Nanteuil stood stock-still, dumb. Fandor lifted the cuff of Nanteuil"s coat, and pointed out to Monsieur Havard, and to Juve, a sort of thin film of glove-like form. It was fastened to the wrist by an almost imperceptible piece of elastic.
"This is human skin," said Fandor. "Human skin marvellously preserved by some special process: all its lines and marks are intact. Can you not guess whence it came? Do you need to be told whose dead body has supplied this phantom glove?"
Monsieur Havard was as white as a sheet.
"The body of Jacques Dollon," he murmured.... "Yes, that is it!..."
There was a moment"s intense silence in the room.
"How do you imagine this wretch set to work?" demanded Monsieur Havard.
"Simple enough," replied Fandor.... "Fantomas knows the danger criminals run, owing to the exact science of anthropometry: he knows that every imprint denounces the a.s.sa.s.sin: he knows that it is difficult to do anything without leaving such imprints--and that is why, every time he has committed a crime, he has taken care to glove his hands in the skin of Jacques Dollon"s hands."
Nanteuil, at bay, attempted denial.
"You are talking mere newspaper romance," said he.
Fandor looked the banker in the eye.
"Fantomas!" said he. "Do not attempt to deny what is no longer possible to deny!... The trick is remarkably clever, and you have reason to be proud of your invention. Perhaps I should never have discovered it, if in this very room, this very night, you had not been imprudent enough to leave those imprints on my collar!... No one had left the room, therefore the guilty person was in the room--of necessity he was: _therefore, it followed, that someone had the hands of Dollon!..._ But how could this someone have the hands of Dollon?... Of course, naturally, the idea of these gloves occurred to me!..."
Fandor turned to the chief of the detective force.
"Monsieur Havard, Madame de Vibray committed suicide because she lost her fortune through Barbey-Nanteuil mismanagement--she might even have been poisoned by them! But that does not matter! Her death might compromise the Bank: they carried her dead body to Jacques Dollon"s studio, and they tried to poison this painter, in order to put the law off their track. You know Dollon was saved! He was a dangerous witness.
They killed him in his cell, some warder being accessory to the fact--killed him before his innocence could be established! Then they took his hands, that they might commit murders with them!... Dollon is dead, as I have held all along. It is Nanteuil who has committed the crimes ascribed to the most unfortunate Dollon. These crimes have profited the Barbey-Nanteuil Bank--as I pointed out just now!"
Whilst Nanteuil stood speechless, whilst Barbey, whom they had lifted to a sofa, was gasping out his last breath, whilst Juve was giving little nods of approval to what his dear lad was saying, Fandor was treating Monsieur Havard to a further version of the affair.
"When I telephoned to you I was morally certain of the approaching arrest. Not a soul quitted the room after the hands of Dollon had left imprints on my collar and on my neck. Therefore someone had the hands of Dollon. The finger imprints of all the personages present were known to me--therefore someone had a method by which he changed his own finger-prints into those of Dollon.... How was it done? It must be a removable method or means ... why, of course, it could only be by a pair of gloves that the trick was done ... of course it must be by means of _a pair of gloves made with the skin of Jacques Dollon"s hands_!... I noticed that Nanteuil kept his hands obstinately behind his back. I guessed that it was he who had played the part of Dollon to-night, so I managed to prevent him removing those Dollon gloves, that I might take their imprint before your eyes--the rest can be guessed, can it not?...
The imprint taken, profiting by the confusion, Nanteuil slipped off the glove which, as you see, was no thicker than a cigarette when rolled up.... To throw it aside was risky: he pushed it up his sleeve while pretending to arrange his cuff, and at the same time to put ink on his ungloved hand and so hide his trick!... Only I saw it all.... Monsieur Havard, it is not only the false Jacques Dollon I denounce, for Juve and I fully realised that he was also the elusive Fantomas! Here is this cloak with hooded mask, which is an irrefutable proof: besides he himself declared he was Fantomas.... Monsieur Havard, all you have to do now is seize this man: Juve and I will hand him over to you!"
It was a thrilling moment! Juve and Fandor, in this hour of decisive victory, mutely embraced. Monsieur Havard advanced with raised hands towards Nanteuil who retreated.
"Fantomas," he commenced, "in the name of the law I arr..."
The word was strangled in his throat!...
As he advanced another step, Nanteuil suddenly sprang backwards, and his hand rested on the moulding of a wooden panel.... At the same moment, Monsieur Havard, as if hampered by some invisible obstacle, stretched his length on the floor!
Juve and Fandor were about to rush to his aid ... but while Fandor, in his turn, measured his length on the floor also, Juve yelled:
"Good lord!... We are caught!... He escapes!..."
Whilst the detective made a frantic effort to move a step--_he seemed nailed to the floor_--Fantomas, quick as lightning, leaped over the p.r.o.ne body of Monsieur Havard, gained the door, and banged it to behind him!... They heard a triumphant burst of laughter.... Fantomas was escaping!
"This is sorcery!" shouted the chief of the detective force, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with rage.
"Take your boots off!... Take your boots off!" yelled Juve, who, with bare feet, was rushing through the house, revolver in hand, hoping to come up with the banker bandit!...
But, when the detective arrived at the entrance gateway of the house, he found the policemen brought by Monsieur Havard chatting away quietly ...
they had not seen a thing ... the street was deserted ... in a second Fantomas had disappeared, vanished into thin air ... he, the elusive one, had got away: once more he had escaped those who were pursuing him with such keen determination!
"It is very simple," explained Juve to Monsieur Havard and Fandor, who seemed deprived of speech. "Yes, it is simple enough; I guessed it at once when I saw you fall, Monsieur Havard, just after Fantomas had pressed the woodwork."
"He pressed an electric b.u.t.ton, did he not?"
"Yes, Fandor, he established a current!... The wretch must have placed powerful electric magnets under the floor ... and the moment he realised that it was impossible to brazen it out any longer--was on the very point of being arrested--he established the current ... so we three were nailed to the ground by the attraction exercised by these electro-magnets on the nails of our shoes--he, Fantomas, was then free to cut and run for it, whose shoes must certainly have had soles made of some insulating material...."
Monsieur Havard and Fandor made no answer to this.
To have held Fantomas at their mercy, if only for a minute; to have believed that they were going to lay hands on the atrocious criminal, at last; to have seen him slip through their fingers--the thought of this almost brought tears to their eyes: they were in a state of the deepest despondency.
"There"s a curse on us!" cried Fandor. "This time, at any rate, we have nothing to reproach ourselves with! We could not foresee that!..." Then, to himself in a low tone, he added:
"Poor Elizabeth!... How are we to tell her that we have let her brother"s murderer escape?"
XXVIII
COURAGE
"Have some more chicken?"
"No, thanks: I am not hungry."
"But you should eat all the same!"
"Are you eating anything yourself?"
"Faith, I am not!"
"Well, then?"
In the private room of the Fat-Pheasant restaurant, where Juve and Fandor were dining, silence again fell. The two men sat motionless, gazing into s.p.a.ce. They neither wished to eat food nor do anything at all. They were depressed to the last degree; they felt baffled: they were sick of every mortal thing!
All of a sudden, Fandor burst into tears. Juve, looking at his dear lad in such grief, bit his lip; his face with wrinkled brow wore a dejected, worried look.
An hour or two previous to that, Fandor, on returning to his flat, had found a black-edged envelope: the address in Elizabeth Dollon"s handwriting. Fandor had opened it with fast beating heart and trembling hand!
For these past days, an evil Fate seemed relentlessly pursuing them. Now he feared to read of some fresh catastrophe.
He was rea.s.sured by the opening lines; but as he read on, and took in the meaning of Elizabeth"s words, Fandor felt as though his heart were bursting with grief.