Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  They did me the honors of their little domain with touching grace. The cabin was divided into two rooms. In the first, which served as kitchen, dining room, and bedroom, I had some difficulty in finding space for my legs. The second was the studio; that is to say, there were two unpainted, wooden tables in it. At the end of the table were piled law records and papers; at the other, a typewriter. Nathalie continued to do typing during the vacation. Winter and summer both, she worked to support her sister, and allow her to devote herself to her studies. Clotilde would repay her debt later when she had become successful at the bar. Charming devotion! And all so simple! The sea air had given them both a good color. Each of them was charming, but Clotilde had the masterly look in her eyes that adds power to beauty. While eating our clams and shrimps, which they themselves had gone out to get that morning, Clotilde talked to me with the greatest seriousness, and gave me good advice.

  “You are starting out wrong,” she said. “Nowadays one has to specialize. I have made my choice. Beginning this fall, I am going to spend four hours a day in a bank, learning the ins and outs of disputed claims. In that way I expect to pick up a few interesting cases, especially if I can get a job at the same time in a business lawyer’s office. But my real plan — if I can carry it out — would be to marry a lawyer who would plead the cases I brought him. Then I would devote all my time to disputed claims in some important bank.”

  She told me this very simply, without blushing, and looking me straight in the eyes. She was already a business woman outlining a partnership. It was I who blushed. But she gave no sign of noticing, and asked how I had spent my vacation.

  I said that when the courts had grown deserted, I had run away, and not having much money had tramped through the countryside, like a vagabond. I invented an itinerary, and the vagabond was accepted without question. I told them where I was staying at present; and that I was getting ready to start back to Paris, for my pocket was empty.

  “You don’t need to hurry,” said Clotilde. “We can supply you with meals. You can go fishing with us and we’ll share the fruits of our labors.”

  Having no other plan in mind, I accepted and returned the next day. They proved to be jolly and entertaining companions. What good times we had, fishing, swimming, and coming back to their cabin tired and hungry!

  I hardly thought of Helena now, having had no reply to my letter. But one day, as we were having bread and cheese with a bottle of cider on the sand dunes, our attention was attracted by voices from a group of people strolling along the beach. The women in light, filmy costumes; the men in flannels and blue coats. Behind them, a fashionable automobile came slowly along the road. I recognized Helena at once. She was wearing a white dress and an ultramarine hat; and she was beautiful enough to go on one’s knees to....

  The first impulse was stronger than my will; I rose confusedly. Then my legs shaking under me, I dropped back on the sand between my two companions. But Helena had seen me. I waited for a signal, which did not come. She passed with such complete indifference that I might well have been a total stranger to her. She was with a young woman who walked with a gliding, catlike step and whom I recognized by her almond shaped eyes: it was the Annamite dancer who had dined with us at the Ambassadeurs. Behind her stalked a tall, dry gentleman with white hair and pale eyes, to whom she turned at intervals and spoke in English. They disappeared over the dune.

  “Do you know those people?” asked Clotilde.

  My heart was pounding, but I succeeded in speaking without betraying my emotion:

  “I thought I recognized one of them, but I was mistaken.”

  “They belong to the smart set in Deauville,” said Nathalie. And they were not mentioned again.

  On the way back to the inn, my anger at Helena increased, and I denounced her to the trees along the road and the sky over my head. It was obvious that she had tricked me and played with me — and by now forgotten me. Nevertheless, I asked at the inn if anyone had left a message for me. Not a word.

  That’s the world of fashion for you! There are times when it is a relief to discover that there are some men in the world who are honest and some women whose friendship is real. The latest turn of events gave me a great liking for Clotilde and Nathalie. I appreciated the frank, self-reliant way in which they were starting out in life. And I began to think that there might be a place for an intelligent young man in the program that Clotilde had outlined for me. [LEROUX TEXT]

  But when I tried to picture myself in this rôle, I realized to my surprise that it was not the masterful Clotilde who had usurped my imagination, but the quiet, gentle, unselfish figure of her sister. Clotilde was the spokesman for the pair in public; but in private it was Nathalie’s graciousness and charm that made the hours in their villa a pleasure both to the mind and heart. Little by little, I discovered that I was beginning to count on those clear hazel eyes and competent hands. On cool evenings, when we sat about the fire of driftwood we had gathered I invariably dropped down on the sand — quite by accident — at Nathalie’s feet. And though we did not refer to this change in our relationship, it seemed to me that a new tone crept into her voice when she addressed me: a tone of greater intimacy, of trust, and perhaps of dawning love.

  This tacit understanding deepened as my beard lengthened. The end of September was approaching. The two sisters and I returned to Paris together, and I was happy to become Albert Rose once more, with my brief-case under my arm, setting out in the morning for court.

  CHAPTER XI

  THE CORRIDORS AT the court-house were thronged and everybody was in good humor. Greetings were exchanged, and the universal question: “Did you have a good summer?”— “Fine, thanks! Did you?”

  “Where did you go?”

  “To Lion-by-the-Sea, a quiet little place with a good beach and no fuss, where you don’t have to put on dinner clothes every evening.”

  “Not like Deauville, eh? Did you take a run over to Deauville while you were in the neighborhood?”

  “No, thanks! That’s not my style!”

  An hour later I made my way to the prison, where Durin must have been wondering if I had vanished from the earth. I felt no joy at the prospect of seeing him again; but neither was I afraid. I had kept my part of the bargain and earned my money: we were even. I would plead his case and that would be the end, so far as I was concerned. He could go get himself hanged somewhere else.

  Moreover, I felt convinced that he was well informed as to what I had done. He had probably derived much amusement from learning that Helena’s charm had been powerful enough to make me an accomplice in her adventures. In her mysterious correspondence, Helena had no doubt ridiculed me for my infatuation over her and my incredible naïveté. What a triumph for her, to have slipped me into the skin of Mr. Flow, as he had slipped me himself into that of Mr. Hooker! Ah, they were worthy of each other, the pair of them!

  In any case, I was determined to leave him no doubts, by my attitude, of my rôle of victim, the good little boy whom a pretty woman had led by the nose.

  As soon as he saw me, I knew that he was satisfied with me. He shook both my hands fraternally and with a sort of protective affection:

  “I congratulate you!” he exclaimed. “You certainly do things up brown, once you start. I didn’t ask all that of you.”

  “One cannot refuse Lady Skarlett anything,” I answered, looking deliberately embarrassed.

  “By the way, I am going to scold you. You came very close to ruining her reputation. That would have been an irreparable blunder, and I should not have forgiven you for it.

  “She told you the story of her life, and I know that she did not conceal the liking she had for her existence in the old days. Probably it was she, for she is a sorceress, who pushed you to such extravagant recklessness. I have already written her what I think about you both. You were mad to act that way.... Reading the newspapers, I trembled for her and also for the reputation of poor Mr. Flow. Did you ever stop to think of the responsibility you
were taking on? You made inexcusable mistakes, both at Jacob’s and in Rougemont Place. At Le Havre, you got out pretty well. But you acted like an idiot with that woman on The Goddess. However, all’s well that ends well.”

  “But, Durin, the story of the red car wasn’t so bad as all that!”

  “No, I grant you that. The red car was in Mr. Flow’s tradition. And there is nothing for me to do now but thank you and assure you that your fees will be in proportion to my satisfaction. Now let’s talk about my case. It’ll come up on the 10th of October, and will be settled in five minutes.”

  “I think you can count on a reprieve.”

  “Especially as Sir Archibald is back in France and will come to the court-room to get me. I am to go back into his service the same evening. And then... well, I believe you and I shall say good-by forever!”

  “I hope so, Durin!”

  “Are you sorry you did any of the things you did?”

  “All of them, Durin. I am an honest man, and I am going to remain one.”

  “Well, well! Think what might have happened if you weren’t. But I don’t blame you for abandoning the career. Each man follows his own destiny. We shall forget each other.”

  “We shall forget everything,” I said meaningly. “It’s to your advantage as well as mine.”

  We looked each other in the eyes. Then his mouth relaxed and with a slightly bitter smile he said:

  “The first time you came here, you were a child; and now I see a man in front of me. You will thank me some day from the bottom of your heart!”

  We did not see each other again until the evening before his trial, when I spent a few minutes with him.

  I still had no news of Helena and I refrained from asking Durin for any.

  The 10th of October arrived. The court-house was like a beehive. The murmur of voices filled the halls and rooms. Doors slammed incessantly, like drums calling us back to work after the vacations. But Room F, where our case was coming up, was practically a desert. When Durin’s name was called, there were not twenty people in the room. Durin was brought in, overcome with shame and hanging his head.

  The judge glanced over the file and remarked that the complaint had been withdrawn. The state, however, continued to present its case, for the guilt of the accused was obvious. I rose in my seat.

  “My client has confessed,” I began. “He regrets that he so far forgot himself as to commit an act for which he will feel remorse the rest of his life. He is an honest man. His previous record is clean, and this is his first offense. His employer is ready to take him back in his service. I request the clemency of the court and the application of the law of reprieve.”

  The judge asked if Sir Archibald Skarlett was present. A man stood up in the rear of the room, and I recognized the tall, dry man with pale eyes whom I had seen with Helena at Lion-by-the-Sea. He confined himself to repeating that he was ready to take Durin back into his service, for he was an excellent man who had been the victim of a temptation sent by “the Evil One.” The judge smiled and, after conferring with his assistants, was about to pronounce judgment, when another gentleman, who bore a striking resemblance to Sir Archibald, came forward and demanded, in excellent French, to be heard.

  “I have come here to save my brother,” he said, “and reveal the truth about this man Durin, who has won his confidence in order to carry out designs of the most criminal nature.”

  After announcing his name — he was Sir Philip, the younger brother of Sir Archibald — he turned suddenly towards Durin and pointed his finger at him:

  “You rascal! You are the notorious Mr. Flow!” This unexpected accusation, which might lead to the most dangerous complications for me, struck me like a thunderbolt, and I sank back on my seat as if all life had left me. Fortunately, nobody was looking at me, for all eyes were fixed on Durin. He was certainly a strange sight to behold. His face had shown no sign of intelligence before and his stupidity had been made worse by a tearful despair when he had been told to rise and had seen Sir Archibald; but now an expression of such complete imbecility came over him that the room burst into a roar of laughter.

  Durin did not protest. He did not even appear to understand. And at once the public was on his side, convulsed at the idea that this poor fellow was accused of being the famous, the super-clever, the incomparable Mr. Flow! The judges shared this feeling and made no effort to check the laughter.

  After getting my breath, but without rising (for I could not have stood on my feet at that moment) I said, letting my arms fall as if this idea was too preposterous to take seriously:

  “The joke is rather far-fetched.”

  The judge turned to the new witness with an air of patient indulgence:

  “Where have you been, sir, that you can make such a sensational charge? Are you the only person in this room who does not know that while Durin has been in prison, the Mr. Flow in question has been active in Deauville, Biarritz, Rouen, and recently in Paris? In fact, he has had a very active summer.”

  The prosecutor’s substitute, who was chuckling in his beard, suggested solemnly:

  “We might ask Sir Archibald what he thinks of this strange tale.”

  Sir Archibald rose.

  “I am very sorry that this fantastic accusation has been made,” he said, “for it is ridiculous, and I hope that my brother will not persist in it. I repeat that Durin has been in my service for the past two years and that I have only praise for his conduct, with the exception of the one fault that has brought us here.”

  Durin, on his bench, looked more and more bewildered. Sir Philip continued to stare at him with such animosity the judge requested him to face the court and have the kindness to explain his reasons for saying what he had said.

  Sir Philip, who had been forced to stop speaking by the outburst of laughter in the court-room, began again in a dry tone:

  “I am neither mad nor ridiculous, as my honorable brother would like to have you believe. Nor am I ignorant of the fact that while Durin was in prison, various thefts and other sensational adventures have been attributed to Mr. Flow. But what does that prove? That someone has been mistaken, that’s all. And I shall now explain how I have arrived at this conviction. While we were in India, my brother and I broke off all relations with each other as a result of the intrigues of a stranger who insinuated himself into our friendship. For the sake of my brother’s honor, I do not wish — nor do I need — to reveal the name under which this treacherous person was introduced to us. I am sure that Sir Archibald will not blame me for my discretion.”

  Sir Archibald was on his feet at once, his pale eyes glittering with anger.

  “Philip, you are a traitor, and I disown you!”

  The judge rapped on his desk and requested Sir Archibald not to interrupt again.

  The case was beginning to take on an unexpected interest. A feeling of mystery pervaded the room. The word had spread through the building that a prisoner had been denounced by a witness as Mr. Flow. In a few minutes Room F was jammed. Spectators climbed on the benches, and stood on their toes. Everybody was eager to see Durin, who continued to present a perfect expression of idiocy. “That bird Mr. Flow?” murmured the newcomers. “The witness is crazy.”

  As for me, I had let my forehead rest on my crossed arms, a frequent gesture among lawyers to indicate that they are tired of listening to nonsense.

  The truth was, I was overwhelmed. The time was long past when I would have been proud to plead for Mr. Flow. I was perhaps about to become famous, but what sort of fame was I to have? The memory of Nathalie’s clear hazel eyes flashed before me, full of friendship and trust, and I writhed in my chair.

  Philip was continuing his testimony.

  “Persuaded that the man in question was a scoundrel, I determined to track him down to Europe, where I knew he had gone. But I was not able to leave India until several months after my brother. I found traces of my bandit in Egypt, in Athens, Bucharest, Constantinople, Vienna, Trieste, and Venice. My attention
was caught by the fact that wherever he went, the notorious Flow was reported to have passed and that he left a wake of theft, burglary, and abuse of confidence behind him. Eventually I had proof that the man I was following and Mr. Flow were the same person. I am prepared to tell you under what name and what disguises the man who has been called ‘The Man of a Hundred Faces’ has committed his crimes. I shall offer the testimony of his victims and also that of the various police who have sought him and who have always been outwitted by his proverbial shrewdness and his skill in disguising himself.

  “At Venice, he appeared at the Café Florian. He was introduced among the best society as Mr. Arthur J. Hooker. From there he went to Milan, where he had the audacity to meet my brother, of whom he soon became an intimate friend. But apparently he had used that mask long enough. He announced that he was leaving for America. Meanwhile he had recommended to my brother a valet named Durin, who happened to be without a job at Trieste and who arrived two days after Mr. Hooker left. Sir Archibald engaged him. Durin was Mr. Flow himself.

  “This fact I did not discover at once, for I had set out to track down Arthur J. Hooker, and I lost nearly two years in this vain pursuit, first in America and later in India, where my business had taken me again. Eventually I returned to Europe, where I felt that I had some hope of finding him. Mr. Flow would not have spent three weeks with my brother without a definite purpose. He had always shown the greatest perseverance in his enterprises, and prepared the ground well in advance of the time he intended to strike.

  “The place to look, therefore, was around Sir Archibald. Sir Archibald at that time was in Paris. He still had the valet whom Mr. Hooker had recommended to him. One day — or rather, one night — I had proof that Durin was Arthur J. Hooker. And Hooker was the ubiquitous Mr. Flow. In the rue Chalgrin Durin had rented an apartment under the name of Van Housen, which is one of the hundred and one masks of Mr. Flow. As I told you, your Honor, my brother and I have had no relations with one another for some years; but I did not hesitate, as you can imagine, to inform him of my discovery. Sir Archibald replied with a contemptuous note.