“There was no getting away from that. The man in the gray hat must be found. It struck me that his general appearance was not unfamiliar to me, and that I had had occasion to meet that particular form in Puys during the season. I ought not to despair, but to return every evening, every night, to Puys so as to spy upon all the shadows that passed in the dark.
“I still had my bicycle with me. I brought it out of my cave, and off I went to Puys. When I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, or caught sight of a light, I retreated into the open country and lay on the ground. Now, that night, I had given up all hope of meeting the man for whom I was searching, and after stealthily hunting throughout the village, I went off to the beach and was about to lie down on the sand under the cliff when a figure passed in front of me. It was my man!
“Oh, there was no mistake about it. It was he right enough.... Please believe that my heart throbbed wildly. At first I lay motionless. I was watching him. What was he doing on the beach at that hour? It was past two o’clock in the morning. I saw him make for a small, extremely narrow flight of steps, hewn in the solid rock, which led directly to the garden of Roches-Blanches, whose heavy and lofty outline towered above the sea.
“I did not want to alarm my man! I did not want him to run away as he did the night before, and I followed him on all fours. He mounted the steps. I stayed below and waited, intending to go up in my turn when he reached the top. Every now and then he stopped short and gazed around him, with ears on the alert for the least noise. I swear that I didn’t make a sound. Then he dived into his pocket, took out a key, and opened the little door which led to the Roches-Blances garden.
“He closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar. The moon illuminated the entire scene. But I could only see the man from a somewhat restricted angle of the beach because there was a set-back in the cliff; and as he failed to observe anyone on that part of the beach, he might well believe that his presence was undetected.
“I clambered up the steps. When I reached the top, I pushed the door and slipped into the garden. A great calm reigned over the château. Everyone seemed to be asleep. Not a light gleamed in any of the windows. Which way had my man taken? I carefully closed the door behind me and bolted it lest he should escape me; and I hid myself in a pathway close by, ready to jump out upon him, and to call for help when he returned, for there was no doubt that he would come back that way. I had no idea what he came to the house for, but the fact that he left the door ajar suggested that, in all likelihood, he was relying on getting quietly away by the same means.
“Before he could unbolt the door I should be on him! And we should see what would happen. I was a match for him. I wasn’t afraid of him.
“Nearly a quarter of an hour passed.
“Nothing seemed to have stirred in the house when suddenly I heard a hollow cry, like a cry of fear and pain, followed by the heavy impact of a body falling to the ground. I darted forward. A window was open on the ground floor of the chateau. A figure hastily revealed itself at the window and seemed on the point of jumping out. It was he. It; was the man in the gray hat.
“I sprang forward and found myself in a large dark room.
“At that moment a door opened and someone cried: ‘Who’s there? If you move a step you’re a dead man!’
“The light of a lantern was thrown on me, and I saw a short, stout man in night attire who threatened me with his revolver. ‘Don’t fire,’ I said, ‘I won’t move. There’s a man in the house!’
“‘I can see that well enough,’ was the reply.
“And he straightway kicked up the devil’s own row and shouted for help.
“The household came rushing in from all quarters; all of them in their night attire. Lights were brought, and I was recognized, and they exclaimed: ‘It’s Chéri-Bibi!’ — I was known throughout the countryside by the name which my sister had given me— ‘It’s Chéri-Bibi! We’ve got him!’
“‘He’s up to more mischief here,’ interposed a voice.
“And suddenly they raised a great outcry, for they had just discovered the Marquis du Touchais stretched at full length on the floor, in a pool of blood, in front of his safe.... He was dead with a big knife driven in his back.... I recognized the knife. It was mine.
“Well, Monsieur, what do you think of that, eh? Something out of the common in the way of chance! Have you ever heard of such a run of bad luck?
If you have, say so. But I know that you’ve never heard of anything like it before, have you? Fatalitas. I am not, you understand, a disciple of Kropotkine or Tolstoy. I am not the product of anarchism or dubious reading. Nor am I the victim of evil instincts; that’s humbug. The circumvolution of the brain, as the Kanaka would say, is, as far as I am concerned, humbug also. When you’re born, you have all the bumps and none of the bumps... a disposition for everything and nothing. At the beginning, take it from me, our instincts and our bumps mean nothing to us. They represent energies which demand to be utilized. That’s all.... That’s my theory of life. It’s not a complicated one. But, of course, these energies will flow into whatever channel they may be directed, that’s a certainty. But who manipulates the lever?... That’s what we want to find out.... That’s what we must take into consideration.... That’s where we must fix the responsibility....
“Sometimes the parents are at fault and sometimes society. It is never the child.... The poor kid himself is only too willing to go ahead — straight or crooked.... Well, who pulled the lever in my own particular case? It was neither my parents nor society. It was Fatality, that was all. The fact hits you in the eye. I can see it. I’ve faced it all my life. It was Fatality that pointed the way. When, by chance, I did not see the way, it drove me from behind. Fatalitas! Oh, the jade!
“You understand me, I hope.... It’s all the better if you do. It shows that you have your wits about you....
“So it was my knife that they found!... You can imagine how they laid hands on me, and how they treated me. And how they settled me.... What was the good of my telling them that I was after a man in a gray hat? They disbelieved me all the more after they had searched the house from top to bottom so as to discover whether I had an accomplice, and found no trace of anyone. A couple of months later I appeared before the Assize Court, and as I was too young to be guillotined, I was sent to Cayenne to finish my education.
“I didn’t care one way or the other once I knew that I shouldn’t see Cecily again. What happened to her young life? I learnt the facts after my escape and return to France. Three days after her father’s death, and consequently two days after the Marquis’s death, Cecily sent word for Maxime du Touchais to come and see her. The young man had lost a great deal by Bourrelier’s death; for it seemed as if the man who had killed the shipowner had killed the marriage. He knew that Cecily would only marry him if she were compelled to do so by force. And even so, she had given him to understand that she would never yield to her father’s entreaties.
“So you can picture the young Marquis’s amazement when immediately after Bourrelier’s funeral, Cecily, in Bourrelier’s study and under Bourrelier’s portrait, gave him her hand saying: ‘Monsieur du Touchais, I regard you as my affianced husband. I give you my promise. A terrible misfortune has afflicted both of us, and in marrying you I am fulfilling my father’s last wishes.’ So saying she bowed to him and left him in a state bordering on stupor.
“This young ‘nut,’ as we should say in these days, could not understand from the beginning how a girl who had rejected the wishes of her father when he was alive should conform to them when he was dead. The idea of sacrifice over her father’s grave, which arose in that young girl’s heart, was far beyond his limited comprehension, and he could not rise to such heights for a moment; and if he had been told that old Bourrelier had threatened to curse his refractory daughter on the day of his death, it would not have sufficed to account for Cecily’s conduct. In his eyes, a father’s curse was one of those conventional phrases which have come down to us from a
somewhat old-fashioned literature, and which have now ceased to pass for currency. He accepted his happiness, therefore, without understanding it, and when the period of mourning was over, Cecily and he called in the services of the mayor and the rector, not forgetting, of course, the solicitor.”
“How well you express yourself,” observed the Captain, who took care not to interrupt the speaker, but wished to convey to him from time to time that he was following him with attention. As a matter of fact, while listening to the engrossing story, Barrachon kept wondering: “How shall I set about laying hold of Chéri-Bibi without doing too much harm?”
Chéri-Bibi continued:
“It so happens that I have often been astonished like you, Monsieur, by the good form and lucidity which my language reveals at times, but apart from my considerable reading during the hours that I wasted at the convict settlement, my only explanation is that at those particular moments my thoughts are centered wholly in Cecily, and are expressed in elevated language because Cecily elevated everyone who came in contact with her.
“Nevertheless we must make an exception in the case of the loathsome Maxime du Touchais, who encountered perfection on earth and did not perceive it. He was too busy looking after the money bags. The fortune that he acquired through his marriage left him no time to trouble himself about Cecily, whom he entirely neglected after she became a mother. He built a splendid yacht for himself in which he sails in the holiday season with his boon companions of both sexes. These extravagant parties and scandalous cruises take place while the young wife mourns at home in the château.”
Chéri-Bibi stopped, heaved a deep sigh, and went on:
“At this point, Monsieur, this part of the story finishes. My first thought on returning to France, after my escape from the convict settlement, was naturally to see Cecily. I made my way to Dieppe, but I was still pursued by incredible misfortune, for I no sooner reached St. Valery en Caux than I learnt that Cecily, taking advantage of her husband’s absence, had gone with her son to England so as to improve his knowledge of a language which I cannot too strongly recommend young people to learn. If I had known English, I should never have been caught when I slipped away from the lock-up. But I didn’t know the language. Fatalitas!
“And now, Monsieur, I will make only a slight further demand upon your patience, and you will know at last why it is that I have thought it my duty to inflict upon you this long confession. Fate still continued to persecute me. I was anxious to be reinstated in an honest and respectable life, for I was young still and in no way corrupted by the ‘old offenders,’ and moreover the thought of Cecily had always obsessed me, and I was, I venture to say, filled with eagerness to do good. After performing veritable marvels on the outskirts of society in the art of good-natured burglary, and of swindles that did no harm to anyone — because it’s the law of nature that whatever happens one must live — I had the good fortune to glimpse a harbor of refuge. At last I should live a quiet life.... I should be honest like other people.... I became a porter in the office of a millionaire banker.
“Well, will you believe me, Monsieur, I was fixed up with an anarchist. The fellow associated with none but anarchists, whom he entertained every day at his table. He read only anarchist newspapers which he subsidized, and thus considered, apparently that he had done his duty by humanity, for he was not overgenerous with his servants. It was he who gave me Kropotkine to read; it was his New Year’s present to me.... The whole thing disgusted me. Here with this pot-bellied person — I mean my employer — keeping his millions for himself, and trying to convince other people that they had no right to possess anything at all. It was sickening, upon my word, and I gave him notice to leave. Oh, I didn’t hang about very long over it.
“Now, as if by chance, fatality was on the watch, determined that the day after my departure the bank should be robbed by a few smart lads who adopted the literary theories of my ex-governor and unhesitatingly shot down the unfortunate staff who mounted guard over the cash. From the start of the investigation the banker spoke of me. I had left too opportunely not to be aware of what was going to happen. From that assumption to the conclusion that I entered his employ solely to give my confederates the requisite information was but one step.
“In order to get over that one step they wanted to know exactly who I was. And they might not, perhaps, have succeeded but for a man called Costaud.
Who was Costaud? Have you ever read ‘Les Misérables?’... Yes, you have read the book. Very well, Costaud played the same part as Javert did in Victor Hugo’s story. That is the long and the short of it.
“Costaud got to know me in Dieppe at the time when I committed what we agree to call my first offense. He was the secretary to the Commissary of Police. Ever since my escape from penal servitude he had been after me. He and Fatality were in collusion.
“One chilly, misty evening in January I met them both in an omnibus shelter, and he proceeded to lay hands on me, when I remembered in time that I had a small pocket knife with me, and I made Costaud a present of it. That settled him, and he swooned in the arms of his companion. He did not die from his wound and I don’t bear him any malice. For all that, Costaud, while looking for the office-boy of the looted bank, found Chéri-Bibi.
“They were all agreed from that moment that it was Chéri-Bibi who did the trick, and one heard of nothing but Chéri-Bibi and his gang. I was obliged to run to earth like a rabbit. Now I never committed so many crimes as when, like a wise man, I lay in my hole and didn’t stir a foot. That infernal Chéri-Bibi’s gang were up to their old games again. They stole motor-cars, robbed bank messengers, frightened the ordinary public out of their wits, and finally worked wonders which covered me with glory. At times when the newsboys’ shouts brought me details of Chéri-Bibi’s latest crime I longed to come out of my retreat and cry: ‘That’ll do.... That’ll do.... You are choking me with cream!’... Monsieur, I must bring my story to a close. I will pass over a few insignificant details, such as, for instance, my arrests and escapes, to come to the young servant girl. You remember Marguerite Berger, the girl who was cut into I don’t know how many pieces?”
“Seventeen,” interposed the Captain.
“Look here, I thought there were only sixteen! But after all, perhaps you’re right.”
“At the sixteenth the effect was so great on you that you were obliged to take a mustard foot bath,” added Barrachon, becoming more and more selfpossessed and master of himself, for, taking everything into consideration, he reckoned that it was impossible for the wretch to escape him. When Chéri-Bibi went to open the door he would hang on to him whatever happened and shout to the sentry on guard, whose movements to and fro he could hear in the passage, to fire even if he himself were the first to fall. “And now my man, go ahead!” he thought to himself.
“Oh yes, the mustard foot bath,” returned Chéri-Bibi. “You haven’t forgotten it! I suppose you thought it was a bad joke. Well, it wasn’t; it was the truth. Poor little serving-wench! Poor child! It occurred after my last escape. I hadn’t a penny in the world, and was wandering round the slaughterhouses at La Villette, feeling very depressed, and thinking to myself that if ever I managed to get back to respectability again, it would be in the meat trade for which I had an inclination, and which was my real trade as a respectable man. I had stolen a butcher’s smock, and put it on; and I tried to open up a conversation with men in the trade who had finished their day’s work. One of them passed me arm in arm with a young servant girl. He was treating her so roughly that I felt compelled to interfere, and ask him to behave himself a little better, seeing he had a girl with him, for the honor of the trade.
“I spoke quite politely, not intending any harm. He tried to give me a dressing; but he got one instead, and the servant girl, fearing for herself, in her turn, begged me to see her home. Her name, she told me, was Marguerite Berger, and she lived in the Avenue de Saint Ouen. It was some distance away, but I escorted her there like a gentleman.
“When we reached her place she asked me, as she was still in fear of her lover, not to leave her before the morning. But I went off at once, considering that I had done enough in the way of rescuing beauty in distress, preferring not to prolong my stay, in the circumstances, in a neighborhood the geography of which I had had no opportunity of studying.
“The next morning Marguerite Berger was found in her room cut into pieces. Well, I had nothing to do with it. When I left her the night before she was in one piece! Her lover, the butcher, had undoubtedly done the deed after a violent outburst of jealousy. Of course Costaud arrived on the scene, and on observing the pieces, exclaimed: ‘That... that’s Chéri-Bibi’s handiwork.’
“The door-keeper who saw me go upstairs to the girl’s room the day before gave a description of me. The thing was at once settled! I always learnt of my murders from the newspapers. The same thing happened on this occasion, and I nearly had an attack of apoplexy. And that’s why I took a mustard footbath. There’s no witchcraft about it. It was then, Monsieur, that, disgusted with life, and thinking that it was impossible for me to do any good in this world, I put myself in Costaud’s way. He arrested me and received the Legion of Honor.
“In the meantime the anarchists considered that I was a champion, for they found that I had taken away the body of an old marchioness and robbed her of her jewelry in order to buy food for a large family who were starving; they believed no end of things to my honor, I can tell you. For my part, I didn’t mind. I no longer denied anything, for I saw that such an attitude gratified the judge. I asked him if he wanted any more. He could have as much as he liked! I only required one thing: a quick finish. Well, you see, there again I had no luck. The jury were in a funk, and found that I was partly irresponsible on the grounds of insanity, and instead of sending me to the guillotine, a room was provided for me at the convict settlement. I was to go back to Cayenne. It was this decision which rendered me desperate.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 147