Part 28 (1/2)
Taking advantage of the fact that Fandor's concierge knew him well, and was aware of his standing as an officer of the detective force, Juve, after having explained in a few words to the honest creature the cause of the commotion mounted to Fandor's flat once more.
”What the deuce is the meaning of all this?” he was asking himself.
”Two hours ago, Fandor telephones me that he must see me on a matter of the utmost urgency ... he telephones me that he cannot go out, that he is waiting for me.... And now, not only is he not here, but I stumble on an agent from the Second Bureau.... I encounter a Vagualame disguised, who runs as if all the devils of h.e.l.l were after him ...
who makes off with extraordinary agility, whose presence of mind in burking pursuit is marvellous!... Who is this fellow?... What was he up to in Fandor's flat?... Where is Fandor?”
Our detective had just re-entered the journalist's study. There, on the floor, lay the bundle which had excited his curiosity when Vagualame was present.
”The enemy,” thought he, ”has retired, but has abandoned his baggage!”
Juve relighted the lamp, and undid the black serge covering of the bundle.
”Ah! I might have guessed as much, it is an accordion, Vagualame's accordion!”
Mechanically turning and returning the instrument of music, Juve slipped his hands into the leather holders, wis.h.i.+ng to relax the bellows, which were at full stretch.... To his surprise the bellows resisted.
”Why, there must be something inside the accordion!” he exclaimed.
Juve drew from his pocket a dagger knife and slit open the bellows with one sharp cut.... Something black fell out--a piece of stuff, Juve picked it up, spread it out, and considered it.... He grew pale as he looked, staggered like a drunken man, and sank on a chair, overcome. What he held in his hand was a hooded cloak, long and black, such as Italian bandits wear--a species of mask.
Sunk in his chair, his eyes staring at this sinister garment, Juve seemed to see rising before him a form at once mysterious and clearly defined--the form of an unknown man enveloped in this cloak as in a sheath, his face hidden by the hooded mask, disguised, by just such a cloak as he had exposed to view when he slashed open the bellows of this accordion!
This form, mysterious, nameless, tragic, thus evoked, Juve had rarely seen; but each time that figure in hooded black had appeared, it was in circ.u.mstances so serious, under conditions so tragic, that it was graven on his memory--graven beyond mistake--graven ineffaceably!
Had not Juve been haunted by this form, this figure so mysteriously indicated, haunted by this invisible face hidden by its hooded cloak of black--haunted for years! Never had he been able to get close to it!
Never had he been able to seize it in his hands, outstretched to grasp it!
Whenever this sinister garment had met his eyes, it had been the sign of some frightful deception! He did not know the countenance it masked so darkly, but that same cloak he knew!... So well did he know it, that never could he confuse it with another hooded cloak of black--never! Its shape was peculiar; its cut singular--unmistakable!
It was the impenetrable mask of one of those counterfeit personalities a.s.sumed at the pleasure of that enigmatic, sinister, formidable bandit, whom Juve had pursued for ten years, without cessation, without mercy; there had been no truce to this hunting.
Now he turned, and returned, this cloak of dark significance with trembling hands, as if he would tear its secret from its sinister folds. This hooded cloak which his knife had revealed, which he had torn from its hiding place in the accordion of Vagualame, was none other than the cloak of Fantomas.
Suddenly there was brought home to Juve the comprehension of all this adventure signified--a distracting, a maddening adventure!
”Fantomas! Fantomas!” Juve murmured. ”Great Heavens! I saw Fantomas before me!... Vagualame! He is Fantomas!... Curse it! He has slipped through my hands, thrice fool that I am! Never again will he appear as this beggarly accordion player--never will he dare to show himself in that make-up!... What new form will he take?... Fantomas! Fantomas!
Once again you have escaped me!”
Our detective remained in Fandor's flat all night. He awaited the journalist's return.
Fandor did not come.
XII
A TRICK ACCORDING TO FANDOR
It was a November Sunday evening. A crowd of leave-expired soldiers were entraining at the Eastern Station. They would be dropped at their respective garrisons along the line of some 400 kilometres separating the capital from the frontier.