Finally, he stopped at the foot of a spiral staircase. He took off his boots of tan leather and his thin felt socks, which he hid under the first step. Then, in bare feet, as supple as a serpent and as silent as a shadow, he climbed the stairs. He knew the secrets of doors and trapdoors. He emerged without hindrance into the vestibule of Kipper’s house.
The sound of voices struck Abbou’s ears. There’s a man—a very young man, he thought.
He marched to the door of Kipper’s study—it was ajar. The voices were coming from further away than the study. Abbou risked a glance. They’re both in the bedroom, he thought. All the doors are shut. Idiots! From inside his trousers, he took a very long, very thin dagger whose point was furnished with a ball of lead. Abbou removed the button from the weapon and, gripping it in his right hand, crouched down next to the door, beneath the curtain. He listened.
He soon discovered that the man who was talking was Félicie’s brother. He learned thereafter that Xavière and her sister were the sole inhabitants of Koynos’ house. Max and Félicie then talked about Earth and their family; they became emotional and wept.
I won’t learn anything else here. I might do better at Koynos’ house. Let’s go! He left without making a noise, the same way he had come. Abducting Félicie would be easy… A dagger-thrust in the brother’s back, a thump on the sister’s head, and I carry the hostage away… But she’s a low-value hostage, after all. It’s Xavière that I need. With her alone, one could buy back all Cosmopolis!
Five minutes later, Abbou went into the vestibule of Koynos’ house as he had gone into its equivalent in Kipper’s house. There, he could hear nothing; the doors were closed. He opened them. He went into the dining-room and the study—no one!
Taking a thousand precautions, he opened the bedroom door, put his head around it and looked in…
A young woman was sitting in an armchair, her hands flat on her knees, stiffly and hieratically. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her bare shoulders, and her large blue eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead, as if filled with visions of the world beyond. The young woman’s right breast projected from of her unbuttoned dressing-gown, while the left was englobed in silk.
Abbou felt a strange malaise; then, a murderous madness was suddenly seething in his brain. He leapt into the bedroom, dagger raised… But his arm slowly fell again, harmlessly. The young woman had looked at him with a gaze that was quite unreal and phantasmal.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He did not know that Yvonne had gone mad. He was surprised by the question. He looked more intently at Xavière’s sister. At that moment, she began to laugh—and he understood.
Good, he said to himself. She’s not dangerous.
His cunning mind suggested the same strategy to him that the cunning mind of Ulysses had conceived many centuries before.
“No one,” he replied—and he turned his back and left the room.
A minute later, Abbou came in again—but this time, creeping forward silently, he avoided placing himself the Yvonne’s visual field. He slid from one item of furniture to the next until he reached the immense bed. He went around it. Slim and supple as he was, he hid himself entirely behind an armchair that was half-covered by the sumptuous bed-curtain.
Throughout the rest of the day, Xavière did not appear in the room. At mid-day, Félicie came to fetch Yvonne, and Abbou remained alone in Koynos’ bedroom until the evening. Because Félicie had closed the doors as she went out, he was able to relax, ready to resume his hiding-place at the slightest noise.
He searched everywhere and discovered, among other things, a phial, which he uncorked and sniffed. He recognized the contents as a narcotic he had previously encountered in Kipper’s house. He put the phial in his pocket.
At dusk, when the electric lamps were lit and Cosmopolis sank down to ground-level, as usual, Abbou assumed that Xavière would not be long delayed in coming to take a very necessary rest.
With the events of recent times, Xavière must be dying to sleep, he thought. She’ll take advantage of tonight’s assured calm to come back here and finally get some sleep, and to enjoy pleasant dreams. She’s mine! This time, Kipper won’t be able to use my excessive youth as an objection against my immediate nomination for the rank of Brother, to replace Alkeus or Koynos, who haven’t been replaced yet—for, young as I am, I’ll have saved the Fifteen. I have my plan—and that Xavière won’t seduce me as she seduced Koynos and Banko, and as she would have seduced others!
Saying these things to himself, the slim, lithe and perfidious young man slipped under the armchair again, and he waited, without uttering so much as a breath that might reveal his presence to anyone who happened to sit on it.
Nine o’clock was sounding on the electric wall-clock when Xavière came in, radiant with joy, happiness and strength. Beneath the light veil that hid the mutilation to which she had subjected her hair, her face had an ardent beauty, which triumph haloed as if it to make her the most beloved of sensualists. The plentitude of her splendor was molded in shape of her body, which was emphasized by her every movement beneath the close-fitting light silk mantle she wore.
Félicie came in after Xavière, and said: “Yvonne’s asleep now. I’ll stay with her in Alkeus’ bedroom.”
“And I’m in Koynos’ bedroom!” said Xavière, in a triumphant tone, unameliorated by any regret, remorse, or even memory. Ah, she was with her Leo now; she had given herself to him in a minute of mad happiness, during the afternoon of that memorable day! Was it not as if Alkeus and Koynos had never existed? The amorous, loving, victorious woman had but one delight, one admiration in her mind, one love in her heart, one kiss on her lips: the name, the admiration, the love, the kiss of Leo Saint-Clair, the Nyctalope.
“Leave me, Félicie. Leave me alone. I need to be alone, to lie down and find oblivion in sleep. Take good care of poor Yvonne. I want to sleep as if drunk with happiness, if you know what I mean. Excuse me! I think I’m being monstrously egotistical. Until tomorrow…!”
Félicie laughed prettily, and threw back an amused “Good night!” as the heavily-curtained door closed on her heels.
Before the door had closed on Félicie, however, a man had entered and, without being perceived by Xavière, had slipped behind the curtain that fell from the semicircular rail above a sofa. This man was none other than the Nyctalope.
Hidden under the armchair, Abbou had seen none of this. He had not made any effort to see; he had assumed that it would be sufficient for him to hear.
Xavière undressed immediately; that was quickly done. She was only wearing a light mantle over a fine silk dress molded to her figure by a broad belt. Opening the bed-curtains, she slid into the sheets voluptuously, with the sigh of ease that is provoked by the pleasant sensation of fresh linen on unclad limbs whose skin has been long imprisoned in fabric. She extended a lovely bare arm in order to touch a button, and the room was no longer illuminated by anything but a minuscule electric night-light veiled by a silk shade.
And the beautiful creature, a girl who had become a woman, intoxicated by the thrills of victory and love, went to sleep…
A quarter of an hour went by, in the most complete silence, to which the regular respiration of the sleeping woman imparted a tranquil rhythm…
Suddenly, there was a muffled rustle of heavy fabrics. A man stood up beside the bed: Abbou!
He looked down at the sleeping woman. He feasted his eyes on that abandoned beauty, the haughty beauty that sleep softens when filled with happy dreams, rendering it more disturbing, and also more seductive, more enchanting… And he shivered. His hand, which was holding the phial, trembled nervously. His eyes great wider, becoming ecstatic.
Was he about to be vanquished by her, like the others? All the ardor of his hot young blood was pounding in his fiery temples.
He took a step forward and experienced a violent fit of rage. “No, no!” he breathed. “Sooner kill her!”
His dagger was gleaming in his belt
. He reached for it with his hand—but his nervous fingers clenched on his sleeve. The hangings of the sofa had stirred—but the Nyctalope did not come out.
Smiling in some dream of glory and love, Xavière slept on. The imminent danger did not strike her with the fluidic warning that frequently crops up in the phenomena of telepathy. She was sleeping as deeply as might be expected of someone who has remained continuously awake for three times 24 hours, in the midst of the most tragic and stirring changes of fortune—and she made a movement in her sleep, raising her right hand to her forehead and leaning her head forwards, revealing the lovely swell of her neck.
That unconscious gesture broke the charm. Suddenly freed from the invincible grip of seduction, Abbou pounced. He fell upon Xavière’s body with all his weight; she woke up with an instinctive start of anguish. She wanted to scream. Her own arm, pressed to her mouth by an iron hand, served as a gag. She sensed a brutal hand, holding a phial, which was violently applied to her nostrils. A bitter odor rose up to her brain. She writhed, her entire body in revolt… But something was misting her understanding, making her limbs heavy, and she felt back beneath the weight that was crushing her…
Thin and wiry, Abbou had muscles of steel, and his victorious will increased his strength a hundredfold. He wrapped the inert body in fur rugs and encircled it with a belt, whose two ends were united in a solid knot. He hoisted Xavière on to his shoulder and went out of the room, with a confident step.
As soon as he was gone, the curtains of the sofa were parted. The Nyctalope came forward, listened. He heard a door closing quietly; then he went out in his turn. He paused in the dining-room. Immediately, Banko emerged from a shadowed corner.
“Did he go that way?” asked Saint-Clair.
“Yes.”
“I’ll follow him. Listen!” Rapidly, he gave orders that concluded with these words: “You’ll find a similar belt in the room where Yvonne’s sleeping. Hurry. I’ll leave the doors open behind me.” And he launched himself into the vestibule, then on to the spiral staircase that Abbou had already descended.
For the young man, the most difficult part was over—but the most dangerous was still to come. Kipper’s little airplane was on the terrace of the house in which Max Jolivet resided. It was lodged in a kind of ditch excavated in the terrace, which—similar in all the houses—diminished the height of the vestibule by about a third. The cover of the ditch, which could be raised and lowered at will, formed an integral part of the “ground” of the terrace.
In order to get there, it was sufficient to go into Kipper’s vestibule, from which one got into the ditch by means of a trapdoor; as the trapdoor opened, a rope-ladder uncoiled—but Jolivet was living in Kipper’s house. Was he asleep? If he was, Abbou had a chance of passing unnoticed, but if not, he calculated that it would be impossible for him to go into the vestibule, open the trapdoor and climb the rope-ladder with his burden without making some noise that might be heard, even if Max were in Kipper’s bedroom. Then he would come running.
The usurpers, Abbou thought, are evidently on their guard, for there is danger all around them. The Nyctalope has surely equipped them with electro-mirrors. If Félicie’s brother arrives with an electro-mirror in his hand, I’m dead…
While reflecting thus, Abbou moved on. He had descended the spiral stairway, followed the corridor that linked the houses in Cosmopolis from below and had arrived at the spiral staircase leading to Kipper’s vestibule. He began to climb it slowly.
At the door, he hesitated momentarily. Then he touched the mechanism. Noiselessly, as always, it opened. Abbou went into the vestibule.
He went straight to the switch that controlled the latch of the trapdoor to the ditch—but the trapdoor had not been oiled as often as the door; it might creak as it opened. The rope-ladder would certainly make a noise as it unrolled, for the bars of hard wood could not be prevented from knocking against one another.
Let’s go! Abbou thought.
He deposited Xavière on the tiles. Standing directly under the trapdoor, he took his dagger from his belt.
“Switch off the electricity!” he said to himself. “I know the layout. In darkness, I’ll have more chance…”
He turned a switch and immediately found himself in darkness—but as the switch had turned, it had made a click that caused Abbou to shiver. Now the other! There was a second click, even louder, in the silence of the night. Immediately, and inexplicably, there was a softer, more subtle sound, like that of muffled footsteps—but there was also a creaking that sounded very loud to the kidnapper as the trapdoor opened. A vague rustling, punctuated by indistinct clicks, indicated the uncoiling of the rope-ladder. Abbou moved hurriedly, with his dagger between his teeth. By means of a desperate effort, he lifted up the blanket-wrapped body with his left arm, grabbed the rope-ladder with his right, and started climbing…
The climb seemed impossible at first. The ladder swayed, the rungs fleeing his feet; nevertheless, he climbed. He arrived in the ditch, exhausted by two minutes of prodigious effort. There, he had no light. Hauling up the rope-ladder and closing the trapdoor again would lose time—better to flee as soon as possible. He flipped a switch; an electric lamp came on; another switch; the cover of the ditch was lifted up and reversed on to the terrace—but what a racket!
Madly, Abbou shoved the aircraft up the inclined ramp to the very center of the terrace. Between the wings, there were two seats. Hastily, Abbou deposited the inanimate body as best he could in one of the seats. He attached it by means of the seat-belt disposed for the purpose of maintaining some such load.
With a rapid glance, he checked that, in accordance with the regulations, the aircraft was ready, fully-equipped and armed. Then, he leapt into the second seat, in front of the steering-column. He pressed down a lever and operated a manual control—and, with an inexpressible joy, he heard the cylindrical runners grate on the concrete of the terrace.
The wings began to beat, and the aircraft leapt into the air, lifting off.
As he passed over the ramparts, an immense searchlight came on, its beam springing forth from one of the guard-posts. All the alarm bells in Cosmopolis sounded. Saint-Clair appeared on the terrace of Oxus’ palace, electro-mirror in hand. Beams of light launched by powerful reflectors from all the guard-posts lit up the darkness on every side…
Too late! The aircraft that had caused the alert vanished into the distance, a point of brilliance imperceptible in the midst of the starry nocturnal sky.
And Abbou believed that he had beaten the Nyctalope!
VI. The Hostage
Abbou caught sight of the XV’s army at the same time as the islands of the Iapygian Archipelago became visible, which lay between the Strait of Pandora and the Hadrianic Sea. He noticed at the same time that the XV had stopped in that same archipelago, were the Martians were entrenched.
To the north was the labyrinth of Deltoton, where there was no possibility of an engagement. To the south, the Hadrianic sea offered its immense expanse—but in order to reach it, it was necessary to pass through a narrow straight squeezed between the archipelago and the region of Yaonis. The Martians had sewn this strait with dormant and mobile torpedoes, which could be exploded at a distance and had closed the route to submarines and hydroplanes. Four boats had already been blown up. As for aircraft, they would have to fight against kites recently invented by the Martians. The simple vibration of the air agitated by the wings and airscrews of aircraft caused these kites to explode, hurling a terrible hail of shrapnel in every direction; the metal of which this was composed remained incandescent after penetrating flesh, even melting and running trough the body or the limbs, burning bones, nerves and muscles as it went—for the Martians had abandoned the heat rays and the black smoke which, according to Wells’ historical account, had caused by devastation on Earth.
To counter the heat ray, the XV had invented a very light infusible insulating metal, in very thin layers of which the hulls of their submarines, the wings, airscrews
and fuselages of their aircraft and the casings of their electro-mirrors were covered. As for the men themselves, their combat uniforms were lightly armored with the metallic insulator and they wore metal helmets that covered the back of the head, as far as the neck, and which included a mobile mask without eye-openings to protect the face, through which they could nevertheless see by means of a sort of periscope—a marvelous little device fitted to the top of the helmet, which reflected on to an internal mirror everything in front of the combatant within a 45-degree angle.
To counter the black smoke, the XV had wind-machines, which fired air as a cannon fires shells. Every platoon of 50 men had a wind-machine; a single soldier sufficed to carry and operate it. If the Martians deployed their smoke-filled bombs, the XV unleashed their whirlwinds, which sent the smoke back towards the Martians or chased it into the heights of the atmosphere.
This explains why, despite the terrible heat ray and the frightful black smoke, the XV, who had arrived armed for their victorious struggle against the Martians, had been able to take possession of Argyre Island and were now setting forth to conquer or progressively subjugate the entire planet.
Stimulated by the necessity of defending themselves against the Terran invaders, however, the Martians too had invented new weapons. They could only protect themselves against the XV’s electro-mirrors by distance, but they knew the exact range of these electrical weapons, and stayed far enough away to be outside it. They fought from afar by sending forth their kites and torpedoes to seal off the XV’s aerial and marine routes.
It was, therefore, within sight of the Iapygian Archipelago that Abbou found the army of the XV. He headed straight for the rearmost aircraft hovering at an altitude of 200 meters, and, after the customary identification, asked the ten men manning it: “Where is Commander Kipper?”
“Aboard Aircraft 152 on the left flank.”
“Thanks!” And Abbou went in search of Aircraft 152.
The Nyctalope on Mars 2: The Triumph of Love Page 13