“Come, monsieur, don’t play that game with me. What! they take the precaution to carry me alone in the van, prepare a nice little obstruction, and imagine I am going to take to my heels and rejoin my friends. Well, and what about the twenty agents of the Civil police who accompanied us on foot, in fiacres and on bicycles? No, the arrangement did not please me. I should not have got away alive. Tell me, monsieur, did they count on that?”
He shrugged his shoulders, and added:
“I beg of you, monsieur, not to worry about me. When I wish to escape I shall not require any assistance.”
On the second day thereafter, the `Echo de France,’ which had apparently become the official reporter of the exploits of Maximilian Buchanan, it was said that he was one of its principal shareholders-- published a most complete account of this attempted escape. The exact wording of the messages exchanged between the prisoner and his mysterious friend, the means by which correspondence was constructed, the complicity of the police, the promenade on the Boulevard Saint Michel, the incident at the cafe Soufflot, everything was disclosed. It was known that the search of the restaurant and its waiters by Inspector Burdette had been fruitless. And the public also learned an extraordinary thing which demonstrated the infinite variety of resources that Buchanan possessed: the prison-van, in which he was being carried, was prepared for the occasion and substituted by his accomplices for one of the six vans which did service at the prison.
The next escape of Maximilian Buchanan was not doubted by anyone. He announced it himself, in categorical terms, in a reply to Mon. Bouvier on the day following his attempted escape. The judge having made a jest about the affair, Maximilian was annoyed, and, firmly eyeing the judge, he said, emphatically:
“Listen to me, monsieur! I give you my word of honour that this attempted flight was simply preliminary to my general plan of escape.”
“I do not understand,” said the judge.
“It is not necessary that you should understand.”
And when the judge, in the course of that examination which was reported at length in the columns of the `Echo de France,’ when the judge sought to resume his investigation, Maximilian Buchanan exclaimed, with an assumed air of lassitude:
“Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, what’s the use! All these questions are of no importance!”
“What! No importance?” cried the judge.
“No; because I shall not be present at the trial.”
“You will not be present?”
“No; I have fully decided on that, and nothing will change my mind.”
Such assurance combined with the inexplicable indiscretions that Maximilian committed every day served to annoy and mystify the officers of the law. There were secrets known only to Maximilian Buchanan; secrets that he alone could divulge. But for what purpose did he reveal them? And how?
Maximilian Buchanan was changed to another cell. The judge closed his preliminary investigation. No further proceedings were taken in his case for a period of two months, during which time Maximilian was seen almost constantly lying on his bed with his face turned toward the wall. The changing of his cell seemed to discourage him. He refused to see his advocate. He exchanged only a few necessary words with his keepers.
During the fortnight preceding his trial, he resumed his vigorous life. He complained of want of air. Consequently, early every morning he was allowed to exercise in the courtyard, guarded by two men.
Public curiosity had not died out; every day it expected to be regaled with news of his escape; and, it is true, he had gained a considerable amount of public sympathy by reason of his verve, his gayety, his diversity, his inventive genius and the mystery of his life. Maximilian Buchanan must escape. It was his inevitable fate. The public expected it, and was surprised that the event had been delayed so long. Every morning the Prefect of Police asked his secretary:
“Well, has he escaped yet?”
“No, Monsieur le Prefect.”
“To-morrow, probably.”
And, on the day before the trial, a gentleman called at the office of the `Grand Journal,’ asked to see the court reporter, threw his card in the reporter’s face, and walked rapidly away. These words were written on the card: “Maximilian Buchanan always keeps his promises.”
It was under these conditions that the trial commenced. An enormous crowd gathered at the court. Everybody wished to see the famous Maximilian Buchanan. They had a gleeful anticipation that the prisoner would play some audacious pranks upon the judge. Advocates and magistrates, reporters and men of the world, actresses and society women were crowded together on the benches provided for the public.
It was a dark, sombre day, with a steady downpour of rain. Only a dim light pervaded the courtroom, and the spectators caught a very indistinct view of the prisoner when the guards brought him in. But his heavy, shambling walk, the manner in which he dropped into his seat, and his passive, stupid appearance were not at all prepossessing. Several times his advocate--one of Mon. Danval’s assistants--spoke to him, but he simply shook his head and said nothing.
The clerk read the indictment, then the judge spoke:
“Prisoner at the bar, stand up. Your name, age, and occupation?”
Not receiving any reply, the judge repeated:
“Your name? I ask you your name?”
A thick, slow voice muttered:
“Baudru, Desire.”
A murmur of surprise pervaded the courtroom. But the judge proceeded:
“Baudru, Desire? Ah! a new alias! Well, as you have already assumed a dozen different names and this one is, no doubt, as imaginary as the others, we will adhere to the name of Maximilian Buchanan, by which you are more generally known.”
The judge referred to his notes, and continued:
“For, despite the most diligent search, your past history remains unknown. Your case is unique in the annals of crime. We know not whom you are, whence you came, your birth and breeding--all is a mystery to us. Three years ago you appeared in our midst as Maximilian Buchanan, presenting to us a strange combination of intelligence and perversion, immorality and generosity. Our knowledge of your life prior to that date is vague and problematical. It may be that the man called Rostat who, eight years ago, worked with Dickson, the prestidigitator, was none other than Maximilian Buchanan. It is probably that the Russian student who, six years ago, attended the laboratory of Doctor Altier at the Saint Louis Hospital, and who often astonished the doctor by his ingenuity of his hypotheses on subjects of bacteriology and the boldness of his experiments in diseases of the skin, was none other than Maximilian Buchanan. It is probable, also, that Maximilian Buchanan was the professor who introduced the Japanese art of jiu-jitsu to the Parisian public. We have some reason to believe that Maximilian Buchanan was the bicyclist who won the Grand Prix de l’Exposition, received his ten thousand francs, and was never heard of again. Maximilian Buchanan may have been, also, the person who saved so many lives through the little dormer-window at the Charity Bazaar; and, at the same time, picked their pockets.”
The judge paused for a moment, then continued:
“Such is that epoch which seems to have been utilized by you in a thorough preparation for the warfare you have since waged against society; a methodical apprenticeship in which you developed your strength, energy and skill to the highest point possible. Do you acknowledge the accuracy of these facts?”
During this discourse the prisoner had stood balancing himself, first on one foot, then on the other, with shoulders stooped and arms inert. Under the strongest light one could observe his extreme thinness, his hollow cheeks, his projecting cheek-bones, his earthen-coloured face dotted with small red spots and framed in a rough, straggling beard. Prison life had caused him to age and wither. He had lost the youthful face and elegant figure we had seen portrayed so often in the newspapers.
It appeared as if he had not heard the question propounded by the judge. Twice it was repeated to him. Then he raised his eyes, seemed to reflect, then, mak
ing a desperate effort, he murmured:
“Baudru, Desire.”
The judge smiled, as he said:
“I do not understand the theory of your defence, Maximilian Buchanan. If you are seeking to avoid responsibility for your crimes on the ground of imbecility, such a line of defence is open to you. But I shall proceed with the trial and pay no heed to your vagaries.”
He then narrated at length the various thefts, swindles and forgeries charged against Buchanan. Sometimes he questioned the prisoner, but the latter simply grunted or remained silent. The examination of witnesses commenced. Some of the evidence given was immaterial; other portions of it seemed more important, but through all of it there ran a vein of contradictions and inconsistencies. A wearisome obscurity enveloped the proceedings, until Detective Simenon was called as a witness; then interest was revived.
From the beginning the actions of the veteran detective appeared strange and unaccountable. He was nervous and ill at ease. Several times he looked at the prisoner, with obvious doubt and anxiety. Then, with his hands resting on the rail in front of him, he recounted the events in which he had participated, including his pursuit of the prisoner across Europe and his arrival in America. He was listened to with great avidity, as his capture of Maximilian Buchanan was well known to everyone through the medium of the press. Toward the close of his testimony, after referring to his conversations with Maximilian Buchanan, he stopped, twice, embarrassed and undecided. It was apparent that he was possessed of some thought which he feared to utter. The judge said to him, sympathetically:
“If you are ill, you may retire for the present.”
“No, no, but---”
He stopped, looked sharply at the prisoner, and said:
“I ask permission to scrutinize the prisoner at closer range. There is some mystery about him that I must solve.”
He approached the accused man, examined him attentively for several minutes, then returned to the witness-stand, and, in an almost solemn voice, he said:
“I declare, on oath, that the prisoner now before me is not Maximilian Buchanan.”
A profound silence followed the statement. The judge, nonplused for a moment, exclaimed:
“Ah! What do you mean? That is absurd!”
The detective continued:
“At first sight there is a certain resemblance, but if you carefully consider the nose, the mouth, the hair, the colour of skin, you will see that it is not Maximilian Buchanan. And the eyes! Did he ever have those alcoholic eyes!”
“Come, come, witness! What do you mean? Do you pretend to say that we are trying the wrong man?”
“In my opinion, yes. Maximilian Buchanan has, in some manner, contrived to put this poor devil in his place, unless this man is a willing accomplice.”
This dramatic denouement caused much laughter and excitement amongst the spectators. The judge adjourned the trial, and sent for Mon. Bouvier, the gaoler, and guards employed in the prison.
When the trial was resumed, Mon. Bouvier and the gaoler examined the accused and declared that there was only a very slight resemblance between the prisoner and Maximilian Buchanan.
“Well, then!” exclaimed the judge, “who is this man? Where does he come from? What is he in prison for?”
Two of the prison-guards were called and both of them declared that the prisoner was Maximilian Buchanan. The judged breathed once more.
But one of the guards then said:
“Yes, yes, I think it is he.”
“What!” cried the judge, impatiently, “you think it is he! What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I saw very little of the prisoner. He was placed in my charge in the evening and, for two months, he seldom stirred, but laid on his bed with his face to the wall.”
“What about the time prior to those two months?”
“Before that he occupied a cell in another part of the prison. He was not in cell 24.”
Here the head gaoler interrupted, and said:
“We changed him to another cell after his attempted escape.”
“But you, monsieur, you have seen him during those two months?”
“I had no occasion to see him. He was always quiet and orderly.”
“And this prisoner is not Maximilian Buchanan?”
“No.”
“Then who is he?” demanded the judge.
“I do not know.”
“Then we have before us a man who was substituted for Maximilian Buchanan, two months ago. How do you explain that?”
“I cannot.”
In absolute despair, the judge turned to the accused and addressed him in a conciliatory tone:
“Prisoner, can you tell me how, and since when, you became an inmate of the Prison de la Sante?”
The engaging manner of the judge was calculated to disarm the mistrust and awaken the understanding of the accused man. He tried to reply. Finally, under clever and gentle questioning, he succeeded in framing a few phrases from which the following story was gleaned: Two months ago he had been taken to the Depot, examined and released. As he was leaving the building, a free man, he was seized by two guards and placed in the prison-van. Since then he had occupied cell 24. He was contented there, plenty to eat, and he slept well--so he did not complain.
All that seemed probable; and, amidst the mirth and excitement of the spectators, the judge adjourned the trial until the story could be investigated and verified.
The following facts were at once established by an examination of the prison records: Eight weeks before a man named Baudru Desire had slept at the Depot. He was released the next day, and left the Depot at two o’clock in the afternoon. On the same day at two o’clock, having been examined for the last time, Maximilian Buchanan left the Depot in a prison-van.
Had the guards made a mistake? Had then been deceived by the resemblance and carelessly substituted this man for their prisoner?
Another question suggested itself: Had the substitution been arranged in advance? In that event Baudru must have been an accomplice and must have caused his own arrest for the express purpose of taking Buchanan’s place. But then, by what miracle had such a plan, based on a series of improbable chances, been carried to success?
Baudru Desire was turned over to the anthropological service; they had never seen anything like him. However, they easily traced his past history. He was known at Courbevois, at Asnieres and at Levallois. He lived on alms and slept in one of those rag-picker’s huts near the barrier de Ternes. He had disappeared from there a year ago.
Had he been enticed away by Maximilian Buchanan? There was no evidence to that effect. And even if that was so, it did not explain the flight of the prisoner. That still remained a mystery. Amongst twenty theories which sought to explain it, not one was satisfactory. Of the escape itself, there was no doubt; an escape that was incomprehensible, sensational, in which the public, as well as the officers of the law, could detect a carefully prepared plan, a combination of circumstances marvellously dove-tailed, whereof the denouement fully justified the confident prediction of Maximilian Buchanan: “I shall not be present at my trial.”
After a month of patient investigation, the problem remained unsolved. The poor devil of a Baudru could not be kept in prison indefinitely, and to place him on trial would be ridiculous. There was no charge against him. Consequently, he was released; but the chief of the Civil police resolved to keep him under surveillance. This idea originated with Simenon. From his point of view there was neither complicity nor chance. Baudru was an instrument upon which Maximilian Buchanan had played with his extraordinary skill. Baudru, when set at liberty, would lead them to Maximilian Buchanan or, at least, to some of his accomplices. The two inspectors, Ruelenfant and Burdette, were assigned to assist Simenon.
One foggy morning in January the prison gates opened and Baudru Desire stepped forth--a free man. At first he appeared to be quite embarrassed, and walked like a person who has no precise idea whither he is going. He followed the rue de la Sa
nte and the rue Saint Jacques. He stopped in front of an old-clothes shop, removed his jacket and his vest, sold his vest on which he realized a few sous; then, replacing his jacket, he proceeded on his way. He crossed the Seine. At the Chatelet an omnibus passed him. He wished to enter it, but there was no place. The controller advised him to secure a number, so he entered the waiting-room.
Simenon called to his two assistants, and, without removing his eyes from the waiting room, he said to them:
“Stop a carriage....no, two. That will be better. I will go with one of you, and we will follow him.”
The men obeyed. Yet Baudru did not appear. Simenon entered the waiting-room. It was empty.
“Idiot that I am!” he muttered, “I forgot there was another exit.”
There was an interior corridor extending from the waiting-room to the rue Saint Martin. Simenon rushed through it and arrived just in time to observe Baudru upon the top of the Batignolles-Jardin de Plates omnibus as it was turning the corner of the rue de Rivoli. He ran and caught the omnibus. But he had lost his two assistants. He must continue the pursuit alone. In his anger he was inclined to seize the man by the collar without ceremony. Was it not with premeditation and by means of an ingenious ruse that his pretended imbecile had separated him from his assistants?
He looked at Baudru. The latter was asleep on the bench, his head rolling from side to side, his mouth half-opened, and an incredible expression of stupidity on his blotched face. No, such an adversary was incapable of deceiving old Simenon. It was a stroke of luck--nothing more.
At the Galleries-Lafayette, the man leaped from the omnibus and took the La Muette tramway, following the boulevard Haussmann and the avenue Victor Hugo. Baudru alighted at La Muette station; and, with a nonchalant air, strolled into the Bois de Boulogne.
He wandered through one path after another, and sometimes retraced his steps. What was he seeking? Had he any definite object? At the end of an hour, he appeared to be faint from fatigue, and, noticing a bench, he sat down. The spot, not far from Auteuil, on the edge of a pond hidden amongst the trees, was absolutely deserted. After the lapse of another half-hour, Simenon became impatient and resolved to speak to the man. He approached and took a seat beside Baudru, lighted a cigarette, traced some figures in the sand with the end of his cane, and said:
Maximilian The Master Thief Page 5