Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “Allow me,” broke in the Joker. “You have made a slight mistake. To begin with, this personal fortune amounts to” — and he turned the pages of a report until he came to a figure— “exactly seven hundred and forty-five thousand francs. But this fortune was made up of six hundred thousand francs left to Madame d’Haumont by her great-aunt, who disinherited Madame d’Haumont’s mother for conduct of which she disapproved; and one hundred and forty-five thousand francs, which came to Madame d’Haumont from M. de la Boulays’ brother, who left the remainder of his wealth, amounting to four hundred thousand francs, to M. de la Boulays” — fresh reference to the papers— “to be exact, four hundred and thirty-two thousand, eight hundred francs, free of legacy duty, which four hundred and thirty-two thousand, eight hundred francs and the interest accruing thereon during five years, the amount of which can easily be ascertained, were given by M. de la Boulays absolutely to his daughter. The dowry amounted, therefore, to a grand total of one million, one hundred and seventy-seven thousand, eight hundred francs, without counting the interest in question.”

  “A very fine wedding present,” said M. de Saynthine. “We have only mentioned Madame d’Haumont’s fortune to show how matters stand, and to prove that Captain d’Haumont will not be reduced to beggary on the day when he hands over his own property, worth two million francs, to his old companions who worked with him for so many long years, and but for whose devoted and entirely discreet assistance he would be nothing to-day.” Having spoken, M. de Saynthine leaned towards Didier, who maintained a gloomy silence.

  “I don’t know if I have made myself sufficiently clear,” he said.

  “Yes,” returned Captain d’Haumont. “Unfortunately you have made yourself only too clear.”

  A pause ensued. The Burglar broke it by remarking:

  “We ought to have foreseen it. He’s going to bargain.”

  “No,” returned M. de Saynthine, “Captain d’Haumont is not going to bargain. He will reflect that it might have cost him a great deal more. He will appreciate the delicacy which we have shown in allowing him to pay his debt to us without having to lay hands on his wife’s property.”

  “Mlle de la Boulays’ property,” interposed Didier, who dared not say Madame d’Haumont, “does not belong to me. I will not touch a sou of Mlle de la Boulays’ money.”

  “Calm yourself, Captain d’Haumont, seeing that your wife’s fortune is not in question, and we are not asking for any part of it,” returned M. de Saynthine.

  “All the same, allow me to say,” broke in the Joker, “that Captain d’Haumont is wrong in saying that his wife’s property does not belong to him. It belongs to him as much as it belongs to her. He can dispose of it in its entirety, because Captain and Madame d’Haumont were married under the law of community of property between husband and wife. Captain d’Haumont wanted this community of property converted into the law of acquisition whereby the property belongs to the husband and wife jointly, but Madame d’Haumont, with an unselfishness which one cannot too highly praise, insisted on the former course, and M. de la Boulays himself had to give way to her. Moreover, he did so all the more readily inasmuch as he knew that he was dealing with a perfectly honest man who would know how to manage with care and economy their mutual interests.”

  “You are wasting words,” growled the Burglar. “Captain d’Haumont has got to make up his mind. Is it to be yes or no?”

  “I am prepared to give you everything that belongs to me,” said Captain d’Haumont. The three men at these words were quivering with delight when he added: “Unfortunately for your expectations, which I consider excessive, I do not possess more than one hundred and fifty thousand francs.”

  Slightly nonplussed by this declaration, the three confederates burst into laughter.

  “What a good joke!” jeered the Burglar. “Who’s going to believe that humbug?”

  M. de Saynthine intervened:

  “I thought that I said what I had to say with sufficient clearness,” he observed. “Two million francs for us, and honor, fame, happiness, security, love and one million francs for you.”

  “One million, one hundred and seventy-seven thousand, eight hundred francs,” corrected the Joker. “It strikes me that with the share we are leaving you, you’ll have nothing to complain of.”

  “We are much too generous,” declared Monsieur Toulouse, who was beginning to show irritation and struck the table with his fist. “It’s obvious that we shall have to resort to extreme measures.”

  M. de Saynthine placed his hand on Monsieur Toulouse’s arm.

  “Hold your tongue,” he ordered. “We are not here to shout or to be trifled with.”

  As he uttered these last words he turned to Didier and said:

  “Be good enough, Monsieur, to answer us seriously.”

  “I tell you, with the utmost seriousness, that one hundred and fifty thousand francs are all that I have left. I gave the rest to the State.”

  This time they stared at him in silent amazement. Captain d’Haumont did not look as if he were “trifling.” Nevertheless the Burglar could not refrain from again striking the table with his clenched fist.

  “He’s getting at us. The thing’s impossible,” he cried.

  “Personally I don’t believe a word of it,” declared the Joker with a feeble smile.

  “He is quite capable of doing such a thing,” said the Parisian.

  “You can have proof of it whenever you like,” declared Didier with an impassive air.

  The Joker and the Burglar at once burst into a fit of indignation. They called to mind what the Parisian had told them of the Nut’s character, and the rash deeds of which he was capable.

  “Oh, the swine! if he’s done that, he’s robbed us,” moaned Monsieur Toulouse.

  The Joker rose to his feet and, losing all self-restraint, treated Captain d’Haumont with the familiarity with which he used to treat the Nut.

  “Do you think we’ve come all this way for one hundred and fifty thousand francs?”

  “Fifty thousand francs,” corrected the Burglar, who knew how to calculate at least as well as the Joker. “Why, we must be dreaming.”

  “Very well,” said the Parisian, who had paused to reflect. “We’ll test what you say, and you’ll have only yourself to blame if you’ve lied to us, and it’s a bad look-out for you if you’ve told us the truth.”

  “It’s a certainty that he’s telling lies.”

  “Be quiet,” ordered the Parisian. “That’s his business. Our business is to receive the money.

  If you haven’t a sou yourself—”

  “Then, of course, he must hand over his wife’s money.”

  Didier stood up, pale as death.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going off because I have nothing more to say to you. My hundred and fifty thousand francs are at your disposal. You can take them or leave them. You cannot betray me without ruining yourselves. You won’t get another sou. You can think it over. I don’t attach any value to my life. You can have the hundred and fifty thousand francs or nothing at all.

  “Sit down, Nut, and let’s argue the thing out. It would be a pity for all of us if you left us like this,” said de Saynthine.

  Now they no longer gave themselves airs. They let themselves go without restraint, and were such men as life in a penal settlement had made of them. They used slang and addressed each other in the familiar second person. They had become once again comrades who were ready to come to an understanding or fight to the death. They called him once more the Nut.

  Didier was still on his feet.

  “You haven’t grasped the fact, Nut, that we don’t want to blackmail you. There’s never any end to blackmail. If we accepted your hundred and fifty thousand francs they would be gone in three months, and the whole thing would begin over again. Nothing is to be done with a hundred and fifty thousand francs between the three of us. It’s not enough to make even one honest man! But if you have any common
sense, you will get us out of our poverty once for all. We ask you to share with us what property you have, whether it comes from your marriage or from any other source.”

  “You must hand over a million, and you’ll never hear of us again, I promise you,” said the Burglar, and he raised his hand as if he were about to take an oath.

  “I have a list of the securities pertaining to Madame d’Haumont,” said the Joker in his turn. “A pretty good lot of them could be sold at once, and the others do not present insuperable difficulties. The Nut has the power to do what he likes with these securities. His signature alone is needed. There’s no necessity to give any explanation; but if he wants to supply one, it will be easy for him to do so. He has securities which have gone up in value, and he is taking advantage of the fact to sell them. Others have gone down in value, and he wants to get rid of them before they depreciate still further. It’s he who has the management of the business. It’s his duty to ‘reinvest’ the money. I’ll take it on myself to reinvest it. He has but to give me his signature, and he will see what a good business man I am! Madame d’Haumont will suspect nothing. We shall leave you the land and houses, and your father-in-law’s property which you will inherit. You have nothing to complain of. Only you must sit down, old man, and take a pen.

  We have already jawed too much. Time is passing, and we haven’t really done anything yet.”

  The three of them stared at Didier, who was still on his feet, very pale, his eyes half closed, his revolver in his hand.

  They did not fear the revolver. They knew very well that he was incapable of shooting the three of them. He was not a Chéri-Bibi, was not Didier, and then if he were to run away leaving three corpses behind he would not escape a scandal. Moreover, as may be imagined, they would not allow him to have it all his own way.

  As they saw him standing, with a set, pale face, before them, and as they closely watched the suppressed desperation to which they had driven him, their fear was lest he should use the weapon against himself. In truth he had a look about him of a man who was about to kill himself.

  They instinctively realized it, and the Burglar and the Joker had no need of a swift glance from M. de Saynthine to grasp the position. The latter at once assumed a good-humored air.

  “In reality it will be enough if we are agreed in principle,” he said. “A day or two will make no difference. The position in which we stand towards each other to-day will be the same to-morrow. And we shall still have at our command the same weapons, so that we can put an end to it if it is unduly protracted. Let Captain d’Haumont show his good will and we shan’t fall out. Of course, we can’t give Captain d’Haumont away to the police without detriment to ourselves, but we are not concerned with the police. The thought that Madame d’Haumont may remain indefinitely, perhaps for ever, ignorant of things which she need not know — it depends on him — will hasten our old friend’s decision. Let him now make the necessary arrangements to transfer securities to the value of one hundred and fifty thousand francs to us, and we will talk about the rest in a week’s time.”

  Didier still clung to the supreme hope of coming to some understanding.

  “I must go home now,” he said. “I shan’t come here again. I will meet M. de Saynthine one evening by appointment, in a suitable and discreet place. He will receive due notice here. Within the next four days we shall either come to a definite agreement or each be free to go his own way.”

  M. de Saynthine cast a further glance at his assistants.

  “Very well, that’s agreed,” he said. “And may those four days of reflection help you to become sensible. Good-by, Nut. Open the street door, Monsieur Toulouse.”

  The Burglar made for the shop and Didier followed him.

  “Only one way out of it,” whispered the Parisian to the Joker.

  The Joker had but to stretch out his arm and to press his hand against the wall, and the stairs which led to the shop fell to pieces at the moment when Didier was bearing down upon them with all his weight.

  Didier uttered a cry, and hardly knowing what he did, raised his arms in the air and fell. The three men were upon him in a flash. His revolver had dropped on to the shop floor. Thus he was disarmed and in such a position that it was almost impossible for him to shake off the human cluster which was pressing him hard. He gave a hollow groan, to which the others replied by bursting into hideous fits of laughter.

  But suddenly the little game took another turn. Didier’s moans were answered by a loud shout mingled with a terrible crash.

  The glass roof of the courtyard was shattered by an enormous weight, and the door which connected the yard with the back room was battered in at a blow. A human form rolled to the bandits’ feet.

  The three of them stood up, letting go their prey, with a simultaneous cry: “Chéri-Bibi!”

  Seized with an uncontrollable terror they staggered back, but seeing that Chéri-Bibi appeared to be distraught they realized that he was seriously injured, and they leapt at him, while the Parisian fired his revolver point-blank at his chest.

  Chéri-Bibi, however, clutched the weapon and the shot struck the wall after grazing his hand, which began to bleed copiously. The bandits were on him like hounds upon the quarry. With ever-increasing hatred for the monster who came among them to interfere in their affairs, they might have torn him to pieces, for Didier was wedged in the cavity in the stairs and was trying in vain to release himself, when they heard the sound of a commotion in the street, the shop door was broken down and the police rushed in.

  At the sound of the first blows on the shop front the Parisian, the Burglar and the Joker took refuge at the back of the courtyard and remained in a dark staircase by which, whatever happened, they could make good their escape.

  The police followed close upon their heels, passing the two men who lay on the floor without troubling about them for the time being.

  Chéri-Bibi and the Nut were left to themselves. They could hear the police-calls in the passages, the staircases, and even in the street.

  Chéri-Bibi dragged himself towards the Nut and endeavored to get on his feet, but his leg must have been broken, for he fell to the ground moaning: “Fatalitas, my leg has given way!”

  CHAPTER XXIII

  HERO AND OUTLAW

  THE NUT AT length managed to release himself from the trap in which he had been caught. He turned to Chéri-Bibi and could not repress a muffled exclamation when he heard Chéri-Bibi say that he had broken his leg.

  “Now make tracks while there’s time,” Chéri-Bibi whispered. “You have less than five minutes if you want to get away from here. Never mind me. I can’t move my leg. Listen: Go past the rag-and-bone shop at the back of the courtyard on the right. No one is there. Slip up the stairs on the right; the others took the one on the left. When you get to the attics, scoot along the roofs till you come to the corner of the little square. Get down as best you can. You’ll find a car waiting there, in charge of your friend Hilaire. He won’t be surprised to see you. He expects us. Good luck!”

  The Nut stooped and put his arms round Chéri-Bibi. He lifted him by a powerful effort.

  “What are you doing?” asked the other, who was tying a handkerchief round his bleeding hand.

  “I’m going to carry you,” said the Nut simply.

  “You don’t suppose I’m going to leave you here.”

  “Oh, damn it, you’ll jolly well do nothing of the sort. I’m done for. I tell you my leg’s broken. You can’t think of carrying me as if I were a doll. You don’t know my weight. Besides, you must clear off — do a guy. The police will come back. You’ll get nabbed, and you won’t save me. A lot of good that will do you!”

  “Listen, Chéri-Bibi, you killed the Caid. They’re hunting for his murderer. You can’t escape the guillotine this time. I won’t leave you here.”

  He went down on his knees, took Chéri-Bibi by the arms, and hoisted him on his shoulders.

  “Oh, it’s the finest thing I’ve ever seen in my lif
e,” sobbed Chéri-Bibi. “If there’s a Providence, may He help us now.... And let me creep along, since you absolutely insist on it. I can lean on your shoulder and you can hold me up. But if you see them coming, chuck me.”

  They crossed the courtyard, which was all in darkness and formed a sort of well, overlooked by squalid lodging-houses which might have been empty, for no face appeared at the garret-windows. The people who swarmed in them remained in their rooms, refusing to show any interest in what was happening, and, for that matter, never interfering in these dramatic events save to assist burglars to escape the constable.

  Chéri-Bibi guided the Nut. When he realized that his old friend was determined to keep the appointment which the “jail-birds” had made, he must have carefully examined the premises. His appearance on the scene in the midst of the struggle was not a bolt from the blue.

  Soon they reached a staircase which was so narrow that the Nut had great difficulty in turning round in it with his burden on his back.

  “Let go, old man, let go. You’ll only get yourself pinched. What does an old horse like me matter?”

  Didier continued to climb the stairs. In the meantime the police had come down again by another staircase. They had lost the trail of the three bandits, but considered that their eventual escape was impossible owing to their plan of surrounding the entire block of houses. They came back to the shop, and stopped in amazement when they noticed that the man and his companion, both of whom appeared to be seriously wounded, were gone. They could see only a few bloodstains.

  They went to the street door. Here the men posted on guard told them that no one had left the house.