Rouletabille recognized Andréa. He leapt to his feet, brandishing his revolver. The other gave a scornful laugh.
“What are you doing here?” he said in a ringing voice. “ What do you want with us? Why are you following-us?”
“Because you are child-stealers.”
“The child-stealers are those who robbed us of our queen. You will never see her again. She is in a safe place now, and I lured you here because I have a last word to say to you, a last piece of advice to give to you if you value your life.... Go back westwards.”
“You tried to kill me once, but I’m still alive,” returned Rouletabille, in no way impressed by the gipsy’s theatrical language.
Andréa made no reply, but shrugging his shoulders turned on his heels, and dived into the forest.
“As a matter of fact, he is right,” muttered Rouletabille, who had remained motionless, “I have followed these people long enough. Now I shall go ahead of them.”
CHAPTER XXXI
IN WHICH THE BOOK OF ANCESTORS APPEARS ONCE MORE
DE LAURIAC HAD mounted his horse and ridden direct to the inn. He darted up to his room, opened his knapsack and drew out a venerable book of some size, with which the reader is acquainted, and threw it upon the table. He sat down and turned over the leaves, fumbling in his excitement.
At length he found the place for which he was seeking — the page containing the prediction whose wording he could almost remember. He turned over the page and found that the next page was missing. He cursed himself for maltreating the book, for defacing it like a vandal, for purloining it. Not only had he stolen the precious stones which made it one of the most valuable memorials of religious bookmaking which lie hidden in sacred places, but he had also removed pages containing priceless examples of the illuminators’ and miniaturists’ art for which enraptured book-collectors would pay untold gold.
What would he not give to possess that particular missing page!
Suddenly he made up his mind what to do, replaced the book in his knapsack, descended the stairs, and without even listening to what the innkeeper was saying to him, mounted his horse and rode at a gallop to New Wachter. He entered the post office and despatched a telegram:
“Stevens, Art Dealer, Rue La Boétie, Paris.
“Wire me if you still possess the illuminated page of Romany printing, decorated with miniatures, you bought from me.”
He added his name and address.
He passed the remainder of the day waiting for a reply. He returned to the inn and threw himself on his bed. The whereabouts of Rouletabille or what had become of the gipsies were matters of complete indifference to him. He closed his eyes, but could not sleep. At last, in the late afternoon, a telegram was brought to him which he eagerly read and carefully stowed away in his pocket. Then he descended to the common-room.
A traveller had just come in. His back was turned, and he was bending over his bag, taking out some linen. De Lauriac sat down and banged the table. The traveller turned round. It was Jean de Santierne.
The recognition was mutual, and each confronted the other with a glare of hostility. Jean was the first to speak.
“How unexpectedly people meet,” he said contemptuously.
“Yes, people always meet again,” returned de Lauriac in a harsh voice.
Just then the door opened and Rouletabille came in.
“Ah, Jean, there you are at last.”
“It seems to me that I haven’t wasted much time,” said Jean, shaking hands. “How goes the injury?”
“Quite well!... I treat an ‘injury with contempt. That’s the way to cure it.” Then turning to de Lauriac. “In the circumstances I hope that you are pleased to see Monsieur de Santierne. It was I who got him to come here. Yesterday there were only two of us. To-day there are three. The gipsies had better look out for themselves! Come, gentlemen, it’s our business to save Odette. I can assure you that we shall have our work, cut out. Let us bury the hatchet and think of nothing for the moment but her safety.”
“Very well,” agreed de Lauriac.
“What is the present position?” asked Jean. “And what about Odette?”
“We’re all right. All goes well. But we must work together. An understanding between us is all the more essential as we shall’ be forced to part company.” —
“Personally, I don’t intend to leave you,” said Jean.
In that case, we shall have to take leave for a day or two of M. de Lauriac who will perhaps be kind enough to accept the job of crossing the frontier and keeping an eye on the gipsies. In any case, we shall all meet again in Temesvar.”
“Might I ask whether there is any real reason why we should part company now, seeing that you appear to have done your best to bring us together?” asked de Lauriac, uneasy and suspicious.
“I’ve got to make a little trip to Innsbruck,” returned Rouletabille, casting a side glance at de Lauriac, who gave a start.
“Innsbruck!” he echoed.
“Yes, I want to meet the correspondent of our paper who settled down in Temesvar during the war. He might tell us a few things and give us valuable advice.”
“How lucky!” said de Lauriac. “I, too, have got to make a little trip to Innsbruck, and for the silliest reason imaginable — to get some money. I must cash a cheque there.”
“If you want any money, monsieur...” began Jean.
But the other flatly interrupted him. He fixed him with eyes in which an undying hatred gleamed.
“Keep your money, monsieur. I have no wish to be under an obligation to you.”
“Come, come,” said Rouletabille. “That’s all right. We’ll all take the train to Innsbruck in the morning. Of course perfect confidence prevails between us,” he added with ironical good humour.
“Otto, let’s have supper.”
De Lauriac did not open his lips during the meal. Rouletabille told Jean everything that had happened since he left him, explaining the later events and his pursuit of the caravan in the wood. Jean listened in a fever of impatience. He quickly finished his supper, and the two men left the table.
“We’re going to take the air before we turn in,” he said.
De Lauriac did not even reply.
“What a bear!” exclaimed Rouletabille.
“What I fail to understand,” said Jean, when they were out of hearing, “is why we should let Odette slide and go to Innsbruck seeing that we are so near her.”
“Oh, you’re not going to break out again.... To begin with, I am not letting Odette slide because I haven’t yet got hold of her; but I am certain of finding her in Temesvar, and that ought to be some consolation to you. Now, I’ll tell you why I am going to Innsbruck. I went to New Wachter a couple of hours ago. I managed to find out what de Lauriac was doing in my absence, and I bribed a man at the post office to give me a copy of a telegram that our worthy friend received. Here it is:
Jean read:
“Sold Romany page to Nathan, Art Dealer, Innsbruck. — STEVENS.”
“Do you understand?” asked Rouletabille.
“Indeed I don’t.”
“Don’t you realize that de Lauriac will go to Innsbruck even if we do not?”
“What I don’t understand is why we should go to Innsbruck. What has this ‘Romany page’ to do with us?”
“That’s true,” admitted Rouletabille. “And I think that the time has come for you to know what it means. Do you really love Odette, Jean?”
“How can you ask me that?”
“Well, you shall know the truth.”
He told him the whole story. When Jean learnt that Odette was not Madame de Lavardens’ daughter but of gipsy birth, he could only murmur: “Poor child!” Rouletabille shook him by the hand. When Jean fully comprehended the significance of the tragedy which was being exacted at that moment, and the last act of which was to be played at Sever Turn he groaned and said:
“They may kill me, but they shall not have her.”
He realized at
once the importance of the Book of Ancestors, and the immediate necessity of discovering why de Lauriac was so keenly interested in this Romany page owned by the art dealer in Innsbruck.
Next morning they reached the capital of the Tyrol, and while Jean and de Lauriac were being shown their rooms in an hotel, Rouletabille called on Nathan, whose shop was in the old town.
“I understand that you have an interesting specimen of Romany work,” he said.
“Very interesting, monsieur, and undoubtedly one of the oldest which have ever passed through my hands.”
Nathan raised no objection to show it to him.
“How much do you want for it?” asked Rouletabille, who had already rolled up the precious object.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve already disposed of it. A collector bought it by telegram.”
Rouletabille could not help rapping out an oath, though he was not often given to such language, but nothing could be done. The dealer replied to all his offers by returning the page to its portfolio.
“Might I at least ask what the text means?”
“I can’t read Romany,” replied the dealer.
Rouletabille, all out of countenance, went back to the hotel where Jean was waiting for him.
“We’ve been done. Where’s de Lauriac?”
“He left me a few minutes ago,” returned Jean, and added, when he heard the result of the visit to the dealer. “There’s no doubt our luck is out.” His admiration for Rouletabille had fallen to the vanishing point.
A few minutes later de Lauriac rejoined them. He wore a look of self-satisfaction which spoke volumes. As he came towards them the janitor handed him a letter. He stopped to read it. It was worded thus:
‘Be on your guard against Rouletabille, who is playing a game which he keeps to himself. If you wish to learn more, be at the entrance to Rose Park to-night at ten o’clock.”
The missive was unsigned and de Lauriac put it in his pocket.
“I am going to keep an eye on you, old fellow,” muttered Rouletabille, who wanted to get a bit of his own back.
De Lauriac was at the entrance to Rose Park at the hour fixed for the secret meeting. A slowly driven closed carriage stopped before him. The blind was lowered, and a young woman wearing a light veil, looked out. She beckoned him. She opened the door and he stepped in. Then the door was reclosed, the blind drawn, and the carriage drove off again.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE MEETING
“YOU WONDER WHO I am. Everyone will tell you that I am an old friend of Rouletabille’s. He has behaved infamously to me. My name is Madame de Meyrens.”
De Lauriac did not speak. The name had produced an impression on him. Who had not heard of Madame de Meyrens? Her calamitous marriages, her sudden disappearances, her sensational reappearances, and the mystery which shrouded a life spent, it was stated, in government service — all these things which had sufficiently perplexed Europe and filled the newspapers, enabled Hubert de Lauriac, however indifferent he might be to society scandals, to grasp the importance of the alliance which was being proposed to him. To be sure, it would be better to have this woman as a friend than as a foe.
The carriage was now proceeding at a smart pace.
“Where are we going?” inquired de Lauriac.
“Where we shall be able to talk undisturbed.”
When they entered one of the busiest streets in the town, Madame de Meyrens pulled up the blinds. The carriage stopped at a large building, open during the night, which was a restaurant and dancing and music hall combined, and was crowded. De Lauriac was amazed.
“It is only in a crowd that one passes unnoticed,” she said. “And besides, there are private rooms upstairs where we shan’t be disturbed and can have supper, for I am ravenous, old thing. I have eaten nothing since my arrival in Innsbruck.”
“When did you get here?”
“At the same hour and by the same train as you.”
She pushed him before her through a dense crowd which was coming out of the theatre, for it was the interval. Then they went upstairs, and a head-waiter showed them into a spacious room which comprised also a box with a balustrade from which they could see the performance and what passed in the auditorium without themselves being seen.
Madame de Meyrens made herself at home, shed her cloak, took off her hat, stood before the mirror, smoothed her hair, and put a little rouge on her face. And she did full justice to the first dish that was served.
“Excuse me, dear.”
She ordered champagne, and meanwhile drained a liqueur brandy in the Russian manner. De Lauriac lit a cigarette, but did not eat anything. He was immensely fascinated by this strange woman whose fantastic charm had brought about so many disasters.
After she had partaken of a little of each dish, she, too, lit a cigarette, leaned her elbows on the table, and looked round with her penetrating and disturbing eyes, whose lids were heavily made up.
Her countenance was suggestive, in repose, of a baneful and implacable disposition which served to remind de Lauriac that Madame de Meyrens scarcely ever took any step in life without her inseparable twin companions — Love and Death.
Fortunately he neither feared the one nor the other. There was no reason why she should try to take his life, and he loved another....
“You are no gossip,” she said, wafting the smoke of her Turkish cigarette in his face.
“I came to listen to you,” he returned. “And then I am looking at you and wondering how it happened that you travelled this morning by our train.”
“Because I am after Rouletabille. I learnt that Monsieur de Santierne was to join him. I followed de Santierne to New Wachter, and I followed you all from New Wachter to this place.”
She spoke carelessly, drawling her words in a pleasing sing-song in the Slavonic manner.
And then she turned to the dish of highly seasoned game that was just brought in.
“Do eat something.”
“Thanks, I’m not hungry. I had an excellent dinner at the hotel with de Santierne and Rouletabille before coming here. But how is it that after we reached Innsbruck you didn’t get anything to eat?”
“Because I spent my time keeping you under observation — following up your trail. I have never lost sight of you. I have in particular kept an eye on Rouletabille. You are aware that he no sooner got out of the train than he hurried to the art dealer on whom you yourself called afterwards. It must have been something very important to take him there before you. I have no idea what his object was, but I know my Rouletabille.”
She began to laugh maliciously, showing her sharp little teeth.
“I know what his object was,” returned de Lauriac.
“Fortunately I was able to secure the thing by telegram.”
“Yes, you dished Rouletabille without knowing it. He tricks everybody. I’ve been done by him.”
“In what way?”
“In serious matters,” she returned in a strained! voice. “But I’ll make him suffer for it. And to be even with him I want...”
“What do you want?”
“If I told you, you would ask me to have some mercy on him.”
“You are very cruel, you know.”
“That’s no news to anyone.”
She drained a full glass of champagne.
“Look here, old thing, that youngster has made a fool of me. He has played at making love. Now I never play at making love. With me it is all or nothing. It lasts as long as it may last, as a matter of fact, but I never deceive anyone. You know what you lay yourself open to. He has behaved like a knave. He never loved me. I have nothing to keep from you. I have certain connections with high government circles. They can be made use of... can be made use of by anyone. They were turned to account by him. He robbed me of my secrets — terribly dangerous secrets which he will have to take to the grave, and that too, before long, believe me. He has betrayed my confidence. He has done for me in the eyes of those high officials. I was a power. I was reckoned
all over Europe as of some account, even by the cunningest people. And that stripling has turned me into ridicule. It’s awful. And I thought that he loved me. He loves only Odette.”
“Ah, I always suspected as much,” cried de Lauriac.
“That shows that you are no fool. It’s pathetic, you know to see the three of you joining together to rescue a young girl whom each of you eagerly desires for himself. And when I think of Jean’s blind confidence in that little wretch! He believes that Rouletabille is working on his behalf, but Rouletabille, with all his frank and open manner as a good fellow, has never worked for anyone but himself. He has sworn to marry Odette.... And I have sworn to be revenged on him. Will you lend me a hand? You will find it to your advantage, I assure you. Odette may not become Jean’s wife, but she shall not marry Rouletabille. You want her, Monsieur de Lauriac. I give her to you.”
“Madame, I accept,” returned de Lauriac, offering her his hand. “It is not so much Odette that I accept from you as the alliance which you offer me in these very difficult circumstances. It may be of great use to me, for in truth Rouletabille is a formidable adversary. But have no fear about Mademoiselle de Lavardens. She cannot escape me now.”
“I should be delighted to think so,” said Madame de Meyrens, by no means convinced. “But are you not deceiving yourself?”
“Not at all.”
“What makes you so confident?”
“Ah, that’s just it. You are asking me to reveal my secrets, and I haven’t yet made a single request to you.” —
“You are not of a naturally trusting disposition, Monsieur de Lauriac. Well, what is it that you want to know?”
“This: — Have you any evidence of Rouletabille’s trickery with his friend Jean — and with Mademoiselle de Lavardens?”
“I have something better still. I have proofs of the complete understanding which exists between Mademoiselle de Lavardens and Rouletabille.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 121