Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “Very queer,” observed a detective-inspector. “Which way have the two birds flown? One of them looked as if his leg was broken, and the other was in a pretty bad way. My opinion is that it would be more interesting to find the two victims than the men who attacked them.”

  He followed the traces of blood on the flagstones. These led him through the small courtyard to the rag-and-bone shop and the squalid staircase with its damp walls which ran up the building to the right. “They can’t be far away,” he muttered. And the police darted forward on this new hunt.

  Chéri-Bibi heard them running up the staircase. “We are badly done!” he said.

  A door on one of the landings stood ajar. The Nut pushed it open. A little boy and girl began to utter shrill cries. Chéri-Bibi gave them a fierce look which frightened them out of their lives and at once silenced them.

  The Nut turned the key in the lock; and the policemen passed the landing, without stopping, on their way to the roof.

  Unfortunately, at that moment the children’s mother appeared. She had gone out to do some shopping, or to have a gossip with a neighbor, and was hastening home to her children in a state of anxiety caused by the disturbance in the house. She was amazed to find that she could not open the door.

  “Didi!... Gégé!” she cried, and the children at once returned to life and began to squall anew, and then suddenly they held their tongues, silenced by the frightful look in Chéri-Bibi’s eyes.

  The mother furiously shook the door.

  “But who can have locked the door?... Not the youngsters.... Didi!... Gégé!..

  Fresh cries and fresh silence. Then the mother had a fit of hysterical sobbing on the landing. The police came back. She told them that she had just come home to find the door locked. Her children were alone and something dreadful must have happened. At that moment the youngsters began to cry as if they were being flayed alive. They had recovered their breath, for Chéri-Bibi was no longer looking at them. The mother began to scream....

  “Hang it all, they’re here!” said a policeman.

  The mother grasped the situation, and was seized with indescribable fright. She threw herself against the door, shouting imprecations.

  “Murder!... Murder!... They’re murdering my children!...”

  Policemen attempted to break in the door, but the woman’s presence hindered them, and when they tried to push her aside she scratched their faces with her claws. She was like a mad woman.

  The Nut had opened a window which looked out on to a narrow, deserted street — a sort of blind alley. Chéri-Bibi dragged himself so far, and they took a look round. They saw a rain-pipe fixed to the wall by iron hooks. It was their last hope. By making use of this rain-pipe they could reach the structure above, and climb upon the roof.

  “Off you go,” whispered Chéri-Bibi. “Good-bye. Don’t trouble about me any more, or I’ll jump out of the window.”

  Nothing that Chéri-Bibi could say, even now, made any impression. How the Nut performed the miracle of carrying him and saving him was a riddle which he could not himself have solved five minutes later.

  They happened to be on the top floor but one, and the stories were extremely low. The clamps held securely. The molding of the window above did duty likewise as a support for the Nut.

  It looked as if they might be hurled headlong below. They could still hear the cries of mother and children, the shouts of policemen, and the echo of tremendous blows striking the door, which, fortunately, was solidly built, as is usually the case in very old houses.

  At length Chéri-Bibi and the Nut reached the roof, climbed through a window facing them, and passed into a room in which another window led to the next roof. They made for it, but here they came up against a chimney and nearly fell into the street.

  The Nut began to pant like a bellows. They could hear the shouts of the policemen in pursuit who had returned to the roofs, and also the shouts which they exchanged with their men in the street.

  Chéri-Bibi still directed the Nut, whose progress was becoming increasingly difficult, for he was almost carrying him.

  “Stop here. Passengers off first, please!”

  They slipped through a dormer window, found themselves in a loft and crossed a staircase.

  “Let me go. I’ll get down on one foot.”

  The Nut did not even hear him. Startled faces appeared in the doorways.

  “Go back to bed, all of you, damn it!” shouted Chéri-Bibi. “I don’t want to see your mugs. Keep quiet or I’ll murder you!” Then, turning to the Nut, he said: “Another minute and we shall reach the car. All the same, I should never have thought you were so strong. I must say that ten years in a penal settlement have given you a bit of muscle!” They reached the passage on the ground floor from which they could signal to the car. Afterwards they would have but to start off at full speed.

  “I hear the car. The Dodger has grasped the situation. He has set his engine going.”

  The Nut, who still bore Chéri-Bibi’s immense weight on his shoulders, ventured to glance into the street.

  “Yes, the car is there!” he said.

  “Not a bit of it, she’s not there,” squeaked Chéri-Bibi. “Fatalitas! That’s the police car!”

  He assumed that de Saynthine and his confederates had managed in their escape to jump into the car driven by Hilaire before they arrived, which was obviously not in Chéri-Bibi’s plan. He had provided for everything that might happen except the intervention of the police.

  Suddenly they saw the policemen enter their car and order the chauffeur to drive round the old town. And immediately after their departure Hilaire came up with his car.

  Chéri-Bibi and the Nut made a sign and walked out of the passage. Hilaire saw them and beckoned to them. And two huge forms came towards him, one carrying the other. He helped the Nut to install Chéri-Bibi in the car.

  “You managed to put de Saynthine off the scent,” gasped Chéri-Bibi.

  “No mistake about that!” returned Hilaire, who had merely dropped Mlle. Zoé at her hotel and was expecting a warm reception from Chéri-Bibi.

  “To Cape Ferrât! And let her go for all she’s worth,” ordered Chéri-Bibi.

  The car drove off. Almost at once the car containing the policemen returned to the square, and seeing the car with the hood up in front of them, started off like a meteor to attack it.

  “If you don’t give them the slip as well, it’s all up with us!” yelled Chéri-Bibi.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A GUARDIAN ANGEL

  AT THE TURNING of Saint Jean bridge by which the headland leading to Cape Ferrât is entered, Hilaire pulled up the car and jumped out.

  “Get out,” he cried. “They’re gaining on us. My engine is misfiring. They’ll overtake us in a minute. But I’ll go on and they’ll follow me, thinking that you are still in the car. I’ll manage to pull through all right, never fear.”

  “I shall stay with the Dodger. Let me go,” exclaimed Chéri-Bibi.

  But the Nut, assisted by the Dodger, took Chéri-Bibi again by his shoulders and darted behind a sloping bank by the roadside. Just then the police car came into view and the Dodger drove off again.

  Nevertheless the police stopped their car at the turning to Saint Jean bridge. They held a consultation. Their suspicions must have been aroused, and they must have seen Hilaire’s car pull up, for they split into two parties; one half of them continued their way in the car and the other crossed the bridge.

  The Nut took advantage of their indecision to go forward a little way under cover of a wall. Chéri-Bibi begged him for the last time to leave him on the road.

  “I have recovered my strength,” the Nut returned. “It’s all right. The headland is a veritable maze. They won’t be able to find us in the darkness. In a quarter of an hour we shall reach the villa gardens. Then we shall be safe.”

  * * * * *

  Françoise in the villa was in a state of the utmost moment when her mind, still obsessed by the fright-anxi
ety owing to Didier’s protracted absence at a full vision which she had seen, could not recover its calm. She began to give way to a feeling of despair which might well overpower her, for she was unable to put it into words. Nevertheless, the fierce misgivings which clutched at her heart would have passed unperceived.

  She had the strength to get up. She put on a dressing-gown and lay on a sofa in the little sitting-room which adjoined their rooms. She lit a lamp and took up a book, and dismissed her maid for the night. She requested to be left alone until Captain d’Haumont’s return.

  Outwardly she appeared quite self-possessed. What she had seen was so dreadful and so incapable of explanation that she felt above all that Didier must not suspect her of having seen the thing. And, in order that he might not suspect it, she strove to assume in front of her servants a listless and impassive look, and an appearance of purely physical weakness which would deceive Didier.

  For she would have to deceive him in order to get at the truth; in order to try to understand him. To succeed in her purpose she must rely on herself alone. Her husband’s secret was of such a nature and appeared to be wrapped in such appalling mystery that she realized that he would do his utmost to keep it from her rather than to confess the truth. And the truth must be all the more terrible since he was so jealously guarding it.

  She refused to drive him to falsehood or subterfuge, or force him to resort to expedients. That would be unworthy of her, unworthy of her love. She meant to take her full share in the deception; that was essential to his happiness. And when, by virtue of wonderful patience and craft, she discovered the truth, she would act as if she did not know it, since it was necessary that she should not know anything. Had not Didier, who was devoted to her and would have died of grief if she had married another man — she was certain of that — had not Didier gone so far as to advise her to marry de Gorbio rather than share his secret with her?

  Only by the force of extraordinary circumstances was Didier driven to tell her that he loved her. How could she fail to see that if he now became aware that she knew he might never again tell her that he loved her? Possibly he would leave her. Possibly he would shoot himself. Their marriage had occurred, she saw quite clearly, only because Didier had forgotten for the nonce, the thing that she must not know. Was she by some indiscreet question, some specific lack of intelligence, to recall to his mind this thing whose frightful face she had for a moment caught sight of? she was determined to find out, it was in order that Never! She would hold her peace, and though she might render his formidable task of dissimulation in her presence less difficult. For she now realized that this was no case of some former love affair, or some trivial adventure of which he was disposed to exaggerate the significance as far as she was concerned. No, it was something more than that. After what she had seen, she could not doubt that some horror lay behind the awful thing.... But, without allowing him to know anything, she would guard with zealous and unremitting care their love, and her faith in Didier should drive away the trouble.

  For she did not doubt him, and perhaps she would love him all the more because he was thus struck down by fate. Her reflections inspired and uplifted her; filled her with a new life. Although Didier had held the monster in his arms, she had not lost her love for him.

  Where was he at that moment? Why had he not returned home? She refused to believe his story that he had to report himself in the town. Suddenly she drew herself up. She heard the sound of voices. Someone was violently ringing the garden gate bell. She ran to the French window leading to the balcony which ran round the first floor. She looked out, concealed behind the curtains. The night was sufficiently bright to enable her to distinguish some four or five men. They were calling out. A manservant hastened up to them, opened the gate, and they scattered over the garden on the run. A few words reached her ears.

  “The police!” she murmured, and sank back upon the sofa.

  At that moment, although every window was closed, she distinctly caught her husband’s voice on the balcony: “Everything is locked.... We’re done for!” She stifled a cry and turned her head. Then, looking above the curtain over the lower part of the balcony window, she saw, behind a number of giant mimosa plants which hid this corner of the frontage, an astounding sight — her husband bending under the monster’s weight.

  She had the strength to stand up and quietly to open one of the windows at the far end of the balcony, and to fling herself into the darkness of her bedroom. From the back of the room she saw Didier steal into the sitting-room and close the window.

  As to the monster, he had rolled on to the landing. Didier had scarcely time to push him under the sofa and to take refuge behind a curtain when a knock came at the door.

  Then Françoise returned to the sitting-room, lay down on the sofa, took up her book again, and said, “Come in!”

  THE END

  The New Idol (1926)

  Translated by Hannaford Bennett, 1926

  Original French Title: ‘Le Coup d’État de Chéri-Bibi’

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHAPTER XVII

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CHAPTER XIX

  CHAPTER XX

  CHAPTER XXI

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHAPTER XXIII

  CHAPTER XXIV

  CHAPTER XXV

  CHAPTER XXVI

  CHAPTER XXVII

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  CHAPTER XXIX

  CHAPTER XXX

  CHAPTER XXXI

  CHAPTER XXXII

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  CHAPTER XXXV

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  CHAPTER I

  A DRAMATIC SETTING

  “LATE EDITION... REPUBLIC in danger... Dictatorship movement unmasked. Interpellation in the Chamber... Indictment of the accused.” The newsboys came into view at an angle of the grand boulevards and the Rue Royale. A number of Deputies lunching in a restaurant near by rushed outside as the boys came up and bought papers, returning quickly to their restaurant where groups of interested people gathered round them.

  “So it is really to be this afternoon?”

  “Why, I’ve already told you Carlier has proofs.”

  “Has he any names?”

  “The names are on everyone’s lips.”

  “I tell you Carlier will do nothing. It’s more than a fortnight since he is said to have had proofs. He has nothing of the sort. Subdamoun and his gang are as clever as he is.”

  “They have not yet appeared before the High Court.”

  “They will be there within a week.”

  “Unless they are shot.”

  “Unless the Revolution has succeeded.”

  “All humbug. Do you believe in a Revolution? Do you think these things are worked in such a way? Look! Here’s Mulot from the Ministry of the Interior. Well, Mulot, have you seen the Minister?”

  The new-corner had lived in a perpetual rage since nearly all his friends had joined the Ministry — a Ministry of the Extreme Left. Nevertheless he had complete control over himself though nothing could reconcile him to his exclusion from office. Thus he led Ministers a sorry life, urging them to adopt extreme measures, to take the most serious resolutions, accusing them of lack of zeal in applying their principles, and conveying to them the menacing orders of Carlier who held the Extreme Left in the hollow of his hand.

  It was a far cry from the former policy, which none the less had raised a considerable amount of wrath and over which so many bitter fights were wage
d. That policy would have seemed very pale pink compared with that of the Hérisson Ministry.

  Carlier furnished the Government with the names of the Deputies to be kept under observation, made charges against citizens without proofs, declaring that they should first be arrested and evidence would be forthcoming. According to him no time was to be lost seeing that the electors of the ninth district had replaced their old member, recently deceased, by returning to the House this young officer, Major Jacques. “Jacques I,” or “Subdamoun I,” growled those who already spoke of a dictator, recalling his uncomprising attitude before the Boundary Commission set up to delimit the frontiers of a French colony in Equatorial Africa. His attitude had brought down upon him official censure with the result that he had sent in his papers. During the War it so happened that he commanded a division that made a name for itself — the Iron Division. And since the peace he had never ceased to denounce what he called “dissipating the victory”; and he had thrown himself into political life as though he were making an assault upon the trenches, ready to sweep all before him. By degrees his extraordinary popularity made him leader of the malcontents, and they were not a few!

  He was an aristocrat by birth, heir to the name de Touchais and a marquisate since his elder brother, Bernard de Touchais, had met his death some years before in the San Francisco earthquake, after more or less ruining the family. His father’s tragic end in the fire at the Château de la Falaise, at Puys, a fire in which the notorious Chéri-Bibi, of sinister reputation, also lost his life, still lingers in the memory.

  Mulot at last condescended to answer young Coudry seated beside him.

  “Yes, I saw the Minister, and told him we had had enough of it. Hérisson grasped the situation. There’s going to be the devil of a row! We should have known all the ins and outs of the plot long ago if that ass Cravely had been willing. But Cravely is, it seems, both head of the Detective Service and an honest man; he shrank from burglary. Think of the head of the Detective Service having qualms of conscience when it’s a question of saving the Republic!”