Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  At least I thought so, but as I was stretching my length on the iron floor for this purpose, my hands came in contact with a number of small rolls of flexible cloth which I at once recognised were flags; the flags which are required for signalling at sea and which are used by ships of all nations. So I was in the flag locker! At all events that was a piece of information. I might be there for a long time; as long as the vessel remained submerged. And who knows for what period a submarine of this sort could remain beneath the waters? I had no idea. But I imagined that it might be endless — endless for the exhausted strength of a hungry man. For I began to feel a ravenous hunger which undoubtedly kept me from fainting!

  If the door of the flag locker were opened again, I felt that I would not let the Man with the lifeless eyes escape me. In spite of the fear with which he inspired me, I should go out to him and say: I am hungry. Give me something to eat. We will have an explanation afterwards.

  In my despair I was about to roll up against the door, careless of what might happen. Certainly if I heard steps in the passage I should bang at the metal with my fists and shout. If I had to die, I might as well have something to eat first!

  I thought of the Christmas feast which the gormandising and learned Dr von Hahn must have eaten alone in spite of all that happened, for nothing had been seen of him during the pursuit.

  I stretched out my hand to the iron plate of the door, rising to my knees. I dared not stand upright again; I believe I should have dropped with hunger. I was not at all cold, for I had taken off my shirt, and substituted several flags which I picked up at random in the darkness, and wrapped around me. On the other hand, my head was on fire; and I laid my forehead on the door and wept. I was hungry.

  At that moment my hand struck one of those buttons on the iron floor which open the doors of this infernal submarine. These buttons were, therefore, on the inside as well as on the outside. I learned afterwards that there was nothing mysterious in this method of opening and closing the doors, but that it merely consisted of an electrical improvement on the antique lock and the prehistoric bolt. Thus the door opened.

  I slipped into the brilliantly lit passage on all fours like a furtive animal ready to dart back to my hiding-place at the slightest suspicious sound,... for now that I knew how to open the doors, I was no longer anxious that any one should come to my help.... I hoped to be able to help myself... and to pass unnoticed until we put in to the next port with land in sight.

  Was it due to hunger? It seemed to me that I was less in love with Amalia, and that I even felt a slight resentment against this thoughtless and hopeless love which had reduced me to such a pass.

  But now to open the doors... to open the doors under the sea.

  CHAPTER VII

  WHAT IS THIS SUBMARINE PALACE?

  IN FINDING MY way out of the passage I stopped in front of several companion-ways or narrow staircases which ran down to different parts of this marvellous vessel. I must have been some distance from the officers’ quarters, the crew’s berths and the general life on board, for there was not a voice or sound to be heard. In the same way, I have taken my morning constitutional on great ocean-going liners, wandering about without meeting a living soul in the deserted alley-ways and in the magnificent saloons.

  Indeed I might have been on board a liner rather than a submarine. After descending, at random, two ladders and going through two passages, I discreetly opened a servants’ door hoping to light upon a pantry in which I could attempt to satisfy my hunger, when suddenly I found myself in a spacious and sumptuous dining-room such as may be seen on any of the great mail-boats which cover the journey between the St. George’s Channel and New York in six days; and I could not repress a cry of admiration. The luxury of Captain Nemo’s submarine was eclipsed.

  Who amongst us has not read Jules Verne’s masterpiece, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and who has not had his youthful enthusiasm thrilled by the Nautilus and its fascinating author’s wonderfully prophetic imagination? What an impression that ancestor of the submarine made on us! What marvellous powers she possessed! And what astonishing machinery enabled her mysterious Captain to triumph over the elements!

  It was of this story, beloved of my youth, that I was thinking as I entered the dining-room of this enchanted palace which moved under the waters. But I was bound to confess, too, that human science had outstripped the novelist’s dream. Jules Verne in his wildest flight did not dare to give his Nautilus a greater length than two hundred and thirty feet, and her “ beam” at its maximum was, if I remember rightly, some twenty-five feet. She was like a small cigar by the side of the submarines which the English and Germans have built since... since the Great War particularly. Moreover, they do things that the Nautilus, which was only a ship, could not do; they roll along at will at the bottom of the sea, for they run on wheels, and are, in turn, vessel and vehicle.

  In short, I found myself on a submarine of this kind, but she was vastly larger, and did not appear to have been fashioned solely for war purposes, for everything that I saw at that moment was, to use a current phrase, of palatial luxury. I was on board a great submarine yacht constructed no doubt to the order of some multimillionaire who thought to amuse himself by waging his own particular war in comfort with weapons considerably in advance of those possessed by his adversary, and with no responsibility to any one for his actions, since he hoisted no flag but his own: the black flag stamped with a big V in red.

  In any case, whatever might be the nationality of the master of this magnificent vessel, I was convinced that I made a mistake in assuming that the Man with the lifeless eyes was a person of rank and importance, which in my mind he had already ceased to be. The owner must be a magnate, who knew nothing, perhaps, of the strange and criminal work accomplished by his subordinate at Funchal, in carrying off like a rough, or a highwayman, an innocent woman and three young children.

  The luxury around me filled me with renewed hope. I believed that I had set foot among ruthless pirates and I found myself in the midst of civilised human beings.... But what is that I see?... There is fruit... fruit in the dishes,... on that agate table. Upon my word, bananas... bananas! I fell upon them!... I ate all the bananas!...

  But while I was eating I could not refrain from staring at the marvels around me. Strangely enough, I no longer feared to be discovered. On the contrary, I should not have been sorry to be conducted before the master of all this wealth so that I might give expression to my admiration.

  I passed my hand over the Sarrancolin marble with which the tall pillars supporting the ceiling of this astonishing saloon were covered. They were like the columns of the grand staircase at the Opera House in Paris. The ceiling was adorned with a painting of beautiful mermaids battling in the depths of the ocean in a maze of marine foliage and forest. Opposite me was a priceless tapestry representing the naval Battle of the Four Days in which the Dutch Admiral Ruyter defeated the English in 1666. It was the greatest work of Van de Velde, who was present at the battle, and of whom it has been said: “Another Raphael may perhaps be born, but we shall never see the like of Van de Velde again.” I could not help thinking that the master of the vessel was not an Englishman or he would not have given the place of honour to a scene depicting an English defeat; unless he were a great artist with a soul above such details.

  My thoughts ran on in this rather empty fashion while I was eating my bananas for I was more and more bewildered, and incapable of a really serious mental effort. I was a child again, with a child’s astonishment, too amazed by what I saw.... After examining the marble pillars I stooped to run my fingers over the mosaic floor which did, in fact, consist of stone, and was not a delusive painting. An infinite variety of small pieces of marble, porphyry, jasper, agate, in their natural colours, were formed into designs or rather pictures of an extremely diverting character, such as, for example, a fight between sharks and divers. I need not say that the furniture was in keeping, and in its richness and taste was beyond imagina
tion. In this setting of columns, pilasters, friezes, cornices and arcades, it could only be Italian renaissance. The cupboards and dressers brought to mind on a small scale those in old buildings which have been restored.

  A double spiral staircase in marble led to a gallery overhead. I clambered up on the off-chance. And it was from this position that I caught a scrap of conversation between two menservants who were crossing the dining-room below, but I could make absolutely nothing of it. The first said: “From what I hear the Chinaman is unique in his own line, and it cost a bit to bring him over from China,” to which the other replied: “Oh, I shouldn’t want the Chinese or old Latuile for that job.”

  I could see their faces. They were so little inviting that I did not carry out my first intention to reveal myself by a cough and afterwards to make myself known so as to be taken before the king of this castle. It was not that their expressions were awful to look upon, but that faces and accents alike were too inexpressibly mournful even for a man like myself who did not understand what they meant. Accordingly, I left the gallery above the dining-room and found myself in a labyrinth of alley-ways.

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE RAILED RECESS

  IT WAS INDEED a labyrinth. I was lost just as I used to be lost on the big liners when I took it upon myself to explore them. I should inevitably go astray in the confused tangle of numberless companions, decks and alley-ways. Meanwhile I was not conscious of the powerful vibration to which all vessels making rapid headway are subject. We were certainly being propelled by electricity, and we must have dived, for there was a slight and agreeable roll and sway on the outstretched blades of the horizontal rudders.

  Where was the feeling of depression that is said to be inevitable on board the ordinary submarine in which there is hardly any room, and one lives, if it can be called living, under conditions of the greatest discomfort? Our vessel was sweeping along and could doubtless strike hard. In the meantime her passengers might drink in the invigorating freshness of an early morning walk.

  I will have a walk then.... I will do a little scouting. The fruit which I had eaten gave me, for a while, the illusion of renewed strength. I could wait, without too much impatience, the end of the adventure. Oh! I can picture the end: I shall be “pinched presently; there will be explanations and as, after all, I have nothing to reproach myself with except an act of courage, I need not fear to be brought face to face with the master of the ship. Doubtless he will know how to treat me and assist me to rescue Amalia and her children from the unaccountable violence of the Man with the lifeless eyes.

  I must still be in that section of the vessel reserved for the master and his guests, for with the exception of the two menservants in knee breeches, silk stockings and dress coats, marked with a big V in gilt on the back, and of a steward who crossed the passage in front of me without suspecting my presence, I have not yet met any member of the crew nor heard any of those noises which indicate the ship’s company’s berths or the mess services.

  I went upstairs... came down... and went up again.

  The guests in this submarine palace must still be asleep or idling in their bunks.... Bunks, did I say? There cannot be any cabins in this part of the vessel; they must be large splendidly furnished bedrooms in harmony with the dining-room.

  What luxury! What comfort! I threw a glance into the bath-rooms... they were in marble.... Soon I shall certainly be able to plunge into a hot bath and be rubbed down with horse-hair gloves and eau de Cologne. There must also be a chiropodist on board!

  The passages through which I wended my way were dazzling in their unspotted and lacquered whiteness, and the brasswork shone as if it had been polished by a well-known brand!

  I reached a succession of doors on which certain numbers and letters and marks were displayed, but they were Greek to me. But apart from every other consideration, and in spite of an eager desire to discover the galleys, I had a longing “at the back of my mind,” which never left me, to find Frau von Treischke and her three young children.

  Where are they?... Where are they? Perhaps I may come upon them without warning. Perhaps I may find them before me, the moment I open the first door.

  No, the Man with the lifeless eyes must have concealed them somewhere, intending, of course, to exact a round price for them from Vice-Admiral von Treischke. These are the ways of pirates. The Barbary corsairs would do no worse, and in my opinion, the Man with the lifeless eyes is capable of anything.

  Suddenly it occurred to me that Amalia and her children might not, after all, be on board. How did I know that the launch which appeared with the two dejected-looking sailors and the grinning Chinaman had not just returned from conveying them to some deserted spot on the Madeira coast, or worse still, to some uninhabited corner of the Desertas Islands, where they could be held prisoners?... Beware! Someone is coming!

  I stop at the end of the alley-way. Two of the crew come down a companion. They wear blue woollen jerseys, open at the neck, with a big V in red on the chest. They have beefsteak faces. Oh! they look particularly well. There is nothing gloomy about them. On the contrary, they are absolutely beaming, and remind me of those sturdy figures from Old England after they have emptied a few glasses of good whisky.

  As they came down, one said: “Old Latuile is a lazy humbug, and it serves him right”; to which the other replied: “I agree with you.”

  I did not hear anything further, for they descended to the lower part of the vessel. Certainly, I thought, the people here are very much taken up with old Latuile.

  Why did I not show myself to these men?... Because I wanted first to know what they were talking about. Now the few words which were spoken and which, apparently, were of no importance, had startled me by the rough, harsh tones in which they were uttered. And then... why not admit it? The evident gaiety on their splendid beefsteak faces had impressed me not less than the persistent dejection on the faces of the other men. Yes, their gaiety frightened me....

  But to continue my way, or rather my ways, which now cross each other upstairs and downstairs, over my head and under my feet.... I am by the side of a sort of central cage, at the bottom of which I perceive two lifts. One of them is beginning to work, so I make off and turn down a new gangway.

  The purity of the air that we breathe here astonishes me. Where are the poisonous fumes from the motor engines? In our submarine — I speak of it as if it belonged to me, which Heaven forbid now that I know all about it — well, in our submarine we breathe the air of the open sea.... Which is rather extraordinary considering that we are I don’t know how many feet below the level of the sea.

  I can remember that at this moment I was in a state of enthusiasm, due in great measure to the beginning of a severe fever, so that if, on the spot, I had found myself face to face with the Captain I should have exclaimed before everything else: “Bravo!” And, upon my word, it would not, perhaps, have been a bad way of opening the conversation.

  Now, at the most intense moment of my delirium — the disorder of my mind, it must not be forgotten, was equal to the disorder of my body — the light suddenly went out in the passage.

  I stood still in the darkness... and a door clicked.... I flattened myself against the bulkhead. The door was closed again, but I could perceive the shadows of two men looming in the passage. They went off, talking, towards the square of light at the end of the alley-way, which still received illumination from the well of the lift.

  And here is what I heard. Oh! in their own words.

  These phrases have often come back to my memory since.

  The first said: “Old Latuile is an ass to have turned off the light in the passage, seeing the photographer is not here yet,” to which the other replied: “ Don’t talk to me of old Latuile; he is beneath contempt. I wouldn’t like to be under his thumb!”

  “Ah, here is the photographer,” said the first.

  And in the square of light at the end of the alley-way a man appeared carrying an enormous photographic apparat
us. He joined the two other shadows of men, and all three went along the dark passage. They disappeared through the door by which the two first men had just come. My eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness, but there was a buzzing in my ears; the result alike of fever, the strange words that I had overheard, and of a certain new dread.

  Scarcely realising what I was doing, I went a few steps down the dark passage, and suddenly found myself near a sort of recess which was on the same floor as the passage and which was enclosed, at the back on the left, by an iron railing. I could see it plainly enough, for there was a glimmer of light behind the railing.

  I dived into the recess as far as the railing, and fixed my eyes on the small light which, beyond the shadow of a doubt, disclosed, from different angles, the uniform of an officer of the German navy.... I believed, even, that I could distinguish the letter and the number of the submarine which is said to have sunk the Lusitania.

  Clinging to the railings I tried to grasp the meaning of it, but I could not fathom it, and yet already I shuddered with a nameless dread and without knowing why I opened my lips to utter a cry of terror.

  Suddenly there was a great, dazzling, blinding white or rather bluish flare and a dull explosion. The flash lasted the tenth of a second, and I collapsed my full length on the floor before I had time to cry out, overwhelmed by what I had seen during that tenth of a second.

  How many hours did I remain in the recess in a state of unconsciousness? I have learnt since that when I opened my eyes it was about nine o’clock at night. I was still lying on the deck in the darkness, but above my head the railings stood out very clearly in the light of the saloon from which they separated me. It was like being in a box at the theatre, but for what abominable nightmare play had I set foot in this one?