Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  The car stopped at the corner. The bar was a little set back in a blind alley.

  “Well, but Fritz, we are not there yet as far as I know!” said the Admiral.

  “It will be difficult for me to turn round, Admiral, and then... I entreat you... allow me to keep away from the bar which brings back such disagreeable memories.”

  Von Treischke alighted from the car without saying a word. I had never seen him really fly into a passion. It was the more alarming inasmuch as his fury was expressed in silence. There was blood in the eyes of the Beast, and the Beast stretched out his paw, seized Fritz by the collar, dragged him from his seat, and placed him on the pavement before him.

  “March!”

  And Fritz marched; and I heard him again stammer “Very good,” while his limbs trembled under him and his teeth chattered....

  “The whole thing,” growled Von Treischke, who had partly recovered his calm after his brutality, “the whole thing is mere childishness. Look here, young Fritz, if I listened to you, you wouldn’t be able to make a step in this hospitable land because of your confounded memories. The other day it was the same farce when you entered your old room at Goya Castle, although there is now no risk of anyone throwing himself into the sea for I have had bars placed over the windows. And you take up the refrain again in this pleasant thoroughfare and nice blind alley. It’s your own look out if you have a guilty conscience. But please remember when you are at Jim’s to be sociable and do full justice to Monsieur’s friends.” He pointed at me and continued to grin with the full force of his tiger’s jaws.

  “Very pod.”

  “Monsieur,” he went on, still indicating me, “doesn’t understand anything of your little farce, my dear Fritz.”

  “Nothing.... Nothing at all,” I interposed eagerly.

  “You must know that the Lieutenant fell in love not very long ago.... But we’ll tell you the story later on... a little later on, won’t we, Fritz?”

  We were now on the doorstep of the bar. I saw at a glance that Jim was behind his counter. He was shaking up his glasses, making a fantastic noise, and in front of him seated on high stools and playing at dice were Mederic Eristal, the ‘middy’ and Gabriel. They appeared to be entirely engrossed in their game. It was as much as they did to look up when I called out:

  “Hullo, Doctor.”

  It was a queer greeting that I threw at him, for I did not recognise my own voice. I must have been greatly agitated, or my voice would not have changed so completely. I do not deny that I was, in fact, agitated particularly at the sight of Gabriel who was playing his game so calmly and wore at his belt a sheath; and in that sheath assuredly was a blade of tempered steel, for I could see the wooden handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It was a detail that might well have escaped my notice, because a cutlass in a sailor’s belt is more common than the moon in daytime, and, in general, it has no significance. For all that, the sight of Gabriel and his cutlass affected my voice.

  “Hullo, why it’s Senor Herbert of Renich himself,” exclaimed the “middy.”

  “Himself, old fellow... at your service.”

  I endeavoured to get the upper hand of myself and to speak in my natural tone but I had to cough, make the motion of swallowing, and cough again to clear my throat before I could publicly introduce my companions, as had been agreed. I presented them under the Luxemburg names with which they had decked themselves in Spain. I introduced them as though they were old friends, almost friends of my boyhood, and they were received with boisterous cordiality which expressed itself in cocktails.

  Von Treischke shook the “middy” vigorously by the hand, reminding him that he had had the pleasure of seeing him before at the old Santiago bar when it was at the corner of the Collegiate, and he improved the occasion by rapping out at Jim in a tone of elephantine airiness:

  “Weren’t you afraid to take up your quarters, in this shop, which belonged to those poor ladies? Ha, ha, ha,” he grinned. “Weren’t you afraid that it would bring your business bad luck?”

  I could not help giving a start at such consummate audacity, and I looked at Fritz. He was in a state of consternation, and there was a pitiful look on his face as he darted furtive glances at objects on the walls and in the corners which he had seen before, and which were familiar to him. The wall on the left bore the same advertisement of a corrida showing a giant matador standing upright in the middle of a tiny arena crowded with lilliputian spectators; and in a corner near the door which led to the pantry was the same liqueur-cabinet. There were the same small, round, wooden tables standing in a row against the partition of the Bodega. But there was one door which his glance avoided; and it was the door which formerly led into the tobacconist’s shop and seemed now to be permanently shut off by a map of the war.

  Jim replied to Von Treischke that he was afraid of nothing. Was a man like himself to be frightened by trifles? Was it possible to be superstitious with fists like his? Such fists would quickly drive away ghosts!

  “Besides the whole thing has been forgotten,” declared Jim. “Moreover the enquiry proved that it was entirely the fault of the Señorita who, it appears, had a wicked temper.”

  “Yes, certainly,” returned Von Treischke, “an abominable temper. Her ill-humour was the cause of my friend here nearly having his throat cut.” He indicated Fritz who was more and more dumb and whose face was paler then ever.

  “Oh, then it was this gentleman?”

  “Yes, it was neither more nor less than this gentleman. A very decent young fellow from Limburg who paid his addresses to the young lady, with the greatest delicacy, in this very place.”

  “In this very place... that’s true... in this very place,” repeated Fritz in a lugubrious voice.

  “My young friend would certainly not have allowed himself to tell a girl who sells cigarettes that she has a charming face, if the said face had not, to begin with, shown its white teeth in a most encouraging smile. Don’t you agree, Fritz?”

  “It was a nice face,” said Fritz with a sigh.

  “Look here, I was present at the whole thing, or nearly the whole thing,” went on the Admiral. “Consequently, I can say to him as he is worrying himself:

  ‘What have you got to worry about? After receiving such a blow in the throat with a pair of scissors, you ought to be glad you’re alive to drink one or two cocktails in such pleasant company.’”

  “I agree with you,” said the “middy.”

  “No more dull care which serves no purpose. It won’t bring back the dead.”

  “Indeed,” interjected Gabriel, who had not hitherto been heard. “Indeed.”

  “What does this youngster mean?” asked the Admiral. But “this youngster” did not reply. He merely shook his head without looking at Von Treischke.

  “Don’t bother about him,” said the “middy.”

  “He swallows everything about ghosts and such-like devilries. He was saying just now that he believed that persons who died a violent death appeared at least once to their murderers. They had a right to do so, an absolute right, and the Lord Himself couldn’t deprive the dead of it.”

  Von Treischke gave Fritz a resounding slap on the shoulder with his bear’s paw.

  “What do you say to that, my fellow-countryman?”

  Fritz hung his head still lower and remained silent, but obviously shuddered.

  “It’s a pity one cannot believe in such rot,” grinned the Admiral, “because although no one here killed the handsome Dolores, still if it is true that she died a violent. death, she had only herself to blame, seeing that after half murdering Monsieur, she threw herself into the sea.... Well, I should be rather glad to see her pretty kiss-curls again, if they are not faded, her flashing eyes, if they are not closed, her red lips, if they are still filled with the same blood.”

  “Oh.... I beg of you, Monsieur.... Don’t.... Don’t.”

  It was Fritz who uttered this entreaty in a choking voice, and abruptly he hid his face in his hands so that
no one might see how much he suffered. Nevertheless I was not looking at him. There was one whom it was much more interesting to watch at that moment when the Terror of Flanders was savouring an intense joy in reviving Fritz’s passion and remorse, and recalling the image of her whom he, Von Treischke, had sent to her death by way of the sea.... The person who was so interesting to watch, more interesting than any of the others, was Gabriel.

  To begin with there was the name of Dolores. No one had yet mentioned her name until the Admiral had flung out “although no one here killed the handsome Dolores,” and the words leapt round Gabriel like flames of fire. I saw them. I saw those words of fire dance round Gabriel and scorch him and bite into his heart, and I wondered how it was that he did not cry aloud with pain, nor throw himself at the calumnious tongue which had sputtered out the burning and sulphurous phrase.

  He made a gesture with his hands. Brusquely he gave them to Jim and I heard him say to the ex-champion of the Home Fleet, “Hold my hands.” And Jim held them during the remainder of the time that Von Treischke who had eyes only for Fritz whom he was torturing — he was so fond of him — continued to speak.

  It was obviously due to the strength with which this precious Jim crushed Gabriel’s hands in his, that we were not forced to witness a little scene which would probably have upset the original plan of campaign. When Von Treischke had the delightful whim to describe Dolores so artistically while Fritz in a choking voice implored him to be silent, Gabriel — I had my eyes fixed only on him — was writhing in Jim’s hands. It looked as if they were playing a game, trying to win a wager as to which possessed the greater muscular strength. But I knew that the whole business of twisted muscles had no other purpose than to keep back a certain cutlass in its sheath.

  At last Von Treischke consented to talk of other things, for Fritz was reduced to tears like a great baby, and it was my turn to play my little part in this strange comedy.

  “Gentlemen,” I began, after a glance at the Admiral, to the great satisfaction of the others for his manners had put them in a cold fury with him. “Gentlemen, my friend, Herr Von Kessel, here present, has something very particular to say to you; but he cannot explain himself fully in a public saloon where any passer by has the right to come in and sit down where he pleases.”

  “Would you like the doors and windows closed?” asked the “middy” with the good-humoured laugh which I knew so well. “Jim would probably not object provided, of course, we doubled the prices of drinks.”

  The doctor had not hitherto spoken. Obviously he was partly, if not entirely, cognisant of the proceedings; but his irresolute character kept him, as usual, halting between two opinions, and he was content to take a few whiffs now and then from his phial of cocaine.

  “If these gentlemen have anything particular to say to each other why not go into the next room?” suggested the irrepressible Jim.

  “What room?” Fritz ventured to ask, trembling at his knowledge, for Jim was pointing to a certain door.

  “Why, that room, gentlemen... the room in which Dolores sold cigarettes. I’ve rented it with the rest of the place, but I’m not rising it at present because it’s not ready. You couldn’t be more at home for talking over your little business. No one will disturb you.”

  “Not a bad idea,” said the Admiral. “Not at all a bad idea. In fact, customers must have lost the habit of opening the shop door since the accident to the dear child.”

  Fritz had the strength to stand up a second to intervene in a broken phrase.

  “All the same, Admiral, we might go somewhere else....”

  The condition of the hapless young man was quite distressing. The Admiral observed it. But is it possible to soften the heart of a tiger? It was a joy to him to witness the grief of this devoted friend whom he loved almost as a son. This feeling is what the Germans call schadenfreude: the delight in seeing others suffer. Captain Hyx had once talked rather wisely to me on that particular state of mind.... Von Treischke himself went over to the door and began to pull out the drawing pins in the map on the wall which lightly blocked the door.

  “Don’t trouble,” said Jim, hurrying up and tearing down the map in a trice. Then placing his finger on the latch he threw the door wide open.

  “Gentlemen, you will be quite at home here.”

  “This is where she lorded it, the adorable creature,” said the Admiral jocosely.... And he went in.... He was a man of iron nerve whom nothing disturbed, nothing.

  “Come, Fritz,” he said, after a few moments devoted to a glance round. “Come, my friend.... Nothing has been changed, really — nothing. If the shutters were opened there would be a little more light; a light like that which shone on her so ideally — don’t you think so, Fritz? — the last time that we saw her at the counter, the handsome child, dealing out fragrant tobacco and fascinating smiles to her customers. The counter is still here. And the high seat on which she used to sit as proudly as a young queen. Now, Fritz, be a man and come and see the place where this beautiful girl bewitched you as though you were a student in your first year. And stop playing the fool. I insist. We have to talk to these gentlemen,” he finished in a grating voice, “and we can’t be more comfortable than we are here in this tomb.”

  “It’s as gloomy inside as a tomb, as you say,” exclaimed a voice as open and clear as that of a choir boy. It was Gabriel’s treble voice. He was standing in the doorway between the Admiral who was in the shop and Fritz who still remained, leaning on a table as best he could, in the bar.

  As for myself, I was still seated on my high stool at the counter, and I already closed my eyes. I considered that since this was the first occasion in which I had assumed such terrible responsibility I had done enough and seen enough. I was of opinion that matters would not be long drawn out. Before I closed my eyes I noticed that Gabriel’s hand had stolen as if by chance more than once to his cutlass. And then this dark hole on which the door opened and which Von Treischke entered with such abasing cynicism, this dark hole frightened me almost as much as it frightened Fritz. It was here that the last act would be played, and I rather suspected what the climax would be. And drops of perspiration broke over my forehead.... I was at the end of my tether, quite worn out.

  The tobacconist’s shop derived its light from the open door and, as I learnt a few minutes later, from a feeble glimmer which came from a high casement window overlooking the court. It was in the dusk of this room that the drama would begin, but I felt that it would not begin until Fritz had made up his mind to join the Admiral. The Admiral called him, but he did not stir.

  It really seemed as if he were incapable of moving a step; and the Admiral, seized with another fit of passion, rushed forward, gripped him by the arm with a vigour which at once set him on his shaking limbs, and marched him into the room as though he were an automaton. Nor did Fritz resist any more than an automaton would have resisted. Both men were now in the shop.

  And immediately I had to open my eyes, for a frightful double cry burst forth, and I rushed with the others in a spontaneous and irresistible movement to the door of the room. And this is what met our gaze in the warm semi-darkness, still vibrating with that frightful double cry: On the right were the white faces of the two Huns, for Von Treischke was now as pale as Fritz, and at the back, on the left, behind the counter, on the high seat on which she used to hold herself erect as proudly as a young queen was Señorita Dolores herself.

  We were all together in the shop. Gabriel closed and bolted the door. Jim was present as a spectator, his arms folded across his chest. Mederic Eristal himself had come in when he heard the cry, and he would have liked, perhaps, to go away again. But Gabriel guarded the door and was in no mood to let anyone leave. And Von Treischke and Fritz von Harschfeld were transfixed; that is to say they were unable to utter another word after their first cry, but none the less they were open-mouthed and from that double chasm of horror we could hear their gasps of fear. For they were overcome with fear, fear.

  Th
e Admiral was more frightened perhaps than Fritz for, to be sure, he had expected the apparition of his victim less than Fritz. To begin with, he had seen her die, as it were, while Fritz was dying himself, and indeed, for a time, was believed to be dead. Then, it was Von Treischke who had fastened Dolores in the sack with his own hands, and it was he who with his own hands had thrown her into the sea. And the sea had closed in upon its prey and had guarded it well. He was sure of it.

  So what did it all mean? Was Gabriel right?... Had the ghosts of the departed victims of a violent death the right to appear before their murderers? For the wish which Von Treischke had uttered, a few minutes before, so thoughtlessly and with such braggadocio was granted.... She had come back, the Señorita.... And her kiss-curls were still glossy, her eyes still sparkling, her lips as magnificently red as before.

  “What can I get you, gentlemen?”

  It was her voice.... It was her voice.

  It was indeed Dolores who free from behind the counter uttered the fateful phrase. She leant towards the two men and they fell back with a cry of terror. Nevertheless the incident passed quickly, for it could not last long with a man like Von Treischke present. After wiping his forehead with a wild, unconscious gesture, he exclaimed in a hoarse voice:

  “The wench is still alive!”

  And he made a movement to go up to the counter while Fritz who was in a state of collapse fell on his knees. At that moment there was a rush upon the miscreants. Gabriel flew at Von Treischke’s throat while Jim held his hands from behind. The “middy” devoted his attention to Fritz.

  I thought for a moment that Gabriel, who was holding the Admiral by the throat with one hand, would seize his cutlass with the other and proceed to extremities without further ado. But he did nothing of the kind, and in this he allowed himself to be guided by Dolores who, lifting herself in her chair and leaning over the counter, cried:

  “Don’t finish him off at once. That would be too good for him.”