It was Titin’s turn to grow faint as he exclaimed:
“The poor woman has committed suicide!”
* * * * * * * *
Such were the chief events marking the first stage of this amazing trial. Adjourned to the next sessions so that a supplementary inquiry might be held, the case, at the second hearing, developed with startling rapidity. The unhappy Mme. Supia had been discovered with a bullet in her head. The theory of suicide that had been invented, it was said, by Titin — as the only one which would enable him to offer any defense before his judges after the crime — would not hold water. It indicated — in the minds of the authorities — an unspeakable cunning on the part of the prisoner, who had done away with the last witness in a position to confound him.
Titin no longer defended himself. In the general opinion he alone entered the Supias house hiding himself and taking every possible precaution. His voice was drowned in the hisses of Supia and Hippothadee’s friends when he maintained that Mme. Supia had said as he left her: “It is enough for me to have been the cause of my daughter’s death. I will give evidence in Court — that will be my punishment.”
When the Presiding Judge pronounced sentence of death a loud cry went up in the Court, which aroused him from the terrible lethargy into which he had gradually fallen. Then drawing himself up like a wrestler collecting his strength once more:
“Toinetta, you still believe in my innocence?”
“Yes — to the death.”
“Well, we must live, Toinetta, for though I have been condemned to death, I am not yet guillotined.”
CHAPTER XXV
IN WHICH HARDIGRAS INHERITS A THRONE AT THE MOMENT WHEN HE IS TO LOSE HIS HEAD, WHICH, HE SAYS, WILL MAKE IT DIFFICULT FOR HIM TO WEAR A CROWN
PISTAFUN GOT OFF with five years’ penal servitude.
“Hang it all,” he shouted to his friends, “I shall sing to prevent myself from feeling dull. Look after Titin. That’s all I have to say to you.”
They understood his speech and as the authorities saw some connection between it and Titin’s: “I am not yet guillotined,” they were able to take their precautions. Titin was subjected to a specially close watch. They were not content with an ordinary cell for him. They confined him, instead, in a small room, on the first floor, which possessed but one small window, well lined with iron bars. The door opened on to a corridor in which a warder mounted guard day and night. On the ground floor looking out on a patrol path was a room occupied by a body of soldiers, the door of which was never closed.
Even had he been a small bird Titin could scarcely have flown away. Four warders selected from the most reliable in the prison kept watch on him in relays of two. These facts were known in the town, and the general opinion was that Titin had but to make his preparations for the end. Meantime he entered an appeal against the sentence.
During the first few days he was somewhat sullen. A sense of hopelessness had come over him. He barely spoke to the warders, refused to play cards with them, and had little inclination for his food.
Thrown back upon himself, confronted by thoughts which had frequently troubled him but which he had always thrust aside as unworthy and dishonoring, he was wounded in his deepest feelings. For, is there anything finer in life than friendship? After turning over in his mind for the hundredth time his many misfortunes, he was forced to a conclusion that pierced him to the heart: his present misery could only be explained by the treachery of someone acquainted with his secrets, whom he had of set purpose refused to suspect, for the crime was too unspeakable. To the question which he had deliberately refrained from asking himself but which became inevitable now: “Are you sure of Giaousé?” he was compelled to reply: “No!”
He wept to think of it. Giaousé brought back to him his early days, his vagrant boyhood, his happy youth, their many pleasant trips together, their practical jokes at Carnival time. Giaousé was all that he could wish him to be — his dear old friend and slave and also, alas! his butt. True, he had been somewhat to blame. Was he certain that he had nothing to reproach himself with in his relations with Nathalie — Nathalie, who fled from a place where there was a Titin who had no love for her and would never have any love for her? Giaousé imagined, perhaps, that he had stolen her from him. Was it possible to plumb the depths of a jealous man’s heart? And yet he would never have suspected Giaousé of wishing him to be sentenced to death had not — and this was the horrible part — his underhand influence of late explained everything.
Possibly Giaousé was not acting of his own volition; that was indeed probable; but Giaousé was weak. Possibly they had managed to wrest his secrets from him. Possibly he had allowed himself to drift into things, the significance of which he had at first failed to comprehend — things that had ended in blood. To begin with, there was the meeting at “Le Père la Bique,” which had played into Supia and Hippothadee’s hands. Could he assure himself that Giaousé had not been their accomplice? Titin had left the place with two letters which, if closely examined, might have led him to the path of truth, but he had missed them from his pocket. He thought he could positively declare that no one but Giaousé had been near him that day. With whom was Giaousé acting in concert? Why and with what object? How he longed to know!
For instance, there was the disappearance of Mme. Cioasa whose evidence would have been of great assistance. He was sure that a day or two before her disappearance Giaousé had had long talks with her — and she never spoke to anyone! And, then there was the disappearance of Mme. Manchotte and the murder of Mme. Boccia. Giaousé had not been near either of them but the two women had been seen in conversation with two doubtful characters with whom Giaousé had made friends and were, perhaps, his evil geniuses — Tulip and Bolacion.
Tulip was a curious creature. He did the entire business of his employer, the solicitor who had been mixed up, if gossip in Grasse could be believed, in many shady transactions; a man for every low-down job, full of inventions and cunning, taking a diabolical delight in the misfortunes of others. Bolacion was a pretty rough customer, despised in Torre les Tourettes and La Fourca, alike, and acceptable only to the strange gang who had taken up their quarters like cave men in the hollows of the Gorges du Loup, or in primitive huts where navvies and quarry men speaking the most varied dialects slept after their rough work. And, when they had a few pence in their pockets, they abandoned their jobs altogether to indulge in the lowest form of drunkenness.
Titin had not wasted his time during the weeks when he was said to be dead. He had learned a great deal about their nightly doings, their robberies, the inexplicable misery that had descended on this formerly peaceful district.
Then came the last and most terrible blow — Thélise’s death. Who had entered the flat after him?... Giaousé was the only one who knew the way over the roofs. Had he or some accomplice got in by the balcony? It was almost a certainty that Giaousé had had a hand in this last crime, bringing Titin to the scaffold.
The criminal had fired on Thélise from behind with a revolver found by him in a drawer of Supia’s desk. The papers in the drawer, for some unaccountable reason, were thrown into disorder. And the revolver was left beside Thélise to make it seem as if Titin wanted the murder to be looked upon as a case of suicide. Was Gaousé capable of arranging a cut and dried scheme of this nature — of thinking it out in detail? If it were not Giaousé, who did commit the murder? Bolacion? Who was the leading spirit in it? Tulip? But who had given them the necessary information unless it were Giaousé? Turn the matter over in his mind as he might, it was always to Giaousé that his thoughts recurred.
A hoarse moan broke in his throat. Was he to die without solving the hideous problem? No and again no! He had pledged himself to Toinetta. He was not yet guillotined. Suddenly he asked for wine and cards. They should see the sort of man he was — the real Hardigras! It would be Hardigras against Hardigras. The sham Hardigras would have to look out for himself!
Strengthened by his new resolutions, having nothi
ng more to fear, and ready once again to dare all to win the game, he wore a new look which in no way reassured his warders. Two of them in particular, Paolo Ricci and Pietro Peruggia — Corsicans — appeared suspicious. After the third day he managed to induce in them a more cheerful attitude.
Between their games of cards they exchanged a few words. He learned that the town was interested in nothing but him and that a change of feeling in his favor had taken place. The ex-Commissary of Police, M. Bezaudin, whose evidence at the trial was entirely favorable to him, was trying to bring forward a new fact. He had found handwriting experts whose conclusions were diametrically opposed to those of the official experts.
“You will see that my innocence will be proved when my head is off,” said Titin with a laugh.
It was then that he received an unexpected visit from the Public Prosecutor, the Examining Magistrate, and Comte Valdar. Odonovitch seemed greatly distressed.
“Oh, sir, what a blow to Transylvania!” he exclaimed. “And I was so glad to be the bearer of good news — your illustrious father is dead!”
“Is that what you call good news, my dear Comte?” said Titin. “Do you take me for an unnatural son?”
“We wished you to learn from Comte Valdar before you die,” said the Public Prosecutor, “that Prince Marie Hippothadee recognized and legitimized you as his son, on his death bed. During the trial you were reproached with assuming a rank to which, it was objected, you were not entitled, and which you made use of to cut a figure as an adventurer. Fortunately the matter is now set straight.”
“And your conscience is at rest,” said Titin. “It’s something for a Public Prosecutor to be able to say to himself that he is going to guillotine an honest man. If you wish to complete your goodness you will call at Durieu’s in the Rue de la Poste — he is my stationer — and order some obituary cards bearing a Prince’s crown.”
“A royal crown,” broke in Odonovitch. “His Majesty himself is not in the best of health. According to the latest news he won’t live very long.”
“He will live as long as I shall, and all the better if he does. What would you have me do with a royal crown if I have no head?”
“You must have faith in Providence,” said the worthy Odonovitch. “God and the saints won’t permit such a crime to be committed.”
“Send me, my dear Odonovitch, a case of that extra dry 1921 champagne, which I so thoroughly enjoyed, and a box of Coronas. They will remind me of the pleasant hours we spent together. That’s all I ask you. I am to be a rich man now. That’s one comfort, at least.”
“Unfortunately, Prince Marie Hippothadee died in exile without a penny, dispossessed of his property. But that doesn’t matter for the future belongs to us.”
“Thank you for those kind words my dear Comte.”
“You can rely on my carrying out your little order.”
“Yes I know that we still have the jewelers to fall back on!”
“They are hopeless,” returned Odonovitch, and with that they said good-bye. For, the other gentlemen began to show signs of impatience.
Titin, after this visit, displayed a more cheerful humor. His warders regarded him with admiration. It was while left alone for a space with Paolo Ricci that he dilated on the wealth that would have been his had he been going to live. The conversation occurred at six o’clock when Chief Warder Peruggia had betaken himself to the Governor of the prison to make a verbal report of the day’s events. One day Paolo said outright:
“Titin, I am entirely at your disposal. We will help you to get away.”
“Do you mean it!”
“The thing is arranged, I tell you.”
“By whom?”
“Toinetta. My wife has known her for a long time. She delivers the laundry to the Supias. When the trick’s done, I can slip off to Italy. My future is assured. I will tell you all about it to-morrow. Take no risks with Peruggia.”
Titin as may be imagined passed an agitated night. At last the moment came when he was alone again with Paolo Ricci. The warder took from his pocket a file, some oil, tow, and bread crumbs. He began to file a bar, explaining in a low voice that it would suffice to weaken two bars and that Tantifla would undertake to double them up like liquorice sticks. As the window looked directly out on to a patrol path inside the prison Titin at first showed little enthusiasm. It was a plan of escape that seemed to him rather crude.
“Never mind about that,” said Paolo. “We’ve thought of everything. Giaousé is running the show.”
“Giaousé!” exclaimed Titin taken aback. “Then I’m done for.”
The plan was not fully explained to him until two days later. He gave a shrug.
“You mustn’t make a fool of us, old man,” said Paolo. “We have considered the matter in all its bearings. Our reason for fixing on this particular scheme is because there’s no choice. It must succeed. With seven of us on the job it will be devilish bad luck if we don’t pull it off.”
“Seven are a good many,” said Titin. He felt that he would have preferred six, leaving out Giaousé, whose part in it boded him no good.
“Yes, seven of us — Giaousé, Bolacion, Tulip....”
“You have already mentioned three too many.”
As you may well think there’ll be a few heads smashed. We shan’t be seven when it’s all over. The others are Tantifla, Tony Bouta, and Aiguardente. The thing is fixed for this particular time of the day. It’s dark as night then, and there’s every chance of Peruggia leaving us alone. If he stays here we shall have to shut his mouth between us. A nice little gag will do the job without hurting him. He’s my colleague you know.”
“Do you think there’s any chance?”
“Giaousé promised Toinetta and Mme. Bibi, who came to Nice the day before yesterday, to have you in a place of safety by seven o’clock on Sunday. Sunday was Tulip’s idea because a friend of his in the 22nd Chasseurs will be on sentry duty at La Novi Prison. You know him perhaps. His name is Sénépon and he is a La Costa man.”
“Oh, yes, Sénépon. But I know him very slightly and I don’t suppose he’ll risk being sent to a penal regiment in Africa just to please me.”
“We are not consulting him. He will be marching up and down in front of his sentry box, at the foot of the patrol path. They’ll pass him. Tulip will say a word to him and offer him a cigarette; well, he’ll manage the thing. For, there are three of them to go for him. They’ll hold him and prevent him from kicking up a row. That’s where Tulip, Giaousé, and Bolacion come in. Meantime, we’ll set to work and you can take it from me, Aiguardente, Tony Bouta, and Tantifla won’t waste time over it. These three fellows have the needful to get over the wall. They’ll be inside the guard-house before any suspicion is aroused and nab them. You will slip out. Besides, I know some of them believe in your innocence. They’ll be content to shut their eyes and ears. I tell you the thing will go off with a bang.”
“Which way do I slip out?”
“This way,” he said pointing to the window. “Tantifla will double up these bars. The thing is already half done. If anyone knocks at the cell door I shan’t open it. I shall be nabbed very likely. But that’s part of the program.”
“Do you know what I think, Paolo Ricci? The whole scheme is idiotic.”
“How changed you are, Titin! In a matter of this sort only the impossible succeeds. You won’t be the first to escape from a prison. And they didn’t have fellows like our six in the gamble, ready to risk their lives for you.”
“After all, time will tell,” said Titin, in a tone of philosophy. “But the thing that I can’t get out of my head why Bolacion, with whom I have always been on bad terms, should take a risk like this for me.”
“He is now hand and glove with Giaousé.”
“We’ll talk about this again at seven o’clock on Sunday, my dear Ricci.”
His last words fell on deaf ears. For, Ricci was absorbed with the breadcrumbs, the soot, and the rust, getting rid of every trace of his work.
On the following Sunday Sénépon, pacing up and down, saw three dark forms coming towards him, talking and laughing loudly. He recognized Tulip, who shouted a friendly, “Cheerio!”
“Move on, or you’ll get me confined to the guard room,” said Sénépon.
Without paying any further attention to him they continued their way and Sénépon turned his back on them. He made a few steps when a meteor seemed to crash upon his shoulders. He collapsed to the ground dropping his rifle. A handkerchief was crammed into his mouth to stifle him. A few seconds later Aiguardente, Tantifla, and Tony Bouta, making use of ropes and crampons, climbed over the wall. Meantime Titin and Ricci held themselves in readiness for every contingency. They could distinguish the three forms on the coping of the wall. Titin was very white, and Ricci, was very red. Peruggia would not be back for at least another five minutes.
“That’s all right,” said Ricci in a husky voice.
At that very moment a shot rang out beyond the patrol path, and straightway they heard the sound of shouts, cries for help, oaths, a rush of men from all sides, and more shots. Aiguardente’s voice could be heard yelling:
“Clear out!... I am hit....”
Paolo Ricci closed the window, exclaiming:
“It’s all up!”
A violent knocking came at the door and Ricci opened it. Peruggia appeared foaming with rage.
“What’s up?” Paolo asked.
“Ask Titin,” roared Peruggia. “He knows what’s up.”
“No I don’t,” said Titin calmly sitting down. “If my opinion had been asked it would have been worked very differently.”
The fight in the patrol path was over. The authorities came running in.
“What have they been trying to do?” asked the Governor of the Prison.
“I don’t know,” returned Titin.
“Besides, if he had stirred a limb I’d have blown his brains out,” said Ricci, showing his revolver....
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 430