So much for this amazing attempt at escape. Realizing that there was no hope for them, Aiguardente, Tantifla, and Tony Bouta surrendered. Their friends who had overcome the sentry outside were able to make good their escape leaving, however, some traces of blood behind. Sénépon was complimented on his pluck. He had managed, though overwhelmed by the weight of his three adversaries, to reach his rifle and press the hammer. From that moment the game was up.
Next day Titin said to Paolo Ricci.
“If they had wanted to make an attempt at escape impossible and hasten my death they couldn’t have done anything worse. You must thank Giaousé on my behalf.”
“I certainly will do so,” returned Ricci. “It will be a consolation to him. He was stabbed in the arm by a bayonet.”
“Is that so?” said Titin.
Titin was right. The incident had the effect of hastening matters.
CHAPTER XXVI
BEWARE! HARDIGRAS!
THE WHOLE TOWN hoped that Titin had made his escape. Had he not practically foretold the event? When it became known that the attempt was a fiasco, and Tantifla, Tony Bouta, and Aiguardente had succeeded only in getting into prison, immense disappointment and regret were shown.
For the past fortnight, M. Bezaudin had undertaken a series of public meetings in the town and villages round about, in an effort to prove Titin’s innocence. As the public were only too willing to be convinced, his meetings were everywhere a complete success. He was accompanied on his tour by the two handwriting experts, previously mentioned; and Le Budeu and Gamba Secca, Titin’s ex-Auditor and Staff Controller, acted as secretaries.
M. Bezaudin fully realized that the chief part of his reasoning came from the heart, and that it was not with this particular organ that the course of justice could be arrested. Still, in his view, a petition for mercy signed by thousands of citizens might at least save Titin’s head. That, after all, was the main point for the moment.
Odon Odonovitch, Comte de Valdar, Lord of Vistritza, Metzoras, Trikala, Triatika, and other places had had visiting cards printed with the object of obtaining admission to the houses of the most influential citizens of Paris before himself submitting the said petition to the President of the Republic. It was then that the untoward business of the attempted escape occurred. M. Bezaudin and Odon Odonovitch regretted the effort, since it had failed. They had good reason to be cast down. A few days later they learned that Titin’s appeal against his sentence had been rejected, that the President had refused to see Comte Valdar, and finally that M. de Paris, the Executioner, had arrived in Nice with his paraphernalia.
From Trayas to Les Roches Rouges, from the confines of L’Esterel to the upper valley of Le Paillon, from bay and headland to plain and mountain, the sinister news spread like a tidal wave. Sea-coast tramways, suburban trains, the Gare du Sud poured forth in an endless stream hosts of sightseers slowly making their way to the Place d’Armes, over the roads leading to Le Novi Prison, where the execution was to take place. Soon the multitude was stopped by a strong force of police, supported by troops brought from Draguignan and Toulon, and companies of Alpine light infantry, seemingly sharing the general grief. Roofs and windows, from which the Place d’Armes and the Rue de la Prison could be seen, quivered with a bewildering and weird throng overflowing and clinging to every point of vantage....
The man and his assistants have disappeared from the door of the prison. He has left to secure his prey, and other men in black pass hurriedly through the gateway with lowered head as though in shame. They too, are after their victim.... They want to make sure that he will not escape them....
And Titin — Titin so much in love with life — is Titin to die?... Will he no longer gather the olives in May?... All his friends are there — friends whose leader he was at the fêtes. What will become of them without him?... Weary, the night is fading... the night is fading....
But what is this? The terrible forecourt has been deserted for some time. The blood-red sky is merged in a sheaf of roses and dawn rises calmly triumphant from the tragic night. One of the most beautiful mornings of Nice spreads its peace over the land.... What does this period of inaction mean? Why this incomprehensible delay? No one dares ask the question. An anguish, beyond all bearing, mingled with an impossible hope, wrings every heart. A silence falls over the city in which the coming of the angel of death can be heard. And dawn has come — a lovely dawn — a bright sunlight that no gallows can look in the face.... And the gallows is taken down — is being packed up! Men are at work dismantling it. The man in red and the men in black are going back empty handed. Wild scenes break out round the hideous and futile thing which comes to pieces, disappears and is swept away. M. de Paris, the Executioner, mounts his wagon; he takes the road to Paris, does M. de Paris. And he returns with an empty basket instead of the blood-red harvest from the Cote d’Azur. Cheerio! M. de Paris.
“Hang it all, we don’t want to see you again...
Titin had played a precious trick on him — a trick which he was far from expecting. When he appeared in the condemned cell there was but one man there, wearing the straight waistcoat, but that man was Chief Warder Peruggia, whose neck bore a card bearing the words: “Beware — Don’t make a mistake. Hardigras.” And no one could fail to see the trick. Titin had written it in small letters so that there should be no mistake.
The news of this miraculous escape spread like wild fire. The most circumstantial details were soon current. And it is easy to imagine the inventions and embellishments with which the first story was embroidered. Titin had escaped clad in the uniform of a warder, by the complicity of a warder!
CHAPTER XXVII
HARDIGRAS’S ESCAPE
AFTER THE UNFORTUNATE attempt at escape which proved so fatal to Aiguardente, Tony Bouta, and Tantifla, Titin was put into a straight waistcoat. It was an unnecessary precaution. Deprived of the devoted little band who, had they been cleverly led, might have been of such great service, believing also that he was the victim, on this last occasion, of the duplicity and trickery of him whom he had always regarded as a brother, Titin confessed, to himself, his defeat.
Too many people outside and inside the prison were bent on his destruction to permit him to entertain the least hope. It was in vain that Paolo Ricci strove to encourage him. He refused to listen to him. But, he begged him to set down in writing a few words marked with the calm dignity of which prisoners of the blood royal seem to possess the secret in their hour of martyrdom. Thus his last thoughts and injunctions were to be conveyed to Toinetta by means of her laundress. And he prepared her to accept his fate without any feeling of revolt against Providence, sufficiently merciful to allow them once more to exchange a few words of love.
“I am young and I have no wish to die,” Toinetta made answer to his display of fortitude. “And as I cannot live without you, it is essential for you to live. Have confidence. We will save you.”
Ricci held out the note to him. He was unable to take it owing to his straight-jacket. But he kissed it....
The day of execution was at hand.
“Don’t go to sleep and be ready for anything,” Ricci warned him.
“What can I do with this straight-jacket on?” gasped Titin. Ricci did not answer; for, just then Peruggia came into the cell.
Peruggia, after giving final instructions, decided to keep watch over the prisoner that night, with Ricci. He would not leave him, therefore, until the authorities arrived. About three o’clock in the morning a knock came at the door. Ricci, without opening it, asked what was wanted. There was the sound of a voice and Ricci turning to Peruggia, said:
“It’s Warder Matteotti. He has a message for you from the Governor of the Prison.”
“Ask him in.”
Ricci opened the door and at once closed it again. Titin gave a start for he recognized Giaousé clad in a warder’s uniform. Peruggia turning round also recognized him. But as Giaousé held a revolver in his hand, pointed at Peruggia’s heart, he kept silent.<
br />
“Good. Keep quiet. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Ricci also exerted himself. Three minutes later it was Chief Warder Peruggia who was wearing the straight-jacket. He implored them to gag him with a handkerchief, which they did. Titin wished to assume Peruggia’s uniform.
“No, they all know the Chief Warder,” said Ricci. “It will be easier for you to pass out with my uniform.”
“Or with mine,” said Giaousé.
“No, you must both of you go out very quietly. You must wait until the clock strikes half-past three to pass the hall porter. That is most important. Do you understand, Giaousé? You know what to do?”
“Well, of course.”
“You can see for yourself that you mustn’t leave Titin. You will go out together. I’ll do my best to look after myself.”
They left the cell when the warders were due to be relieved. Five minutes later they were outside the prison. Paolo Ricci, however, was less fortunate. As he was trying to slip out some minutes before the arrival of the authorities, he came up against the Governor of the Prison, who asked him why he was not in the condemned cell with Peruggia. He gave an explanation which seemed suspicious. And, the Governor noticed that he was wearing stripes to which he was not entitled. The fat was in the fire. The magistrates from the Public Prosecutor’s office arrived. A very pretty blaze ensued.
To their reprimands and abuse Ricci answered that he had so acted because he was convinced of Titin’s innocence, which was true. But, from the reception given to his ingenious defense, he realized that he would have to abandon all thought of a career as a warder.
Meantime, Giaousé and Titin were already far away. They had mounted a motor lorry which was waiting for them behind La Paillon. The van was driven by Bolacion, and seated beside him was Tulip, both disguised as peasants.
As soon as they drove off, Titin and Giaousé divested themselves of their warders’ uniforms and put on much worn, wide ribbed velvet clothes, the trousers of which were tucked into long gaiters. These gave them some resemblance to mountain folk — lovers of poaching and even contraband. They were all fully armed.
Telegraph and telephone were kept busy in the mountain district until night time. Motor cars in which the kepis of gendarmes flashed along the roads like meteors, loomed up into sight from the valleys and descended the mountain peaks. But at six o’clock that night Titin and his little band were safe from capture, far beyond St. Martin Vesube, in the depths of a steep crag where Barnabé alias Laguerra, the shepherd, had prepared supper for them.
After supper, when Barnabé had dressed the wound which an Alpine light infantryman’s bayonet had inflicted a few days before in Giaousé’s arm, they made their arrangements to part company.
“I am sorry, Giaousé, for having doubted you,” said Titin. “You were wounded in trying to save my life, and you would have given your life for me. You are more than a brother to me. I have had bitter thoughts about you. Will you forgive me?”
“I know you have had bitter thoughts about me. But if that is all over now I am satisfied. I have nothing further to say.”
“And you, my friends,” said Titin, turning to Bolacion and Tulip, “will you forgive me, too?”
“Willingly,” said Bolacion and Tulip in unison.
“Where are you going now?” asked Giaousé, after they had ratified their reconciliation, solemnly.
“Have no fear,” returned Titin. “Wherever I go I swear that I won’t spoil your work. They will never recapture me.”
“Good-bye then and may St. Helene be with you,” said Giaousé....
Two days later persons trudging up at dawn towards La Fourca gazed with amazement at the high portico commanding the open space in the old town between the Tower and the Town Hall. A dark shape hung outstretched swaying gently in the icy gusts from the mountain. From the distance it was impossible to say exactly what this miserable object could be, but on closer examination it assumed a human shape — a man was hanging there.... Nearer still, the hatchet face of the man who was once the “tyrant” could be recognized. He was wearing his last grimace.
CHAPTER XXVIII
PRINCE HIPPOTHADEE DISPLAYS HIS GENEALOGICAL KNOWLEDGE
EVEN THOUGH PRINCE Hippothadee had attended M. Supia’s funeral in the morning, he was in high good spirits on that evening. It had been a mournful ceremony. Toinetta had not been present at the cemetery, and in the minds of certain persons there was good reason for her absence — it meant that she could not repeat the gesture which she made at Caroline’s grave: “No. Titin did not do tills thing.” Alas, he had no need this time to sign his name. He knew that the deed would be regarded as the handiwork of the real Hardigras.
His revenge had not been long delayed. The evening following his escape, the “tyrant’s” car ran into an obstacle between La Costa and La Fourca, causing it to topple over on its side. The chauffeur in a sorry plight was left on the road while a number of dark forms made a rush on Supia, who had a leg broken and other injuries, and carried him off. At dawn the hatchet face was swinging like a weathercock from the old Tower of La Fourca.
Obviously Titin had tragic reasons for bearing a grudge against M. Supia, and M. Supia shared a considerable part in the responsibility for bringing M. de Paris to the Place d’Armes. Nevertheless, the general opinion was that it was not clever on Titin’s part. For, what could he hope for now?...
But to return to Hippothadee, who was in sprightly humor that evening. He put the finishing touches to his tie in the dressing-room of the flat in the Promenade des Anglais, the lease of which had reverted to him. The man servant came in with a letter which some unknown individual had delivered, requesting it to be handed to the Prince at once. Hippothadee opened it, smiled, and said: “Tell Madame la Princesse that I wish to say a word to her before she goes out.”
The man left the room and almost immediately returned:
“Madame la Princesse is waiting to see your Highness in the small drawing-room.”
When Toinetta heard the first gruesome report of M. Supia’s death she left the Papajeudises with whom she had been staying, to return to the conjugal hearth. For the sake of all concerned her place was there at such a moment. The police might need her and Titin also. Indeed, her place, at the time being, was her home.
In truth, why had she not obeyed her first impulse to go and wait for the man she loved in Barnabé’s hut in the mountain? She might have been able to prevent his horrible act of revenge. She would have placed her arms round his neck. He would not have broken that chain. And they would have thought only of their love. Alas! She had been forced to yield to the entreaties of Giaousé and others who told her that she was closely watched, and that the least movement on her part might jeopardize them all.
And now — was not everything jeopardized? Was not everything lost? After escaping the gallows it was as though Titin had executed himself. How utterly senseless! She had not the strength to weep. She sat for hours holding her head in her hands, a grim look on her face.
What could the Prince want of her? She had sent him word that she wished to be left alone. He came in:
“I am sorry to disturb you, Antoinette,” he said, “but I have just received a note which gives me food for thought, and I would like to know what you think of it.” He handed her the letter. “It is from Souques and Ordinal. They seem to be full of good intentions towards me, these worthy detectives. But between ourselves I think they are lacking in psychological insight.”
She read:
“Monsieur We must take the liberty of informing you that your life is in danger. In our opinion you are marked down as the next victim to follow M. Hyacinthe Supia, and you cannot take too many precautions. Do not go out alone, and in particular do not leave the town. Rely on us in the matter in which we have received your instructions. We are following up the right clue and shall have some news for you in this regard before long. The best thing for you would be to remain indoors this evening. We are, etc.”
<
br /> Toinetta gave him back the letter.
“Well, what can I say? You know better than I do what you have to do.”
“No. I have not disturbed you to receive so vague an answer. I realize that you are but slightly interested in the fate of a man whom you do not care for. All the same my life is at stake. Do you think I am in any danger, Antoinette?”
“I am too distracted to know anything. I can say no more. But since you have made me read this letter, I think my duty is to repeat what those gentlemen say: Don’t go out to-night.”
“Thank you, Antoinette. I expected no less from you. Those words bring us nearer to each other. Well now, I will tell you something. Personally, I believe these gentlemen are entirely mistaken. He would not dare.”
She made no reply. She seemed as if turned to stone. He sat down facing her, lit a cigarette, and went on in a delightfully free and easy manner:
“He would not dare, not on my account, but on yours. He loves you, does this man. There are already sufficient obstacles to keep you apart. He does not wish to put the dead body of a husband between him and you.... That is something which you would never forgive him for.”
She stared at Hippothadee. A strange light that she had never seen before gleamed in his eyes. He observed the impression which he had made on her and he took a keen and almost cynical pleasure in it.
“No. Titin can do nothing against me,” he went on with a smile, venturing to pronounce that name for the first time. “In reality we have no better friend than Titin. He was rather drastic with poor Supia. But when we have finished mourning the poor man, we shall discover that Titin rendered us a priceless service. Supia had become impossible, not only to me who was reduced to borrowing money from the Comtesse d’Azila to pay the rent — our rent my dear Antoinette — but to you whose fortune he had secured entirely for himself. Not only will you be able to get possession of your property. But we are now sole heirs.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 431