Adolphe showed but little appreciation of his humour. At dusk they returned to Paris; and as they came out of Saint-Lazare station, he said to Theophrastus:
“Tell me, Theophrastus, when you’re Cartouche and are walking about Paris and observing its life, what astonishes you most? Is it the telephone, or the railway, or the motorcars, or the Eiffel Tower?”
“No, no!” said Theophrastus quickly. “It’s the policemen!”
CHAPTER IX
STRANGE POSITION OF A LITTLE VIOLET CAT
IT WOULD SEEM that the Destiny which rules mankind takes a detestable pleasure in making the most serene joys come before the worst catastrophes. Never had the three friends enjoyed a dinner more than the dinner which they had that night at the café Des Trois Etoiles. They dined well, the coffee was excellent, and the cigars which Adolphe had brought with him, and the Russian cigarettes which Marceline smoked, were excellent too. They lingered talking together for a long while after dinner; and their talk, which, under the guidance of Adolphe, never wandered far from the sphere of the occult which now so practically concerned them, was interesting and fascinating, in spite of the fact that that inveterate Parisian Theophrastus would now and again jest about his dangerous plight. At half-past ten they left the restaurant and walked back to the flat in Gerando Street. Adolphe bade them good-night at the bottom of the stairs.
That flat consisted of a narrow hall, nearly filled, and certainly cramped, by a chest of polished oak. Into this hall four doors opened, those of the kitchen and dining-room on the left, those of the drawing-room and bedroom, which looked out on to the street, on the right. There was a third window looking out on to the street, that of the tiny room which Theophrastus had made his study. This study had two doors; one of them opened into the bedroom, the other into the dining-room. In this study was a bureau against the wall; and in it were drawers above and below its writing-table. This writing-table let down and shut up, and was fastened by a somewhat elaborate lock at the edge of the bureau’s top. When it was locked, all the drawers were locked too. As a rule, Theophrastus used to set a little violet cat on the keyhole of the lock, as much to hide it as for ornament.
This little violet cat, which had glass eyes, was nothing but an ingenious silk ball which acted as a pen-wiper and pin-cushion. About four feet away from the desk was a very small tea-table.
On entering their flat, Theophrastus and Marceline, as was their custom, made a careful search in every room for a hidden burglar. Having, as usual, failed to find one, (Heaven alone knows what they would have done with him if they had!) they went to bed with their minds at ease. As the more timid of the two, Theophrastus slept next the wall. They were soon asleep, Theophrastus snoring gently.
Night. Not a carriage in the street. Silence.
The snoring of Theophrastus ceased. Was it that he had sunk into a deeper sleep? No: he sleeps no more. His throat is dry; he stares into the darkness with affrighted eyes; he grips with a cold hand, a hand which fear is freezing, the shoulder of Marceline and awakens her.
He says in a low voice, so low that she does not even hear him, “Do you hear?”
Marceline holds her breath; she clutches her husband’s icy hand. They strain their ears; and they undoubtedly do hear something — in the flat.
In very truth it is nothing to laugh at. The man who can laugh at an inexplicable noise, at night, in a flat, has not yet been born! There are brave men, splendidly brave, who will stick at nothing, who will go anywhere at night, into the emptiest streets of the most disreputable quarters, who would not hesitate to venture, just for the pleasure of it, into lampless blind alleys. But I tell you, because it is the truth, and you know it is the truth, that the man who can laugh at an inexplicable noise, at night, in a flat, has not yet been born.
We have already seen Theophrastus sleepless on the night of the revelation of the dreadful secret which sprang from the stones of the Conciergerie. The anxiety which weighed on his heart that night, terrible as it had been, was as nothing compared with that which was now strangling him, because there was at night, in the flat, an inexplicable noise.
It was truly an odd noise, but beyond all doubting real; it was a long-drawn pur-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. It came from behind the wall of the next room.
They sat up in bed noiselessly, with bristling hair, and beads of cold sweat standing out on their brows. From the other side of the wall came the strange pur-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. It was the purring of a cat; they recognised that purring: it was the purring of the little violet cat. Marceline slipped down under the clothes and whispered:
“It’s the purring of the violet cat. Go and see what’s the matter with it, Theophrastus.”
Theophrastus did not budge; he would have given a hundred thousand rubber stamps to be walking along the boulevard at mid-day.
“It’s not natural that it should be purring like that,” she added. “Go and see what’s the matter with it. You must, Theophrastus! Get your revolver out of the drawer.”
Theophrastus found the strength to say faintly, “You know quite well that it’s not loaded.”
They listened again; the purring had ceased; Marceline began to hope they had been mistaken. Then Theophrastus groaned, got out of bed, took the revolver, and quietly opened the door leading into his study. It was bright in a sheet of moonlight; and what Theophrastus saw made him recoil with a dull cry, shut the door, and set his back against it as if to bar what he saw from entering the bedroom.
“What is it?” said Marceline hoarsely.
The teeth of Theophrastus chattered as he said, “It has stopped purring; but it has moved!”
“Where is it?”
“On the tea-table.”
“The violet cat is on the tea-table?”
“Yes.”
“Are you quite sure it was in its place last night?”
“Quite sure. I stuck my scarf-pin in its head. It was on the bureau, as it always is.”
“You must have imagined it. Suppose I lit the light?” said Marceline.
“No, no, we might escape in the darkness ... Suppose I went and opened the door on to the landing, and called the porter?”
“Don’t get so terrified,” said Marceline, who was little by little recovering her wits, since she no longer heard the violet cat. “The whole thing was an illusion. You changed its place last night; and it didn’t purr.”
“After all, it’s quite possible,” said Theophrastus, whose one desire was to get back into bed.
“Go and put it back in its place,” said Marceline.
Theophrastus braced himself to the effort, went into the study, and with a swift and trembling hand took the cat from the tea-table, set it back on the bureau, and hurried back into bed.
The violet cat was no sooner back on the bureau than he began again his pur-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. That purring only made them smile: they knew what had set it going. A quarter of an hour had passed; they were almost asleep, when a second fright made them spring up in bed. A third purring struck on their ears. If the first purring had smitten them with terror, and the second made them smile, the third purring frightened them out of their lives.
“It’s impossible!” said Marceline in a chattering whisper. “We’re victims of an hallucination! B-B-B-Besides, it’s n-n-not really surprising after what happened to you at the Conciergerie!”
The purring once more ceased. This time it was Marceline who rose. She opened the door of the study, turned sharply towards Theophrastus, and said, but in what a faint and dying voice:
“You didn’t put the violet cat back on the bureau!”
“But I did!” groaned Theophrastus.
“But it’s gone back to the tea-table!”
“Good God!” cried poor Theophrastus; and he buried his head under the bed-clothes.
The violet cat no longer purred. Marceline became persuaded that in his perturbation her husband had left it on the tea-table. She took it up, holding her breath, and set it back on the bureau. The violet
cat made its purring heard for the fourth time. Marceline and Theophrastus heard it with the same equanimity with which they had heard the second purring. The fourth purring stopped.
Another quarter of an hour passed: they were not asleep or even sleepy; and then there came a fifth purring.
Then, incredible to relate, Theophrastus leapt from the bed like a tiger, and cried:
“By the throttle of Madame Phalaris! This is too much of a good thing! What the deuce is that infernal violet cat up to?”
CHAPTER X
THE EXPLANATION OF THE STRANGE ATTITUDE OF A LITTLE VIOLET CAT
IT IS NECESSARY to mount to the floor above, to the flat occupied by Signor and Signora Petito, to the room in which Theophrastus, with never a thought of the imprudence he was committing, had asked for the needful information about the handwriting of the document. What imprudence indeed could there be in showing to an expert in handwriting a document so torn, stained, and obliterated that it was impossible, at a first glance, to discover any sense or meaning at all in it?
Yet by a truly strange chance it was that very document that Signor Petito and his wife were that night discussing.
The Signora Petito was saying: “I don’t understand it at all; and the behaviour of M. Longuet at Saint-Germain throws no fresh light on it. The fact is, you do not remember the instructions — all the instructions. Go and take the air at the Chopinettes, look at the Cock, look at the Gall: it’s all so vague. What can it mean?”
“The first thing it means is that the treasure is to be found on the outskirts of Paris, of the Paris of that epoch. Go and take the air... My opinion is that we ought to search in the neighbourhood of Montrouge, or Montmartre, because of the Cock. There was a Château du Coq at Porkers village. Look at this plan of old Paris,” said her husband.
They pored over the plan on the table.
“It’s still very vague,” said Signor Petito gloomily. “For my part, I think we ought to pay particular attention to the words ‘The Gall.’”
“That’s just the vaguest thing in the whole thing,” said his wife.
“Still, I’m sure it’s important,” said her husband. “As I remember the document (and you know what a magnificent memory I have), there was a short space between the word ‘the’ and the word ‘Gall,’ and after ‘Gall’ a longer space. Reach me the dictionary.”
The Signora Petito rose with the greatest precaution, she walked noiselessly and stealthily across the room (she was the conspirator to her finger-tips), and brought a small dictionary. They began to run down a column, writing down all the words which began with the syllable gall: Gallantly, Gallery, Galley, and so forth. Then the clock on the mantelpiece began to strike twelve.
The Signora Petito paled and rose to her feet; Signor Petito rose to his feet paler still.
“The hour has come!” said the Signora Petito. “You will find the information you want below.” She pointed a rigid finger at the floor. “They cannot hear you in your list slippers. Besides, there’s no danger of it: they are at Esbly.”
Two minutes later a dark figure glided down to M. Longuet’s flat, slipped a key into the lock of his door, and entered his hall. The flat of Theophrastus was of exactly the same construction as that of Signor Petito, and he found his way into the dining-room without a pause. He acted with the greater coolness because he believed that the flat was empty. He opened the door of the study, and saw the violet cat on the bureau. Since it was evidently on the lock of the bureau in which he was interested, he took it up, and set it on the tea-table. Then he hurried noiselessly back through the dining-room into the hall, for he fancied he heard voices on the staircase.
He listened for a while at the door of the flat and heard nothing; doubtless his ears had deceived him. Then he came back to the study. He found the violet cat on the bureau, purring.
In spite of their crinkliness, the hairs of Signor Petito stood stiffly upright on his head, the horror which filled him can only be compared to that other horror on the other side of the wall.
He stood motionless, panting, in the moonlight, even after the little violet cat had stopped purring. Then he braced himself, and with a timid hand picked up the violet cat. As soon as he had moved it, it began to purr; and he became acquainted with the fact that in its cardboard interior there was a small marble which, as it rolled to and fro, produced an ingenious imitation of a natural purr. Since he had been frightened to death, he called himself a perfect fool. It was all quite clear; had he not before slipping out of the study moved the cat? Instead of having set it on the tea-table, as he thought, he had put it back on the bureau. Of course, it was quite simple. He set it back, still purring, on the tea-table.
It must not be forgotten that this purring, which did not terrify Signor Petito, terrified Theophrastus and his wife afresh, while the second purring, which had taken the curl out of Signor Petito’s hair with terror, had not terrified them at all.
The cat was still purring, when there was another noise outside the flat. It was Signora Petito sneezing in the draught. Signor Petito hurried back into the hall and once more glued his ear to the door of the flat. When, reassured, he returned to the study, the purring violet cat had gone back to the bureau.
He thought he was going to die of fright; he thought that a miraculous intervention was holding him back on the verge of a crime. He uttered a swift prayer in which he assured Heaven that he would not go on with it. However a quarter of an hour passed in the recovery of his scattered wits; and since he heard nothing more, he attributed these surprising happenings to the perturbation of spirit induced by his exceptional occupation. He took up the violet cat, which began to purr again.
But this time the door of the study was flung violently open; and Signor Petito fell swooning into the arms of M. Longuet, who expressed no surprise whatever.
M. Longuet contemptuously flung Signor Petito on the floor, dashed at the violet cat, caught it up, opened the window, tore his scarf-pin out of its head, and threw it into the street.
“You beastly cat!” he cried with inexpressible fury. “You’ll never stop our sleeping again!”
Signor Petito had dragged himself to his feet, entirely at a loss to know what face to put upon the matter, inasmuch as Madame Longuet, in her nightgown, was assiduously pointing at him a large, shining, nickel-plated revolver. He only found the phrase:
“I beg your pardon: I thought you were in the country.”
But it was M. Longuet who came to him, took between his thumb and first finger one of Signor Petito’s long ears, and said:
“And now, my dear Signor Petito, we are going to have a little talk!”
Marceline lowered the barrel of the revolver; and at the sight of his calm courage, gazed at her husband in an ecstasy of admiration.
“You see, my dear Signor Petito, I am calm,” said Theophrastus. “Just now, indeed, I was in a devil of a temper, but that was against that infernal cat which prevented us from sleeping. So I threw it out of the window. But cheer up, Signor Petito, I am not going to throw you out of the window. Mine is a just nature. It wasn’t you who prevented us from sleeping. You have taken the precaution of putting on list slippers. Many thanks for it. Why then, my dear Signor Petito, are you making that intolerable face? Of course, it must be your ear. I’ve good news for you then, news which will set you quite at your ease about your ear: You are not going to suffer from your ears any longer, my dear Signor Petito!”
Then he bade his wife put on a dressing-gown, and begged Signor Petito come into the kitchen.
“Don’t be surprised at my receiving you in my kitchen,” he said. “I am very careful of my carpets, and you will bleed like a pig.”
He dragged a table of white wood from against the wall to the middle of the kitchen, and bade Marceline spread a piece of oil-cloth on it, and fetch him the big bowl, and the carving-knife from the drawer of the dining-room sideboard.
Marceline tried to ask for an explanation; but her husband gave her such a
look that she could only shiver and obey. Signor Petito shivered too, and as he shivered, he made for the door of the kitchen, in which, he told himself, there was nothing for him to do. M. Longuet, unfortunately, refused absolutely to let his neighbour go. He bade him sit down, and sat down himself.
“Signor Petito,” he said in a tone of the most exquisite politeness, “I do not like your face. It is not your fault; but it is certainly not mine. There is no doubt that you are the most cowardly and contemptible of sneak-thieves. But what of that? It’s no business of mine, but of some honest executioner of the King who will invite you next season to go harvesting at the ladder, where one fine day he will set you floating gently in the breeze to the end that, like a fine fellow, you may keep the sheep of the moon. Don’t smile, Signor Petito.” Signor Petito was not smiling. “You have absurd ears; and I am certain that with ears like those you never dare go near Guilleri Cross-roads.”
At Guilleri Cross-roads there stood a pillory. It was there that they used to cut off the ears of thieves.
Signor Petito clasped his hands and said with chattering teeth, “My wife’s waiting for me.”
“What are you doing, Marceline?” cried Theophrastus impatiently. “Can’t you see that Signor Petito is in a hurry? His wife’s waiting for him! Have you got the carving-knife?”
“I can’t find the fork,” replied the trembling voice of Marceline.
The fact is, Marceline did not know what she was saying. She thought that her husband had gone quite mad; and between Signor Petito burglar, and Theophrastus mad, she was not in the mood for joking. She had instinctively hidden herself behind a cupboard door; and such was her agitation that in turning a little clumsily, at the moment at which Theophrastus was bellowing a volley of abuse at her, she upset the dessert service, and the Sarreguemines vase which was its chief ornament. The result was a loud crash and the utmost confusion. Theophrastus appealed once more to the throttle of Madame Phalaris and called Marceline to him in such a furious roar that in spite of herself she ran into the kitchen. A dreadful sight awaited her.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 246