A Nest of Spies

  VII

  THE SECOND BUREAU

  As early as nine o'clock that morning, there was unusual activity inthe Second Bureau of the Headquarters Staff.

  The Second Bureau!

  This formidable office, whose official designation, _Bureau ofStatistics_, did not deceive anyone, occupied premises in the Ministryof War. Modest as to appearance, this Bureau was located on the thirdfloor of one of the oldest buildings in the rue Saint Dominique. Thedepartments of the Second Bureau impinged on a long corridor, and hadtaken possession of quite half the floor in the right wing of thebuilding.

  Anyone authorised to enter here would find a fairly large outer room,where about a dozen secretaries would be working at wooden desks.These secretaries are changed frequently, so that they may not get toknow too much about the work passing through their hands, though theyare seldom given anything of an important confidential nature to dealwith. There is a vast square room adjoining, reserved for theso-called "_statistics_." This immense apartment is abundantly lightedby two large windows and a large table of white wood stands in thecentre of the room. Occasionally it is heaped with papers, butgenerally it is clear, and only maps are to be seen, maps of all partsof France and of foreign countries also, marked with red pencil,ornamented with cabalistic signs, thickly sprinkled with notes. Placedagainst the walls are the desks of the officers of this department,two captains and two lieutenants. Next to this room is the smalloffice where Commandant Dumoulin, the chief assistant, is generally tobe found. Fixed into the wall, on the right-hand side, is the oneremarkable thing in this most ordinary looking office: here is thefamous steel press, of which Commandant Dumoulin alone possesses thekey, and in which are enclosed, they say, the most secret instructionsrelating to National Defence and Mobilisation.

  This office communicates on one side with the office of statistics,and on the opposite side with a sitting-room, soberly furnished witharm-chairs and sofas covered with green velvet; on the walls is agreen paper; one picture only adorns this solemn reception-room, whosedoors are tightly closed to air and sound--the portrait of thepresident of the Republic. Here are received visitors of mark, whohave information of the highest importance to communicate. Hereconversations can be freely carried on, for thick window curtains,door curtains and carpet deaden sound.

  At the extreme end of the corridor is the office of thecommander-in-chief, Colonel Hofferman. At once elegantly andcomfortably furnished, this office is quite unlike the others: thereis more of the individual than the official here. An array oftelephones keeps the colonel in touch with the various departments ofthe Ministry, with the Municipality, with the Governor of Paris. In arecess is a telegraphic installation.

  This able infantry officer is a man of great distinction. He hasdirected the delicate service of "statistics" with much tact anddiscretion for the past three years. His fair complexion, blue eyes,blonde hair betray his Alsatian origin. This handsome bachelor,verging on the fifties, is very much a man of the world, is receivedin the most exclusive sets, and has been known to carry on the mostintimate conversations with charming ladies in his office. Was thesubject of these talks National Defence? Who knows?

  * * * * *

  In the officers' room there was animated talk.

  "Then it is an artilleryman again?" asked Lieutenant Armandelle, aregular colossus with a brick-red complexion, who had passed longyears in Africa at the head of a detachment of Zouaves.

  Captain Loreuil was sharpening a pencil. He stopped, and, throwinghimself back in his chair, replied with a smile:

  "No, my dear fellow, this time it is to be a sapper." Looking over hisspectacles he softly hummed the old refrain of Therese:

  "_Nothing is as sacred to a sapper!_"

  Armandelle burst out laughing.

  "Ah, my boy, come what will, you meet it with a smile!"

  "By Jove, old man, why be gloomy?" answered the lively captain. "Wecan only live once! Let us make the best use of our time, then! Whynot be jolly?"

  Judging by his looks, Captain Loreuil had followed his own advice.Clean-shaven, plump of face, stout of figure, he wore glasses, largeround glasses set in gold frames, for he was exceptionallyshort-sighted. His colleagues had nicknamed him "The Lawyer." It waseasy to see that he was much more at home in mufti than in uniform. Hewould say, laughing:

  "I have all the looks of a territorial, and that is unfortunate,considering I belong to the active contingent."

  Loreuil was one of the most highly appreciated officers of the SecondBureau. Had anyone examined the hands of "The Lawyer" just then, hewould have seen that they were roughened and had horny lumps on themof recent formation. His fingers, all twisted out of shape at thetips, seamed with scars, led one to suppose that the captain was notentirely a man of sedentary office life. In fact, he had just returnedafter a fairly long absence. He had disappeared for six months. It wasrumoured in the departments that he had been one of a gang of masonswho were constructing a fort on a foreign frontier, a fort, the plansof which he had got down to the smallest detail. But questions had notbeen asked, and the captain had not, of course, given his colleaguesthe slightest hint, the smallest indication of how those six monthshad been passed. Besides, unforeseen journeys, sudden disappearances,unexpected returns, mysterious missions, made up the ordinary lot ofthose attached to the Second Bureau.

  The old keeper of the records, Gaudin, who was methodically sorting avoluminous correspondence which was to be laid before CommandantDumoulin, put a question to Armandelle:

  "Lieutenant, is it not a captain of the engineers who is to take theplace of this poor Captain Brocq?"

  "True enough, Gaudin! His nomination was signed by the ministeryesterday. We expect him this morning at half-past nine. What time isit now?

  "A quarter past nine, lieutenant!"

  "He will be punctual."

  "Why, of course!" cried Captain Loreuil. "That is why I caught sightof the chief just now. He is earlier than usual. What is the name ofthe new-comer?"

  "Muller," said Armandelle. "He comes from Belfort," cried Loreuil:

  "I know what Hofferman will say to him--'My dear Captain, you enterthis day the house of silence and discretion.'"

  Loreuil turned to Gaudin.

  "Where is Lieutenant de Loubersac this morning?"

  "Why, Captain," explained the old keeper of records, "you must knowvery well that he has been ordered to act as escort to the King ofGreece."

  "Confound Loubersac! He goes to all the entertainments."

  Steps were heard, some brief words were spoken in the adjacentcorridor, an orderly opened the door and saluted.

  "Captain Muller has arrived, Monsieur!"

  Extended very much at his ease on a comfortable couch, ColonelHofferman was polishing his nails, whilst Commandant Dumoulin stoodrespectfully before him tightly encased in his sober light infantryuniform. Dumoulin was fully alive to the importance of his position:was he not the repository of the famous key which unlocked the steelpress?

  The colonel looked up at his subordinate.

  "You are going to put Captain Muller in the way of things here,Commandant, are you not?"

  "Yes, Colonel!"

  "It will be a good thing to have a talk with Captain Muller. He comesjust at the moment when we have some very nasty business inhand--difficult--very worrying.... That's so, Dumoulin?"

  "True, Colonel! That's a fact."

  Hofferman pressed a bell. An orderly appeared.

  "Ask Captain Muller to kindly step in here."

  Almost at once Captain Muller entered, saluted, and remained standingat some distance from his chief.

  "Take this arm-chair, Captain." Hofferman was amiable politenessitself. Dumoulin, rather scandalised that the colonel should encouragesuch familiarity in a subordinate, was on the point of retiringdiscreetly. The colonel made him sit down also.

  Hofferman turned to Captain Muller.

  "You come amongst us, Monsieur, at a sad moment. You know,
of course,that you are Captain Brocq's successor? A most valuable officer, towhom we were greatly attached."

  Captain Muller bent his head. He murmured:

  "We were men of the same year, comrades at the school--Brocq and I."

  Hofferman continued:

  "Ah, well, you are to take on the work begun by Captain Brocq.... Nowtell me, Captain, what importance do you attach to the ordersregarding the roll-call, the mustering and distribution of themechanics and operatives of the artillery in the various corps--fromthe point of view of mobilisation, that is?"

  "It is of the very greatest importance, Colonel."

  "Good!"

  Hofferman paused. He continued, in a low tone and with a grave air:

  "In the newspapers--oh, in ambiguous terms, but clear enough to theinitiated--the public has been given to understand that not only hasan important document been stolen from Captain Brocq before, or at thetime of his assassination, or after it, but that this document wasnone other than the distribution chart of the concealed works in andabout the girdle of forts on the east of Paris.... This is inaccurate.Captain, what has disappeared is the distribution list of ourartillery mechanics! That is much more serious!... However, for sometime past we have had under consideration a rearrangement scheme. Weare going to take advantage of the disappearance of the document inquestion, Document Number 6--keep that number in mind--we are goingto draw up a new plan for the mobilisation of the rear-guards. You areto be entrusted with this, and I count on your devoting your wholetime and attention to it."

  Captain Muller understood that the conversation was at an end. Herose, saying quietly:

  "You may count on me, Colonel."

  He was then given his official instructions.

  Hofferman left the couch, and, dropping his nail polisher, cametowards the captain with outstretched hands.

  "My father knew yours in bygone days," he cried genially; "both werenatives of Colmar."

  "Why, is that so, indeed, Colonel?" cried the captain, delighted tofind himself among friends.

  Hofferman nodded.

  "All will go well, be sure of it. I know you take your workseriously.... We have excellent reports of you--you are married, areyou not?"

  Muller nodded in the affirmative.

  "Excellent!" declared the colonel. Pointing a threatening finger atMuller.

  "You know our standing orders here! Many acquaintances--very fewintimates: no mistress."

  The colonel did not remain alone in his office long. He sent forLieutenant de Loubersac. With a soldier's punctuality he appearedbefore his chief. He was in uniform.

  "Nothing unusual this morning, Loubersac?" questioned Hofferman,gazing complacently at the soldier, superb in his magnificent uniform,an elegant and splendid specimen of a cavalry officer.

  "Nothing, Colonel. The arrival of the King of Greece has beenperfectly carried out."

  "The crowd?"

  "Oh, indifferent on the whole; come to have a look at him out ofcuriosity."

  "Ah, no King of Spain affair?"

  "No, no! Out of that I got this scar on my forehead."

  "Well," cried the colonel, "it's an ill wind that blows nobody anygood! You will get the cross all the quicker!"

  Lieutenant de Loubersac smiled.

  Hofferman continued:

  "My dear fellow, ... you know ... the vanished document!... It'sextremely important--it will have to be found!"

  "Good, Colonel!"

  "Have you just now a particularly sharp agent?... Shrewd?"

  "Yes, Colonel," said de Loubersac, after a moment's reflection.

  "Who is he?"

  "The man engaged on the V---- affair."

  "When shall you see him?"

  "This afternoon, Colonel. We have an appointment for three-thirty."

  "The worst of it is this affair is making no end oftalk--scandal--it's the very devil and all! Some fools of papers whodeal in scandal are scaring the public with rumours of war: they speakof the eventual rupture of diplomatic relations. The financial marketis unsteady--the Jews are selling as hard as they can, and that isdisquieting, for those fellows have a quicker scent than any one....Lieutenant, it is urgent: set your agent to work at once! He must actwith discretion, of course, but he must act as quickly as possible--itis urgent!"

  "And what are the conditions, Colonel?"

  After a moment's reflection, Hofferman replied:

  "You must make and get the best conditions you can."

  * * * * *

  It was noon, and twelve was striking. The vast ministerial premises,where silence had reigned till then, were filled with murmurs and thesharp sound of voices: there were hurrying footsteps on the stairs,doors banged: the offices were emptying for a couple or hours.

  "Ah, ha!" cried Captain Loreuil, jamming an enormous soft hat down onhis head till it all but covered his eyes. This gave him theappearance, either of an artist of sorts or of a seller of chestnuts!Now behold the handsomest cavalier of France and Navarre!...

  And he struck up, in a clear voice:

  "_Ah, how I would love this cuirassier_ _If I were still a demoiselle._"

  Henri de Loubersac, who had just collided with the captain, burst intolaughter, and warmly shook hands with him.

  * * * * *

  A limited number of people, some curious, others merely idle, werestanding motionless in the Zoological Gardens. They were lining thepalisade which surrounds the rocky basin where half a dozen crocodileswere performing their evolutions.

  Besides children and nursemaids and governesses, there were alsopoverty-stricken creatures in rags, some students, a workman or two,the inevitable telegraph boy who was loitering on the way instead ofhastening onwards with the telegrams, and, noticeably, a fair youngman, smart, in tight-fitting overcoat and wearing a bowler hat. He hadbeen standing there some ten minutes, and was giving but scantattention to the saurians. He was casting furtive glances around him,as though looking for someone.

  If he were awaiting the arrival of some member of the fair sex, ithardly seemed the place for a love-tryst, this melancholy ZoologicalGardens, misty, with the leaves falling, gradually baring the trees atthe approach of winter.

  A uniform suddenly appeared in one of the paths: it was a sergeantbelonging to the commissariat department, who was passing rapidly,bent on business.

  Directly the fair young man saw him he left his place by the palisadeand hid himself behind a tree, muttering:

  "Decidedly one has to be constantly on the defensive!" He unbuttonedhis coat and looked at his watch.

  "Twenty-five minutes past three! He will not be long now!"

  * * * * *

  Two hundred yards from this spot, before the chief entrance to theGardens, a crowd had gathered; inveterate idlers jostling one anotherin the circle they had formed round a sordid individual, a miserableold man with a long white beard, who was drawing discordant soundsfrom an old accordion.

  Some kindly housewives, some shock-headed errand-boys, wereexercising their lungs to the utmost, trying to help the musician toplay according to time and tune.

  But, in spite of the goodwill about him, the poor man could not manageto play one single bar correctly, and his helpers bawled in vain.

  At the end of a few minutes the accordion player gave up his attempts,and, taking his soft and ancient hat in his hand, he put in practice amuch easier exercise: he made the round of the company to collecttheir offerings. The crowd melted like magic, leaving him solitary,hat in hand, and with only a few sous in it for his pains. With aresigned air, the man pocketed his meagre takings, then, pushing theaccordion up on his back where it was held in place by a strap, hewalked, bent, staggering, towards the gate. He passed through it andentered the Gardens.

  The old man went to a secluded seat behind the museum. Almostimmediately he saw a well-dressed young man approaching, the very samewho some ten minutes before had been staring at t
he crocodiles withbut lukewarm interest.

  The young man seated himself beside the old accordion player withoutseeming to notice him. Then, in an almost inaudible voice, as ifspeaking to himself, the young man uttered these words:

  "Fine weather! The daisy is going to bloom."

  At once the accordion player added.

  "And the potatoes are going to sprout!"

  They identified each other.

  The two men were alone in this deserted corner of the garden; theydrew closer together and began to converse.

  "Are things still going well, Vagualame?"

  "My faith, Monsieur Henri, that depends."...

  The old accordion player cast a rapid penetrating glance at thecountenance of his companion: it was done with the instinctive ease ofhabit.

  The young man was leaning forward, tracing circles in the sand withhis stick.

  "What is the position, Vagualame?" he asked briefly.

  "I have no more money, Lieutenant."

  The young man sat upright and looked at the old man angrily.

  "What has come to you? There is no lieutenant here--I am M. Henri, andnothing else! Do I trouble myself to find out who you are, Vagualame?"

  "Oh," protested the old man, "that's enough! Do not be afraid, Iunderstand my business: you know my devotion! Unfortunately it costs agreat deal!"

  "Yes," replied Henri de Loubersac--for he it was--"Yes, I know you arealways hard up."

  "Shall I have money soon?" insisted Vagualame.

  "That depends.... How are things going?"

  "Which things?"

  The lieutenant showed impatience. Was Vagualame's stupid, silly mannerintentional?

  Assuredly, that handsome fellow, that dashing soldier, Henri deLoubersac, knew nothing of this same Vagualame's relations withBobinette, nor his attitude towards that mysterious accomplice of hiswhom he had just assassinated, or pretended to have assassinated,Captain Brocq. Thus Vagualame had two strings to his bow, serving atone and the same time the Second Bureau and, most probably, itsbitterest adversaries.

  "Vagualame, you really are a fool," went on de Loubersac. "What Irefer to is the V. affair: how does it stand--what has been done?"

  The old man began to laugh.

  "Peuh! Nothing at all! Another rigmarole in which women are mixed up!You know the little singer of Chalons, called Nichoune? She made herfirst appearance at La Fere, and since then the creature has rovedthrough the rowdy dancing-saloons of Picardy, of the Ardennes--youmust know her well, Monsieur Henri."

  The lieutenant interrupted him.

  "All this does not mean anything, Vagualame!"

  "Pardon! Nichoune is the mistress of Corporal V.--he is on leave, thecorporal is."...

  "I know, he is in Paris."

  "Well, then, what do you wish me to do?"

  "You must go to Chalons and make an exhaustive enquiry into therelations of V.... with Nichoune. V. was eaten up with debts."

  "He has settled them," remarked Vagualame.

  "Ah!" Lieutenant de Loubersac was rather taken aback.

  "Well, find out how and why. Get me information also about someonecalled Alfred."

  "I know him, Lieutenant,--pardon--Monsieur Henri--a--letter-box--ago-between."

  "We must know exactly the nature of the relations between Corporal V.and the late Captain Brocq."

  These last words particularly interested Vagualame: he drew nearerstill to de Loubersac, tapping him on the knee.

  "Tell me, has anything new come to light in that affair?"

  Henri de Loubersac moved away, and looked the old accordion player upand down.

  "Do not meddle with what does not concern you."

  "Good! Good! That's all right!" The old fellow pretended to beconfused, nevertheless a gleam of joy shone beneath his eyelids.

  There was a moment's silence. Henri de Loubersac was gnawing hismoustache. Vagualame, who was stealthily watching him, said tohimself:

  "As for you, my fine fellow, I am waiting for you! You have a fine bigmorsel for me! I see what you are driving at!"...

  True enough! Suddenly, between him and the lieutenant there was anexchange of hurried words in a low tone.

  "Vagualame, would you like a highly paid commission?"

  "Yes, Monsieur Henri. Is it difficult to earn?"

  "Naturally."

  Vagualame insisted:

  "Dangerous, as well?"

  "Perhaps!"

  "How much will you pay?"

  Without hesitation, the officer said:

  "Twenty-five thousand francs."...

  Equally without hesitation, but putting on an offended air, Vagualameretorted.

  "Nothing doing!"

  "Thirty thousand?"

  The old man murmured: "What the devil is it a question of?"

  Lowering his voice still more, de Loubersac added:

  "It is a lost document!... Perhaps it is a case of theft ... a list ofthe distribution of artillery operatives--Document Number Six!"

  "But," cried Vagualame, who feigned sudden comprehension of thisdocument's importance, "but that is equivalent to a complete plan ofmobilisation?"...

  Exasperated, Lieutenant Henri interrupted the old fellow:

  "I do not ask for your opinion as to its signification and value. Canyou recover it?"

  Vagualame murmured some incomprehensible words.

  "What are you saying?" questioned de Loubersac, who, growing more andmore exasperated, shook him by the sleeve.

  "Gently, Monsieur Henri, gently, if you please," whined the old man,"I was only thinking what is always the case: 'Look for the woman!'"

  "The disappearance of the document," continued de Loubersac, "iscoincident with the death of Captain Brocq--so it is supposed."...

  He stopped and stared at Vagualame, who was rubbing his hands,simulating an extreme satisfaction, and mumbling with an air ofenjoyment:

  "Women! Always the dear women!... Ah, these dear and damnable women!"

  He resumed his serious expression: his manner was decided.

  "Monsieur Henri," he declared, "I will find it; but the price is fiftythousand francs."

  "What!" De Loubersac was startled.

  Vagualame raised his hand as if taking heaven to witness that hisstatement was final.

  "Not a sou more! Not a sou less! Fifty thousand is the price: fiftythousand!"

  Henri de Loubersac hesitated a second, then concluded the interview.

  "Agreed to!... Be quick about it!... Adieu!"