking him--was imitating his every gesture to the life!...

  Fandor's gaze was fixed in an observing stare....

  Did he not see cords binding the limbs of Fantomas? cords binding himabout the middle, constricting his whole body?

  Was he in some hell nightmare?... Was he mad?... Who was this facinghim?... Why, _himself_!...

  Fandor, whose image was reflected in a mirror facing him a yard or twoaway! Fandor had been endowed with the outline of--Fantomas!...

  From the throat of this Fandor-Fantomas issued a long-drawn howl ofrage!