Part 50 (1/2)
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.