IV
A SURPRISING ITINERARY
Jerome Fandor had passed a bad night!
Visions of horror had continually arisen in his troubled mind. Betweennightmare after nightmare he had heard all the horrors of the nightsound out in the darkness and the glimmering dawn. Then he had falleninto a heavy sleep, which had left him on awaking broken with fatigue.He had given himself a cold douche, and this had calmed his nerves; thenhe had dressed quickly. When eight o'clock struck he was at hiswriting-table, thinking things over:
"It's no laughing matter. I thought at first that the Dollon affair wasquite ordinary; but I am mistaken. The warning I received last nightleaves me no doubts on that head. Since the guilty person thinks itnecessary to ask me to keep quiet, it is evident he fears myintervention; if he is afraid of that it is because it must be hurtfulto him; if disastrous to him, a criminal, it is evident that it must beuseful to honest folk. My duty, then, is to go straight ahead at allcosts...."
There was another motive besides this of duty which incited him tofollow more closely the vicissitudes of the rue Norvins drama, a motivestill indefinite, vague, but nevertheless terribly strong....
Jerome Fandor had sworn to Elizabeth Dollon that he would get at thetruth.
He recalled the girl's entreaty, her emotion; and when he closed hiseyes, now and again, he seemed to see before him the tall, graceful,fair and fascinating sister of the vanished artist.... All Fandor wouldadmit to himself was a chivalrous feeling towards her--Elizabeth Dollonwas worth putting himself out for--that was all!
Our journalist spent the entire morning seated at his writing-table, hishead between his hands, smoking cigarette after cigarette, arranging hisplans for investigating the Dollon case:
"What I have to find out is how the dead man left the Depot. It is thefirst discovery to be made, the first impossibility to beexplained--yes, and how am I to set about it?"
Suddenly Fandor jumped up, marched rapidly up and down his room,whistled a few bars of a popular melody, and in his exuberant gaietyattempted an operatic air in a voice deplorably out of tune.
"There are eighty chances out of a hundred that I shall not succeed,"cried he; "but that still leaves me twenty chances of arriving at asatisfactory result--let us make the attempt!"
As Fandor was hurrying off, he called to the portress in passing:
"Madame Oudry, I don't know whether I shall be back this evening or no.Perhaps I may have to leave Paris for awhile, so would you be kindenough to pay particular attention to any letters that may come forme--be very particular about them, please!"
Fandor went off. A thought struck him. He turned back. He had somethingmore to say to the good woman:
"I forgot to ask you whether anyone called to see me yesterdayafternoon!"
"No, Monsieur Fandor, no one!"
"Good! If by any chance a messenger should bring a letter for me, lookvery carefully at him, Madame Oudry. I have a colleague or two who areplaying a joke on me, and I should not be sorry to get even with them!"
This time Fandor really went off, having set his portress on the alert.In the rue Montmartre he hailed a cab:
"To the National Library! And as quick as you can!"
* * * * *
"By Jove! It's three o'clock! I've not a minute to lose!" cried Fandoras he got back his stick from the cloak-room of the National Library: hehad handed it in there some hours ago. He entered the rue Richelieu. Nowfor an ironmonger's shop! He caught sight of one and went in:
"I should like fifty yards of fine cord, please; very strong and verypliable," said Fandor.
The shopkeeper stared at the smart young man:
"What do you want it for, sir?... I have various qualities."
Without the trace of a smile, and as if it were the most natural thingin the world, he replied:
"It is for one of my friends: he wants to hang himself!"
A shout of laughter was the response to this witticism, and the amusedshopkeeper forthwith displayed various samples of cords. Fandor promptlymade his choice and left the shop.
"Now for a watchmaker's!" said our journalist. He entered a jeweller'sclose by:
"I want an alarum clock--a small one--the cheapest you have!"
Provided with his alarum, Fandor looked at his watch again:
"Confound it all! It's half-past three!" he cried. He signalled to aclosed cab:
"To the Palais de Justice! As hard as you can lick!"
Directly Fandor was well inside the vehicle, he drew down the blinds;took off his coat; unbuttoned his waistcoat!...
* * * * *
The great clock of the Palais de Justice had just struck four, and itssilvery tones were echoing harmoniously along the corridors when JeromeFandor entered the tradesman's gallery. He turned to the right, andgained the little lobby in which the cloak-room is. He quietly enteredit. Barristers were coming and going, full of business, throwing offtheir gowns, inspecting the letters put aside during the sittings of theCourts. Fandor made his way among the groups with the ease of custom. Heseemed to be looking for someone, and finished by questioning one of thewomen employed in the cloak-room:
"Is Madame Marguerite not here?"
"Oh, yes, monsieur, she is down below."
Madame Marguerite was an old friend of Fandor's. She was head of thecloak-room staff, and by her kind offices she had often obtained aninterview for our journalist with one or other of the big-wigs of thebar, who generally object strongly to being questioned by journalists.When she appeared, Fandor told her he only wanted a little bit ofinformation from her.
"Oh, yes, I know all about that! There is someone you wish to see, andyou want me to manage it for you!"
"No! Not a bit of it! What I want to know is, where these gentlemen ofthe Court of Justice robe and unrobe? I mean the Justices of the AssizeCourts!"
This seemed to astonish Madame Marguerite considerably:
"But, Monsieur Fandor, if you wish to interview one of the puisnejudges, it would be ten times quicker for you to go and see him at hisown home: here, at the Palais, it's almost certain he will refuse toanswer you...."
"Don't bother about that, Madame Marguerite! Just tell me where theseworthy guardians of order, defenders of right and justice, divestthemselves of their red robes?"
Madame Marguerite was too much accustomed to our young journalist'sridiculous questions and absurd requests and remarks to argue with himany longer.
"The robing-room of these gentlemen," said she, "is in one of the outeroffices of the court, near the Council Chamber."
"There is an assistant in that room, isn't there?"
"Yes, Monsieur Fandor."
"Ah! That is just what I wanted to know! Many thanks, madame," andFandor, grinning with satisfaction, made off in the direction of theCourt of Assizes. He ran up the steps leading to the Council Chamber,and spying the messenger asked:
"Can President Guechand see me, do you think?"
"Monsieur le President has gone."
Fandor seemed to be reflecting. He gazed searchingly round the room. Asa matter of fact, he was verifying the correctness of MadameMarguerite's information. All round the room Fandor saw the littlepresses where the men of law kept their red robes. Yes, it was therobing and unrobing room of the puisne judges, the magistrates, rightenough!
"So the President has gone? Ah, well ..." Fandor hesitated: he mustthink of some other name. He noticed the visiting cards nailed to eachpress, indicating the owner. He read one of the names and repeated it:
"Well, then, could Justice Hubert see me--could he possibly? Will youask him to let me see him for five minutes?"
"What name shall I say?"
"My name will not tell him anything. Please say it is with reference tothe--er--Peyru case--and I come from Maitre Tissot."
"I will go and see," said the messenger, moving off.
Whilst he was in sight Fandor walked up and down in the regulation way,murmurin
g:
"Maitre Tissot!... The Peyru case!... Go ahead, my good fellow! You willhave a nice kind of reception down below there--with those made-upnames."
Some minutes later, the messenger returned to his post, prepared toinform the importunate young man that he could not possibly be receivedby Justice Hubert. He stopped short on the threshold: not a soul was tobe seen!
"Wherever has that young man got to? Taken himself off, most likely!...I expect he was one of those lawyer's clerks--confound them! A nice foolI should have looked if his Honour, Justice Hubert, had said he wouldreceive him!"
With this reflection the messenger went back to his newspaper, notwithout having ascertained that it was four o'clock, and therefore hehad still an hour to wait before he could have his coffee and cigar atthe "Men of the Robe."
* * * * *
Through the great windows of the Court of Assizes, carefully closed asthey were, not a ray of moonlight filtered into the court room. And thisobscurity lent an added terror to a silence as profound as the grave, asilence which, with the falling shades of night, assumed possession ofthe vast hall, where so many criminals had listened to the fatalsentence--the sentence of death.
* * * * *
When the Court had risen, the assistants had, as usual, proceeded to putthe place in order; then the police sergeant had made his rounds, andhad gone away, double locking the doors behind him. After this thechamber had gradually sunk into complete repose: a repose which would bebroken the following morning when the bustling routine of the legal daycommenced once more.
Little by little, too, the many and varied noises, which had echoed andre-echoed the whole day through in the galleries of the Palais deJustice, had died down, and sunk into silence.
The custodians had made their last round; the barristers had quitted therobing-room; the poor wretches who had slunk in to warm themselves atthe heating apparatus in the halls had shuffled back to the coldstreet, and the whistling blasts of the north wind. The immense pile wasentirely deserted.
A clock began to strike.
Then, hardly had the last stroke of eleven sounded, awakening the echoesof the empty galleries, than in the Court of Assizes itself, under themonumental desk, before which the justices sat in state by day, a noisemade itself heard, long, strident, nerve-racking--the noise of an alarumclock!
Just as the alarum ceased its raucous call, a loud yawn resoundedthrough the empty spaces of the chamber. The sleeper, who had selectedthis spot that he might indulge, all undisturbed, in a revivifyingsleep, evidently took no pains to smother the sound of his voice, for,after yawning enough to dislocate his jaws, he uttered a loud: "Ah!" Heaccompanied his yawns with exclamations:
"It's a fact, the Republic doesn't do things up to the scratch! The rugshere are of poor quality!... I'm aching all over!... The floor is strewnwith peach kernels--surely?... At any rate, it's a quiet hotel, and oneis not disturbed--a truly delectable refuge to have a jolly good snorein!"
The sleeper sat up:
"What's the time exactly? Let us have a light on it!" A match wasstruck, and a tiny flare of light shone from under the desk of thepresiding judge:
"Ten past eleven! I've still five minutes to be lazy in--and I shallneed all of it, for I've a rough night before me! I can rest awhile, andthink things over!"
The speaker calmly lay down again, trying to find a comfortable positionon what he christened mentally: "The administrative peach kernels":
"Let me see, now!" he went on aloud. "At five in the afternoon it wasknown that Jacques Dollon had committed suicide; was probably innocent,and that his corpse had disappeared. Yesterday, at half-past five, _LaCapitale_ announced that he had a very pretty sister.... To-night atten past eleven behold me, shut up quite alone in the Palais de Justice,free to proceed to the little investigation I think of making.... JeromeFandor, my dear friend, I congratulate you! You have not managedbadly!...
"Yes," went on our journalist, "what a joke it is! Here have I gotmyself shut up in the Palais without the slightest difficulty! It istrue, that if the assistant had been obliged to open, and verify, thecontents of all the robing-rooms of all the judges, he would never havefinished. As for me, in my cupboard, I followed all the good fellow'smovements, and he never suspected my presence. If I am to becongratulated, he cannot be blamed for it! There I was, there Iremained, and now I must be off!"
Fandor drew a small wax taper from his pocket and lighted it with amatch.
"What's to be done with the alarum?" he went on. "To leave it will be tobetray my having passed this way--what of it?... In any case, even ifthis reporting job fails, I shall make a story out of it ... and how canthey accuse me of stealing if I leave my cloak as a gift for hisjudgeship!"
Laughing, Fandor piled up the law books lying on the desk, and placedthe alarum on the top; that done, he went to the principal entrance, theonly one with double doors. He seized the heavy iron bar placed acrossthe door and worked it loose. He drew the two leaves of the door towardshim; and, although it had been locked as usual, he effected his escape,after a considerable trial of strength.
Out on the stairs, lighted taper in hand, the laughing Fandor closed thetwo leaves of the door with the utmost care, and went forward whistlinga marching tune. His objective was a certain little staircase leading tothe top story of the Palais, and this he mounted with vigorousdetermination. There was no likelihood of chance encounters, for therewas not a soul in the vast building: the police were making their roundsoutside it. Our adventurous journalist did not make his way upwards withstealthy tread--there was no need for that. Having gained the top floor,he went straight to a corner where an ebony ladder was ensconced, aladder which had long been the joy and pride of the grand master of thispart of the Palais, the amiable Monsieur Peter.
"Pretty heavy!" grumbled Fandor, as he carried it upwards. Under theroof he caught sight of a skylight, rested his ebony ladder against it,and climbed briskly on to the roof.
From thence Fandor had a view that was fairy-like. Spread out in thedistance were the sparkling lights of Paris. He was divided from them bythe vast mass of roofs about him, by a gulf of empty space, and beyond,by a dark blur--the two arms of the Seine flowing on either side of thePalais de Justice.... The mysterious darkness! The fascination of thesparkling points of light!... Fandor gave himself a mental shake....This was no moment for dreaming under the stars!
From his pocket he took a tiny, folding dark lantern; from hispocket-book he drew a paper, which he spread out and proceeded to study.As he bent over it, he murmured:
"A bit of good luck that I was able to get hold of a complete anddetailed plan of the Palais de Justice! Without it I never could havefound my way among these roofs!"
He examined the plan for some minutes; made a note of various landmarks;then refolding it, he gained one of the sloping roofs facing the quay ofthe Leather Dressers:
"Now," thought Fandor, "I must be just above the Depot! And now to findout how Jacques Dollon, dead or living, has got out of the Depot! No usethinking of a window, for the cell has not got one! Fuselier has reasonon his side when he declares that you do not get out of the cells of theDepot, nor out of the Palais!... Well, now--to carry off Dollon, deador living, by way of the Palais Square, or by the boulevard, is out ofthe question: there are too many people about!... To carry him off byone of the exits, on to either of the quays, is equally out of thequestion: there are the sentries, in the first place, and then comes theSeine--then Jacques Dollon has left the Depot, or he has not, or, at anyrate, he is still somewhere in the Palais--unless ..."
Fandor interrupted his cogitations to light a cigarette: smoking helpedhim to think things out:
"It is equally certain that if Dollon is still in the Palais, he cannotbe in the Depot, for the Depot has been rigorously searched since hisdisappearance, and he would most certainly have been found, had he beenanywhere about the Depot. It is also certain that he is not inside thePalais, because the
only means of communication between the Depot andthe Palais is a single staircase, and it is certain that a corpse couldnot have been taken that way unperceived.... Then it follows thatJacques Dollon must have got out by the only ways which are incommunication with the Depot: that is to say, the drains and thechimneys!"
"How could he have got out, or been got out by the drains? As far as Iknow, there is no system of pipes large enough to allow of the passageof a man through the pipes which join the main sewers; but, as a set-offto that, there is a chimney--the ancient chimney of MarieAntoinette--which communicates with the Depot, and the roof I am now on:it must have been by this chimney that the escape was made! Let us seewhether this is so or not!"
By the light of his tiny dark lantern Fandor studied afresh the plan ofthe Palais, and tried to identify the various chimneys about him. Hesoon picked out the orifice of Marie Antoinette's chimney. After aconsidering glance at it, he remarked:
"That's odd! Here is the only chimney whose opening is below the ledgeof the roofs! It is certain that unless one had been warned, and hadexamined this roof from some neighbouring building, the orifice of thischimney would not be noticed. If Jacques Dollon passed out by it, no onewould notice his exit!"
Our journalist continued his examination, full of excitement. Surely hewas on the right track!
"Ah! Ah! Here are stones freshly scraped and scratched!" he crieddelightedly. "And this white mark is just the kind of mark which wouldbe made by a cord scraping against the wall! And look what a size thischimney is! It's not only one Jacques Dollon who could pass out by it,but two! But three! A whole army! Ah, ha, I believe I am on the righttrack! Now for it!"
Fandor bent over and looked down the interior of the chimney; and, atthe risk of toppling over, he managed to reach something he saw shiningin the darkness of the opening; he drew himself up, radiant:
"By Jove! There are irons fixed in the walls of the chimney to climb upand down by; and, what is more, they bear traces of a recentpassage--the rust has been rubbed off here and there!... Yes, it is bythis way Dollon has come out!... To whom else could it be an advantageto use this as an exit from the interior of the Palais, on to theroofs?"
Fandor was keen on the scent! Here, indeed, was matter for an articlewhich would bring him into notice--good business for a journalist!
"If Dollon had been alive," reflected Fandor, "it is evident that, onceon the roofs, he had a choice of three ways to escape: he could do whatI have just done, but the other way about; he could break a skylight,jump into a garret, and lie hidden under the tiles, awaiting thepropitious moment when he could gain the corridors below and, minglingwith the crowd, slip unobserved into the street; or, he could hide amongthe roofs, and stay there; or, he could search for an opening--one ofthose air holes which put the cellars and drains in communication withthe exterior.... But I have come to the conclusion that Dollon is dead!Then his corpse could only remain up here; or, it has been put down intosome place where nobody goes. The garrets of the Palais are soincessantly visited by the clerks and registrars that no corpse couldremain undiscovered in any of them. Therefore, either Jacques Dollon'scorpse is somewhere on the roofs of the Palais, or there is some sort ofcommunication between the roofs and the drains--it is obvious!"
Evidently the next step was to search every hole and corner of thesesame roofs. Armed with revolver and lantern, Fandor started on his tourof investigation; but prudently, for he was now almost certain thatthere were a number of accomplices involved in this Dollon affair.
To go carefully over the enormous roof of the Palais de Justice was nolight task! One has only to consider the immensity of this monumentalpile, its complicated architecture, the numberless little courtsenclosed within its vast confines, to understand the difficulties withwhich our intrepid journalist had to contend. But Jerome Fandor was notthe man to be discouraged in the face of difficulties: he was determinedto brave them--conquer them! He examined, minutely, the entire roofingof the Palais; he did not leave a corner or a morsel of shadowunexplored; there was not a gutter which he had not searched from end toend. When, after two hours of strenuous exertion, he returned to hisstarting-point, the chimney of Marie Antoinette, he was fain to confessthat if Jacques Dollon had mounted to the roof of the Palais de Justicehe certainly had not remained there.
Fandor unfolded his plan once more. It fluttered in the night breeze, ashe carefully numbered all the chimneys opening on to this roof; then,one by one, he identified them with the real chimneys before his eyes.He exclaimed joyfully:
"There, now! It's just what I suspected!"
He had discovered there was one chimney not down on the plan: "Whitherdid it lead?" At all costs he must find out--make sure. He hastened tothis extra chimney. Its orifice was large enough to allow of the passageof a man; also, here again, stones had been recently loosened, and arope had rubbed against them:
"What the deuce is this chimney?" thought Fandor. "Another mystery! Thischimney is not a chimney; there is not a trace of soot on it, even oldsoot!"
After a moment's reflection, he added:
"Can it be for ventilation only? But a ventilation hole could onlycommunicate with one of the apartments in the Palais itself, and how thedeuce could they drop a corpse down there? It would have been in thehighest degree imprudent to attempt it! No, it is not by that road theyhave carried off Dollon's body! But then by what way?"
He glued his ear to the chimney. After a while, Fandor could make out avague, intermittent sound--could catch a little, far-away, plashingsound.
"Can the chimney communicate with the Seine?" he asked himself. "No, weare too far off it. Why this opening, then?... Ah, I have it! It is adrain, a sewer, it communicates with!"
To verify that, there was nothing for it but to descend this chimney,which was no chimney! So be it!... Fandor took off his coat, anduncovered the long, fine cord, rolled round and round his middle.Weighting the cord with a flint, he let it slide down the chimney,testing the straightness of the descent by the balanced oscillations ofthe stone, and so ascertaining the even size of the opening, as far asthe line would go. This was the work of a few minutes.
Fandor did not hesitate: he was eager to embark on the descent.
"After all," he murmured, "though I may find myself face to face with aband of assassins--what of it? It is all in the night's risks!"
He fastened the end of the cord to one of the neighbouringchimneys--fastened it firmly; then, his revolver handily stuck in hisbelt, Fandor seized the cord, twisted it round his legs, and let himselfslowly down through the narrow opening.
It was a perilous descent! Fandor did not know whether his cord was longenough, and, lost in the darkness, with only the gleam of light from hislantern to guide him, he was naturally afraid of reaching the end of hisrope unawares, and of falling into the black void beneath. But what heobserved in the course of his descent excited him so much that he almostforgot the danger he was running. To those at all practised in policedetective work, it was clear as daylight that men had passed this way,and recently.
"Here is a dislodged stone," muttered Fandor. "And here are scrapes andscratches--fresh ... and ... that mark looks like blood!"
Pushing his knees and his shoulders against the wall to support himselfand stay his movements, he examined the mark. There was no doubtpossible: Fandor's sharp eyes and the lantern's light had picked out alittle red patch, which sullied one of the projecting stones in thechimney walls:
"This," reflected our amateur detective, "only confirms Dollon's death:if the wound which caused this mark had been made by a living body, themark would have been larger, and there would have been others, for itmust come from an abrasion of the skin made during the descent. But thisblood mark has resulted from a dead body knocking against the stones ofthe wall: it is not a mark make by flowing blood, but by blood crushedout."
He descended a few yards further:
"Here's a find!" he cried. He had just perceived some hairs sticking tothe rough surface of the stones.
Again, with arched shoulders and bentknees, he supported himself against the wall, examined his discovery,left half the hairs where they were, took the rest, and carefully placedthem in his pocket-book:
"The police must not be able to say that I have arranged this for theirbenefit," Fandor remarked. "Cost what it may, if I do not come acrossDollon's corpse below, I must find out to-morrow whether these hairsresemble his."
Fandor went on descending, and first in one place, then in another, hesaw on the walls of this chimney whitish patches such as might have beencaused by the passage of a heavy mass or body, hanging at the end of arope, and striking against the walls on its way down. Whilst he stillbelieved himself to be some distance off the end of his downwardjourney, he felt a point of resistance beneath his feet. At first hemistook it for firm ground, much to his surprise. He was about to leavego of his cord when a remnant of prudence restrained him:
"How do I know there is not an abyss depths upon depths below me--downinto the very bowels of the earth! I had better take care!"
What Fandor had taken for firm ground was nothing but an iron stapleprojecting from the wall. Fandor seized it, stopped for a minute ortwo's breathing space, ascertained, by drawing it up, that of his cordthere were only a few yards remaining; but he also perceived, and withwhat relief, that from where he was resting, downwards the chimney was,as far as he could see by his lantern's light, marked off into regularspaces by these iron staples which are sometimes placed there for theuse of chimney cleaners and masons. Fandor found them a most convenientkind of ladder. The descent now became easy, and in a short time ouradventurous journalist reached the bottom of the chimney. At first hecould not understand where he had got to. In the thick gloom around himhis lantern's gleam of light showed him a kind of vaulted wall ofmassive masonry. He advanced a step or two with noiseless tread,listening, on the alert. Not a sound could he hear: he decided to exposethe full light of his lantern.
The brighter light showed him that the chimney from which he was nowstanding some yards away ended in a kind of sewer, evidently no longerin use; and the plashing sound he had heard on the far up heights of thePalais roofs proceeded from a thin and muddy stream of water flowing inthe middle of the sewer channel in the direction of the Seine. Kneelingat the foot of the chimney Fandor could distinguish marks of steps madeby human feet; much deeper and very different indentations were visiblealso:
"Not only have men passed this way but a short while ago," he murmured,"but they were carrying a heavy burden: there are two kinds offootmarks, made by two kinds of shoes, and the heels have made muchdeeper marks in the soil than have the tips--yes, these men bore a heavyburden!"
Fandor was so pleased that he mentally rubbed his hands over thisdiscovery. His quest was a success so far: he was on the track ofDollon's body! And what copy for _La Capitale_! Then a sad thought cameto dim his delight:
"Poor, poor Elizabeth Dollon! I swore to her I would get at thetruth--and a lamentable truth it is! Her brother is dead: he died in theDepot: he was done to death--it was no suicide!"
Whilst talking to himself Fandor was scrutinising every inch of theground as he moved forward: there might be fresh clues:
"It's a queer kind of sewer," he went on. "This streamlet is as much mudas water, is almost stagnant. Evidently this underground sewer way is nolonger used--has been abandoned!"
A horrid spectacle struck him motionless. His lantern made visible astruggling, heaving mass of rats, fighting tooth and claw, enormous ratsdevouring some hidden thing!
Fandor's stomach rose at the sight.
Oh, horror! Could it be Jacques Dollon's body?
Fandor snatched up a stone and flung it furiously among the uncleanbeasts. They fled. On the ground he could distinguish a mass, a red,formless mass, saturated with congealed blood:
"Assuredly, if the corpse has disappeared, it is there the assassinsmust have cut it in pieces, that they might carry it more easily, andthose vile creatures are in the thick of feasting on the poor victim'sremains!... Pouah!"
Fandor moved on, only to discover another pool of blood almost as large,also besieged by rats:
"Evidently I shall find nothing else," thought Fandor: "the corpse nolonger exists!"
He continued his advance, determined to find out what this undergroundway ended in. His lantern was flickering to a finish when he arrived atthe end of the sewer and found, as he had foreseen, that its opening hadbeen cut in the steep bank of the Seine:
"That's a bit of luck! I can get out this way instead of having to climbback the way I came, up to the Palais roof and down again!"
It was still night; darkness reigned save on the far horizon, where afaint, whitish line indicated the early dawn of an April day.
Fandor was just asking himself by what gymnastic feat he could regainthe quay, and he was leaning over the opening of the sewer, his bodybending far forward over the inky waters of the Seine. Before he hadtime to turn, before he could regain his balance, a brutal blow frombehind half stunned him, and a vigorous thrust precipitated his bodyinto the Seine.
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