I see. I see. But as I know that she is here to bring about the ruin of me and my friends, you will understand that I look upon the affair in a different light. Don’t be jealous if I venture to ask you to tell me what room this charming lady is occupying, and if I go and see her and ask for an explanation which I hope may be a final one.”
“The fact that you had only to push my door to come in here, shows that it was ajar, and the fact that it was ajar while I was shaving, shows that I was keeping an eye on Madame de Meyrens’ door,” returned Monsieur Tournesol frankly, but with a touch of regret, for after all, Rouletabille’s appearance would disturb many of his plans. “Her door is the second on the other side of the passage.”
“Thanks,” said Rouletabille. “Whatever you may hear, I beg of you not to interfere.”
“Oh, I shan’t hear a thing. I’m going downstairs in a moment, for I should be sorry to stand in your way. I only ask you not to tell this lady who, as I said, has been charming to me, that I gave away where her room was.... But, in fact, I don’t suppose that you called on me merely to get this information, which you could have obtained from any of the servants.”
“That is so, Monsieur Tournesol. I wanted to place this letter in your hands for safe custody.” Rouletabille gave him a packet of some size, carefully sealed, bearing the inscription:— “To the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Paris. To be delivered personally.”
“You must know,” explained Rouletabille, speaking very calmly, “that since my arrival here I have not been able to communicate with the outside world, and in the decisive struggle which we are about to wage with this effete barbarism, it is ten to one that my friends and I will go under. Thanks to you, my country will be informed of the crime committed against three of its subjects, and the world will know the fate which befell Monsieur Jean de Santierne, Mademoiselle Odette de Lavardens and Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, your humble servant.”
Touched by the trust reposed in him, Monsieur Tournesol was about to utter a few heartfelt words, but Rouletabille had turned on his heel, and was already knocking at Madame de Meyrens’ door. Tournesol saw him enter the room.
“Well, now, something very disagreeable is going to happen, but it is no business of mine. My mind is with Rouletabille, but my heart is with Madame de Meyrens. All said, I have no reason to be very pleased with my morning.”
After putting the precious missive under lock and key, Tournesol went downstairs to the bar, feeling by no means anxious to be brought into a matter in which, he thought, his good nature had already involved him too deeply.
He had consumed two or three cocktails pursuing vaguely his train of thought when, through the open window which gave on to the medley of the caravanserai, he caught sight of Madame de Meyrens standing under an archway before a display of silk goods, bargaining with a Syrian Jew over the price of some piece of material.
“Hullo, the explanation is over,” said Tournesol to himself.
He was on the point of joining her when he saw her leave the Syrian Jew and touch the shoulder of a stranger who had some difficulty in clearing a passage for himself through the crowd.... He seemed, moreover, to be making for the hotel.... The two at once entered the hotel. Madame de Meyrens had turned down her veil, and they were walking quickly. They passed close to Monsieur Tournesol without as much as seeing him, so engrossed were they. And there was not the shadow of a doubt in Monsieur Tournesol’s mind that Madame de Meyrens had taken the stranger to her room.
“I am’ the only one not to go to her room,” said the luckless Monsieur Tournesol to himself. And then suddenly he struck his forehead: “Why, I know the silly ass! It’s the man who brought back the queyra. What can Madame de Meyrens have to do with that impostor?”
The first thing that Madame de Meyrens said to de Lauriac when they were in her room, after carefully closing the door, was not in the nature of a compliment.
“I asked you to come and see me because I know what is happening at the Palace, and you do nothing but blunder. You will never win Odette by force, my friend.”
“Neither by force nor by another way, I verily believe,” returned de Lauriac bitterly, “but we shall have our revenge.”
“What good is revenge going to do you if you lose the battle?” objected the Octopus. “I will tell you how to win Odette. You have only to say to her:— ‘Jean is condemned to die a most frightful death. Every form of torture will be inflicted on him, but if you consent to become my wife his life shall be saved. I will at once have him set at liberty.’”
De Lauriac leapt to his feet as she uttered these last words.
“If only it is not too late!”
“What do you mean?”
“Callista is to give him some poisoned bread this morning.”
CHAPTER L
“REVENGE IS SWEET”
DE LAURIAC MADE a dash to leave the room after the Octopus had given her advice which filled him with a new hope, but which had come perhaps too late. Madame de Meyrens barred the way.
“Calm yourself, Monsieur de Lauriac,” she said with an imperturbable composure mingled with a touch of raillery which contrasted so markedly with the frantic gestures of the ex-herdsman. “If Callista is the only person who is seeking to do away with Jean, he is not yet dead! She is torturing him, but you will see that she will none the less find some means of saving him. Give de Santierne poisoned bread! Why, at the last moment she will poison herself. Wait and see!”
“You don’t know her. She thirsts now for vengeance. What if I told you that the thing was done this morning?”
“What thing?”
“At the instance of Callista poisoned bread was taken to Jean.”
“What then?” questioned the Octopus, without betraying the least emotion.
“Jean refused to touch the bread.”
“Well, that’s all the better for you. Why this excitement? You see yourself that there is still hope?”
“But unfortunately you don’t know what Callista has planned. When she discovered that her first attempt was a failure, she decided to repeat it by sending Jean the bread with a message from Odette, who is only too anxious for food to reach the beloved prisoner.”
“And did Callista send the message to him?” asked Madame de Meyrens in an altered voice.
“She must have done so by now.”
“Well, go at once,” said the Octopus with a shudder.
Monsieur Nicolas Tournesol, who had remained standing rather dejectedly at the bar with his fourth cocktail before him, did not fail to observe with a certain satisfaction the reappearance of the strange person who had been shut up with Madame de Meyrens, for Monsieur Tournesol felt himself increasingly attracted by her in spite of all that he had heard against her.
The stranger crossed the room almost at the run and made a dash through the thick of the crowd in the caravanserai, pushing aside and drawing down upon himself the curses of a gipsy mob who were watching two gamblers settling their differences and even their debts with the knife. Then he mounted his horse and rode down every obstacle that stood in Just then Monsieur Tournesol observed Rouletabille standing beside him.
“He seems in a bit of a hurry does this gentleman,” he said, pointing to de Lauriac, who was being followed by the shouts of the populace. But what about yourself, you look very pale. What’s the matter is that I have Just overheard a conversation between Madame de Meyrens and that villain,” returned Rouletabille in a lugubrious voice “I want you to know who this man is so that it later on things go badly and I am not here, you may be able to give your evidence. His name is Hubert de Lauriac, and he is well known in Camargue. The crime of which I have already spoken, and which the whole world seems to be watching, powerless to intervene, is in a great measure his work.... As you were present at the queyra’s arrival I need say nothing about that. But I must tell you, if you have not already guessed it, that he is assisted in his nefarious plot by the woman whom you consider so charming — Madame de Meyrens. Ah, Mo
nsieur Tournesol, beware of women! Don’t give any farther thought to Madame de Meyrens. That is my last word of advice to you.” — r’I dare say you are right. I had a strong inclination to see her again, but I realize that she has other things to do than to listen to my nonsense. And then it struck me that she was laughing in my face. She had a way of looking at me out of the corner of her eye as if she thought I was well, yes — a little absurd. Lover though I am, I can’t get over that! Fortunately I am not altogether a lover.... Good morning, and thanks.... But where are you going? Surely, Monsieur Rouletabille, you will have a rough time of it if you are recognized. Aren’t you afraid of being arrested?”
“I am hoping for it,” returned Rouletabille. And he left the hotel, turning his steps towards the Palace.
He did not hurry. But he was deadly pale. Thenceforward, as he wrote in his diary, his life lay in the lap of the gods.
Extract from Rouletabille’s diary:
“At the moment I can do no more than bow to fate. With Odette on the one hand and Jean on the other, fate must take its course. They are either dead or in safety. I am at the end of my tether. Either I have succeeded in the attempt that I made yesterday or my effort proved fruitless. Why should I be in so much of a hurry? Alas, I fear the worst. It did not occur to me that they would conceive the infernal idea of asking Odette for that letter. Did Jean send the food away in spite of that letter? Everything depends upon that.... I still hope so.
When I learnt of Callista’s and de Lauriac’s horrible intention, and had the luck last night to speak to Jean for a few moments through the grating, I said to him: ‘Don’t touch any meal that may be brought to you in secret. They are trying to poison you.’ But if they take food to him with a letter from Odette what will he do? Perhaps all is over even now.... And Jean’s death means Odette’s death. She will never again call me to her assistance. She will never again cry: ‘Help, little Zo!’
“I have, I feel, the mind of a fatalist. It seems to me that I, too, am sailing between life and death with an appalling indifference. It is all one to me now that I have done my utmost. What a strange fate! Odette and Jean’s safety lies now in de Lauriac’s hands.... If only he is not too late!”
At that very moment de Lauriac arrived at the Palace like a whirlwind, and made a dash for Callista, who refused to see him, but he forced his way in despite the protests of excited servants. He scarcely recognized the woman before him with her wild eyes, her stony face, her inert, motionless body lying flat on the floor like a statue that has been thrown down She riveted him with a gaze that burned wit unutterable hatred. He comprehended that the crime had been committed, and she would never forgive him for bringing about Jean’s death.
“Is it over?” he cried, gasping for breath.
She made no reply. She did not stir. But for the scorching look in her eyes he might have thought that she was a corpse. And, indeed, after all, perhaps she had poisoned herself, and was waiting for her own end while Jean lay dying.
“We have missed everything through our own fault,” he cried. “We have been foolish. I ought to have promised Odette safety and liberty for Jean if she would give in. Is it too late? —
She short up like an arrow from her couch of beflowered rugs and cushions on which she was stretched in anguish, and called and gave orders to her women, who went out in a panic. And an under servant with heavy eyelids, drooping lip and obsequious movements, wearing a cap turned down over his ears, came in. And then they knew: Jean had read Odette’s letter and taken the bread. He had hidden it under the straw in his cell for, at that moment, a warder and Andréa hove in sight.
Callista uttered the same cry as Madame de Meyrens. —
“Go at once,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Denounce him to the warder so that the bread may be taken away from him. If he has eaten it, you are a dead man.” —
Jean at that moment, perceiving that the warder had walked a few steps in the darksome passage, read Odette’s letter once more:
“MY DEAREST, — We must not give way to despair. We are not without friends even in this benighted country. I am able to send you a little food. I am told that you refuse to eat anything. But I order you to eat. You must live for my sake as I am living for yours. God will not forsake us. I will appeal to the people if the Patriarch will not listen to me. I am the queyra. You, too, must do as I say. ‘The whole thing, my Jean, is but a frightful dream. Don’t forget that there is someone who is not far away from us. I have confidence in him. I love you!”
Jean kissed the letter, slipped it into his breast pocket, and dived under the straw for the bread. Then he began to eat....
CHAPTER LI
THE CHOICE
CALLISTA AND ANDRÉA were loaded with honours for the craft with which they had rescued the queyra from the aliens and brought her to Sever Turn. Callista, who had conducted the undertaking, was treated like a princess, and given apartments in the Palace and a troop of women to wait upon her. Her authority was considerable; her protection was sought; and nothing was so greatly feared as to be in her bad books. She was as quickly obeyed in her desire to save Jean, as when she found, without difficulty, accomplices in the crime which she had prepared, but which, when she learnt that it had been committed, filled her with despair.
She waited in a dead silence and an agony of dread for the rascally servant to come back with news from the cell. As soon as she saw the man, however, she knew that Jean’s life was safe, or he would never have dared to show himself again, though he had acted as This man had reached Jean’s cell in time to snatch the poisoned bread from his hand; indeed he had barely tasted it. But Callista demanded full particulars, for she wanted to make certain that the prisoner’s health Then, sending every one away except de Lauriac, she turned a radiant face to him. Just before she had loathed him for driving her to take Jean’s life, and now she was immeasurably grateful to him for contriving a plan which would bring about even yet a happy ending Odette would consent to marry de Lauriac, and Jean would be thrown into her arms-Jean whom she would herself set free and acquaint with Odette’ betrayal of him.
The figure of Andréa lurked in the background, but for the time being she left him there. She had other things to think about. Moreover, if he continued to make himself unbearable, was there not a loaf of bread somewhere which had not been used? They could make a gipsy cake of it, an engagement cake, heavy and highly indigestible! But come what might, Odette would have to lend her willing assistance to the realization of this Machiavellian scheme. —
“We’ve got to persuade her, she said. I rely on you for this, though she does not seem to like you overmuch but I’ll give you a little advice which may be useful.”
She followed up her advice by handing him a small box which the worthy greybeard, the steward of the Palace, had given her the day before to divert her thoughts. Thus fortified, they made for the queyra’s apartments. De Lauriac would speak to Odette with less constraint than on the first occasion, and he thought, with a greater chance of success... Lallista caused the doors to be opened, crept behind him and arranged to listen to the conversation behind a moucharaby. —
When Odette saw de Lauriac again she called one of the women and ordered her to show him out; but he explained, in language which the others did not understand, that it was a question of saving Jean from the worst tortures, and she must grant him a moment’s conversation.
As she still wavered, he brought out her letter to Jean which had been taken from him.
Then she allowed him to draw near, but she ordered her women to hold themselves in readiness to come to her at the first call.
“You make a mistake to treat me so badly,” he began. “I will show you once more that I am your real friend. If it were not for me Jean would have been poisoned. The worst of it is, Odette, that it would have been your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Yes. He refused the food which Callista and I tried to send him secretly — Callista because she cannot forget al
l at once how good he used to be to her, and I because I know that you would never forgive me if Jean died; and besides, I am not a monster.”
“So he refused to eat anything?”
“Yes, and it was lucky for him, because Andréa in his mad hatred had determined to get rid of him at the earliest moment, and sent him poisoned bread which de refused to eat, as he did when other food was offered to him. It was then that they appealed to you and got you to write the letter which I have here — the letter which induced Jean to eat this poisoned bread.”
Odette gave a shriek, and the women came running into the room. But de Lauriac quickly reassured her that he had arrived in time to save Jean, who had scarcely partaken of the bread. He had relieved him of both the bread and the letter.... Now the letter had been read to the Council of Elders and passed over to de Lauriac by the Patriarch, because a wife’s correspondence is the property of her husband.
“You know as well as I do that I shall never marry you,” cried Odette, who listened to his speechifying a prey to a thousand torments, for she was wondering what he was trying to lead up to.
“Send the women out of the room,” said de Lauriac, in no way perturbed by her outburst. “They are in the way. You must know, Odette, that when the Council of Elders handed me this letter they made me a present, for your benefit, of a box which I wish to show you.”
Odette waved her hand and they were alone once more. De Lauriac took the box from under his cloak.
“Stand with your back to the light,” he said, “and take a look into this box. I have never seen anything quite so extraordinary.”
As he spoke he held the box on a level with her face. She looked through the eye-piece, and started back with a dull moan.
“It’s awful,” she exclaimed. “Why do you show me this?”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he returned, “and it is essential for you to look once more. That is the express wish of the Council, who have instructed me to make you acquainted with a certain intention which will only become clear to you if you look again into the box.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 131