They stopped concealing themselves behind a hedge, in order to allow two shadows to pass which were coming towards them at a rapid pace. They recognised the voices. One was the Kanaka’s and the other was Rose’s. The lady companion had come to fetch Dr. Walter in the middle of the night, for the Dowager Marchioness’s illness had taken a turn for the worse.
When they passed out of hearing Chéri-Bibi, losing patience with this interruption of his plan could not repress an oath.
“That’s another who would do well to die now once for all,” he said, referring to the old Marchioness.
“Monsieur le Marquis!” protested the Dodger. “How can you say such a thing. It’s sacrilege to wish for the death of one’s mother. It will bring us bad luck.”
“You’re quite right Dodger. Touch wood.”
The Dodger was to remember for the rest of his life his master’s impious wish, and, alas, to regret it with sincere tears for he was devoted to him.
“And now what are we going to do?” asked the latter. “Suppose we go to bed.”
“Oh no, certainly not” returned the Dodger. “We must finish the business to-night come what may. We will go back again to the beach, and stay at the foot of the cliff not far from the flight of steps which leads up to the Château, and by which the Kanaka is bound to descend. He will be alone this time. You’ll only have to stretch out your arm to strike him down.”
“Well, go ahead old man” agreed Chéri-Bibi, “and let’s hope that the villain won’t make us wait too long, for I’m quite frozen in these abominable wet rags, and I’m at the end of my tether.”
They were dressed for their night’s work in the old rags which they wore the night before. They looked like, real tramps and were shivering from head to foot. They sat on the beach behind a hut and waited for the Kanaka to return. Lights gleamed from the Château windows above them.
“Oh the villain keeps us waiting” sighed Chéri-Bibi. “How irritating it is for me, the Marquis du Touchais, to be here on this deserted beach, at this hour, and on a dull night like this, in this horrible get up, prepared to use the knife again as in the worst days of my life. Dodger I will confess to you that I an really out of heart...
“I can’t go on like this. I feel as if I had been degraded and that I’ve got to begin all my work and life over again in order to win back the position which I gained with so much difficulty. Here I am again like a poor soldier of crime, like a ragamuffin who has neither house nor home nor God. The whole thing, you see, doesn’t become me at my time of life. It’s pitiable and it’s not right.”
As Chéri-Bibi gave utterance to his thoughts his voice grew so dejected that the Dodger was moved to pity, and it was with tears in his eyes that he replied:
“One more little effort, monsieur le Marquis, and we shall be at the end of our troubles... A tiny little effort, a mere trifle.”
“Yes, another murder. You call it a little effort, a mere trifle. I’ve done nothing else all my life, and now I’m tired of it. Certainly fate never spares its victims. I am still wading in a sea of blood. There isn’t a more miserable man on earth than I am when I think of it. If Cecily were not so much in love with me, and if I hadn’t got a son, I should blow my brains out without a doubt.”
“Come, monsieur le Marquis, come...”
“Look here, Dodger, be fair. Have you ever heard of such a career as mine? Men in the world have been driven to slaughter before now, and poets have sung their miseries in tragedies and dramas. Their lives were as nothing compared with mine...
“I have seen those plays performed. Fate again led me to see them when I went to Paris last time to undergo the d’Arsonval treatment. I saw Hamlet. Well Hamlet is bad enough. All the characters in the play die — drowned, strangled, stabbed or put to the sword. But this is nothing compared with what has happened, with what is happening in my family. And then last year I went with Cecily to see Mounet-Sully in Œdipus the King. Well Œdipus is more miserable than Hamlet. Fate in his case did not do things by halves. Œdipus killed his father without knowing it. He married his mother without knowing it. He was the brother of his own children. He put out his own eyes and thus became blind. And he was not to blame, it was fatalitas; he suffered the decrees of fate. I too am the victim of fate...
“I am a kind of Œdipus. When I saw the play it made me ill. I longed to interrupt the performance, to rush upon the stage, to call a halt to Mounet-Sully and to cry: ‘It’s not Œdipus who is acting a farce, it’s I... I... I... I who killed my father-in-law, who caused my wife’s husband to be killed, I who am the murderer of my children’s father, I who have killed myself in order to live with a face that is not my own.’ I left the theatre foaming, without troubling about Cecily who ran behind me. People took me for a madman. Fatalitas. Œdipus was more wretched than Hamlet but less wretched than I.”
And Chéri-Bibi lifted his hand to the Heavens and cursed as of old as he contrasted his woes with the woes of the son of Laius. The Dodger hardly dared to speak another word when he saw him so utterly cast down. Nevertheless he would be wanting in his duty if he allowed him to remain in a state of prostration at a moment when he needed the full possession of his energies to kill Dr. Walter.
“Monsieur le Marquis, when I consider the nature and character of the persons who died by your hand, I see no grounds why you should unduly distress yourself; and you do wrong to find fault with Heaven which has so justly distributed your blows. Let us begin at the beginning as the Kanaka hasn’t appeared yet, and is giving you the time to read yourself clearly before you inflict the punishment on him which he deserves more than anyone. First there is old Bourrelier who took advantage of your sister. Abandoning every thought of revenge, in the true Christian spirit, you were on the point of saving his life when he was about to be hurled over the cliff by some wretched man in a grey hat. But instead of hitting the man in the grey hat you inadvertently planted your knife up to the hilt in old Bourreliers back. Do you pity him? No, because he deserved his fate, and Heaven took care that he should submit to it...
“Personally, I see the hand of Providence in everything that has happened to you as a result. Providence assuredly desired to punish a certain number of other persons in the world who were quite as contemptible as old Bourrelier, and that is why it caused you to be unjustly prosecuted and condemned for crimes which you did not commit, so that in your irritation and in the exceptional difficulties of your life, you should become the blind instrument of which it stood in need...
“Don’t forget that you have never killed anyone for the pleasure of killing, but only when driven into a corner by the necessity of defending yourself. Doubtless it was written that those whom you struck down should go under as a punishment for their sins. But for you, Madame Cecily’s first husband would have continued to torture that divine creature. So you cannot regret the death of her tormentor seeing that she would never have been rewarded for her virtue in this world if you hadn’t taken the place of a man unworthy of her...
“Then again had it not been written that Little Buddha, Barefoot, Carrots and the Top should meet the end of their detestable lives in this country, do you suppose that fatality, as you call it, would have taken the trouble to bring them here so that all four of them should die by your hand? Moreover fatality knows what it is about in seeking to throw the defenceless Kanaka into your arms. It will not be long before he expiates the crime of killing a poor woman whose mutilated body is being found all over the place.”
“What you say does me good, my dear Dodger” confessed Chéri-Bibi. “Nevertheless I cannot find myself again on the beach without going back in imagination to that fatal night two days after Bourrelier’s death, when in this very spot where I now am, I saw the man in the grey hat mount the cliff steps leading to the Château du Touchais. That man more than anyone else deserved to be brought to book by me, and yet he has always escaped me...
“After attacking old Bourrelier two days before, and stealing his pocket book, he d
etermined to murder the Marquis du Touchais, a worthy man who never harmed a soul. Oh! can see myself now following the scoundrel’s footsteps and arriving too late, unfortunately, to save the Marquis’s life, but early enough to be arrested as the murderer! And do you think it just that after so many years he should still remain unpunished, and people should still be ignorant of his crime, while the name of Chéri-Bibi should still serve as a bogy with which to frighten little children?”
“And grown up people as well” the Dodger thought it well to interpose;— “but don’t lose patience, everything comes to him who waits, and I am convinced that that villain’s turn will come like the rest. Didn’t you tell me that Rose knows much more about him than we do?”
“Yes, she took Sister St. Mary of the Angels into her confidence to some extent and then refused to say another word. There’s no reason why she should speak now after keeping silent so long. Why did she spare the man in the grey hat? I have an idea that he may belong to our world. She is certainly afraid of creating a scandal... She knew him. She must have seen his face while I caught sight only of his back, first of all on the cliff, and afterwards on the steps, at that spot revealed by the moon.”
So saying, Chéri-Bibi pointed to the cliff, and suddenly he sprang up quivering with such excitement that the Dodger followed his gesture and anxiously asked him what was the matter.
“Don’t you see, don’t you see?... There... there on the cliff.”
The Dodger at length observed the cause of his agitation. Skirting the rock and going along an almost perpendicular path which appeared impracticable for a human being, a shadow glided and reached one of the stair-heads of the narrow flight of steps leading to the Château du Touchais. Suddenly the shadow appeared in the full light of the moon and Chéri-Bibi cried:
“That’s the man in the grey hat.... Yes, it’s he, it’s his movements, his bearing, his form and figure. Besides, he was exactly the same; he was ill at ease like this man” Chéri-Bibi was ready to dart forward, and the Dodger had great difficulty in holding him back.
“Let me go. I tell you it’s he. He took the same path.”
Chéri-Bibi roughly hustled the Dodger, and at that moment the man above them turned round apparently to see if there was any one on the beach and as if he feared to be discovered from below. The two men, hidden from view behind the hut, uttered the same exclamation:
“De Pont-Marie!”
Chéri-Bibi threw himself on his hands and knees and crept along, his jaw thrust forward, like a wolf. The Dodger stole behind him to the foot of the cliff.
“Leave him to me,” said Chéri-Bibi, “I ought to have suspected it. Never mind. That man’s time has come!”
“But what takes him to the Château?”
“Cecily is staying there to-night with the Marchioness. The villain must be up to some mischief. Stay here and, whatever you do, don’t budge unless I call you.”
As de Pont-Marie seemed to make up his mind to ascend the last steps, Chéri-Bibi took advantage of a cloud which floated across the moon to go forward.
When the moon appeared once more he was on the top steps, but de Pont-Marie had disappeared as if by magic. Had he heard footsteps behind him, and drawn back to the cliff, or had he slipped into the Château through the little door leading into the garden which was still slightly ajar, as it was on the night of the tragedy? Dr. Walter and Rose must have passed through, and in their hurry omitted to close it.
Chéri-Bibi pushed the door and went in. He looked round him. No one was there. And this nocturnal expedition which was no part of his programme stirred up within him all the old memories. Nevertheless he did not delay, but pursued his investigations. He hunted throughout the garden with the utmost caution. De Pont-Marie was not there. Chéri-Bibi assumed that he himself was to blame, for making a noise, and revealing himself prematurely. The argument was quite plausible.
He sat down on a settle in the shadow of a thicket and continued in silence to keep a look out round him. De Pont-Marie certainly had had no time to enter the Château as the doors were locked.
Lights gleamed from the windows of the first floor, in the wing occupied by the Marchioness. Chéri-Bibi discerned through the windows the silhouettes of Cecily and Rose moving about as if busily engaged. A third person came to them and a brief discussion ensued. The third person was Dr. Walter who was doubtless giving his last injunctions.
Chéri-Bibi was so greatly perturbed by the discovery which he had just made, and his heart was so full of wrath against de Pont-Marie in whom he saw the sorry being whom he had, in the old days, vainly endeavoured to trace, that he forgot his mission to kill the Kanaka that night. It was left to events to remind him of it by showing him that the death of the Kanaka was within reach.
A light shone through the turret window of the staircase which ran down to the ground floor. Chéri-Bibi clearly saw Rose descending the stairs, going before Dr. Walter and lighting the way. Ere long both were in the great drawing room in which the old Marquis du Touchais had been murdered. Rose and the doctor stopped for a moment at the glazed door to have a talk. Then Rose unlocked the front door and opened it.
“Do you wish me to go with you doctor?” she asked. “The little garden gate is open.”
“No, no, go upstairs at once to your mistress and carry out my instructions. Oh, have you any paper and ink? I’ll give you a prescription now which you can have made up in the morning...”
“Here you are doctor.”
Their voices sounded clear and distinct in the silence of the night. She took him to a table on which he found writing material. He sat down while Rose, in answer to a call from Cecily, left her candle in the room and went quickly upstairs, telling him that she would come down again presently and lock the front door; and asking him to leave his prescription on the table before taking his departure.
The Kanaka sat at the table and, bending over it, for he was slightly shortsighted, began to write. His back was turned to the door which Rose had left ajar. Chéri-Bibi had but to go in. He would never have a finer opportunity. He could kill the Kanaka as he sat writing out his prescription. He drew his knife and went in.
Treading stealthily he moved, with weapon upraised, towards the back which was presented to him, and he was about to spring forward when an unfortunate creaking of the floor caused the Kanaka to turn round with a celerity which showed that this queer doctor must always have been on his guard. He was so thoroughly on his guard that Chéri-Bibi, in his impetus, found himself up against a revolver, with the result that the hour of the murder which, in his mind, was already done, was postponed. It was a false move which forced a painful sigh from Chéri-Bibi and a ghastly grin from the doctor.
“Do you know that I could shoot you like a dog?” said the Kanaka.
“You have nothing to gain by shooting me,” returned the sham Marquis du Touchais in a voice of utter weariness, “ so I’m not afraid of you.”
“Nor am I afraid of you,” said the Kanaka in mocking tones. “You know that I have taken my precautions and that my death would be the signal of your downfall; the end of the Marquis du Touchais and, without a doubt, the end of Chéri-Bibi as well. Why do you come here with a knife and in that get up? You wouldn’t be such a fool as to kill me would you? You wanted to frighten me.”
“Yes, because I absolutely insist on having a talk with you. Don’t be too clever. I won the first rubber only yesterday, and now you are left alone against me.”
“With your secret.”
“How much do you want?”
“First I want you to drop your knife and I’ll put away my revolver. As weapons are useless, and we can’t kill each other, let us do without these stage properties and talk frankly and openly.
“As you please,” agreed Chéri-Bibi, who put his knife in his pocket.
Now that they had laid down their arms, they steadily gazed at each other in silence for a few moments. They took stock of each other, each endeavouring to gauge from a look the
mettle of the other. Chéri-Bibi suddenly staggered back for he heard footsteps above him.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said the Kanaka, going towards him. “Rose won’t come downstairs yet. I have given her work to do. Yes, she and your wife cannot leave the Marchioness, your mother, just now. We can talk business.” And he repeated with a sneer:
“Your mother!... Your wife!”
“Leave my wife out of it, you villain.”
“As you please. What shall we talk about then? Ah, yes, you want to know ‘my price.’ Are you aware that you’re a pretty fellow?”
“Why?” asked Chéri-Bibi innocently still falling back as if the Kanaka’s masterful air and flashing look seriously intimidated him.
“Why? Because, my dear fellow, one oughtn’t to be such an ass as you are. What! Do you suppose that I made you the Marquis du Touchais for a million francs? And now you ask ‘my price.’ You think, apparently, that you’ll be able to get rid of me for another million.”
“No,” returned Chéri-Bibi. “How much do you want?”
“I’ll tell you something: I thought of taking everything from you, or pretty well everything. That was my object in bringing my staff here with me.”
“Your staff no longer exists. How much do you want?” As Chéri-Bibi spoke he continued imperceptibly to retreat, and the Kanaka followed him, without hesitation, for Chéri-Bibi was brought to a standstill in a corner, and could not move a step, while his enemy was able to keep a sharp eye on his every movement. Moreover the Kanaka was obviously easy in his mind as to Chéri-Bibi’s purpose, for he had quietly crossed his hands behind his back.
It had resolved itself into a diplomatic bout between the two men on the question of money.
“Yes” went on the Kanaka in a jesting tone, “Yes, I dreamed of plundering you, of taking from you by force, and if necessary by torture, all your property. That plan would have succeeded if the Countess hadn’t put you on your guard.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 181