“Now, let’s go,” she said. “It’s none too soon. I thought at one moment they were going to rush on to the platform and carry me off.”
“Yes, yes, let’s slip away,” agreed Madame d’Artigues in a trembling voice. “Do you know what I heard just now while you were dancing, Carmen? One of the men, one of the men here with the abominable face of a convict, said to another like him, for they all resemble convicts, every one of them: ‘The little girl sets me on fire.... Of the three of them I should prefer her to fall to my lot.’”
“Well?”
“Well, what does a phrase like that mean? For my part I fear the worst from such men.... I’ve sent for the Marquis. Why isn’t he here?... And Robert Bourrelier... and my husband?...”
“Yes, indeed, where are they? Why aren’t the men with us?” asked Carmen in increasingly anxious tones.
“And what’s become of the Captain?... If the Captain were here...”
“Not at all. The Captain frightens me more than anyone,” confessed Madame d’Artigues.
“Ah, there you are, you agree with me now,” said Carmen as she hastily finished dressing. “Quick, quick, let’s make off. Let’s go and lock ourselves in our cabins.”
“But how are we to get through now.... Hark.... It’s as though we were besieged.”
As a matter of fact the clamour became louder and louder. The audience wanted the artists to give an encore, and the Top and Little Buddha appeared.
“Don’t go out, whatever you do,” said Little Buddha. “Stay here if you wish to avoid trouble.... They are tipsy, you understand.... They all want to kiss you....”
“But how dreadful!...”
“Dreadful,” he grinned ominously.
At that moment they could hear the Toper making an announcement from the stage:
“Comrades, the ladies are tired and ask you to excuse them (yells). I beg of you to be reasonable and have a little patience. The Bayard’s special company will continue the performance, and lots will he drawn immediately afterwards.”
The three women exchanged bewildered glances when they heard the last part of the announcement. They dared not impart to each other the feeling of dread which possessed them. Nevertheless, Madame d’Artigues, making an effort to appear calm, asked the officer:
“Are there many prizes in the raffle?”
“No, Madame,” replied the officer. “We haven’t very many prizes, but they’re splendid ones!”
CHAPTER XII
IN THE ABYSS
AFTER HE LEFT the prisons Chéri-Bibi returned to his cabin much exercised in mind by the new attitude of his prisoners, and realizing quite well that the little farce which he was playing with the shipwrecked passengers was drawing to a close. Prompt in his resolutions, as becomes a man of action, he sent for the Toper and gave his orders for the end of the entertainment as far as the ladies were concerned; he could hear the audience over his head singing in chorus. “That will teach them to speak ill of Cecily.”
No sooner was the matter settled than he dismissed the Toper, ordering him to send the Dodger to him.
The Dodger did not come at once, and, beginning to lose patience, he pushed open the cabin door, and his eyes fell upon two men, who did not see him, but thinking that they were alone in that part of the vessel, were chatting over their own affairs. It was Baron Proskof and the Marquis du Touchais. Chéri-Bibi imagined that they were talking about the unforeseen incident which occurred in the Zoological Gardens, and the disquieting considerations which the revolt of the prisoners may have suggested to them. But he was mistaken; he did not know these men. They were talking “women.”
We have had occasion, more than once, since the arrival of the shipwrecked persons on board the Bayard to refer to Baron Proskof’s depressed condition. His melancholy aspect was entirely to the worthy Polish nobleman’s credit, seeing that it was not more than two or three days since the Baroness, his precious spouse, was no more, or at all events, since he believed that she was no more. It was to no purpose that Maxime du Touchais endeavored to rouse him from his grief, representing to him that if anyone had cause for sorrow it was he, du Touchais, who had suffered so heavy a loss while the Baron at least still possessed the million francs.
At the moment when their conversation was overheard by Chéri-Bibi, Baron Proskof was launching into a eulogy of his wife.
“She was a woman of superior intelligence, whom I can never replace, nor can you either, my dear Marquis, however much you may try. That Madame d’Artigues makes me quite ashamed. She is not worthy to tie the shoe strings of the Belle of Dieppe, as she was called.”
“I quite agree with you, my dear Baron, but what is a poor man to do? One must be sensible. I’m still too young to settle down.”
“Do you know what I should do if I were in your place?”
“What?”
“Well, I should return as soon as possible to my wife, and wait quietly until I was positive that the Baroness was dead, for after all we cannot be absolutely sure of anything.... Look here, your wife is a very charming woman, and I feel confident that she would be delighted to see you again.”
“That’s not what the ladies think. You heard what they said at lunch.”
“What! Do you take any notice of what those silly ninnies say.... Aren’t you certain of the Marchioness?”
“Certain of what?... Can one ever tell with saints?...” sneered the Marquis.
The remainder of the conversation was lost to Chéri-Bibi; moreover, he would have been unable to listen to another word. The Dodger found him as white as a sheet, stretched on his sofa.
“Are you ill?” exclaimed the devoted baker’s man. “Shall I go and fetch the Kanaka?”
“No, I want to see his wife first,” returned Chéri-Bibi in a whisper.
“The Countess?”
“Yes, the Countess.... At once.”
The Dodger informed the Countess, who came down in the interval between two Boston two-steps. She betrayed a certain anxiety when she found the Captain so ill.
“Shut the door,” said Chéri-Bibi.
“But what’s the matter?”
“Something..
He got up and plunged his head into a basin of water, and having thus collected his thoughts, appeared to be much better. The Countess watched him, completely at a loss, as he dabbed the towel on his forehead.
“I say, listen to me,” said Chéri-Bibi, sitting down by her side and taking her hands. “I know that you love me, Countess.”
“Yes,” she answered simply and sadly, “but you don’t love me.”
“I want to tell you, Countess... You were too late, you see, my heart was engaged.”
“I always thought as much.... It is the worst misfortune of my life.”
“Let’s be brief, but let’s be frank, Countess. Since you love me, will you do something for me?”
“Anything you like.”
“Oh, yes, but... something... something out of the way....”
“Anything you like.”
“Well, to begin with, tell me what you and the Kanaka did with the strips of flesh that you cut out of the patient.”
“Oh, that,” she cried. And she withdrew her hands, and rose to her feet.
“You see, there are things that you won’t do for me.”
She retreated to a corner of the cabin as if she were afraid now of Chéri-Bibi and dared not meet him, and she said in a hoarse, muffled voice:
“I know quite well what people say.”
“Is it true?... Tell me... me... Is it true?” Chéri-Bibi entreated her.
She shook her head so wildly and fiercely that her splendid hair became unconfined and floated in dark waves over her shoulders.
“No, no,” she said in a choking voice. “It’s not true, it’s not true.”
“It was mentioned at the Assize Court.”
“Oh, that isn’t true, either,” she said between her teeth. “No, no, they wouldn’t have dared... they wouldn’t have
dared.... The judge let himself go a little too far, but he at once pulled himself up... at once. Our counsel told him that he had no right at all to hint even vaguely at such a thing when he was not certain... when there was no evidence. The incident was closed... at once. Oh, if you had seen the Court. Women fainted merely at the thought of it.... Chéri-Bibi, I love you, and wouldn’t lie to you. I tell you again that we didn’t do such things....”
She dropped on the sofa beside him and wanted him to take her hands in his, but it was his turn to stand up. He paced up and down the cabin wrapped in thought, and then standing before her:
“It’s a pity,” he said.
“What do you mean, it’s a pity?”
“Yes, it’s a pity. I had dreamed of giving you somebody to eat!”
“I know whom you mean,” she said as she rose from the sofa and clung to him. “It’s the Marquis. I thought during lunch that you were going to do for him.”
“Oh no, not at all,” he said; “that would have been too good for him. I tell you, Countess, that when I think of him I go clean off my head. I should like to invent sufferings... tortures for him.... Oh, I believed everything that was said against the Kanaka.... I thought that... Never mind, we’ll say no more about it, since it’s not true.”
The Countess had an absorbed expression on her face.
“What did that man do to you?” she asked.
“He tore my heart out of me.... Do you understand?”
“Oh yes, I understand.”
“And then he’s too fat, too big, too healthy, too happy, too successful. He wants a particular woman and he planks down a million francs for her... he has everything. He’s a monster.”
“Yes, yes, I understand you.... Is he very rich?”
“Rich isn’t the word. He has millions... millions. What are you thinking about? Why do you turn your head away? Why are your cheeks so pale, and why is there a look of gloom in your eyes? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“I want to know what you are thinking about.”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“Yes, you are. Something crossed your mind. I tell you that something crossed your mind. I saw a shudder at the thought of it pass over your face. Countess, tell me what the idea is.”
“Never.... It’s too awful.”
“Ah, there you are, you see.... I insist on knowing what your idea is.”
“I should never dare to tell you. You yourself would reject it. Yes, you, Chéri-Bibi, would consider that my idea was too awful. And then it’s not merely my idea. It’s really a secret between the Kanaka and me; a secret which we keep because, believe me, the scaffold is at the end of it. So you understand why I can’t tell you anything.”
“I see you want to keep me on tenter-hooks. You are trying to whet my appetite. You don’t love me, Countess.”
“More than you think, Chéri-Bibi, and it’s just because I do love you that I can’t tell you anything.”
“So it’s something more awful than I imagined.”
“More awful than what?”
“More awful than cannibalism.”
The Countess did not reply for a moment. She was in a state of indescribable agitation. She could not meet Chéri-Bibi’s eyes.... At last a few words escaped her in a murmur.
“Yes, it is much worse than that. Oh, leave me, leave me.”
Chéri-Bibi took her in his arms, and she was but a poor weak woman. She no longer resisted his desire to know. Nevertheless, she sent him to the Kanaka.
“I personally don’t mind. Listen, my Chéri-Bibi, I don’t mind your knowing it. I won’t stand in the way of his telling you about the frightful thing. I am certain that you will shrink from it. But if you ever talk about it, it will cost both of us our heads.... I give you mine, I give you mine. Take it.”
She gave him her beautiful face and her white lips which could not have been more bloodless if the executioner had already done his work. But Chéri-Bibi, who thought only of vengeance, would not let his eyes fall upon the gift that was offered to him.
“Countess, go and fetch the Kanaka,” he said.
She fell back on the sofa in an attitude of despair, her disheveled head held between her clasped hands like a Magdalene mourning for her sins, and then she drew herself up and looked once more at Chéri-Bibi, wild-eyed.
“I will go,” she said.
But first she stopped before a glass and arranged her disordered locks; and then she hurriedly left the cabin.
Five minutes later the Kanaka came in. He was looking yellow and his eyes were bloodshot. He was alone.
“Where’s the Countess?” asked Chéri-Bibi.
“She’s returned to the dance,” answered the Kanaka, who kept his eyes fixed on Chéri-Bibi.
“And we, where are we?”
“We are making for the Gulf of Guinea, and everything is ready for to-night. The wreckage has been set aside for the purpose. We shall throw what is necessary overboard so that it will be believed that the ship went down with all hands. Then to-morrow, at the earliest moment, we shall proceed to fake a disguise for her.”
“Do you think that we shall be able to coal and take in provisions at Cape Town without running into danger?”
“It will be quite easy seeing that we have command of the ship, and need stay only for the night.”
“What flag shall we fly afterwards?”
“That remains to be considered. Personally, I vote for the Argentine flag. There are some forty of us on board who speak Spanish fluently. And then, as we shan’t stop anywhere, no one will want to poke his nose into our affairs. Once we reach the Malay Archipelago...”
“I say, Kanaka, what’s the matter? You don’t seem to me to be yourself.”
“The Countess told me, Chéri-Bibi, that..
“Well?”
“Well...”
“Come, make up your mind. Can you do anything for me?”
“It’s something appalling, Chéri-Bibi, and you wouldn’t stand it.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“If ever you blab, the Countess and I would be done for, when we returned to civilization, which is a possibility that we must always reckon on.”
“Do you take me for a spy?”
“No, that I do not, but we’ve got to be careful. Besides, I must tell you that the thing may not succeed.”
“I don’t follow you at all, Kanaka, or rather I don’t know what you mean; but anyway, tell me, would he suffer?”
“Would he suffer! I should think he would suffer.... I’m pretty well certain that you’d say he would suffer too much.”
“You don’t know me, Kanaka. If you only realized how much I want him to suffer... Go on, I’m listening.”
The Kanaka went to the other end of the cabin, held his face between his hands, and seemed to be thinking desperately. Chéri-Bibi did not disturb him. At last the Kanaka raised his head. His face was yellower than ever and his eyes were suffused with blood. He was frightful to look upon. It was as though he were already the victim of some over-stimulation, partly cerebral and partly physiological, which had rendered him a hideous brute beast.
He crossed the cabin with tottering footsteps, stretched out his arms, took Chéri-Bibi by the shoulders, looked around to see if the doors were properly closed, and bent over the convict’s ear. And slowly, slowly, with pauses and catches in his breath, by fits and starts, he poured into his ear the liquor of his diabolical secret.
Chéri-Bibi seemed in his turn to be lost in a sickly exultation. His shoulders were convulsed, his hands trembled, his eyes became dilated, and the perspiration broke from his brazen forehead in great drops.
At length the Kanaka ceased speaking and drew back, folding his arms. And Chéri-Bibi also folded his arms, and thus they remained for a space of ten minutes gazing at each other in silence. And then Chéri-Bibi fled, closing the door on the Kanaka, who continued to stand erect, his arms folded as motionless as a statue.... Chéri-Bibi, i
n a few leaps, like a tiger, had mounted the deck.
He needed air... he needed to think things out. The songs, the choruses, the shouting and the dancing on the quarter-deck drove him away to the forecastle. And here, alone with sea and sky, he shut out the world and communed with himself. He walked in a circle, breathing hard, and he thought in a circle about the Kanaka’s secret, which he had determined to know, and which tempted him as the dream of dominion over the world tempted Satan. He lifted his eyes to heaven as was his wont when he appealed to fate; the Fatum which he felt was always hanging over his head, and bearing down with all its irresistible force upon his shoulders.
His exploits were so tremendous that in his ingenuous pride he regarded them as the one and only preoccupation of time and circumstance. He knew of no more remarkable or desperate calamities than his own, and in his cruel but childish imagination he was allied to those accursed beings in the history of primitive man — of whom he had read long ago at school — who were always in direct communication with the omnipotent God, whom they endeavored to reach by piling mountain upon mountain, or to appease by offering up the most terrible sacrifices.
“Why do you subject me to this new ordeal?” he cried in a loud voice, as if he were addressing one whom he looked upon as his most relentless enemy. “Do you not know full well that I could not fight against this temptation?... The very thought of it burns me like a flaming robe.”
He was off once more in his mad tramp round and round, halting a few moments later to resume his strange soliloquy. But it was to the Kanaka this time that he addressed his fervid speech.
“Your words, Kanaka, are easily comprehended.
.. Even a child could understand them.... But my mind is racked by a deadly torment.... Hope gnaws at the pit of my stomach like a hound!...” He started away again like a man escaped from Bedlam. Then he stopped once more shouting and foaming at the mouth.... Chéri-Bibi, Chéri-Bibi, whence come this sudden delirium and anguish without apparent reason? Why those cries of terror and horror to which you give the blessed name of hope?... On the poop, between sea and sky, you seem as appalling, as menacing but also as awestruck as was Satan on the mountain before the temptation of Jesus Christ. And then suddenly you collapse! You plunge once more, with lowered head, into the inferno where the Kanaka, turned to stone, awaits you.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 157