Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “You are sure of that?” cried M. Darzac.

  “What reason have you for thinking so?” I demanded.

  “Bah!” exclaimed Rouletabille. “It left the marks of the keel in the sand on the bank, and when they anchored, they let fall a little lantern, which I picked up and which the revenue officers recognized as the one used by Tullio when he fishes in the waters on calm nights.”

  “Larsan certainly landed!” repeated M. Darzac. “He is at Rochers Rouges.”

  “In any case, if the boat has been left at Rochers Rouges, he has not come back here,” exclaimed Rouletabille. “The two revenue posts are situated upon the narrow road which leads from Rochers Rouges to France, and are placed in such a manner that no one can pass by whether by day or by night without being seen. You know besides that the Red Rocks from which the village takes its name form a cul de sac, and that a sentinel is on guard in front of these rocks every hundred meters around the frontier. The sentinel passes between the rocks and the sea. The rocks are steep and form a terrace sixty meters high.”

  “That is true,” said Arthur Rance, who had not recently spoken, and who seemed greatly interested. “It is not easy to scale the rocks.”

  “He will have hidden himself in the grottoes,” said Darzac. “There are some deep pockets in the terrace.”

  “I thought of that,” said Rouletabille. “And I went back alone to Rochers Rouges, after I left Pure Bernier.”

  “That was very imprudent!” I said.

  “It was very prudent,” corrected Rouletabille. “I had some things to say to Larsan which I did not wish a third party to hear. Well, I went back to Rochers Rouges and called Larsan’s name through all the caves.”

  “You called him?” cried Arthur Rance.

  “Yes, I shouted into the gathering night; I waved my handkerchief as the soldiers wave their flag of truce. But whether it was that he heard me and saw my white flag or not, he did not answer.”

  “Perhaps he was not there,” I suggested.

  “Perhaps not: I don’t know. I heard a noise in the grotto.”

  “And you did not enter?” demanded Arthur Rance.

  “No.” replied Rouletabille, quietly. “But you do not think that it was because I was afraid of him, do you?”

  “Let us run!” we all cried in one breath, rising at the same moment. “Let us go and finish up the business immediately.”

  “I don’t think that we shall ever have a better chance of meeting Larsan,” said Arthur Rance. “We can do what we like with him at the bottom of Rochers Rouges.”

  Darzac and Arthur Rance were already starting off; I waited to see what Rouletabille would say. He calmed the two men with a gesture, and begged them to be seated again.

  “It is necessary to remember,” he said, “that Larsan would have acted exactly as he has done if he had wished to lure us to-night to the grotto of Rochers Rouges. He has shown himself to us; he has landed almost under our eyes at the Point of Garabaldi; he might as well have shouted under our windows, ‘You know I am at Rochers Rouges. I’ll wait for you there.’ He would have been neither more explicit or more eloquent.”

  “You went to Rochers Rouges,” resumed Arthur Rance, who I saw was deeply impressed with the arguments of Rouletabille— “and he did not show himself, he hid himself, meditating on some horrible crime to be committed to-night. We must have him out of that grotto.”

  “Doubtless,” replied Rouletabille, “my promenade to Rochers Rouges produced no result because I was all alone — but if we all go, I can assure you that we shall find some results on our return.”

  “On our return?” echoed Darzac who did not understand.

  “Yes,” explained Rouletabille; “on our return to the château, where we have left Mme. Darzac all alone — and where, perhaps, we may not find her. Oh, of course,” he added, as a general silence fell upon his companions, “it is only a hypothesis. But at this time we have no other means of reasoning than by hypothesis.”

  We looked at each other and this hypothesis overwhelmed us. Evidently, without Rouletabille, we should have committed a terrible blunder and perhaps have been responsible for a terrible disaster.

  Rouletabille arose and continued, thoughtfully:

  “You see, to-night there is nothing that we can do except to barricade ourselves. It is only a temporary barricade, for I want the place put in an absolutely unassailable state to-morrow. I have had the iron doors closed and Pere Jacques is guarding them. I have stationed Mattoni as sentinel at the chapel. I have established a barrier under the postern, the only vulnerable point of the inner court, and I will guard that myself. Pere Bernier will watch all night at the door of the Square Tower, and Mere Bernier, who has a good pair of eyes, and to whom I have given a spyglass, will remain until morning on the platform of the tower. Sainclair will station himself in the little palm leaf pavilion upon the terrace of the Round Tower. From the height of this terrace he will watch as I do all the inner court and the boulevards and parapets. M. Rance and M. Darzac will go into the garden and walk until daylight, the one toward the boulevard on the west, the other toward the boulevard on the east — the two boulevards which are at the edge of the outer court near the sea. The vigil will be hard to-night, because we are not yet organized. To-morrow we shall draw up a set of rules for our little garrison, and a list of the trustworthy domestics upon whom we may depend with security.

  “If there is one on the place who could come under the slightest suspicion, he must be dismissed at once. You will bring here to this cell all the arms which you can gather — rifles and revolvers. We will divide them among those who do guard duty. The sentinel is to draw upon every person who does not reply to ‘Who goes there?’ and who is not recognized. There is no need of a password, it would be useless. Let the countersign be to utter one’s name and to show one’s face. Besides, it is only ourselves who have the right to pass. Beginning to-morrow morning I will have raised at the inner entrance of the North gate the grating which until to-day formed its exterior entrance — the entrance which is closed, henceforth, by the iron doors; and in the daytime the commissaires can come as far as this grating with their provisions. They will place their wares in the little lodge in the tower where I have stationed Pere Jacques. At seven o’clock every night, the iron doors will be closed. To-morrow morning M. Arthur Rance will send for builders, masons and carpenters. Every person on the place will be counted, and no one allowed, under any pretext, to pass the door of the second court. Before seven o’clock in the evening everyone will be counted again, and the workpeople will be allowed to go out. In this one day the men must completely finish their work, which will consist of making a door for my postern, repairing a small breach in the wall which joins the New Castle to the Tower of Charles the Bold and another little break near the Round Tower (B in the plan), which defends the northeast corner of the outer court. After that, I shall be tranquil, and Mme. Darzac, who is forbidden to leave the château under the new order, having been placed in security, I may attempt a sortie and enter seriously into the search for the camp of Larsan. Come, M. Rance, to arms! Bring me some weapons to pass around this evening. I have loaned my own revolver to Pere Bernier, who is keeping guard before the door of Mme. Darzac’s apartments.”

  Anyone not knowing of the events at the Glandier who had heard the words spoken by Rouletabille would have considered both him who spoke and us who listened to be beside ourselves. But, I repeat, if anyone had lived, like myself, through that terrible and mysterious time, he would have done what I did — loaded his revolver and waited for dawn without uttering a word.

  CHAPTER VIII

  WHICH CONTAINS SOME PAGES FROM THE HISTORY OF JEAN ROUSSEL-LARSAN BALLMEYER

  AN HOUR LATER, we were all at our posts, passing along the parapets in the moonlight, keeping close watch upon the land, the sky and the water, and listening anxiously to the slightest sounds of the night — the sighing of the sea and the voices of the birds which began to sing at about thr
ee o’clock in the morning. Mme. Edith, who said that she could not sleep, came out and talked to Rouletabille at his postern. The lad called me, placed me in charge of his postern and of Mrs. Rance, and made his rounds. The fair Edith was in the most charming humor. She looked as fresh as a rose washed in dew, and she seemed to be greatly amused at the wan countenance of her husband, to whom she had brought out a glass of whisky.

  “It’s the funniest thing I ever heard of,” she exclaimed, clapping her tiny hands. “All of you keeping watch out here like this! How I wish I knew your Larsan! I’m sure I should adore him!”

  I shuddered involuntarily at the words she uttered so lightly. Beyond a doubt there do exist romantic little creatures who fear nothing, and who in their carelessness jest at fate. Ah! if the unhappy girl had only realized what was to come!

  I spent two delightful hours with Mme. Edith, during the greater part of which I related to her some facts regarding the history of Ballmeyer. And since this occasion presents itself, I will at this time relate to the reader, in historical order — if I may use an expression which perfectly interprets my meaning — the characteristics and circumstances in the career of Larsan-Ballmeyer, some of which had been sufficient to make it doubtful whether he still lived at the time that he appeared to play so unexpected a part in “The Mystery of the Yellow Room.” As this man’s powers will be seen to extend in “The Perfume of the Lady in Black” to heights which some may believe inaccessible, I judge it to be my duty to prepare the mind of the reader to admit in the end that I am only the transcriber of an affair the like of which never has been known before, and that I have invented nothing. And, moreover, Rouletabille, in the event that I might have the hardihood to add to such a wonderful and veracious history any rhetorical ornaments or exaggerations, would certainly contradict me and riddle my story as with bullets. The great interests at stake are such that the slightest exaggeration would assuredly entail the most terrible consequences, so that I shall keep strictly to the exact details of my narrative, even at the risk of making it seem a little dry and methodical. I will refer those who believe in actual records to the stenographic reports of the trial at Versailles. M. Andre-Hesse and M. Henri Robert, who appeared for M. Robert Darzac, made admirable addresses, to which the public may easily obtain access. And it must not be forgotten that before destiny had brought Larsan-Ballmeyer and Joseph Rouletabille into contact, the elegantly mannered bandit had given considerable trouble to the authorities. We have only to open the files of the Gazette les Tribuneaux and to read the account of the day when Larsan was condemned by the Court of Assizes to ten years at hard labor, to be assured on this score. Then, one will understand that there is no need of inventing anything about a man concerning whom one can with truth relate such a history: and thus the reader, knowing the sort of man that he is — that is to say, his manner of working and his incredible audacity — will refrain from smiling because Joseph Rouletabille placed a drawbridge between Larsan-Ballmeyer and Mathilde Darzac.

  M. Albert Bataille of le Figaro, who has published an admirable work on “Criminal and Civil Causes,” has devoted some interesting pages to Ballmeyer.

  Ballmeyer had a happy childhood and youth. He did not become a criminal as so many others have done because driven to evil doing by the hard blows of poverty and misery. The son of a rich broker in the Rue Molay, he might have chosen any vocation that he desired, but his preferred calling was to lay hands upon the money of other people. At an early age, he decided to become a swindler, just as another lad might have decided to become an engineer. His debut was a stroke of genius, and the history of it is almost incredible. Ballmeyer stole a letter addressed to his father containing a considerable sum of money. Then he took the train for Lyons and from there wrote his parent as follows:

  “Monsieur, I am an old soldier, retired and with a medal of honor to show that I have served my country. My son, a post office clerk, has stolen in the mails a letter addressed to you and containing money, to pay a gambling debt. I have called the members of the family together. In a few days we shall be able to raise the sum necessary to repay you. You are a father. Have pity upon a father. Do not bring me down in sorrow and shame to my grave.”

  M. Ballmeyer willingly granted the petition. He is still waiting for his first remittance — or, rather, he has ceased to expect it, for the law apprised him ten years ago of the identity of the culprit.

  Ballmeyer, relates M. Albert Bataille, seems to have received from nature all the gifts which go to make the successful swindler: a wonderful diversity, the talent of persuading new acquaintances to believe in him, the careful attention to the smallest details, the genius for completely disguising himself (he even took the precaution along this line of having his linen marked with different initials every time that he judged it expedient to change his name). But his strongest characteristic of all was his astonishing aptitude for evasion — for coquetting with fraud, for mocking at and defying justice. This was evinced in the malignant pleasure which he took in speaking of himself at Parquet as among those who might have been guilty, knowing how little importance would be attached by the magistrate by the clues which he gave.

  This delight in jesting at the judges was apparent in every act of his life.

  While he was doing military duty, Ballmeyer stole his companion’s box and accused the captain.

  He committed a theft of forty thousand francs from the Maison Furet, and immediately afterward denounced M. Furet as having stolen it himself.

  The Furet affair remained for a long time celebrated among judicial records under the appellation of “the coup of the telephone.” Science, applied as an aid to knavery, has never given anything better.

  Ballmeyer appropriated a draft for six thousand livres sterling from the messenger of Messrs. Furet, brothers, who were note brokers in the Rue Poissoniere, and who allowed him desk room in their offices.

  He went to the Rue Poissoniere, into the house of M. Furet, and, imitating the voice of M. Edouard Furet, asked over the telephone of M. Cohen, a banker, whether he would be willing to discount the draft. M. Cohen replied in the affirmative, and ten minutes later, Ballmeyer, after having cut the telephone wire to prevent further communication and possible explanations, sent for the money by a companion named Rigaud, whom he had known not long before in the African battalion, where their common interests had made them useful to each other.

  Ballmeyer kept the lion’s share for himself: then he rushed to the court to denounce Rigaud, and, as I have said, M. Furet himself.

  A dramatic scene took place when accuser and accused were confronted with each other in the cabinet of M. Espierre, the judge of instruction who had charge of the affair.

  “You know, my dear Furet,” said Ballmeyer to the amazed broker, “I am heart-broken at being obliged to expose you, but you must tell the Justice the truth. It is not an affair from which you need fear serious consequences. Why don’t you confess? You needed forty thousand francs to pay a little debt incurred at the race track and you intended to pay back the sum. It was you who telephoned?”

  “I! I!” stammered M. Edouard Furet, almost breathless with rage and astonishment.

  “You may as well confess,” said Ballmeyer. “No one could mistake your voice.”

  The bold thief was detected within eight days and was caught; and the police furnished such a report upon him that M. Cruppi, then attorney general, now Minister of Commerce, presented to M. Furet the most humble excuses of the Department of Justice. Rigaud was also tried and condemned to twenty years at hard labor.

  One might go on relating this kind of stories about Ballmeyer indefinitely. At that time, before he had entered upon the darker and more horrible pages of his career, he played a comedy — and what a comedy! It may be as well to give in detail the history of one of his escapes. Nothing could be more immensely comical than the adventure of the prisoner composing a long memorial during his trial for the sole purpose of hanging over the table of the judge, M. Villar
s, and of turning over the papers in order to obtain a glimpse of the formula of orders of discharge.

  When he was sent back to jail at Mazas, the fellow wrote a letter signed “Villars,” in which, according to the prescribed formula, M. Villars requested the superintendent of the prison to set the prisoner, Ballmeyer, at liberty without delay. But he had no paper of the kind used by the Judge for such matters.

  However, so small a thing as that scarcely embarrassed Ballmeyer. He went back to the courthouse in the morning, hiding the letter in his sleeve, protested his innocence and feigning gnat indignation and anger. He picked up the seal that lay on the table and gesticulated with it in expressing his wrath, and he knocked the inkstand over on the blue trousers of his guard. While the poor fellow, surrounded by the inmates of the court-room, who condoled with him on his ill luck, was sadly sponging off his “Number One,” Ballmeyer profited by the general diversion to apply a strong pressure of the stamp upon the order of discharge, and then began loudly excusing himself to the soldier.

  The trick succeeded. The thief made his way out amid the confusion, and, negligently tossing the signed and sealed paper to the guards, remarked carelessly:

  “What is M. Villars thinking of to order me to carry his papers? Does he take me for his servant?”

  Then he went back to his seat. The guards picked up the paper, and one of them carried it to the warden at Mazas, to whom it was addressed. It was the order to set Ballmeyer at liberty without delay. The same night, Ballmeyer was free.

  This was his second escape. Arrested for the Furet affair, he had gotten away once by throwing pepper in the eyes of the guard who was taking him to the station, and that same evening he was present in evening dress at a first night at the Comedie Francaise. Prior to this, at the time when he had been sentenced by court martial to five years’ imprisonment because he had robbed his companion, he had made his way out of the Cherche Midi by having one of his comrades forge an order of release for him. A variation of the same plan had served him well once more.