At last he summoned up courage to put the question to Juve.
Juve frowned, looked embarra.s.sed. He had foreseen the question. He did not believe that Wilhelmine de Naarboveck had been Captain Brocq"s mistress; but he knew there was an undecipherable mystery in this girl"s life, and he had an intuition that the discovery of this secret would probably throw light on certain points which, as far as he was concerned, had remained obscure. Was this fair-haired girl really the baron"s daughter? Since he had learned that Wilhelmine visited Lady Beltham"s tomb regularly--this notorious Lady Beltham, mistress of Fantomas--he had been saying to himself:
"No--Mademoiselle Wilhelmine is not the daughter of de Naarboveck, the rich diplomat! But who, then, is she?"
Juve knew it was useless to say this to de Loubersac, blinded by love as he was; but his aim--a rather Machiavellian one--was to sow seeds of suspicion in the heart of this lover, which would drive him to provoke an explanation, and force Wilhelmine to speak out, for she must surely know the facts relating to her ident.i.ty!
This Machiavellian Juve did not hesitate to say to de Loubersac:
"You remember what the false Vagualame told you when you talked with him on the banks of the Seine?... You are to-day in the presence of this false Vagualame--of me, Juve--as you know.... Well, I am sorry to tell you that, whatever outside appearance I adopt, my way of thinking, my way of seeing things seldom changes."
Henri de Loubersac understood: he grew pale: his lips were pressed tightly together: he clenched his fists.
Satisfied with this result, Juve repeated to himself this celebrated aphorism of the Bastille:
"Slander! Slander! Some of it always sticks!"
It was dark. In a little restaurant near by, the two men dined frugally: it was a mediocre repast, not too well cooked. Anxious questionings tormented them. The fugitives were long in coming: had they got wind of what was afoot? Had Vinson and the priest been warned that detectives were hot on their trail? If so, it was all up with the arrest!
De Loubersac remained on the watch. Juve returned to the police station. He was crossing the threshold when the telephone shrilled.
News from the police sergeant at Rouen!
The corporal and the abbe, leaving Rouen, had taken the road to Barentin, had dined at _The Flowery Crossways Hotel_, and, according to the chauffeur"s statement, they would pa.s.s the night there: they would reach Dieppe next morning at the earliest possible moment.
Juve hurried with the news to de Loubersac. After a short consultation they separated: each pretended he was going to his own particular hotel to get some rest.
Juve did not quit the neighbourhood of the quay. Installed in a custom house official"s sentry box, he stolidly set himself to pa.s.s the night with only his thoughts for company. An hour pa.s.sed. Juve c.o.c.ked a listening ear; there were furtive footsteps--stealthy movements close by!... Juve thrilled!... If it were the traitor Vinson? The steps came nearer, nearer. Juve slipped out of his shelter. Someone rose up before him--and ... mutual recognition, and laughter!
De Loubersac was on the watch as well!
Jovially, Juve summed up the situation:
"Lieutenant, we can truly declare that, civilian or soldier, in pursuit of our duty we are ever on a war footing!"
Philosophically resigned to a wakeful night, the pair marched stolidly, persistently, doggedly up and down the Dieppe quay--up and down--up and down--an interminable up-and-down!
XXII
HAVE THEY BOLTED?
Whilst Juve and Henri de Loubersac were watching through the midnight hours for the arrival of the traitors, Fandor in his hotel was also on the alert. He did not mean to sleep a wink. The noise of the merry-making below helped him in that.... The revellers retired at last, and silence fell on _The Flowery Crossways_. Fandor, feigning sleep, lay as still as a mouse; but how interminable seemed the hours!
"Ah!" thought Fandor, "if only my abbe were sleeping, I should decamp; but that little bundle of mystery is wide awake: I can sense his wakefulness!"
Fandor lay listening for the next eternity of an hour to strike and pa.s.s into limbo.... At last dawn began to break: the window curtains became transparent, a c.o.c.k crowed in the yard below, the voice of a stable-boy sounded loud in the stillness of early day.
"You are awake, Corporal?" asked the priest in a low voice.
"Quite, Monsieur l"Abbe. You feel rested?"
"I only dosed off a little."
"Liar!" thought Fandor. He replied:
"That is just what I did!" Fandor yawned loudly.
"Will you get up first, Corporal? When you have finished dressing I will start.... In that way we shall not interfere with each other."
"But, Monsieur l"Abbe, I do not want to keep you waiting.... Do get up first!"
"Certainly not! No, no! Do not let us stand on ceremony."
Fandor did not insist. He was too pleased with his room-mate"s request.
In next to no time--with a kind of barrack-room lick and polish--Fandor-Vinson had washed his face, had dressed, was ready.
"My dear Abbe," said he, "if you would like me to, I will ascertain whether your chauffeur is up, and will tell him to get ready to start."
"I was going to ask you to do that very thing, Corporal."
As the door closed on him, Fandor turned with an ironic salute towards the little priest.
"Much pleased!" said he to himself. "And with the hope of never meeting you on my road without Juve on my heels to offer you a pair of handcuffs--the right bracelets for you, and richly deserved."
Fandor did not awaken the chauffeur. He went into the yard: there he encountered the hotel-keeper. A brazen lie was the safe way, he decided.
"We have pa.s.sed a very good night," declared he. "My companions are getting ready.... I am going to see if the car is in order for our start."
To himself Fandor added: "As my little priest"s window looks in the opposite direction he cannot see what I am up to."
Fandor was an expert chauffeur. The car was fully supplied with petrol and water--was in admirable order. The hotel-keeper was watching him.
"If they ask for me," said Fandor-Vinson, "tell them I have gone for a test run, and will be back in three minutes."
With that he jumped into his seat, set the car in motion, pa.s.sed beneath the archway and on to the high road. He turned in the direction of Barentin.
Fandor felt the charm of this early drive through the pastoral lands of Normandy. Hope rose in him: was he not escaping from the terrifying consequences of his Vinson masquerade!
"Evidently," thought he, "I must definitely abandon the role of soldier: the risks are too great: if the military authorities laid me by the heels, it would be all up with Fandor-Vinson!... The real Vinson is certainly in foreign parts by now, and safe from arrest....
I know by sight the head spies at Verdun, the Norbet brothers: the elegant tourist and his car, and that false priest!... I can continue my investigations better in my own shoes, and I can get Juve to help me!"
His thoughts dwelt on the mysterious abbe.