Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  And then came politics. And then, a wonderful venture which provided him with the wherewithal to live on a lavish scale without doing a stroke of work....

  M. Supia seemed that day as courteous as his temperament permitted it. He tried even to smile at Titin, who failed to notice it; for, he was not looking at him.

  “My dear Titin, I asked to see you...” began M. Supia.

  “There’s no ‘my dear Titin’ in it,” interrupted the other. “I was given a message from Mlle. Antoinette. I am waiting to see Mlle. Antoinette.”

  “I am very sorry she’s out,” said M. Supia, assuming a paternal tone, “but you will certainly have an opportunity of seeing her to-morrow morning. She will, I know, be anxious to thank you for the services you are going to do us. But please take a seat, my dear Titin.”

  “I am not your dear Titin. Please call me Monsieur Titin. Apart from this, you have my attention....” Titin sat down with an increasing frown on his face, thrust his hands into his pockets, and tried as far as possible to avoid looking at M. Supia, whose expression repelled him as it became more friendly.

  “M. Titin, I owe you an apology,” began M. Supia. “I was mistaken about you. I shall never forgive myself for failing to perceive your merit. I know how important you have become in our town, and the services you have rendered to the common weal by your influence on the most interesting class of our population, and by your tact, intelligence, initiative....”

  “That’ll do, M. Supia. Cut the blarney. You want me. What’s it for?”

  “Well, it’s like this, M. Titin. For more than a month we at Bella Nissa, have been the victims of shameless robberies....”

  “Ah, so that’s it. It’s this Hardigras business.”

  “You’ve got it, M. Titin. You are aware, like everybody else, I am sorry to say, of our misfortunes. You know what happened to our night-watchmen, to our worthy M. Morelli, to the detective inspectors.... This confounded fellow has always managed to slip through our fingers. To come to the point, I was in despair of ever laying hands on him when my goddaughter, Antoinette, said to me: ‘Why, there’s one person who could arrest Hardigras right away. I mean Titin, who has always done what I asked him to do.’ That’s the whole story my dear Titin. I have given you Antoinette’s message. What do you think of it!”

  “You may thank your stars, M. Supia, that the request came from Mlle. Antoinette. Had it come from you there would have been nothing doing, as sure as my name’s Titin, and I will tell you why. When Hardigras began his tricks do you know whom you at once suspected? Do you remember, M. Supia?... Well, you said to yourself: ‘There’s only one scamp round here capable of leading me such a dance like this Hardigras. That’s Titin le Bastardon.’ And you had me watched. I was followed night and day by your detectives. It was no end of fun for me, believe me. I held my tongue and took the thing with a laugh because that is my nature. Now that you have recognized your mistake...”

  “I do recognize it.”

  “You come to me and say: ‘Only a fellow like you can arrest Hardigras!’ You will admit that I have every right to tell you to go to Jericho!...”

  “M. Titin don’t fire up. I am not the only man who, at first believed what you say. I don’t want to mention names....”

  “Let’s get on with it. I don’t care a hang what people may or may not say. When one has an easy conscience....”

  “I had a watch kept on you and I offer you my apologies. But I gave up interesting myself in your doings long ago....”

  “Yes, when you were certain I hadn’t left La Fourca.”

  “I’ve had no idea of jour whereabouts for the last three weeks, and our worthy M. Morelli went to the Place d’Arson on the off chance of finding you there.”

  “Did you tell Mlle. Antoinette of your first suspicions?”

  “I am not such a fool, M. Titin.”

  “You made a mistake for you would have got rid of them at once. I know Mlle. Antoinette. It would have been useless to tell her that I was a burglar, a thief, a shop plunderer, a regular ruffian, a hangman...

  “A hangman?” echoed M. Supia, staring at Titin with a look of dismay in no way assumed.

  “Well, was it not said that this burglar had erected a scaffold in the stores?”

  “That’s true, I’m sorry to say,” returned M. Supia. “He had a dummy hanging from it which it seems was intended for me.”

  “But if we are to believe Pistafun, Tantifla and company, it bore a placard on which was written: ‘Until we get “the other.’”

  “Don’t you think it’s monstrous?”

  “Monstrous — there’s no other word for it. That’s exactly what I was saying yesterday to my friend Babazouk: I may dislike M. Supia, but I should never think of erecting a scaffold with the avowed object of hanging him on it.”

  “You don’t like me, M. Titin?”

  “No, M. Supia, I don’t like you. But to please Mlle. Antoinette I will arrest your Hardigras.”

  “When?”

  “To-night.”

  “Are you certain of arresting him to-night?”

  “As certain as you are standing there.”

  “You are a wonderful man, M. Titin.”

  “Pah, we are what we are,” returned Titin modestly. He left M. Supia promising to return at nine o’clock. He asked only one thing — that M. Supia should himself take him into the stores in such a way that no one should suspect his presence. Afterwards he would take everything upon himself....

  “And may I really hope...?” stammered M. Supia, amazed at so much assurance.

  “Antoinette will be satisfied. You may tell her so, and sleep soundly on it.”

  On leaving Bella Nissa, Titin made straight for the Quay des Ponchettes, where he took the opportunity of greeting some dozen of his fishermen friends. With bent head he retraced his steps to the Rue de l’Hotel de Ville, whence he could see, beyond a block of houses, the fifth floor of Bella Nissa, and at a corner of the building a window which however showed no light.

  “If she were there a light would be burning. Supia was speaking the truth,” he said to himself. He returned to the old town, still wrapped in thought. Obviously he was considering how best to capture Hardigras. Thus he reached a popular restaurant famous for its fish dinners.

  Sometimes the well-to-do local tradesmen came to this quarter of narrow lanes — blackened walls, tall, decrepit houses, whose perpendicular was broken by centuries of humidity — for the pleasure of visiting the common room of the old restaurant with its homely tables, and enjoying the native dishes with which they had been wont to regale themselves in their younger days.

  That evening, as it happened, the worthy Papajeudi, Mme. Papajeudi and their three daughters were dining at a table at the back. The Papajeudis had started business in a small way like many others, and by dint of economy, cheerfulness, and hard work had made good in the business of foodstuffs, butter, cheese, and so forth. They now owned one of the most valuable businesses in the Place du Marché, supplying hotels and restaurants; but this did not prevent them from continuing their retail trade and attending daily to the chance customer. As soon as the market was opened, Mme. Papajeudi was to be seen in the cash desk, while her husband, apron turned up at the waist, a wooden pallet in his hand, cut up pats of golden butter and weighed out other commodities, to the satisfaction of his customers. On the other hand, the three girls were never seen. They were at boarding-school learning to play the piano and to sing. For, it was intended one day they should grace drawing-rooms with their presence — a fitting reward for their parent’s persistent toil.

  Titin always had been spoiled by the Papajeudis from the time when, still a lad, he came straight to Nice because his Toinetta had been taken away from him. He wandered about the market, picking up his food here and there, running an errand, now receiving a tip, now a rebuff. Yet, he was delighted with the life because, from time to time he could catch a glimpse of his young friend, who waved her hand to him behind her maid�
�s or governess’s back. Too, he was certain, in hard times, always of receiving the gift of a little stockfish, a handful of olives, or other titbit from the Papajeudis. Papajeudi found him great fun, this youngster who made him laugh till the tears came. And, sometimes he drove Mme. Papajeudi frantic when she saw him juggling with her new-laid eggs.

  “Why, it’s Titin,” exclaimed M. Papajeudi when he saw him. “Have you heard the news?”

  “No. What is the news?”

  “Well, Toinetta is to be married.”

  “Oh,” said Titin, making no attempt to conceal his surprise and perhaps his agitation. He turned somewhat pale, but sitting down unfolded his napkin and added in a normal voice:— “Well, no, I had not heard the news.”

  “Do you mean to say Toinetta has not told you?”

  “I haven’t seen her for a long time,” returned Titin simply, ordering a small bottle of Chianti from Caramagna, the proprietor, who had hastened up from the kitchen on hearing of his coming.

  “Bah! though Toinetta may have said nothing to Titin she probably has whispered a word or two to Hardigras,” interposed Caramagna with a wink.

  “You are all a lot of asses,” said Titin with a shrug. “What do I know about Hardigras?”

  Caramagna burst out laughing. But he stopped short at the hard look in Titin’s face.

  “Go and drown yourself. You are too silly,” he rapped out.

  Caramagna discreetly returned to his kitchen; for, he knew that it was unsafe to provoke Titin when he had that look in his eyes.

  A silence ensued. Then Titin asked:

  “Anyway, is she making a good match?”

  “What! Making a good match,” cried Mme. Papajeudi. “Why, of course she is. She’s marrying a Prince.”

  “What Prince?” asked Titin, having seemingly recovered his self-possession.

  “No more or less than Prince Hippothadee, who may perhaps one day be King of Transylvania, you can never tell. At least the dear gentleman himself has spread a rumor to that effect.”

  “Is he handsome... young?” asked Titin with the same composure.

  “I consider him very smart,” cooed Mme. Papajeudi.

  “Oh, you women!” exclaimed her husband, pouring the last of the Chianti into a glass. “With you women it’s enough to be a Prince — nothing else matters. Toinetta’s Prince is over fifty. He is made up like an old cocotte, his fortune consists of debts, he lives at the expense of a bewigged Comtesse. What does it matter? Toinetta wants to be a Princess and she’ll be a Princess.”

  “When?” asked Titin, rejecting with an involuntary gesture the plate of smoking hot tripe that Caramagna, as an act of propitiation, had just brought him with a smile.

  “Why, I believe it’s to be within the next three weeks,” returned M. Papajeudi. “I met the ‘tyrant’ this morning in the Rue de l’Hotel de Ville. He was coming from the Town Hall, and on his way to St. Reparate Church to make the necessary arrangements. He seemed as pleased as if he were going to be married himself.... Why, Titin, what am I thinking of! I can see that I’ve hurt you.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “You are hurting him,” said Mme. Papajeudi, a good soul moved to pity by Titin’s distress.

  “I am hurt, it’s true,” confessed Titin. “I’ve always been very fond of Toinetta. At La Fourca when we were kids we used to play together. She liked me, too. When she grew up she didn’t put on any side when she saw me. In spite of old Supia we managed to say a word to each other here and there in remembrances of old times. What more could I do? I have only one wish — to see her happy. She was not happy with the Supias, and I said to myself: ‘If only she makes a good marriage!’ Now you tell me she’s going to be married to a good-for-nothing. Well, I am very sorry, that’s all.”

  Titin’s voice trembled slightly. His agitation spread to the Papajeudis and even to other customers near enough to overhear him. Caramagna wiped away a furtive tear. A silence fell. At last Caramagna, dusting the table with his apron, thought it well to show that he partook of Titin’s grief:

  “My dear old Titin, I am very sorry for you, believe me.”

  Titin struck the table such a resounding blow with his fist that he might have made the crockery fly heavenwards had not Caramagna darted forward in time to save his possessions.

  “Silly ass,” rapped out Titin, now as red as before he was pale. “It’s not for me you should be sorry, but for Toinetta.”

  Realizing that his intervention, however well-meant, was not to his customer’s liking, Caramagna made off to his kitchen abandoning the idea for that day of putting himself in the good graces of this hasty-tempered youth.

  “You, M. Papajeudi, who spoke to M. Supia,” went on Titin, after an effort to recover his composure. “You who saw him so pleased with himself — did it not occur to you that he might be working some scheme of his own in this matter? He is not very often to be seen rejoicing at other people’s happiness. Besides, from what you tell me I imagine that he may have forced poor Toinetta’s hand — if I may say so.”

  “Believe me,” interrupted Mme. Papajeudi, whose opinion had not been asked, “Toinetta is not such a young girl as all that, and Supia is not the man, hard and tyrannical as he may be, to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  “I understand that,” returned Titin, in a doleful tone. “But this marriage is so utterly unforeseen that we are entitled to ask certain questions about it....”

  Just then two men from Bella Nissa’s staff came in. One held an evening paper in his hand.

  “The news is official,” they said to two friends waiting for them. “Mlle. Agagnosc is engaged to be married.”

  Each tried to snatch the paper. One of them read out aloud:

  “We have the pleasure to announce the engagement of Prince Hippothadee of Transylvania, one of the best known residents in Nice, to Mlle. Antoinette Agagnosc, the charming niece and ward of Mme. Supia and M. Supia the proprietor of Bella Nissa. The many friends of this old and highly respected family will rejoice at a union which does no less honor to the royal representative of a friendly nation than to the merchant princes of the Côte d’Azur.”

  “That’s Supia all over!” exclaimed one of the employees.

  Titin was silent. He cast a stealthy glance into the adjoining room, a continuation of the room in which he and the Papajeudis were seated. Two newcomers had just made their appearance. They wore such a gloomy expression that it was no pleasure to watch them. To judge from their clothes and their flaxen hair they were foreigners. The Teutonic features of these two persons — they had taken a seat in silence at a side table, whence they had a view of both rooms — was emphasized by their huge horn-rimmed spectacles.

  One of the Bella Nissa’s staff was not to be deceived.

  “I recognize them,” he said, loud enough for Titin to hear. “They are the two detectives who had a narrow escape at our place.”

  “We thought they had gone back to Paris,” said the other.

  “I heard they had disappeared,” said another customer in an undertone. “I know a search was being made for them everywhere. The police here were absolutely run off their legs. And, of course, they put it down to Hardigras. Yet it was he who saved their lives.”

  They all looked at Titin. He rose from the table, paid his bill, and rammed his hat upon his head with his fist. He seemed in a very bad temper.

  “Are you off?” asked Papajeudi, surprised.

  “Yes, I’m clearing out. I’ve had enough of all this talk about Hardigras. Damn it, to prevent any further question about him, for I’m sick and tired of hearing of him, I’m going to arrest him myself. I’ll hand him over to Souques and Ordinal before long — if he’s the man they’re looking for.”

  Thereupon he strode, as stiff as a post, through the room, pressing against the detective’s table as he passed and went out in a dead silence.

  “Bah, he’s not worrying about Hardigras. I’ll stake my life on that,” said M. Papajeudi.<
br />
  “He was very fond of Toinetta. He loved her as though she were his sister. He is very upset about this marriage.”

  Souques and Ordinal silently, gloomily, and without enjoyment ate their stockfish. Caramagna, who took them for what they were not, gazed at them with concentrated rage. At last he said:

  “These gentlemen do not like my fare. Do they want some ‘kartofeln’? I can send out for some ‘sauerkraut.’”

  They made no reply, paid their bill, and stalked into the street. They turned their steps slowly towards Bella Nissa. They had no intention of entering it. M. Supia had plainly expressed his attitude towards them. He had no wish to hear any more from them, and had even prohibited them, in somewhat discourteous terms, from concerning themselves with his affairs. The assistance which, up till then, they had rendered him had not been sufficiently effective to enable them to persist. They had no other object in prowling round Bella Nissa than to keep a watch on Titin.

  Stopping in the shadow of a wall at the corner of the Place du Palais, they soon discovered the man whom they were seeking. He was gazing intently, his hands in his pockets, at a window in darkness and closed, on the top floor of Bella Nissa. He repeated the operation three or four times, walking from one pavement to the other and escaping in this way the light.

  At last he seemed to make up his mind and took a stroll in other directions. And so by out of the way flights of steps he came back once more to the Boulevard Mac-Mahon. After wavering for a second, he continued his way under the arches skirting the casino, and emerged into the Place Masséna. His attention was attracted by the crowd thronging round the entrance to the casino, adorned with hangings and bedecked with flowers as though for some great gala performance.

  A theatrical performance in aid of charity was in fact being given at the casino. Motor cars were beginning to flow like a torrent, stopping under the arches, where the police were regulating the traffic. Showily dressed couples and those brilliant figures in society on whom fortune had smiled, enabling them to help a good cause without unduly boring themselves, were set down there. It was a glorious night for the time of the year, one of those marvelous winter nights of which Nice seems to possess the secret and which so greatly astonish the visitors.