Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “And his brethren, the gipsies, seem still to be keeping an eye on him, for he has not been seen since the left Camargue.... They have undoubtedly compelled him to accompany them.

  “Thus everything is explained and it all fits in.

  “The Book of Ancestors had told me something else.

  “The question suggested itself to me to find out if de Lauriac was in league with Callista. He had travelled in the gipsies’ country, he had purloined the Book of Ancestors, the precious stones in which must certainly have formed a considerable portion of the fortune which he brought back from abroad.... I knew that he spoke and read the gipsy language. He was aware, therefore, of the great reward which awaited the person who restored the book to its owners.

  “Had de Lauriac been Callista’s accomplice he would have left the book in the place to which I had carefully returned it, and hastened to the spot where he knew that Odette was to be found. In that event, it would have been easy for me to follow him, but his chief concern was to take the book with him, the book whose restoration would entitle him to a reward; and there is no doubt that, as his reward, he would ask only for Odette’s freedom. Therefore the disappearance of the book told me that de Lauriac was not an accomplice.

  “What was his destination? Obviously Sever Turn with the least possible delay — Sever Turn, where the man who held sway over the entire race dwelt. Therefore I could ignore de Lauriac and concentrate myself on the search for Odette, who was being carried off to Sever Turn by the most devious ways, for the Romanys would take no risks; the Romanys know that I suspect the truth and certainly realize that in recovering Odette I should be robbing them of their queen....

  “Callista grasped the meaning of my allusions to this matter in the examining magistrate’s office; and her infuriated retort: ‘You will never see Odette again,’ confirmed me in my belief that it was no use looking for her on the direct road to Sever Turn.

  “And now Callista herself will show me the way and deliver her into my hands.... And now I am eager to get to work. I have played my last stake. If I have lost, Odette will reach Sever Turn before me, and then no power on earth will be able to restore her to us.

  “I know This people. They would rather die to the last man with their queen under the walls of their temple than surrender her.... But I have not lost... I have won....

  “Oh, but this is a disaster!

  CHAPTER XXV

  OF THE RISKS INCURRED BY A TRAVELLER WITH TOO FINE A BEARD

  THE TRAIN STOPPED at a wayside station. The stout woman who was nursing her child stood up and the child awoke. The worthy woman wanted to alight. The man with the fine yellow beard returned his notebook to his pocket and opened the carriage door. The woman passed her son to the accommodating passenger and descended to the platform, and then turned and held out her arms to receive her offspring.

  At that moment the young imp was gazing with undisguised admiration at the fine golden yellow beard of the man who was lifting him out of the carriage, as though he were the most precious but embarrassing charge, Let us at once say that he was eager to be rid of his burden.

  As ill-luck would have it, his impatience was not shared by the child. Such wonderful golden yellow beards are not met with every day in third class carriages, and when we have the good fortune to travel with one, we tear ourselves away from it with sorrow! The youngster laid hold of the flaxen appendage and the traveller uttered a cry. The child cried out too, and the mother cried out louder than either of them, for the train was starting again.

  These cries attracted Andréa and Callista to their carriage door, and they caught sight of a stout woman excitedly clutching a child who held in his clenched little fist a splendid beard, which shone like burnished gold!

  The carriage door was violently slammed from the inside with a bear-like growl.

  Callista ran to the partition window and saw a raging gentleman without a beard and recognized him. The latter hurriedly left the compartment and went into the corridor to find some spot where he could be out of the gipsies’ sight, but, as we have said, it was too late. Two creatures flung themselves on him like savages and toppled him over on to the permanent way....

  Extract from Rouletabille’s diary:

  “It is a dire moment when you fall from a train, particularly if you have been somewhat brutally thrown out, and you see coming towards you a goods train whose sole mission seems to be to reduce you to pulp. But if you are not’ dead, take it from me that what remains of life in you will be sufficient to bring you out of danger!...

  “I contrived to make a leap which shot me outside the track while the ‘steam-roller’ passed alongside me, furiously puffing and snorting.... I should probably have lain there some time if a youthful goatherd, who had witnessed the incident, had not come to my assistance. He showed me a mean-looking inn standing alone on the edge of a wood, as if lost in this deserted neighbourhood, and I had sufficient strength to drag myself to it. I was taken to a room on the first floor, where I received first aid.

  “I was a mass of bruises, but happily no bones were broken, though it seemed that my left shoulder was dislocated. I was particularly enraged by my misadventure. It was so unforeseen and stupid.

  “Nevertheless, I did not give way to despair, because I knew the name of the station to which they had taken tickets, and it was no great distance from the place where I was. I learnt that this place was called New Wachter, and the inn, Prince Joseph. As I realized, however, that I was pretty well done for, I got the young goat-herd to send a telegram to Jean:

  ‘Met with accident; come immediately,’ adding the address, but no further information. I felt certain that he would lose no time in coming to me. I determined, moreover, not to wait for him if I felt better a few hours later, but to hire a car, at whatever cost, and overtake my two rascally birds....

  “As I lay stretched on my bed, I suddenly heard through the open window the sound of a gusla, which was accompanying a strange melody. I dragged myself to the window and from my observatory — the inn was on rising ground — I beheld in the middle of a clearing a gipsy encampment of some dimensions. The gipsies seemed to be making merry, and were dancing round a number of fires.

  “I had an intuition which sent a thrill through me from head to foot. — I called out and a young girl came to my room. — Pointing to the distant gipsy encampment I said:

  “‘Every gipsy is more or less a bone-setter. Couldn’t you go and see if there’s one among them who can set a dislocated shoulder?’

  “She set out at once. I closed the window, drew the curtains so that the room should be in semidarkness, altered the appearance of my face, and waited...

  At this point the diary comes to a stop, as though it had been suddenly suspended. Then, on the next page, are these lines written in a feverish hand:

  “An old woman came to me. I artfully asked her a number of questions.... It was Zina!... It was Zina! I could swear that it was Zina.... And Odette is here — here within a few hundred yards of me. I am positive of it.... Odette!... Odette!... My dear Odette, whom I love as a dear frail young sister.... You are saved!...”

  And then there are a few words written quickly in scarcely intelligible letters:

  “But who is this banging so loudly on the inn door at this late hour?”

  CHAPTER XXVI

  “WHO COULD SAY IF SHE WERE AWAKE OR ASLEEP?”

  SHE LAY ON the tattered bedclothes which the gipsies had flung there so that she might rest awhile in the cool twilight, under the early gleams of the stars. Their hearts were alike sad and glad. They were leading home to the sacred city their young queen who had been lost and was found; but she seemed so remote from them! During the entire journey she had addressed no word to them nor had she answered any of their questions. Once she attempted to steal away.

  She turned her head when anyone came near her. She ignored them all except Zina, whom she treated ill, and with whom, moreover, she frequently had angry altercations which
ended in tears on both sides. She did not weep in the presence of the other gipsies, for she was too proud, but there was a look of sadness in her eyes which wrung their hearts.

  They sought to amuse her from time to time by telling her stories or by dancing in her honour to the accompaniment of their quaint instruments. Then she closed her eyes, as she had done that evening. But who could say if she, their young queen, were awake or asleep!

  That beautiful bare head, dressed in the gipsy manner with a fillet of sequins, that supple neck, drooping sadly on one side, that dejected way of holding herself even in repose, which perhaps was assumed, those parted lips which seemed as if they were breathing one long sigh — all these things perplexed without teaching them anything. If she were not asleep, what were her thoughts?... What were her thoughts?

  “She is thinking of her own country,” mumbled the aged Oliva between her loose teeth.

  “A Romany woman has no country,” broke in the harsh voice of Suco, who was patching up the harness of his old hack.

  But Sumbala, the chief of the tribe, a tawny old man with a beard grey with dust, said:

  “Sever Turn will become the queen of nations. Through this child she will arise from her desolation and astonish the world. What is written is written.”

  Olaja’i stopped poking the flickering fire, drew himself up and interposed:

  “The dark mist in which the gipsy nation is shrouded will pass away. The glorious day for which we have so long waited, will dawn at last, our brethren will be united once more, and we shall be great and free. Our victorious ranks will march against the enemy filled with one proud thought and strong in one faith!”

  But Olajaï’s intervention was not a success. His words fell on deaf ears, for he had been in the service of an alien, and they had abundant reason for mistrusting him.

  Then the youthful Ari, who was but sixteen years of age, stopped trimming her rushes.

  “If she is not asleep she is thinking of the alien whom she loves.”

  They all turned their blazing eyes upon her and a few oaths whistled past her ears. She had brought them upon herself, but she did not lose countenance.

  “One cannot help falling in love,” she said. “I’ve seen him. By Saint Sarah, he is handsomer than Suco.”

  There was a laugh, but Suco, who made pretentions to good looks, threw a stone at her and called her usheia—” a slut.”

  “I will denounce you to our chief when we get to Sever Turn.”

  Sumbalo quietened them by pointing to Odette asleep.... She was not asleep. She was thinking of him, of him and her father, of whose tragic end she knew nothing, and of all those who had loved her. What were they doing? Why did they not come to her rescue? Was it possible that she had been carried off, as the wind blows away a feather, and taken across the frontier under their very eyes, without the least effort on their part to protect her? Was it possible that she had travelled in a caravan for days together, as though it were an ordinary occurrence?

  The gendarmes had visited the caravan, the customs house officers had come, and they had gazed at her. They had seen her and said nothing. Nor had she said anything. By what manner of witchcraft had the thing come to pass?

  All her young being was stirred to its very depths, all her energies were summoned up to shout aloud to them: “Save me!” and with Zina’s eyes on her she had not moved a limb or uttered a sound....

  This Zina, this wicked little old witch of a woman — she had at once taken a liking to her. When the street boys of the village turned away from the old woman setting up an outcry, when the girls of Camargue fled from her making the sign of the cross, she went up to her, impelled by some strange, indefinable power.... And she had returned to the cross-roads, where the old creature was waiting for her, without any previous understanding between them....

  Was Zina her good or evil genius in this terrible experience? This wicked little old witch of a woman a good genius! And yet she had saved Odette’s life. Without her intervention she would have received her death blow from Callista and the savage Andréa. What could she have told them? What could she have shown them? What was it that they all stared at beneath the wrap round her shoulders?... They called her their queen, their young queen. What was their motive? What had she to do with these people? She was Odette de Lavardens — and behold now she was a queen in a caravan!

  These gipsies were all magicians. The whole world was aware of it. She was bewitched by this wicked little old hag of a’ woman with the hook nose, whom she hated and who was for ever sighing and clasping her in her arms against her rags...

  She hated her, but was afraid when she knew that she was not hovering round her, and the refuge of her trembling, scraggy arms was not open to her. Make of it what you will, it was so! When Odette wept in silence, she was conscious of a warm breath at her feet. It was Zina who worshipped her.... Odette believed now in fairy tales.

  Suddenly a kind of uproar caused her to open her eyes. Then she leapt to her feet and hastily retreated to the caravan, uttering a cry like a wounded animal.

  Callista! Callista, her bitterest enemy and the savage Andréa were there!

  They had just come within the circle of gipsies revealed by the tongues of fire which licked the sides of a cauldron. And they gathered round them with words of welcome and signs of delight, all talking together.

  Odette could feel and hear her heart throb in her chest like a hammer on an anvil. She held on to the side of the caravan by her finger-tips lest she should sink to the floor, but she wanted to look.

  Oh, this Callista, this Callista whom her Jean used to love, and perhaps loved still! She lifted the curtain of the little window, but let it down again with a gesture of rage, and it was torn.

  Callista was looking at her.... She was fixing her eyes on the caravan in which Odette was imprisoned — those beautiful great eyes — for they were splendid, were those eyes — more beautiful, perhaps, than her own. Yet they were wicked eyes; though assuredly men loved eyes like that, since Jean had loved them.

  Jean had kissed those eyes as he had kissed hers. Jean had lied to her. She no longer loved him.... And she, this Callista, would have liked to kill her; to make her suffer; to tear her eyes out!

  She gave a cry, starting back with horror. Callista and Andréa were coming towards the caravan, laughing.

  Odette darted to the door, calling: “Zina! Zina!”

  What was Zina doing? Without Zina she was lost.

  She was as good as dead.

  And it was not Olajaï, the mysterious Olajai who from the beginning of the journey had been watching her by stealth, without once speaking to her — Olajaï, whom all the gipsies mistrusted, and whose face was not entirely unfamiliar to her — where had she seen him months, perhaps years, ago? — assuredly it was not he who would thrust himself between Callista and the prisoner and save her as Zina had done, for he seemed anxious, shy, frightened at the least thing, even to look at her in secret and show pity for her.

  And suddenly she caught the sound of Zina’s voice. She sprang to the caravan window. It seemed as if a meeting of fiends had gathered round the panic-stricken Zina. The light of the fire in front of them magnified their forms in fantastic and fluttering shapes on the dense screen of the forest, in whose shelter other fires illuminated other caravans, while more figures came hurrying up.

  The silhouette of Zina’s scraggy arms seemed to be summoning every gipsy in the camp and pointing to the menacing spot on the horizon near the inn.... Now they were all talking together and Sumbalo, the chief of the tribe, could scarcely make himself heard. Odette could not comprehend what they were saying in their hateful language, as shrill as the music of brass instruments, but the excitement which possessed them all pointed to the existence of some immediate danger. Oliva’s old pins shook under her. Ari flung out her arms to the heavens as though supplicating the divinity, and Suco, the blacksmith, clenched his fists ready for the fray. As to Callista and Andréa, they exchanged glances
as they listened to the old woman. Their brows were fiercely wrinkled and the same thought dwelt in them both.

  No further interest had been taken in Olajaï, who, hidden behind a tree, lost no word of what was said. But Callista caught sight of his crafty face, which a sudden gleam from the fire caused to stand out in the obscurity. He made a movement to slink away, but she rushed at him, and handed him over to Andréa,

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE MAN WHO KNOCKED AT THE INN DOOR

  ROULETABILLE FELT MUCH better after the visit of the old gipsy bone-setter. He no longer had any pain in the shoulder; the fever had subsided; and even his foot ceased to trouble him. All his physical suffering seemed to have disappeared in a deep feeling of joy. He slipped out of bed, and, standing at the window, his gaze strayed over the tops of the fir-trees and encountered the figures in the clearing flinging themselves round the fires in the forest.

  Zina! It was Zina who had been brought to him, had tended him to begin with in her own way, by deafening him with her weird incantations. When she finished her invocations to nobody knows what heathen god, he asked her name, which was the simplest way of learning it. She answered that she was called Zina. He did not move a muscle, and while she massaged his shoulder with the art of long experience, he cleverly put a number of questions to her in order to make certain that she was indeed Zina. She was constrained to admit that she came from Les Saintes Maries like so many others. And great was her agitation, though she strove to conceal it, when he mentioned the de Lavardens tragedy, which he pretended to have read about in that morning’s paper.

  Oh, she did not take long! She did not wait to hear more! She bound up his shoulder in a trice, and scurried away into the darkness like an old owl.

  It may be that he ought to have been more careful. But he wanted to make doubly certain that it was Zina, for if it were Zina it meant that Odette was not far away.