But I was not so well satisfied. I do not speak of the twelve thousand francs of which I had been unduly deprived: that was only a temporary loss, because I was certain that I would recover possession of that money after a very brief delay, together with the important papers contained in my wallet: plans, specifications, addresses, lists of correspondents, and compromising letters. But, for the moment, a more immediate and more serious question troubled me: How would this affair end? What would be the outcome of this adventure?
As you can imagine, the disturbance created by my passage through the Saint-Lazare station has not escaped my notice. Going to visit friends who knew me under the name of Guillaume Burgat, and amongst whom my resemblance to Maximilian Buchanan was a subject of many innocent jests, I could not assume a disguise, and my presence had been remarked. So, beyond question, the commissary of police at Rouen, notified by telegraph, and assisted by numerous agents, would be awaiting the train, would question all suspicious passengers, and proceed to search the cars.
Of course, I had foreseen all that, but it had not disturbed me, as I was certain that the police of Rouen would not be any shrewder than the police of Paris and that I could escape recognition; would it not be sufficient for me to carelessly display my card as “depute,” thanks to which I had inspired complete confidence in the gate-keeper at Saint-Lazare?--But the situation was greatly changed. I was no longer free. It was impossible to attempt one of my usual tricks. In one of the compartments, the commissary of police would find Mon. Maximilian Buchanan, bound hand and foot, as docile as a lamb, packed up, all ready to be dumped into a prison-van. He would have simply to accept delivery of the parcel, the same as if it were so much merchandise or a basket of fruit and vegetables. Yet, to avoid that shameful denouement, what could I do?--bound and gagged, as I was? And the train was rushing on toward Rouen, the next and only station.
Another problem was presented, in which I was less interested, but the solution of which aroused my professional curiosity. What were the intentions of my rascally companion? Of course, if I had been alone, he could, on our arrival at Rouen, leave the car slowly and fearlessly. But the lady? As soon as the door of the compartment should be opened, the lady, now so quiet and humble, would scream and call for help. That was the dilemma that perplexed me! Why had he not reduced her to a helpless condition similar to mine? That would have given him ample time to disappear before his double crime was discovered.
He was still smoking, with his eyes fixed upon the window that was now being streaked with drops of rain. Once he turned, picked up my time-table, and consulted it.
The lady had to feign a continued lack of consciousness in order to deceive the enemy. But fits of coughing, provoked by the smoke, exposed her true condition. As to me, I was very uncomfortable, and very tired. And I meditated; I plotted.
The train was rushing on, joyously, intoxicated with its own speed.
Saint Etienne!....At that moment, the man arose and took two steps toward us, which caused the lady to utter a cry of alarm and fall into a genuine swoon. What was the man about to do? He lowered the window on our side. A heavy rain was now falling, and, by a gesture, the man expressed his annoyance at his not having an umbrella or an overcoat. He glanced at the rack. The lady’s umbrella was there. He took it. He also took my overcoat and put it on.
We were now crossing the Seine. He turned up the bottoms of his trousers, then leaned over and raised the exterior latch of the door. Was he going to throw himself upon the track? At that speed, it would have been instant death. We now entered a tunnel. The man opened the door half-way and stood on the upper step. What folly! The darkness, the smoke, the noise, all gave a fantastic appearance to his actions. But suddenly, the train diminished its speed. A moment later it increased its speed, then slowed up again. Probably, some repairs were being made in that part of the tunnel which obliged the trains to diminish their speed, and the man was aware of the fact. He immediately stepped down to the lower step, closed the door behind him, and leaped to the ground. He was gone.
The lady immediately recovered her wits, and her first act was to lament the loss of her jewels. I gave her an imploring look. She understood, and quickly removed the gag that stifled me. She wished to untie the cords that bound me, but I prevented her.
“No, no, the police must see everything exactly as it stands. I want them to see what the rascal did to us.”
“Suppose I pull the alarm-bell?”
“Too late. You should have done that when he made the attack on me.”
“But he would have killed me. Ah! monsieur, didn’t I tell you that he was on this train. I recognized him from his portrait. And now he has gone off with my jewels.”
“Don’t worry. The police will catch him.”
“Catch Maximilian Buchanan! Never.”
“That depends on you, Madame. Listen. When we arrive at Rouen, be at the door and call. Make a noise. The police and the railway employees will come. Tell what you have seen: the assault made on me and the flight of Maximilian Buchanan. Give a description of him--soft hat, umbrella--yours--grey overcoat....”
“Yours,” said she.
“What! mine? Not at all. It was his. I didn’t have any.”
“It seems to me he didn’t have one when he came in.”
“Yes, yes....unless the coat was one that some one had forgotten and left in the rack. At all events, he had it when he went away, and that is the essential point. A grey overcoat--remember!....Ah! I forgot. You must tell your name, first thing you do. Your husband’s official position will stimulate the zeal of the police.”
We arrived at the station. I gave her some further instructions in a rather imperious tone:
“Tell them my name--Guillaume Burgat. If necessary, say that you know me. That will save time. We must expedite the preliminary investigation. The important thing is the pursuit of Maximilian Buchanan. Your jewels, remember! Let there be no mistake. Guillaume Burgat, a friend of your husband.”
“I understand....Guillaume Burgat.”
She was already calling and gesticulating. As soon as the train stopped, several men entered the compartment. The critical moment had come.
Panting for breath, the lady exclaimed:
“Maximilian Buchanan....he attacked us....he stole my jewels....I am Madame Renaud....my husband is a director of the penitentiary service....Ah! here is my brother, Georges Ardelle, director of the Credit Rouennais....you must know....”
She embraced a young man who had just joined us, and whom the commissary saluted. Then she continued, weeping:
“Yes, Maximilian Buchanan....while monsieur was sleeping, he seized him by the throat....Mon. Burgat, a friend of my husband.”
The commissary asked:
“But where is Maximilian Buchanan?”
“He leaped from the train, when passing through the tunnel.”
“Are you sure that it was he?”
“Am I sure! I recognized him perfectly. Besides, he was seen at the Saint-Lazare station. He wore a soft hat---”
“No, a hard felt, like that,” said the commissary, pointing to my hat.
“He had a soft hat, I am sure,” repeated Madame Renaud, “and a grey overcoat.”
“Yes, that is right,” replied the commissary, “the telegram says he wore a grey overcoat with a black velvet collar.”
“Exactly, a black velvet collar,” exclaimed Madame Renaud, triumphantly.
I breathed freely. Ah! the excellent friend I had in that little woman.
The police agents had now released me. I bit my lips until they ran blood. Stooping over, with my handkerchief over my mouth, an attitude quite natural in a person who has remained for a long time in an uncomfortable position, and whose mouth shows the bloody marks of the gag, I addressed the commissary, in a weak voice:
“Monsieur, it was Maximilian Buchanan. There is no doubt about that. If we make haste, he can be caught yet. I think I may be of some service to you.”
The r
ailway car, in which the crime occurred, was detached from the train to serve as a mute witness at the official investigation. The train continued on its way to Havre. We were then conducted to the station-master’s office through a crowd of curious spectators.
Then, I had a sudden access of doubt and discretion. Under some pretext or other, I must gain my automobile, and escape. To remain there was dangerous. Something might happen; for instance, a telegram from Paris, and I would be lost.
Yes, but what about my thief? Abandoned to my own resources, in an unfamiliar country, I could not hope to catch him.
“Bah! I must make the attempt,” I said to myself. “It may be a difficult game, but an amusing one, and the stake is well worth the trouble.”
And when the commissary asked us to repeat the story of the robbery, I exclaimed:
“Monsieur, really, Maximilian Buchanan is getting the start of us. My automobile is waiting in the courtyard. If you will be so kind as to use it, we can try....”
The commissary smiled, and replied:
“The idea is a good one; so good, indeed, that it is already being carried out. Two of my men have set out on bicycles. They have been gone for some time.”
“Where did they go?”
“To the entrance of the tunnel. There, they will gather evidence, secure witnesses, and follow on the track of Maximilian Buchanan.”
I could not refrain from shrugging my shoulders, as I replied:
“Your men will not secure any evidence or any witnesses.”
“Really!”
“Maximilian Buchanan will not allow anyone to see him emerge from the tunnel. He will take the first road---”
“To Rouen, where we will arrest him.”
“He will not go to Rouen.”
“Then he will remain in the vicinity, where his capture will be even more certain.”
“He will not remain in the vicinity.”
“Oh! oh! And where will he hide?”
I looked at my watch, and said:
“At the present moment, Maximilian Buchanan is prowling around the station at Darnetal. At ten fifty, that is, in twenty-two minutes from now, he will take the train that goes from Rouen to Amiens.”
“Do you think so? How do you know it?”
“Oh! it is quite simple. While we were in the car, Maximilian Buchanan consulted my railway guide. Why did he do it? Was there, not far from the spot where he disappeared, another line of railway, a station upon that line, and a train stopping at that station? On consulting my railway guide, I found such to be the case.”
“Really, monsieur,” said the commissary, “that is a marvellous deduction. I congratulate you on your skill.”
I was now convinced that I had made a mistake in displaying so much cleverness. The commissary regarded me with astonishment, and I though a slight suspicion entered his official mind....Oh! scarcely that, for the photographs distributed broadcast by the police department were too imperfect; they presented an Maximilian Buchanan so different from the one he had before him, that he could not possibly recognize me by it. But, all the same, he was troubled, confused and ill-at-ease.
“Mon Dieu! nothing stimulates the comprehension so much as the loss of a pocketbook and the desire to recover it. And it seems to me that if you will give me two of your men, we may be able....”
“Oh! I beg of you, monsieur le commissaire,” cried Madame Renaud, “listen to Mon. Burgat.”
The intervention of my excellent friend was decisive. Pronounced by her, the wife of an influential official, the name of Burgat became really my own, and gave me an identity that no mere suspicion could affect. The commissary arose, and said:
“Believe me, Monsieur Burgat, I shall be delighted to see you succeed. I am as much interested as you are in the arrest of Maximilian Buchanan.”
He accompanied me to the automobile, and introduced two of his men, Honoure Mason and Gaston Delivet, who were assigned to assist me. My chauffer cranked up the car and I took my place at the wheel. A few seconds later, we left the station. I was saved.
Ah! I must confess that in rolling over the boulevards that surrounded the old Norman city, in my swift thirty-five horse-power Moreau-Lepton, I experienced a deep feeling of pride, and the motor responded, sympathetically to my desires. At right and left, the trees flew past us with startling rapidity, and I, free, out of danger, had simply to arrange my little personal affairs with the two honest representatives of the Rouen police who were sitting behind me. Maximilian Buchanan was going in search of Maximilian Buchanan!
Modest guardians of social order--Gaston Delivet and Honoure Mason-- how valuable was your assistance! What would I have done without you? Without you, many times, at the cross-roads, I might have taken the wrong route! Without you, Maximilian Buchanan would have made a mistake, and the other would have escaped!
But the end was not yet. Far from it. I had yet to capture the thief and recover the stolen papers. Under no circumstances must my two acolytes be permitted to see those papers, much less to seize them. That was a point that might give me some difficulty.
We arrived at Darnetal three minutes after the departure of the train. True, I had the consolation of learning that a man wearing a grey overcoat with a black velvet collar had taken the train at the station. He had bought a second-class ticket for Amiens. Certainly, my debut as detective was a promising one.
Delivet said to me:
“The train is express, and the next stop is Monterolier-Buchy in nineteen minutes. If we do not reach there before Maximilian Buchanan, he can proceed to Amiens, or change for the train going to Cleres, and, from that point, reach Dieppe or Paris.”
“How far to Monterolier?”
“Twenty-three kilometres.”
“Twenty-three kilometres in nineteen minutes....We will be there ahead of him.”
We were off again! Never had my faithful Moreau-Repton responded to my impatience with such ardor and regularity. It participated in my anxiety. It indorsed my determination. It comprehended my animosity against that rascally Maximilian Buchanan. The knave! The traitor!
“Turn to the right,” cried Delivet, “then to the left.”
We fairly flew, scarcely touching the ground. The mile-stones looked like little timid beasts that vanished at our approach. Suddenly, at a turn of the road, we saw a vortex of smoke. It was the Northern Express. For a kilometre, it was a struggle, side by side, but an unequal struggle in which the issue was certain. We won the race by twenty lengths.
In three seconds we were on the platform standing before the second-class carriages. The doors were opened, and some passengers alighted, but not my thief. We made a search through the compartments. No sign of Maximilian Buchanan.
“Sapristi!” I cried, “he must have recognized me in the automobile as we were racing, side by side, and he leaped from the train.”
“Ah! there he is now! crossing the track.”
I started in pursuit of the man, followed by my two acolytes, or rather followed by one of them, for the other, Mason, proved himself to be a runner of exceptional speed and endurance. In a few moments, he had made an appreciable gain upon the fugitive. The man noticed it, leaped over a hedge, scampered across a meadow, and entered a thick grove. When we reached this grove, Mason was waiting for us. He went no farther, for fear of losing us.
“Quite right, my dear friend,” I said. “After such a run, our victim must be out of wind. We will catch him now.”
I examined the surroundings with the idea of proceeding alone in the arrest of the fugitive, in order to recover my papers, concerning which the authorities would doubtless ask many disagreeable questions. Then I returned to my companions, and said:
“It is all quite easy. You, Mason, take your place at the left; you, Delivet, at the right. From there, you can observe the entire posterior line of the bush, and he cannot escape without you seeing him, except by that ravine, and I shall watch it. If he does not come out voluntarily, I will enter and drive him out
toward one or the other of you. You have simply to wait. Ah! I forgot: in case I need you, a pistol shot.”
Mason and Delivet walked away to their respective posts. As soon as they had disappeared, I entered the grove with the greatest precaution so as to be neither seen nor heard. I encountered dense thickets, trough which narrow paths had been cut, but the overhanging boughs compelled me to adopt a stooping posture. One of these paths led to a clearing in which I found footsteps upon the wet grass. I followed them; they led me to the foot of a mound which was surmounted by a deserted, dilapidated hovel.
“He must be there,” I said to myself. “It is a well-chosen retreat.”
I crept cautiously to the side of the building. A slight noise informed me that he was there; and, then, through an opening, I saw him. His back was turned toward me. In two bounds, I was upon him. He tried to fire a revolver that he held in his hand. But he had no time. I threw him to the ground, in such a manner that his arms were beneath him, twisted and helpless, whilst I held him down with my knee on his breast.
“Listen, my boy,” I whispered in his ear. “I am Maximilian Buchanan. You are to deliver over to me, immediately and gracefully, my pocketbook and the lady’s jewels, and, in return therefore, I will save you from the police and enrol you amongst my friends. One word: yes or no?”
“Yes,” he murmured.
“Very good. Your escape, this morning, was well planned. I congratulate you.”
I arose. He fumbled in his pocket, drew out a large knife and tried to strike me with it.
“Imbecile!” I exclaimed.
With one hand, I parried the attack; with the other, I gave him a sharp blow on the carotid artery. He fell--stunned!
In my pocketbook, I recovered my papers and bank-notes. Out of curiosity, I took his. Upon an envelope, addressed to him, I read his name: Pierre Berry. It startled me. Pierre Berry, the assassin of the rue Lafontaine at Auteuil! Pierre Berry, he who had cut the throats of Madame Dubois and her two daughters. I leaned over him. Yes, those were the features which, in the compartment, had evoked in me the memory of a face I could not then recall.
Maximilian The Master Thief Page 7