Just consider: I had already risen to go, and the manservant urged my departure as the siren of the steamer in the roadstead, which was to take me to Southampton, had sounded for the second time. My luggage was on board. In the ordinary course, in my haste, I should not have looked in the direction of those hands. Nevertheless, I saw them and I remained behind. And when I consider, now, for what dreadful events I was held back through seeing those hands, I cannot believe that it was a mere accident.
And it is the consuming thought that I was wanted to witness certain occurrences so that I might describe them later, and also accomplish certain nightmare tasks; it is this thought that forces me, to-day, to bend over my note-books, over so many scattered memoranda, the irrefutable evidence of an unparalleled adventure, for the purpose of beginning a story that I may never, perhaps, live to finish. At all events I have taken my precautions, and if for any reason, only too easily foreseen, I happen to disappear, copies of these documents will reach the great French newspapers, and enable them to reveal facts which, even at this period of confusion and horror, cannot fail to astonish the world. All the battles in the Great War are not known. But they will be known. They must be. They must be. That is the reason why I had to see those hands.
I had not seen them since, like an idiot, I left them five years ago to make the grand tour. And now there was a certain ring on a certain finger which had not been slipped on by me. Apart from that they had not changed. How tenderly and reverentially I loved and kissed them in the absurd days of my sentimental youth. Alas, I had not covered a quarter of the grand tour when I learned that they no longer belonged to me. From that day I wandered aimlessly over continents and the vasty deep with a phrase as my sole companion ringing in my head like a child’s rattle: The beautiful Amalia Edelman of Gutland, in neutral Luxemburg, is now the wife of Vice-Admiral Heinrich von Treischke of Wilhelmshafen in Germany.
She continued to stake and stake her gold which at that particular time was pretty scarce. But it has occurred to me since that it was perhaps by order that the very important personage, Frau von Treischke, flung the precious metal about so as to prove that there was no lack of it in Germany. A crowd gathered round her, for she was winning in an extraordinary fashion; and the bystanders whispered her name and discussed her arrival in Madeira — at that time Portugal had not declared war against Germany — her dazzling costumes, and the luck which had never deserted her during the week that the great lady had been ashore.
I must tell you — why should I conceal the fact? — that we were to have been married. She was extremely wealthy. Her father owned immense estates extending to the banks of the Moselle. His wine was famous throughout the world. I lived alone with my dear old mother. We had a certain amount of property. Apart from my longing to marry Amalia Edelman, I had no particular interest in anything, and I should certainly have remained in the country but that we had the misfortune to possess, in our family, a cousin who was a shipowner at Antwerp, and who persuaded me to “ sail round the world” on one of his ships; a voyage which, in his judgment, was absolutely necessary for my happiness in life. I rather suspect that he was acting in concert with old Edelman who had observed with very little enthusiasm his daughter’s penchant for young Carolus Herbert of Renich.
Old Edelman and my ship-owning cousin had been engaged in business for some years and both of them were slightly dishonest. Well, they reduced Amalia and me to tears. But she quickly forgot our vows, and hastened to present Admiral von Treischke with a little girl and two little boys.
I should waste my time if I attempted to give you any sort of sketch of Admiral von Treischke’s character or personality or smallness of mind. To mention his name is enough. No one can forget the part that he assigned to himself — that of the tiger — in the remarkable affair of the assassination of Miss Campbell, nor the manner, entirely in keeping with German “culture,” in which, after the fall of Antwerp, he firmly established a reign of terror from the sea-coast to inside the convents at Bruges — if I may trust the last letter received from my old mother.... But for the present let us drop the man and return to Amalia.
When I analyse the feelings which held me motionless before the table at Funchal, I must, to be sincere, confess to a premonition that I might find my idol transformed into a ponderous frau by her precipitate and repeated maternity. A singular dread struck me to the very heart. She might no longer be worthy of her hands. Alas! I was soon to realise that Frau Heinrich von Treischke was a more beautiful woman than Amalia Edelman.... When she rose from the table, tired of winning, and the fashionable crowd politely made way for her, she came fully into view. I had to lean against the wall to allow her to pass. Her dress touched me lightly but she did not see me. How was it that she did not hear the hammer-beats of my heart? She went by like a fleeting shadow, as though she were no longer held to this world but by the brilliance derived from her adornment.
How beautiful, how beautiful she was, my beloved, with her pale, pale face and great melancholy eyes shining so strangely like star-dust!
Obviously Amalia could not be happy, judging from her face and her eyes. I confess that I was savagely overjoyed. Suddenly a few sinister words spoken in English, with a strong Irish accent, by some one near me brought me very abruptly back to realities again.
“Follow her.... Don’t lose sight of her.... Hang on to her heels. We’ll do the job when she’s at midnight mass.”
“What about the lady-companion?”
“I’ll take her in hand.”
CHAPTER II
THE EYES UNDER THE HOOD
BETWEEN THE COLUMN which concealed me and the wall against which I was leaning, there was a narrow space through which I ran my eye and caught sigh of the man who had uttered the last sentence. He was enveloped in a large cloak with a hood to it, and his back was turned to me. I could not see his friend. It was with a sinking heart and throbbing temples that I stealthily left my hiding-place, for I did not doubt that the scoundrels intended to lay hands on the spoil which the fortunate Amalia was carrying away. How could I imagine that it was a much more tremendous plot against Amalia; a woman as I believed without an enemy? My plan, of course, was to warn her at once without attracting the attention of the men whose nefarious scheme I had overheard.
The commotion which followed Frau von Treischke’s departure was in my favour, and I managed to come up to the Man in the cloak at the moment when, following closely on the footsteps of Amalia and her companion, he reached the casino gardens. I passed him and I was about to see his face — for the whole island was lit up by innumerable Christmas fires whose light illuminated the gardens — when he pulled the hood of his cloak over a sort of sailor’s cap, thus covering his head so completely that I had time only to catch a glimpse of two eyes, or rather owing to their depth without light, two extraordinary eye-holes; in orbits which were sunken like those of a corpse, while the eyes were fixed in a frozen stare, itself suggestive of death.
The transient vision of those lifeless eyes under the hood alarmed me more than if they had been eyes of fire. This man, so strangely hidden in his cloak, creeping along in front of me in the shadow of the two women, seemed to me like Sorrow on the march, the Sorrow which silently prepares to steal and perhaps to murder. I was chilled to the marrow, and I felt in my pocket and clutched my revolver.
I stopped when the man stopped.
Frau von Treischke and her companion had just stepped into their sledge which would glide over the greasy surface of the cobble-stones to the cathedral, to which, like Amalia, many gamblers were wending their way. Church bells and midnight crackers outside the sacred porches, called the faithful, from all parts, to their devotions.
I felt an inclination to fling myself into Amalia’s sledge before it moved off drawn by its two oxen, its boy running in front, and its watchful driver with his long goad bringing up the rear. But it struck me that there would be no difficulty in meeting Amalia at the mass, and that the main thing was not to lose
sight of the man.
I thought for a moment that he, too, would enter a sledge and pursue the two ladies, but he did nothing of the sort. He returned to the gardens, got up on a seat, and gazed for some time in the direction of the roadstead. Then stepping down, he calmly walked over to the Dragon, leant against it, drew from his pocket a heavy knife and opening the blade, began to cut notches in it. The Dragon is a tree with an extraordinary soft bark. Gamblers who have ill-luck relieve their feelings by plunging a knife into it so as to see the sap run out of its wounded trunk “like blood.” When the man finished his work he moved away. I walked over to the tree and examined it, and I observed that he had cut out a large V and a date underneath: Christmas, 1915. When I turned round again he had disappeared.
CHAPTER III
A SHOWER OF ROSES AND A SHOWER OF TEARS
I DID NOT lose time in searching for him. Amalia must have already arrived at the cathedral. I jumped into one of those running sledges with which you toboggan down the hills at Madeira, at the risk of breaking a limb, when you find the circuitous route taken by the ordinary oxen-drawn sledge too tedious. Thus in a few moments I found myself back in Funchal again, in the middle of the torchlight procession.
In ordinary circumstances I should have appreciated these Christmas celebrations, but now I regarded them as a nuisance. I left the sledge and ran as hard as I could over the slippery cobble-stones. A hundred crackers went off at my heels; rockets whizzed round me. I threaded my way through the finale of a firework display like a drunken man. I lurched into a party of guitar players who continued to strum their instruments while kicking my shins. Confound the musical delights of these festival nights! I passed, without stopping, three churches whose doors were wide open to the gaiety of the street. The dancing in the street and the thanksgiving in the church could alike be seen, and the singing crowds and processions from the nave to the public square formed an extraordinary medley. But I was not interested in it. I knew that Frau von Treischke would be in the best seat in the cathedral.
I reached the building at the moment the Bishop, the civil and military authorities, the public officials in their blue robes, the veiled penitents, and the decorated statues of the saints arrived in procession after marching through the illuminated town. And it was by creeping into the middle of the official gathering, in the porch, that I was fortuitously borne through the eager crowd to the foot of the altar, and also to the feet of my beloved Amalia who like a good Catholic was praying with the utmost fervour.
The lady-companion was kneeling on the flagstones on her immediate right. Amalia’s wrist-bag in which I had seen her beautiful hands place the winnings, was in front of her on a chair. Knowing what I providentially did know, I considered that the bag was somewhat conspicuous; but I was reluctant to disturb her devotions for so worldly a cause. I felt that since I was present her dear person could not be in any danger; and that was the important thing. Moreover, I scrutinised those who were round us without discovering anything suspicious. I fancied my gentlemen would wait for their opportunity in the crush as we left the cathedral.
I drew nearer her whom I wished to defend, and as I touched her prayer-stool she removed her hands from her tear-stained face, saw me, recognised me with a start, and shook like a leaf. I was at least as moved as she was. But when she said: “How is it that you are here? I was praying for you,” I fell on my knees, and I, too, buried my face in my hands, and I, too, wept.
At that moment, a shower of flowers, thrown by invisible hands, after the customary fashion, descended from the arched roof, and it was as though heaven itself were crowning our pain and rewarding our virtue; for our delight on seeing each other again was very innocent.
I heard her say to the lady-companion:
“You might go back to the hotel and get the toys ready for the children. I shall remain here to pray for a little while longer.”
The companion went away with the wrist-bag containing the treasure. I saw no objection to that. The bag might be stolen, the companion might be killed; but there are times in life when one cannot pause to consider possibilities.
Amalia was no longer praying. After wiping our tears we found our tongues and prattled away under the sculptured angels, who seemed to be raining roses upon us. I have always been, I confess, a man of sentiment. Heaven granted me that hour, and made me pay heavily for it, in the sequel, as will be seen. But I do not regret it.... What did we talk about? I cannot now remember, but we talked about all sorts of things except that we loved each other.
Suddenly, under the pulpit in front of us, I caught sight of the Man in the cloak. He was standing on a footstool which raised him above the people, and was staring at us with his big lifeless eyes.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Let’s go at once, Amalia. I will take you back to your hotel.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I want you to see my three little cherubs.”
A few minutes later we were outside the building. The hotel at which Amalia was staying was quite near. Although the rising ground which led to it was rather rough, she preferred to return on foot. And as it was as light as though it were broad day, I readily fell in with her wish. It was just as well, for the next moment, leaning on my arm, she said:
“We will keep Christmas together. I will introduce you to my uncle, Dr. Ulrich von Hahn, who will be delighted to entertain a friend of mine — I should say, the best friend I have in Gutland.”
She pressed my arm lightly and blushed. But it was all, I repeat, in the purest friendship. With a husband and three children she was more sacred to me than a vestal virgin. I say this on her account as well as on my own. But feelings are feelings, as the French say.
“Why do you keep turning round?” she asked as I looked behind me for the third or fourth time.
“It’s nothing, I assure you.... I was attracted by the lights in the ships....”
I was lying. I had seen at the corner of a small street the mysterious profile of the Man with the lifeless eyes. I hastened my steps, and when we reached the hotel I acquainted Amalia with the incident at the casino.
“If it’s the gold in the wrist-bag which these people are after,” she exclaimed, “perhaps they’ve killed my companion to get it.”
And she reproached me, with some reason, for not telling her before.... She flew through the ballroom in which English girls were being kissed under the mistletoe, and I followed her. We reached a private sitting-room in which we discovered the companion peacefully occupied in filling half a dozen pairs of small stockings with a variety of toys which had evidently been brought down the chimney by Father Christmas. Amalia gave a sigh of relief and fell into a chair. The wrist-bag, too, with its little treasure was there intact.
At the other end of the table was seated an old man with a red face, a huge head of grey hair and spectacles. He was reading to the lady-companion, in a loud voice, some manuscript which he had just written, and to which we had to listen to the bitter end. I remember that this effusion concluded something like this: “And soon the prediction of the venerable poet Emmanuel Geibel will be fulfilled:
‘It will be the duty of Germany to restore sanity to the entire world!’”
When this absurd man had finished reading his equally absurd prose, Amalia introduced me. It was her uncle, the learned Dr. Ulrich von Hahn. The doctor shook me warmly by the hand, and told me that he was about to write a new philosophy for the young people of Germany, and he proceeded to give me an outline of it; finally he invited me to join him and his niece in the midnight feast. He seemed to be delighted to display his Teutonic erudition to his new table companion, and he placed in front of me a basket containing bananas, mangos, guavas, pineapples and the “fruit of the Passion flowers.”
“That’s to go on with until the black pudding arrives,” he explained. Amalia now interposed to ask after the children. The lady-companion was exceedingly plain, but her eyes were soft and kind and she answered in a pleasant voice that she had just left the chil
dren’s room, and that they were sleeping “like little angels.”
“The eldest is called Dorothée and is four years old,” Amalia told me in an undertone. “The two little boys are three and two years old. The elder is called Heinrich after his father, and the younger Carolus after you.” As she spoke we both blushed deeper than the crimson hibiscus.
She rose to her feet. “ Come and see them,” she invited, and I followed her out of the room. We went up to the first floor where she had a suite. As we were about to enter the children’s room, Amalia signed to me to walk on tiptoe; and when the door was pushed open we held our breath. Amalia was carrying a shaded lamp, its light half turned down.... I was behind her.
“Where are they?” she cried suddenly in a strained and uneasy voice. The children’s beds were empty. Amalia rushed into the little room adjoining and called out for the nurse, but there was no answer. The bed which had been set up for her in it was also empty, and the bedclothes, like those of the children’s beds, had been thrown back. Amalia shouted: “Dorothée! Heinrich! Carolus!” But still there was no reply.
Amalia of course lost her head, and so did I and many others in the hotel who rushed up when they heard her frantic appeals. But the climax was reached when we discovered that the window of the little room in which the nurse slept — it overlooked the hanging gardens which descended from terrace to terrace to the foreshore — was partly open and a rope was hanging from it!... Thus while a shower of roses was falling upon us in the cathedral, the children were being kidnapped from the hotel.
Amalia in a state of frenzy dashed out of the room. I was still at the window when I saw her in the street excitedly telling her story to two men in the uniform of Portuguese policemen. She was entreating them to save her children; she wrung her hands and threw herself at their feet. The two policemen and she then entered a sledge from the rank close by, and the three of them drove off at a good pace towards the beach. At that moment I heard shouts behind me and I turned round. Some of the hotel visitors had discovered the nurse in the bathroom bound hand and foot, and were making a great din. When the gag which was stifling her was able to tell her story.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 336