“Do you mean to say that the Baron is dead?” exclaimed Chéri-Bibi falling back a step in astonishment.
“Dead!... But he can’t be,” added Hilaire. “We are fighting a duel with him this morning!”
“I know that” said Costaud whom the solicitor now introduced, “and I know also that Maître Régime was the Marquis’s principal second. I happened to be staying in Dieppe — where I began my career by investigating a celebrated case which made a great sensation in the world — and one of my colleagues informed me this morning of the grim discovery made by shrimpers. I at once started off for the cliff, and I discovered the body of Baron Proskof at the very spot where, many years ago, we found the body of M. Bourrelier senior who was murdered by Chéri-Bibi.”
“At the very spot?” echoed the Marquis in a voice of obvious stupefaction.
“Yes, at the very spot, I assure you. The body was lying on its face like M. Bourrelier’s with arms outstretched. I could have imagined, had I been a few years younger, that Chéri-Bibi had once again passed that way...
“Always presuming of course, that Chéri-Bibi was still alive” went on the Detective-Inspector. “But as a matter of fact you were present when that notorious miscreant died on board the “Bayard.” I confess that I read with tremendous interest the interviews with you which were published in the daily papers. Up to then I had doubted the ruffian’s death. But, in the end, your evidence, the evidence gathered from other survivors of that amazing adventure, and the return of Sister St. Mary of the Angels after her brother’s death, convinced me; although I don’t deny that deep down within me, I have a sort of presentiment that we shall hear something more of that terrible man...”
“Even now that he is dead?”
“Well, monsieur le Marquis I can’t reconcile myself to the idea of his death... I can’t believe that Chéri-Bibi would die of an illness like an ordinary mortal, and leave the world so simply as that, at the moment when he had made himself supreme, and had only to gather the fruit of his immeasurable audacity and receive your millions... No... no... The thing doesn’t sound feasible.”
“All right Monsieur Costaud” returned Chéri-Bibi in the calmest of tones, seemingly taking no further interest in the matter. “We will assume that he is not dead, that’s all.”
“Oh! won’t go so far as to say that. But the thing astonishes me more than I know how to express. He has played us so many tricks! Has he not faked up a last one in his own particular style? Are you positive that you saw him dead?”
“I saw him dead as plainly as I see you living.”
“Ah, I wanted to hear your evidence before making up my mind. I was longing to have a word with you on the subject. Baron Proskof’s death gives me the opportunity, and it’s just as well. You will excuse me for troubling you monsieur le Marquis... Now I can continue my investigations into the poor Baron’s death.”
“It’s a queer sort of death” observed Chéri-Bibi. “It has done me out of a very fine duel! However that may be, gentlemen,” he added turning to his seconds “our duty is to go to the meeting-place. It’s quite time.”
“Permit me to come with you” suggested Costaud, “I shall have a few questions to put to you on the way, as man to man, in the interests of justice.”
“I am entirely at your disposal Monsieur.”
They went off. As he opened the gate Chéri-Bibi turned to the window and saw a handkerchief fluttering behind it. Cecily had not heard the conversation between the men, and consequently was under the impression that her husband was on his way to the duel. Moreover it was with a sense of dread that she caught sight of a heavy case of pistols which Maitre Régime was carrying, as a lawyer carries a portfolio, but with an easy assurance due to his certainty that there would be no occasion to use them.
The Marchioness assumed that M. Costaud, the fourth person, was a doctor staying in the country, whose services had been requisitioned by the seconds. The truth was that the doctors were to go direct to the spot chosen for the duel, which was on the cliff on the far side of the Château du Touchais. It was no great distance. They went on foot by a short cut.
Costaud drew nearer the Marquis.
“I have a few rather delicate points to put to you monsieur le Marquis. Don’t say anything if they are inconvenient to you. But if you are able to answer me, it would be of great service. It’s like this: Before my return to Dieppe this morning I went, as you may imagine, to see the Baroness. It was I, in fact, who broke the bad news to her while the Commissary of Police had the body removed to the town for the purpose of the post-mortem examination. The Baroness has a cool head. When she learnt that her husband’s body had been found underneath the cliff she said: ‘What a fool!’”
“Oh really... She said ‘What a fool!’”
“She said: ‘What a fool!’ and the words were, to me, a revelation. I imagined that it was an accident, but now monsieur le Marquis, I do not believe that it was an accident.”
“And what do you think it was?” asked Chéri-Bibi displaying keen interest.
“To tell you the truth, I believe it was a case of suicide. It was common knowledge that the Baron and Baroness’s affairs were in a very bad way. They were waiting with constantly increasing impatience for you to come back, to get them out of their difficulties. Now it appears, if one may trust the gossips of the place, that you did not fulfil any of the worthy couple’s expectations. It seems that you gave the ‘Belle of Dieppe’ notice to quit. I say again, monsieur le Marquis, that I am putting these points to you only with the desire to elucidate, at the earliest moment, the facts of the tragedy which seem to me to be perfectly simple.”
“But Monsieur Costaud I don’t consider that you’re in any way indiscreet. One arrives at an age when one must settle down. I have had my fling in my youth, but youth passes. That is what in point of fact I endeavoured to convey to the Baroness Proskof and her husband. They received my declaration in a very unpleasant spirit... hence the duel.”
“Hence the suicide... The Baron expected you to pay his debts, but you knocked him down instead. He lost his head, and the ‘Belle of Dieppe,’ who has not entirely given up all hope of you, regards him as a fool. That’s the whole story. What is your opinion?”
“My opinion Monsieur is that your arguments are convincing. We’ll take it for granted that the Baron committed suicide. I prefer that it should be so rather than to kill him with my own hand seeing that he and I and his wife were on such friendly terms.”“
And thus the suicide of the Baron from the cliff at Puys was established in a circumstantial report drawn up by the Detective-Inspector of the criminal investigation department who demonstrated his powers of psychological deduction. Chéri-Bibi’s first encounter with the redoubtable officer filled him with unspeakable delight. He secretly revelled in the joy of being treated with great deference by one of the police from whom formerly he had been subjected to the worst brutalities.
“It’s certain” he said to himself, “that if you are rich you succeed in everything. It is as though the whole world combines to save you from the least annoyance, and Costaud takes upon himself the burden of sweeping out of my path all those whom I might have feared as a result of that movement of my shoulders on the cliff.”
He considered that the basis of society was a sound one. and he began to have a liking for Costaud. He shook hands in great good humour with all the men in the park near him, and when the Baron’s seconds gravely conveyed the sad news to him, it was with great difficulty that he forebore to congratulate them on their principal’s death. He thanked the doctors for their zeal, and regretted sincerely, as he said, that “they had all their trouble for nothing.” Finally he asked to be allowed to present his respects to the widow.
The Baroness did not refuse to receive him. Hilaire watched him enter the Château in terror. He said to himself that the ‘Belle of Dieppe’ would be his undoing. He was not easy in his mind until he saw him come out, some minutes later, with a smile o
n his Ups, seemingly well pleased with himself. Chéri-Bibi at once dragged Hilaire off with him after taking leave of M. Costaud, Maître Régime and the rest of the party.
“That woman” he said to Hilaire speaking of the Baroness, “seemed to me to be delighted at the thought of her husband’s death although she deemed it advisable when she saw me to make a show of gloomy despair. I soon put an end to that farce by presenting her with a cheque for a substantial amount. Though I’m not fond of unnecessary expenditure, Hilaire, I don’t hesitate to “make sacrifices” when the circumstances concern the honour of the Marquis du Touchais or the dignity of his wife. We shan’t hear any more of the Baroness Proskof...
“After the funeral at which we shall be present as country neighbours, she will leave this place for good and all. Let us hasten with the news to our Cecily. I am very grateful to this duel which has ended so happily. But for the duel the Marchioness would never have soothed my mind last night by her generous impulse. She allowed me to kiss her. But for the duel she would never have stood behind the blind watching my departure. Gentle, lovable Cecily!... She waved her handkerchief to me. She thought that I was going off to fight. Hilaire, I tell you that she loves me or is not far from loving me. Let us hasten to calm her fears and put an end to her anxiety. If I have at last touched her heart, as I hope, she must be in a state of terrible suspense.”
They hurried along without exchanging another word. Chéri-Bibi reached the gate first, and could not repress an exclamation, a very violent exclamation, for he caught sight of Cecily in a covered walk talking in a somewhat intimate manner to de Pont-Marie.
After giving expression to his feelings, Chéri-Bibi opened the gate and went towards the couple with clenched fists, while the gentle Dodger held on to the skirts of his coat whispering in supplicating tones:
“Don’t be rash monsieur le Marquis. And above all no more duels for the love of Heaven.”
The conversation in the arbour was an animated one and neither Cecily nor de Pont-Marie had yet noticed Chéri-Bibi’s arrival. When they saw him he was quite close to them, and they both rose embarrassed, changing colour in their confusion.
What were they saying? From all appearance they feared lest they had been overheard. But Chéri-Bibi to his great regret had been unable to catch a word of their conversation. He rolled his eyes fiercely. Cecily was the first to recover her composure.
“M. de Pont-Marie came to tell me of the Baron’s death” she said. “The news greatly reassured me dear.”
At these words Chéri-Bibi’s anger fell away. They were spoken so simply and sweetly and at the same time so significantly, that he would have been a monster of ingratitude had his heart not been softened. But none the less he continued to entertain a feeling of resentment against de Pont-Marie for his presence there.
But for M. de Pont-Marie he would certainly have enjoyed a different sight, a sight that he had already tasted in anticipation. He imagined Cecily’s delight when she heard of his escape from danger in the duel, and in a mental picture he saw her throw herself into his arms, and forget the past in a sob of love.
Thus doubtless matters would have come to pass and completely satisfied his love and pride. Time enough, he had thought, to tell her that there had been no duel; the ice would none the less have been broken. And here was the intolerable de Pont-Marie thwarting his plans for sc happy an issue.
He loathed the man. It was a veritable misfortune that he was prevented from ridding himself of him in some duel because of the miserable piece of skin which the Kanaka had left on his chest, and which it was expedient to hide from everyone, even and above all in case of an accident, which must needs be provided for in duelling.
In any event it would not be long before he closed the door of his house to him. And meanwhile, that very day, he would politely inform him that he wasn’t wanted. Chéri-Bibi longed to be alone with Cecily, face to face, and to pursue the work of winning her troubled heart which he had so well begun. Thus he opened his lips in order to tell M. de Pont-Marie that the ‘Belle of Dieppe’ was expecting to see him at her place when Cecily, with her most charming smile, said to him:
“I asked you to invite M. de Pont-Marie to lunch tomorrow, but since he is here, I will keep him with us to-day. We have a great deal to talk about. M. de Pont-Marie is the secretary of the Poor Seaman’s Fund and I am the president. We have to make up the accounts. We shall finish them to-day — at least I hope so. Meantime would you mind excusing us? We are going to steep ourselves in figures. Good-bye for the present.”
She held out her hand. He took it in his own scarcely knowing what he was doing. It was he who was being told that he wasn’t wanted! He bowed over the hand that he adored feeling a lump in his throat. But Cecily had already turned her back on him, and reached her boudoir, near the verandah, in which she shut herself up with de Pont-Marie.
Chéri-Bibi uttered a groan like the horn of a motor car and fled across country. Behind him ran the Dodger out of breath. At length he came up to him on a sloping bank on which Chéri-Bibi had sunk. His face was covered with his hands in an attitude of extreme dejection.
The Dodger respected his grief until it was time for luncheon. Then he ventured to speak:
“It’s twelve o’clock” he said.
Chéri-Bibi got up. He was now calm. It was as though he had made up his mind, and the Dodger at once felt a certain anxiety.
“What’s he going to do now?” he asked himself always ready to anticipate and to prevent as far as possible untoward accidents.
As they drew near the villa, Chéri-Bibi recovered his self-possession as a man of the world. He strove to maintain it notwithstanding the shock that he received when the man servant told him that the Marchioness and M. de Pont-Marie were still in the boudoir. He was inclined to break in upon their duet, which, indeed, had lasted a little too long even in the cause of charity.
Was he not the master? Was he not in his own house?... But the door before him opened and the two persons came out. De Pont-Marie wore a slightly satirical expression which was not pleasant to see. Cecily, on the other hand, did not show to advantage, for she was of an extreme pallor, and there was a look of anxiety in her eyes which she dared not raise to her husband.
“Come, let us have lunch” she said in a peculiar voice, taking Chéri-Bibi’s arm.
Chéri-Bibi whose agitation had reached its culminating point was conscious of the trembling of her hand. De Pont-Marie remained behind, caught up by young Bernard who was playing with him, and Chéri-Bibi said to Cecily in a voice as deep as self-sacrifice, as secret as revenge, and as swift as love:
“This man is making you suffer. I don’t wish to know the cause, but do you want me to get rid of him once for all?”
“You are dreaming” she replied quickly. “What are you thinking of? We have had some dispute in connection with the accounts. I will tell you the story later on. It’s of no importance... none whatever.” Her hand trembled more and more. “I entreat you to be civil to him during lunch. See for yourself, he has already forgotten our difference of opinion. He is amusing himself with Bernard... with your son.”
Chéri-Bibi gave a cry for Cecily had fallen in a dead faint in his arms.
He carried her as though she were a child into her room. The servants came hurrying in, and gave her smelling salts. Her pale face was reclining on his shoulder. He was wild with anxiety and love. They unloosened her corsage. Chéri-Bibi closed his eyes, and Cecily chose that moment to open hers. She gave a sigh and caught sight of the Marquis’s distraught features. “How he loves me!” she said to herself; and she shuddered as she thought of the terrible battle in which she was engaged with de Pont-Marie and in which she might, perhaps, in the end succumb. Meanwhile Bernard came in and she took him in her arms and covered him — the object of so much love and sorrow — with passionate kisses. She pressed the price of her suffering to her heart with such a wild outburst of emotion that she failed to notice that the father’s ardent g
aze was now fixed upon her. At length, greatly concerned, he left her in the servants’ hands, stumbling against the furniture on his way from the room like a man possessed.
In the garden he at once encountered the eternal de Pont-Marie who enquired after the Marchioness. Chéri-Bibi asked him to come with him to his study. And here he carried into effect his determination to tell de Pont-Marie, openly and frankly, that his presence was no longer welcome. In his excitement he did not mince matters. The Dodger with a beating heart was listening behind the door. And this is what he heard:
“You must excuse us for not being able to keep you to lunch in view of the Marchioness’s condition. My car will take you back to Dieppe if you wish it. Personally I have a slight request to make to you: don’t set foot in this place again... Oh please let me have my say, it won’t take long. We have been the closest friends. We are friends no longer. You know the reason. I am not a silly ass. You have been making love to my wife. You were. perhaps, entitled to do so in the days when I was not in love with her myself, but now I adore her. I dislike your conduct intensely. Let us understand each other. I have no grudge against you. I don’t want to quarrel with you. I have the greatest confidence in the Marchioness, and I know that in spite of all that I have made her suffer she is incapable of deceiving me. Only you understand the position is changed. I have now come to take up the place here that I used not to care about. I want it, and nothing remains for you to do but to pass out of sight. Let’s shake hands and say good-bye.”
M. de Pont-Marie ignored the hand that was held out to him and took a seat without being invited.
Amazed and out of all patience with this unexpected development, Chéri-Bibi made a step forward his whole body expressing menace, and the Dodger who was peeping through the key-hole expected to see his master throw the foolhardy de Pont-Marie out of the window. But a few words dropped by him stopped Chéri-Bibi short in his sudden impulse.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 169