“What cheek!”
“It’s precisely as I tell you monsieur le Marquis. Only at the last moment they could not come to terms among themselves, and they determined to get rid of Chéri-Bibi who, no doubt, was considered too tyrannical and of course, had marked out for himself the lion’s share. They joined together to kill him; but it was an unlucky thought for them. Chéri-Bibi reduced the lot of them to a bleeding pulp. You ought to see it monsieur le Marquis, it’s a remarkable piece of work... Oh his hand has lost nothing of its cunning.”
“But there’s nothing in all this to prove Chéri-Bibi’s intervention.”
“Yes there is, monsieur le Marquis. To begin with there is this butchery which bears his imprint as I will undertake to prove to the public prosecutor; and then, in order that everyone should know it, there is a little piece of bloodstained paper, unfortunately torn, on which is written in letters of blood: ‘Beware Chéri-Bibi!...’ That warning must have been written by one of the confederates who was on the upper floor, and whom the others half-killed, for he has disappeared leaving on the first and second floors frightful traces of blood. Perhaps Chéri-Bibi himself, after his victory, carried him off since he was dying, not wishing to leave such a good friend in the hands of the police.”
“The whole story is terrible” said the Marquis du Touchais.
“If I may give you my opinion, monsieur le Marquis, the whole thing should put you on your guard... Be careful! Take no risks until we have captured Chéri-Bibi who must be thinking only of one thing: how to seize a man of your importance as a hostage. My men will not lose sight of you.” Chéri-Bibi made a wry face and since he was above all a good husband and father, said:
“Upon my word Monsieur Costaud I can only thank you for showing such praiseworthy zeal. Nevertheless I should like this watch to be kept with discretion and not too near me as I don’t want to alarm my family. I am particularly anxious that the Marchioness should have no suspicion that the infernal Chéri-Bibi’s return may expose me to danger. I know her, the dear lady, and it would make her ill.”
“You can rely on my tact monsieur le Marquis.”
“I do rely on it Monsieur Costaud.”
Costaud took his leave, for the ghastly business would impose on him a considerable amount of work; and Chéri-Bibi turned his steps to the Lodge where the worthy Dodger was still sleeping like a top.
The news of the murders in the restaurant spread with great rapidity, and by the afternoon the entire population was on the, quays. One name flew from mouth to mouth: Chéri-Bibi. Chéri-Bibi had come back... And to make himself welcome his first action was to commit four murders. What a man he was! And he was supposed to be dead!
The story went that he had escaped by the roofs, that he was disguised as a policeman; indeed a thousand silly tales were current. People suddenly stopped talking and let their gaze stray stealthily to the faces around them. He was thought to be far away and he was, perhaps, quite near, listening with both ears, and quite capable of revenging himself, there and then, on such persons as were indiscreet enough to let their tongues run away with them.
A great crowd assembled in the arcades and the fish market, and in spite of the policemen on duty, an indescribable confusion reigned outside the restaurant itself.
Suddenly the morbid interest and curiosity of the multitude seemed to be transferred to that part of the quay beyond the bridge at which the suburb of Le Pollet begins. There was a general movement to this place resulting in a great crush at the bottom of the hill leading to Dieppe. It was due to an extremely gruesome discovery made at low tide in this quarter of the harbour. Some sailors had fished up, from the mud, the body and leg of a woman.
The horrible remains were removed to the Morgue to the accompaniment of a concert of maledictions, and it was soon known that these were the dismembered parts of some woman who had been murdered only a few hours before. Chéri-Bibi again! The monster’s image seemed to grow in horror, and many persons who were present went home and barricaded themselves in with a shudder of fear. Gunsmiths coined money, for everyone wanted to be armed. A rush was made for the local newspapers which told the outrageous story almost as it had been imagined by M. Costaud. In an interview he requested the people to retain their self-control, and to furnish him with any information winch might assist the police. M. Costaud hinted vaguely that he was already on the track of the criminal, and that it would not be long before he laid hands on him for the third time.
The Paris evening papers contained huge headlines in which the four resounding syllables Chéri-Bibi stood out conspicuously as was only natural. The shopkeepers in the Grand Rue closed their shutters early. In the neighbouring seaside places similar precautions were adopted. At Puys and Pourville no person loitered in the streets or highways.
Among the most apprehensive, mention must be made of Maître and Madame Régime who were staying at Pourville. They heard the frightful news at Dieppe through which they were passing, intending to pay a courtesy visit to the Marquis and Marchioness du Touchais whom they had not seen for some time. As soon as they heard of Chéri-Bibi’s fearsome presence they interrupted their little trip. The Marquis more than any other person, it was said, was menaced by his old gaoler of the “Bayard,” and it would certainly be unwise to “rush into the lion’s den,” as Mme. Régime suggested in a tremulous voice.
“You are right Nathalie,” agreed Maître Régime. “Let’s go back home. It’s no business of ours. Besides I shouldn’t be of any assistance to the Marquis, and they say that he’s well guarded.”
They went back to their villa “Sea-Mew,” at Pourville, which they had rented quite cheaply because it was the end of the season and also because it was somewhat lonely, standing in a wood not far from the cliff. The former tenant was no other than M. de Pont-Marie who never lived there, and suddenly disappeared from the country after pretty well ruining himself.
When evening came and they found themselves and their old servant alone in the house, which was much too large for them, they regretted their isolation at a moment when Chéri-Bibi’s notoriety had been given a new birth.
With a revolver in his hand, an old family revolver, all rusty, which was never loaded lest it should burst, Maître Régime accompanied by his trembling spouse made the tour of the premises, and personally assured himself that the doors were properly fastened. Then they “ supped,” as they say in those parts to denote the meal at eight o’clock. They were full of Chéri-Bibi’s crimes, old and new, but they spoke in an undertone as though the ruffian were in hiding near and could overhear them.
At the finish their conversation had reduced them to condition of painful trepidation, and they determined to leave Pourville and Dieppe the following day.
They retired upstairs to bed and blew out the candle but were unable to sleep. Every moment they seemed to hear unnatural sounds. Yet the noises were but the wind whistling through the trees, the crackle of a branch outside, the groaning of a worm-eaten piece of furniture inside.
“Let’s have a light,” begged Nathalie.
They lighted the candle and blew it out again several times. At length towards midnight they dozed off into a sleep under the bedclothes in the darkness.
Suddenly both awoke at the same time. It seemed to them as if the candle had flared up of its own accord. There was a light in the bedroom, but a queer light, a spindle-like gleam which wandered over the walls and furniture and abruptly flashed full in their faces, blinding them while they gave a despairing groan in mortal terror.
Two men were in the room... Maître Régime put up a head under his cotton night-cap and, dismayed, cried in a stifled voice:
“Mercy! Who’s there?”
His distracted better half drew back under the bedclothes without waiting for the reply. To Maître Regime’s question a voice made answer:
“It’s me, Chéri-Bibi!”
From the depths of the bed a prodigious groan came forth. Maître Régime’s head fell back on to the wood
en bed with a hollow sound, and the top of a night-cap arose in a flutter as if even inanimate things were conscious of the horror of the situation.
Nevertheless Chéri-Bibi attempted to tranquillise the affrighted couple:
“Pull yourself together, Maître Régime,” he said, “and you too madame. We shan’t kill you unless it’s absolutely necessary!” Fresh start of the night-cap; fresh groan under the bedclothes. “We’re not here to do you any harm, but to ask you to do us a little service. We know that your friend Dr. Walter placed in your hands a sealed document which is, in fact, his will. Is that correct?” The night-cap moved in a way that might be taken to signify an affirmative. “That being so, give us the will and we shall be satisfied.”
Chéri-Bibi had no sooner finished speaking than Madame Régime’s scared features appeared above the coverlet.
“Give him the will Polydore” she exclaimed.
Maître Régime never opposed his wife’s wishes when she called him by his Christian name, and this was not the occasion to make an exception to the rule. He stretched out a trembling hand above the bedside table, and not without difficulty managed to slip it into the drawer which contained his bunch of keys; but the old family revolver lay in this very drawer and Chéri-Bibi leapt on to the poor fellow seizing him by the throat.
Mme. Régime uttered a shriek of terror while Polydore gasped for breath.
“Ah, you wanted to get hold of your revolver. You shall die” said Chéri-Bibi.
“Have pity, my good sir... it’s not loaded... not loaded” cried Mme. Régime in a frenzy, clasping her hands.
Chéri-Bibi dropped Polydore, and the night-cap fell back limp on to the side of the bed. He was incapable of uttering a single word after this attack, and it was Nathalie who took charge of the proceedings.
“My good sir, the bunch of keys is in the table by the bedside...” and she pointed it out to the two masked shadows standing erect before her... “there... there and that’s the key which opens the desk... there... in front of you. You’ll find the will on the first shelf. It bears the words ‘Will of Dr. Walter.’ You’ll also find some money there, about fifteen hundred francs and a little change... take it all. We give it all to you.”
“Yes all” said the night-cap, which had come to life again.
“Do you take us for thieves?” demanded Chéri-Bibi.
“No, no” cried Polydore and Nathalie in unison.
“Well, keep your money. We make you a present of it.”
Chéri-Bibi with the bunch of keys in his hand stole to the desk which he opened and in which, in fact, he easily found the will. By the light of his dark lantern he examined the seals, and then stowed the document away in his pocket.
“Now we’ve only one thing more to say to you, dear sir and madame, which is, that if ever you breathe a word about our visit, your numbers will be up... A word and you’ll die... Take it from Chéri-Bibi. You quite understand don’t you? No one has taken the will away from you.”
“No, no, we’ll say we lost it” promised Nathalie.
“If you say you’ve lost it, you’ll be dead within a couple of hours.”
“Heavens above!... Then we’ll say nothing at all about it.”
“That’ll be the best thing for all of us” returned Chéri-Bibi. “Good-night monsieur, good night madame. We shan’t see you again unless you want to lose your tongue or have your throat cut, at your option!”
“Messieurs we give you our word of honour” said the night-cap.
The two shadows bowed and disappeared in the most imperturbable and normal manner, namely, through the doors of which they possessed the keys.
Standing at the window, behind the Venetian blinds, and holding each other in a final grip of distress, Polydore and Nathalie watched them as they plunged into the darkness and made for the road to the beach.
“Well, he is not so black as he is painted” considered Mme. Régime.
“Why does Chéri-Bibi want Dr. Walter’s will?” asked Maître Régime thinking aloud.
“If you want to please me Polydore you won’t ask anyone that question.”
“No one” swore M. Régime and at Nathalie’s suggestion they fell on their knees, as they were wont to do in the days of their childhood, and thanked Heaven for saving them from the clutches of the terrible Chéri-Bibi at no greater cost to themselves than a breach of professional duty.
Out of doors the night was now dark and anon bright for masses of clouds floated across the sky and concealed or discovered the moon. Chéri-Bibi and the Dodger crept forward with caution. They reached the beach unimpeded. It was low tide.
They went back to Dieppe and Puys over the shingle, thus avoiding the roads in which they might have encountered the numerous detectives whom Costaud had brought down from Paris.
The Dodger was delighted with their expedition which had succeeded to perfection. Nevertheless Chéri-Bibi betrayed some dejection as he reflected that his task was not yet finished, and that though he had seized the will, it still remained for him to kill the testator.
“Oh the villain,” cried the Dodger, “he little suspects what’s in store for him. He’ll have a nice awakening soon in his bye-bye; for he must be sleeping calmly, the wretch, feeling sure that he’s absolutely safe and that we are bound hand and foot.”
“Yes,” growled Chéri-Bibi, “and the insolence of the man! If you had seen and heard him as I did in my house a few hours after the murder of the poor Countess, and in spite of the slaughter of his men!... Yes in my own house. He dared to show himself and talk as if nothing out of the way had happened.”
“What cheek!”
“Oh, nothing shames and nothing frightens him. He came from the Château du Touchais to the Villa on the Cliff with the Marchioness, my wife, and was reassuring her as if he were an honest man as to the result of the Dowager’s new attack.... He advised me, in Cecily’s presence, to keep calm. I had a longing to fly at his throat, and he realised it quite plainly. He smiled satirically, knowing that since he told me, through the Countess, that he had made his will, he held the whip hand. And when Cecily, as he was leaving us, asked him to remember her to Madame Walter, he answered in the calmest of tones, fixing his eyes on me, ‘Madame Walter had left home for a short journey. “I think you’ll have the pleasure of making him taste death,” said the Dodger.
“Yes, although I’m feeling the strain,” returned Chéri-Bibi.... “It was absolutely horrible to cut her into pieces like that.”
“He must have returned to the restaurant to do that particular little job, because, if you ask me, he slipped away from the place when he saw that matters were going against him. The Kanaka never had any physical courage, and then he reflected that her body would be found and recognised as that of Dr. Walter’s wife. So he went back to the place and cut the poor thing into pieces because in that way it was easier to dispose of her and less easy to identify her.”
“Poor thing, she was very much in love with me,” sighed Chéri-Bibi.
“Tut, tut, don’t lose your nerve, monsieur le Marquis. Things couldn’t have turned out better. The Kanaka’s death will be put down to the abominable Chéri-Bibi, while M. Costaud’s men will continue to guard the Marquis at the very door of the Villa on the Cliff, and provide him with an alibi which will remove all suspicion, if any such should arise, which I refuse to believe.”
‘Dodger, I am very weary, weary.”
“Sit down, then.”
“That’s not what I mean, old man. I mean that I’m weary of bloodshed.”
“But, monsieur le Marquis, seeing there’s nothing else to be done....” And the Dodger gave a grievous sigh. “And to think that all this is owing to that infernal tatooing business. Oh the man who tatooed you didn’t waste his ink!”
“That’s what I always said when you asked me to get the marks removed. Oh how hard I tried! Before I escaped I went to all the tatooers and asked them to get rid of the marks. They could do nothing. It was no use working with t
he needle. And since they did not succeed in effacing the confounded marks, they tried to modify them, to transform them by adding other letters, by extending them, and by decorating them, but it was all to no purpose. The words ‘Chéri-Bibi’ still stood out above the others... My tatooer was very proud of the fact. He told me that the work was done with an indelible ink which was unlike any other ink, and he alone possessed the secret of it. It was ink distilled from plants gathered in the primeval forest.”
“But couldn’t he himself get rid of the marks?”
“No, he couldn’t. I offered him anything he liked, liberty, a share in our store of gold in the forest... anything. He couldn’t do it. The good Lord himself couldn’t do it he told me... And, look here, I’ll tell you something so that you needn’t bring up the subject again. Last winter I went to Paris alone for a fortnight. Well, the object was — that and nothing else — to try and get the marks obliterated. I had heard of an electric treatment, of high frequency currents which remove marks from your skin as easily as if your skin were a water colour painting. I tried it. Yes, I was treated several times by the d’Arsonval method...”
“But you must have had to take your things off to do that. The doctor who gave you the d’Arsonval treatment must have seen you.”
“No, you need not strip entirely. You keep certain things on. So you can imagine my excitement when I got back to the hotel and took off my shirt. Well, upon my word, all the other tatoo marks, and all the decorations disappeared by degrees. But the words ‘Chéri-Bibi’ stood out more boldly than ever. It was like a decree of fate. Fatalitas.”
They continued their way in silence after uttering this last word which had emphasised for so long their misfortunes. They swam across the Dieppe canal without any great difficulty, and stood once more, soaking wet, on the beach which led to Puys, and they soon entered the village. They were creeping along the sunk road to “The Fronds” with the utmost caution, when the sound of voices made them draw back quickly into a foot-path near a church.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 180