All this was said in low, muffled tones, for the faces of the three were pressed close together against the bars.
‘Sir,’ pleaded Lalouette, ’is it possible to get out of this place without being seized by the brigand?’
‘Certainly,’ said the man. ‘Take the stairway that leads directly into the courtyard.’
‘The key that opens the door to that stairway is not in the drawer,’ said Patard.
‘I’ve got it here in my pocket. I took it out of the giant’s pocket... that’s why I made it necessary for him to quiet me down... so he’d come into my cage.’
‘You poor man,’ said Patard.
‘Yes, I am to be pitied... they do some awful things to quiet me down.’
‘So you think we’ll be able to get out of here, do you?’ sighed Lalouette, worried because he hadn’t yet seen the key.
‘Will you come back and rescue me?’ the man asked.
‘You have our solemn promise.’
‘The others promised too... they never came back.’
Here Patard spoke up in defence of the Academy’s honour:
‘They would have come back, if they hadn’t died,’ he declared.
‘That’s true... he killed them just like flies.... But you... he won’t kill you... he doesn’t know you’ve come back... he mustn’t see you.’
‘No, no,’ trembled Lalouette. ‘He must not see us.’
‘You’ll have to keep your wits about you,’ said the man.
He passed the key through the bars to Patard, saying it would open a door behind a small dynamo in the corner. That door, he told them, opened onto a stairway leading to a small court back of the house. There they would find another door leading out to the open country — they had only to draw the bolt; the key of this door always remained in the lock.
‘I learned this,’ said the man, ‘when the giant took me out for my walks.’
‘So you do get out of the cage at times?’ said Patard, shivering at the man’s fate and forgetting his own.
‘Yes, but always chained. One hour a day in the open air... when it doesn’t rain.’
Meanwhile, Lalouette had stood at the stairway door, eager to leave. Suddenly he heard growling coming from above. He started back.
‘The dogs!’
‘Yes, the dogs!’ repeated the man, in a peevish tone. ‘I tell you you can’t leave until I say so. You’ll have to figure on an hour before Tobie begins to feed them... then you can get out... they’re too busy eating to bark... they never pay attention to any one... when they’re eating.’
‘We’ve got to wait a whole hour yet!’ sighed Lalouette, cursing the day he first thought of becoming a member of the Academy.
‘What’s one hour? I’ve been here for years.’
‘We’ll rescue you,’ they said, touched by his heart-breaking plight.
And as they looked at him their hearts melted in pity. His clothing was ragged and torn, but the rags were not tatters; rather they seemed to indicate a recent struggle during which the giant had beaten him.
Why, Patard asked himself, was this miserable creature caged behind iron bars? The Secretary of the Academy had known the great Lonstalot for many years. What was the meaning of those words they had just heard about a terrible crime?... strange chemical formulae which the man concocted and passed on to the great Lonstalot? Lalouette saw the whole situation more clearly. He was sure that the great Lonstalot had shut this genius up in a cage; that it was he who created for the savant all the inventions which had spread his fame throughout the world. With his precise mind, Lalouette could picture their true relationship - on one side of the cage Lonstalot, holding up a piece of bread; on the other, the imprisoned genius with his inventions; all bargains made between the bars of the cage.
It was clear now why Lonstalot had to be careful that no one but himself should know anything about such a tremendously vital secret. The secret was more important than the lives of the three Academy members... alas! since a part of it had already been discovered it was reasonable to suppose that he would have to sacrifice two additional victims. Such is always the tangled web of crime.
And because all this was so clear to Lalouette he was in frenzied haste to see the last of this terrible dungeon where danger stalked in every corner. Why wait another hour?
Patard wasn’t quite so ready to agree with his friend’s explanation of the horrible situation in which they found themselves. He was trying to clear up the mystery of the prisoner. He recalled the words old Babette had told him she heard from the lips of the dying Martin Latouche: ‘It is not possible; that would be the most terrible crime in the world!’... Yes, the greatest crime of all! Horror of horrors! Was Patard himself now being forced to the same gruesome conclusion?
The prisoner sat behind his bars with his head in his hands — the picture of a man borne down by the weight of superhuman despair. A gas-jet jutted out from the wall so high above him that he couldn’t reach it. Its faint flickering played so fantastically over the few objects in the dungeon that it looked like a devil’s workshop — altogether awesome. Exaggerated shadows of retorts and burners danced up and down and across the walls; monstrous furnaces licked up their dying flames. The man lay like a heap of rags in the midst of all this alchemy.
Patard called to him several times; he did not stir. Up above, the dogs kept on growling, and Lalouette took care not to open the door.
Then the man under the rags moved slightly - it was as though a shadow with haggard eyes spoke these terrible words:
‘The best proof that there is such a thing as the secret of Toth is that they are dead! One day he was so angry that when he came down here he made the whole house shake! And I shook too, believe me... for I said to myself, “That’s it again! He’s going to make me invent something else now!” Whenever he wants me to do something very difficult he begins by frightening me... so I do it just as a little child does... for fear he won’t get his candy... what a ghastly life, isn’t it?... But he’s a thief... a brigand... that’s what he is!’
The savage words rattled in his throat.
‘Ah, he’s kept dinning his secret of Toth into me!... into me, who didn’t know a thing about it.... He told me that a charlatan declared that by means of that secret any one could be killed by the nose, the eyes, the mouth and the ears. He went on to tell me that compared with that quack, whom he called Eliphas, I was only a stupid donkey. He humiliated me in front of Tobie... I suffered terribly... what a two weeks that was we lived through!... I shall always remember it... and he wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace until I had turned over to him the tragic perfumes, the sunrays of death... and the murder-tune! He seems to have known just how to use them, too.’
The man let forth a hideous laugh; then he stretched himself out full length on the floor.
‘How tired I am!’ he sighed, ‘how terribly tired! But I have to have details. I should like to know if any one saw the sun spots shine.’
Patard started. He recalled that strange description a doctor had given after the autopsy of spots found on Maxime d’Aulnay’s face.
Yes, yes, that’s true,’ he whispered ‘the sun spots.’
‘It was there, wasn’t it?... it broke out on the face... it had to... that, my dear sir, is death by rays of light... it couldn’t have been otherwise... it’s like a rash... or rather as if there had been an eruption on the face... now the other one?... what was the matter with him?... because, you see, I need details... oh, I suspect that the brigand did something himself, because I heard him telling Tobie that all three were dead... naturally, in my position, I don’t know the details... sometimes they talk in front of me and sometimes they don’t say a word... ah, but that’s a merciless thief... a brigand!... but the other one?... what spots did they find on him?... what was the matter with him?’
‘I don’t think they found anything,’ Patard answered.
‘They wouldn’t. The tragic perfume doesn’t leave any trace... they didn’t f
ind anything with that... that’s just put in a letter... the letter is opened... and while one reads the letter, one breathes it in... that’s all... that’s the end of the person... but of course you can’t kill everybody the same way... after a while there would be suspicions... he must have killed the third with—’
The howling of the dogs now seemed to be so near that all conversation ended. In the dungeon only the nervous breathing of the three men; outside the diminishing barking of the mastiffs.
‘So they’re not going to feed them this evening?’ Dédé murmured.
Patard, whose heart had been beating to the bursting-point since he heard the atrocious revelations, had just breath enough to say:
‘One, I think, had a haemorrhage... they found a spot of blood on the end of his nose.’
‘Heaven, oh heavens!’ Dédé ground his teeth to give vent to his feelings. ‘That was death through the sense of hearing... it’s always fatal... a haemorrhage within the ear... the blood must have been forced through the Eustachian tube to the back of the throat and then into the nose... all very plain, isn’t it?’
The man sprang to his feet with the agility of a monkey. Indeed, one would almost have said he was one, as he leaped to his bars and clung there. Patard jumped back quickly lest the man seize him again by his few remaining hairs.
He dropped down again to his feet and, holding his head high, strode about in his dungeon.
‘All this is very terrible,’ he resumed, ‘but even so, one must be proud of one’s invention... it’s a success!... it wasn’t any make-believe thing I did there... it was real death that I enclosed in light and in sound... it gave me a good deal of trouble... but if one has the idea, the rest follows easily... the great thing is to have the idea, and I have plenty of ideas... ask the great Lonstalot. Oh, it doesn’t take me long to bring an idea like that into realization... it’s really magnificent!’
The man stopped short, raised his forefinger and went on: ‘You know that in the spectrum there are ultra-violet rays? These chemical rays act powerfully upon the retina... you have undoubtedly heard of accidental deaths caused by these rays... now listen carefully... perhaps you have seen those long tube-lamps, with a blinding greenish light, in which the mercury volatilizes?... are you listening or aren’t you?’ The man shouted so loud that Lalouette fell to his knees and pleaded with him to be quiet; Patard trembled.
‘For pity’s sake, not so loud!’
But the fright of his pupils in no wise disarmed the master. In a strong, clear, dominating voice he continued:
‘These lamps with the volatilized mercury make a really devilish light.... Wait, I think I have one here.’
He looked, but found nothing.
Above, the dogs refused to be quiet... they seemed to sense the presence of strangers.
‘They’ll not be quiet till they have their bellies full of meat,’ thought Lalouette.
The man kept right on, proudly and emphatically: ‘Now, here was my idea — instead of using a glass, I took a quartz tube, which produced violet-rays of incredible force. Then I put the tube containing the mercury in a little dark lantern... one ray, just one single ray. And then, the power to deal death of my little dark lantern — which I made do what I wanted it to, thanks to an aperture permitting me to regulate the light — one ray, one single ray is enough. It strikes on the retina so powerfully that death is instantaneous... but you have to think of the death as being caused by the sudden stoppage of the heart-action... known as inhibition — just like death by inhibition which is brought about by a blow on the larynx with the back of the hand.... That’s all there is to it.... Ah, I was very proud of my little dark lantern... but he took it away from me and I never saw it again... never... it was a terrible lantern that kills people like flies!... that’s just as true as that I am Professor Dédé.’
Professor Dédé’s two pupils now consigned their souls to God, for surely between the dogs and the terrible little lantern they saw slight chance of escape. But Professor Dédé hadn’t yet told them about his second invention, which gave him more pleasure than all the others - his dear little ear-piercer.
‘All that, though, is nothing compared to my little ear-piercer,’ added the professor. As he spoke the hideous horror of a sure and immediate death congealed the souls of the Perpetual Secretary and the new member. ‘It’s a very small box and you can stuff it in almost anywhere... even in an accordion, if you’re clever enough and really know how to manipulate it... or in a hand-organ... in anything that plays... in anything, in fact, that strikes a fake note.’
Again Professor Dédé raised his forefinger.
‘What is there, sir, more disagreeable to listen to than a false note? I ask you, but don’t answer me... there is nothing... nothing... nothing so terrible!
‘With my dear little ear-piercer, thanks to a better electric arrangement making the waves much swifter and more penetrating - yes, sir — than the Hertzian waves - with, I repeat, my little ear-piercer, I bore the false note into the ear-drum, make the brain, which is expecting a normal note, sustain such a shock that the listener falls dead, struck, so to speak, by a wave-knife at the very instant when the wave, carrying the false note, penetrates furtively and swiftly into the ear-canal. Ah, ha! what do you say to that? Nothing? Nothing at all? Neither do I. There’s nothing to say... it kills men just like flies!... Still, it’s all very annoying... for here I shall stay all my life watching people pass by who would come to my aid if they weren’t dead!... If I were in their place I know what I would do.’
‘What?... what?’ groaned the two unhappy visitors.
‘I would wear blue glasses and stuff cotton in my ears.’
‘Yes, yes, blue glasses and some cotton,’ the two men repeated as they held out their hands like beggars.
‘I haven’t any,’ the professor said gravely; then he cried out:
‘Listen!... footsteps!... perhaps it’s the great Lonstalot with the terrible little black lantern in one hand and the dear little ear-piercer in the other. Ah!... I wouldn’t give a penny for your earthly existence... no, not a penny!... I’ve lost another chance... it will be just like all the others... you won’t get me out of here.... You’ll never come back... never!’
Now they could hear the footsteps just over their heads... going toward the trap-door... coming down the stairs.
Patard and Lalouette leaped up, fled toward the stairway, impelled by revived hope, a supreme yearning to live... they heard Dédé’s voice behind them.
‘I shall never see them again!... They will never come back!’
They had such a distinct impression that some one was opening the trap-door over their heads that instinctively they turned away, dropped their heads, shut their eyes and covered their ears with their hands.
It was too horrible... they preferred to risk being killed by the dogs... they opened the door and climbed up the stairway, hoping only to escape the sun-rays of death or the murder-tune — not even thinking of the dogs.
When the two terror-stricken men came out into the court, they were vaguely aware that the dogs were no longer barking. They must be busy eating... no time to stop for barking.
Patard and Lalouette saw the door Dédé had mentioned, the one with the key in the lock.... They made one leap.
Then, dazed, they fled across the open fields... they ran like madmen, without knowing whither... straight ahead, in the darkness... stumbling, picking themselves up, leaping wildly ahead when they saw a ray of moonlight... a ray which perhaps might have come from the deadly little black lantern!
Finally, they stumbled onto the highway... a milkman was passing... they asked him to drive them to the station... exhausted and faint, they dropped into his wagon, explaining that they had been chased by two mad dogs.
At that very moment they heard the dogs howling hideously away off in the distance, in the deep night... they must have been unchained... must be trying to find the unknown visitors who had left the door open... probably the g
iant Tobie was now organizing a searching expedition.
When the train started off toward Paris Hippolyte Patard and Gaspard Lalouette drew their first long breath... they knew they were safe... the great Lonstalot would never know, would he? — until the moment of his final punishment — the identity of those men who had discovered his secret.
Chapter 12. The Assassin Confesses
THE RUE LAFFITTE was black with people. At every window curious eyes were waiting to see Monsieur Gaspard Lalouette as he left his home to deliver his speech at the French Academy. The whole neighbourhood was out for this great event. It wasn’t every day that a dealer in antiques and oil paintings was elected a member of the Academy and the extraordinary circumstances surrounding his election had stirred every one’s imagination. Eager not to miss a single detail, no matter how small, that might add to their ‘story,’ reporters wormed their way in and out of the crowds. The crowd had decided not only to give a rousing cheer to the new member as he left his home, but to escort him as far as the Pont des Arts - a decision they couldn’t carry out, as a matter of fact, for no one had been able to cross the bridge for hours. In reality what they were waiting for was the news they were sure would come - the news of another death.
As Lalouette was so long in putting in his appearance, their anxiety grew stronger every moment, for the crowd had no way of knowing that since nine o’clock that morning the new member had been closeted with the Secretary in the Dictionary Room at the Academy.
What a terrible night those two men had passed and in what a sad condition they had returned to the little shop of Madame Lalouette’s cousin in the Place de la Bastille! There, Madame Lalouette had joined them; and then had followed a serious discussion lasting several hours. Lalouette was all for calling the police at once, but Patard by his tears and his eloquence dissuaded him. It was agreed that they must act with great prudence; that anything like a scandal must be avoided; that the Academy must in no way be dishonoured. In this way Patard tried to make Lalouette understand that now that he was a member of the Academy, he had certain duties, certain responsibilities toward it. To which Madame and Monsieur Lalouette answered that, if so much glory was attended by so much peril, they didn’t care to go any further with the matter. But the Secretary pointed out that it was now too late to change their minds - that when one is an Immortal, it is until death.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 503