Part 27 (1/2)

The agent would follow in his track, the pursuit would develop, for, seeing a soldier in uniform racing along, the pa.s.sers-by would join in the running: it would be fatal--Vinson would be caught.

”I'll double back,” thought he, ”back and up!”

Hurriedly he mounted the next flight of stairs, gaining the third story. No sooner had he reached the landing which dominated Fandor's flat than the agent, in his turn, reached the staircase and ran to the bal.u.s.trade to try and catch sight of Vinson on his way down to the street. He did not doubt that this was the soldier's way of escape.

The agent could not see a soul.

”Got off, by Jove!” He was furious.

He was about to descend, when someone, belonging to the house probably, began to mount the first flight of stairs in leisurely fas.h.i.+on, someone who could have no suspicion of the pursuit going on in the house. Very likely the agent neither intended nor desired to be recognised for what he was: it was quite probable that he did not wish to be seen, for, on hearing this someone coming up towards him, he stopped short in his descent.... It was his turn to hesitate a moment.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that this new-comer might be a resident on one of the lower floors and so would not come higher. With this, the agent retraced his steps, crossed the landing on to which Fandor's flat opened, and began to mount the next flight leading to the third floor.

This did not suit Vinson: he was on tenterhooks.

”If he keeps coming up,” thought the corporal, ”much use it will be for me to retreat upwards! He will nip me on the sixth floor! It's a dead cert!”

Then he had a brilliant idea. He began to walk on the landing with heavy steps, imitating someone coming downstairs. Forthwith, the agent, who was coming up, stopped short. He had no wish to be seen by the person descending either! The only thing left for him to do was to take refuge in the journalist's flat! Easy enough with his master-key!

He reopened the door, closing it just in time to escape being seen by the resident coming upstairs.

Vinson, who had not lost a single movement of the agent's, gave a sigh of satisfaction. He had perfectly understood the why and wherefore of his pursuer's hesitations; he seemed now in high good-humour; had he not caught sight of the new arrival! He was immensely amused!

The person who had just come upstairs was now ringing Fandor's bell.

Not getting any answer, he selected a key on his bunch, and it was his turn to let himself in to the journalist's flat.

As he was closing the door, Corporal Vinson, from the landing above, gave him an ironical salute.

”I much regret that I am unable to introduce you to each other! But, by way of return, I thank you for the service you have unwittingly done me.”

The way was open: Vinson rapidly descended, gained the street, hailed a cab.

”To the Eastern Station!”

”I have missed the express,” he muttered; ”but I shall catch the first train for those on leave.”

Whilst Corporal Vinson was congratulating himself on the turn of events, the agent remained in Fandor's flat, feeling as if he were the victim of an abominable nightmare. No sooner had he hurriedly let himself into the flat in order to escape the resident coming upstairs, than he heard the bell ring: he felt desperate: ”Who the devil was it!” a.s.suredly not the unknown who had fled so mysteriously--”Who then?”

When the bell rang a second time, the man cried: ”What's to be done?”

Well, the best thing was to wait in the journalist's study: it was more than probable that, not obtaining any response, the visitor would go away!... This was not at all what happened.

With the same a.s.surance which he himself had had a few minutes before, the agent of the Second Bureau heard the new arrival slip his key into the lock, open the door, close it as confidently as though he were entering his own home; and now, yes, he was coming towards the study!

There was no light burning in Fandor's study: some gleams from the gas-lamps in the street dimly illumined the room. The agent, who was leaning with his elbow on the mantelpiece, could not clearly distinguish the features of the person who now stood in the doorway.

It was certainly not the journalist. The intruder was a man of quite forty; he wore a soft hat turned down at the edges, thus partially concealing the upper half of his face, which was sunk in the raised collar of an overcoat.

The intruder bowed slightly to the agent, then taking a few steps into the room, went to the window, looked about outside. He seemed to be someone on intimate terms with the master of the flat, and might be going to await his return.