As the door fell to with a resounding clang, Jerome had inspected the place by the light of a lantern.
"Empty!... No luck!... My plan has been spoiled: I shall not be able to interview Jules!"
Philosophically, Jerome Fandor was preparing to go to sleep on the plank bed which decorated one end of the cell, when the little costermonger, roused from his torpid condition, began to moan and groan.
"Oh, what a misfortune!... To think I am innocent! Innocent as an unborn babe!... What"s to be done!... Oh, what"s to be done!"
The last thing Fandor wished to do was to start a conversation with his lamenting companion. He tapped the costermonger on the shoulder.
"Good Heavens, man, the best thing you can do is to go to sleep! Take my word for it!"
Without puzzling his brains any further over the enigmas he wished to get to the bottom of, Fandor stretched himself on his plank bed, and was soon sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
Monsieur Fuselier looked perplexed.
"You, Fandor! You arrested!... But am I going mad?"
Our journalist had been taken from his cell at eight in the morning, and had been conducted to the office of the Public Prosecutor. Here, the acting magistrate, in conformity with the law, wished to put him through the examination which would establish his ident.i.ty. All arrested persons have to submit to this interrogation within twenty-four hours of their arrival at the Depot.
Jerome Fandor had given his name at once, and, in order to prove the truth of his statements, he had asked that Monsieur Fuselier should be sent for, so that the magistrate might vouch for his ident.i.ty and say a word in his favour.
Monsieur Fuselier had hastened to the Depot, had taken Fandor to his office, and had anxiously questioned him. Why, he asked, had the police been obliged to arrest him for drunkenness in the open thoroughfare?
When Fandor had concluded his statement, the magistrate exclaimed:
"Your ruse is inconceivable!... I must compliment you highly on your ability and your detective gifts!"
"I wish I could agree with you," replied Fandor in a depressed tone. "In spite of everything, I have not got into communication with Jules. But, Monsieur Fuselier, have you interrogated him yet?"
The magistrate shook his head.
"Alas, my poor friend, you have no idea of the extraordinary events of the past night; evidently, notwithstanding the fact that you played a pa.s.sive part in them!"
"I played a part?... Extraordinary events?... What the deuce do you mean?"
"I mean, dear Fandor, that all Paris is laughing over it. The police have been tricked! You have been tricked! Did you not tell me, just now, that your prison van had had an accident? Do you know what really happened?"
"I ask you to tell me."
"Your vehicle was run into by a motor-car. The driver was extremely clumsy ... or very capable!"
"What"s that?" Fandor leaned forward, keen as a pointer on the scent.
"It was like this," replied Monsieur Fuselier. "Your Salad Basket was very badly knocked about by the collision. The driver could not possibly repair it single-handed. He telephoned to Headquarters. Help was sent at once, and he had orders to drive to the Depot as soon as he could: he was not to trouble about the boulevard Exelmans station; that, for once, could be cleared the following morning. Unfortunately the telephone messages and replies had taken up a certain amount of time. When they telephoned to the boulevard Exelmans station, from Headquarters, to warn them not to expect the injured Salad Basket, the Depot man who was telephoning was extremely surprised to hear that the Salad Basket had already pa.s.sed on to the Auteuil station and had taken away the arrested individuals there, notably this famous Jules!..."
"I never calculated on this!" cried Fandor.
"The truth is, my dear fellow, that Salad Basket of yours was not knocked out of action by an unlucky accident--the knock-out was intentional--was carefully planned! It was done to stop your van from reaching the Auteuil station!... While your Basket was being repaired, another Basket appeared at the Auteuil clearing station! This, if you please, had been stolen! It was standing before the Palais de Justice.
Two accomplices took possession of it and drove away. The daring rascals were suitably disguised, of course! They produced false papers at Auteuil, got them endorsed, went through the regular forms, and carried off the men from the detention cells, under the very nose and eyes of the superintendent himself!"
"What became of the stolen Basket?" snapped Fandor.
"It was found at dawn near the fortifications, and, need I say--empty!"
"So that Jules has escaped?"
"As you say!..."
"And the car which intentionally knocked my Salad Basket out of action--whose was it?"
Monsieur Fuselier smiled.
"Oh, it"s a queer affair, in fact, it may lead to the wind-up of all the Dollon business--we may now get to the bottom of that series of crimes!... You will never guess who is the owner of that car, Fandor?..."
"No, I am no good at guessing riddles just now ... besides, I hate them!" Fandor was nettled, exasperated!
"We got the number of the car from a witness of the smash-up; and we have verified its correctness. Well, my dear fellow, the owner of that car is--Thomery!"
"Thomery!" gasped Fandor.
"Yes. I have summoned him to appear before me--the summons has just been issued. Between you and me, I think Thomery is guilty. When he appears here, in, say an hour from now, I shall issue a writ of arrest against this sugar refiner financier, and we don"t know what else!"
But, no sooner had Monsieur Fuselier finished his statement--a statement which he fully expected would strike his young reporter friend dumb with amazement--than Fandor threw himself back in his chair and roared with laughter.
The magistrate was taken aback!...
"But ... what the devil do you find to laugh at in that?"
Fandor had already checked his hilarity.
"Oh, it"s nothing! Only, Fuselier, I ask myself, if really and truly, Monsieur Thomery, who is a very big fellow solidly built, has been able to discover a dodge, by means of which he can leave Jacques Dollon"s imprints here, there and everywhere!"
"But he does not leave Jacques Dollon"s imprints, because Dollon is living, because he came to see his sister--why, you admitted that yourself!"
"Why, of course! It"s true!... Jacques Dollon is alive.... I had forgotten.... Thomery can only be his accomplice then!" declared Fandor.
And as Monsieur Fuselier stared at him, astonished at the way he had received the sensational news of the night, Fandor rose to take his leave.
"My dear Fuselier, will you allow me to express my opinion?..."
Monsieur Fuselier nodded.
"Well, I am sure, that with regard to this affair, there are more surprises in store for us: you have not got the answer to the riddle--not yet!"
With that, Fandor smiled and bowed, and left the magistrate"s room. He quitted the Palais, half-smiling, half-serious.... What was he going to do next?