"How exasperating!... These matches are no good at all!... Ah!... this one has decided to catch!"

In the uncertain light of the match flame Fandor perceived someone leaning against the wall—it was Trokoff!—Trokoff, who calmly went up to a table, took a candlestick, and lighted a candle! Throwing himself into an arm-chair, this Trokoff asked:

"Well now? Why the devil are you got up as Fantomas, my lad?... For a military prisoner this is not at all correct!"

Could Fandor believe his ears? his eyes?

Trokoff was Juve!

Fandor looked so bewildered that Juve-Trokoff laughed a merry laugh.

"Come now, my Fandor, try to gather your wandering wits together a bit and answer me!"

"You, Juve!... You are Juve!" gasped Fandor, exhausted in mind, and body with the emotions he had experienced.

"So it happens," replied Juve: "Well, I see I must speak first as you do not seem to be in a condition to talk!... Listen, then!...

"I know these Nihilists, who imagine I am their chief, Trokoff—that is my latest transformation!... I learned this evening that these imbeciles, believing they had got hold of Fantomas, were summoned here to-night to pass judgment on the bandit.... I accompanied them as Trokoff, who had called them together. When we entered, I can assure you that, bound to your pillar, you made a striking figure of Fantomas!... You took in even me—for a while! Luckily I noticed your hands, the only portions of you visible, covered as you were in that confounded hooded thing they muffled you up in.... You must know that the pattern of the veins on the hands is absolutely characteristic and individual; so much so that the anthropometric service in Vienna is entirely based on this principle!... That is how I recognized you, my little Fandor. You can imagine that my one idea then was to get rid of the Nihilists as soon as possible, and liberate you! But, by Jove, when I returned, you and Naarboveck between you attacked me so brutally that you nearly did for me! It was a narrow shave! He was throttling me! Had you fired your revolver at me you would almost certainly have killed me, and then you would have fallen a victim yourself to."...

Juve stopped. He questioned Fandor with a look. "De Naarboveck!... De Naarboveck, who is Fantomas," replied Fandor, who now understood the situation.

Juve crossed his arms.

"It is as you say. Vagualame, Naarboveck, Fantomas, are one and the same: and, be sure of this, we have not set eyes on the real face of Fantomas yet, for de Naarboveck is as much made up for the part as he is when playing Vagualame!... Also."...

"Juve! Juve!" interrupted Fandor.... "We are mad to stay talking like this!... Naarboveck has just vanished. He is certain to go to his place even if, feeling he is unmasked, he has decided to disappear forever. Do not let him escape! Juve, for Heaven's sake, hurry!"

Juve did not stir.

"How very violent you are, and how simple, my little Fandor! Look now, it is quite three minutes since de Naarboveck disappeared from here, and you imagine there is still time to catch him?... It is childish!"...

"But Juve! I tell you de Naarboveck must return to his house! Let us put a watch on him and trap him!"

Juve's voice trembled as he made answer:

"We cannot arrest de Naarboveck!"...

"Why?... What do you mean?"...

"Because, though I have the right to place my hand on the collar of Fantomas, I have no power to arrest de Naarboveck!"...

Fandor's reply to this was an uncomprehending stare.

"It's Greek to you, I see! Trust me, Fandor! At present I have no right to reveal this secret, but, take my word for it, Naarboveck is inviolable!"

Fandor understood that this was an official secret which Juve was not at liberty to divulge.

"Ye Gods!" he exclaimed.

"Bah! The game is not lost yet, Fandor, my boy! I have still a card to play against his, and I play it this very night.... Enough of that for the moment! I am dying to know how you, whom I believed peacefully reposing at Cherche-Midi, happen to be playing the part of Fantomas in deserted studios!"

Juve's coolness was infectious. Fandor was himself again. He told Juve the story of his escape. At the close he asked abruptly:

"Now what are we going to do?"

Juve shook his head.

"Attention, my lad! Don't mix up the questions!... What am I going to do?... What are you going to do?... You, Fandor, ought to return to Cherche-Midi straight away, and ask them to put you back in your cell. That is the wise thing to do, believe me, dear lad!... To get away like that was a mistake—a very grave mistake—the falsest of false moves.... To escape is equivalent to pleading guilty.... You are innocent.... Return, then, to your prison ... I can promise you that you will not remain there long."

"And you, Juve?"

Juve rose, yawned.

"Oh!... It is a nuisance, but I must get into evening dress ... and that I do not like ... I must go by train, too—confound it all!"...

* * * * *

In a sumptuously decorated study an elegantly clad Juve was listening to a personage. This personage was addressing our detective in a tone at once friendly and haughty.

"No. It is not possible. It is asking too much of me! You do not take into consideration, Juve, the many complications which such an intervention on my part would give rise to if, by chance, you are mistaken.... I have the greatest confidence in you, Juve, I know your ability: I have had proof of your loyalty: I have experienced your devotion, but—you are not infallible!... The story you have told me is so strange, so—improbable, that I have to take into consideration the possibility of there having been some mistake, some blunder. I have to consider the terrible consequences to which I should expose myself in such a case!"...

Juve frowned slightly.

"With all respect, I should like to point out to Your Majesty that it is a mere question of a signature to be given."...

"A signature, Juve, which commits me, my kingdom! It might fan the flame! Worse: it might put a match to the powder magazine."

"Your Majesty might consider that by such a signature the thing would be settled."

"Juve! For the hundredth time I repeat I cannot give you this order! However far back in our annals you might go, I am convinced you could not find a precedent for this!"

"Your Majesty will not forget that with his name, a line of his writing, all difficulties would be cleared away."

"Oh, as to that!... Have you considered that if this decree be unmerited, this document will be a shameful one, and will reflect shame not only on me but on my country? Do you not know that a king has no right to put his signature, his seal to an injustice?"

"Sire, I know that a king should be Justice! Sire, I know I ask nothing Your Majesty may not grant! Sire, I have urged, entreated! But Your Majesty must excuse me when I say that I am no longer a suppliant.... Your Majesty understands me?... It is Juve who requests the signature of Your Majesty!"

The king was visibly hesitating. At last he replied:

"I understand you, Juve. You would remind me of that official visit to Paris when you saved my life and the life of my queen at the risk of your own. I told you then that I should never refuse you anything you asked of me! It is to that you allude, is it not?"

"Sire, I should never call upon your Majesty to pay a debt you did not acknowledge.... I did not then foresee that a decree from Your Majesty would prove the solution of the most formidable problem I have ever had to solve! I would far rather not recall the debt.... Your Majesty has forced me to remind you of your given word."...

The king had risen and was pacing the room.

"If I grant you this decree, Juve, will you take it to the Chancellor's Office as soon as you reach Paris?"

"Yes, Sire!"

"You will not wait, Juve, to have further proofs of what you assert?"

"No, Sire!"

"I must, then, rely solely on your word for it, your certainty, your conviction?"

"Yes, Sire!"

"Juve! Juve! If you exact this in the name of the promise I once made you, I will sign this decree for you—but—you will forfeit my friendship! You will have taken my good faith by storm! Decide then, Juve! Exact this—I grant it you!"

There was a silence.... Juve broke it.

"Surely Your Majesty does not wish to put me on the horns of such a dilemma? Lose Your Majesty's friendship, confidence, or let pass a unique opportunity?"

"Yes, Juve.... That is what I wish."

"In that case, Sire, I do not exact payment! But Your majesty is breaking to pieces all that my life means! Sire, my own honour wills it that I bring this business to a conclusion, cost what it may! With Your Majesty's support it was possible.... With only my own resources to depend on all is lost!"

It evidently cost the king something not to give Juve the satisfaction he implored.

"Juve, this is cruel! I would rather you had exacted the decree.... But all is not ended.... I will order an investigation in a fortnight's time."...

"In a fortnight's time? Your Majesty knows it will be too late."

The king continued his pacing up and down. He was considering the question.

"Juve, can you bring me face to face with this man? Can you convict him of his imposture in my presence?"

"What exactly does Your Majesty mean?"

"I mean, Juve, that whatever might be the scandal, the humiliation it might result in for me, I would grant you here and now the decree you claim if I were assured that you had not made a mistake.... You bring me suppositions, Juve, but no proofs! Arrange so that this man throws off his mask, if but for an instant, and I will allow your justice to take its course!... Juve, forget that you are speaking to a king: think of me as your friend!... Whatever the risks to be run, can you bring us face to face under such conditions that the truth will be apparent to me?"

Juve reflected. He raised his head and looked at the king.

"Your Majesty," said he slowly: "I am going to ask you to take an extraordinary step.... I am going to ask Your Majesty to perhaps risk your life. I am going to ask Your Majesty."...

Juve's emotion was such that he could scarcely speak. Mastering it, he said in a low voice:

"I am going to ask Your Majesty to accompany me in three days' time ... when."...



XXXV

AT THE COUNCIL OF WAR

"The Council, gentlemen!... Stand up!"

"Shoulder—arms!"

"Rest—arms!"

The seven military judges of the Council of War advanced solemnly, in single file. They were in full dress uniform—sabres, epaulettes, regulation plumes on helmets and caps. With all due ceremony they took their respective places at a long green-covered table.

This opened at one o'clock, on the afternoon of the twenty-eighth of December. The president was a colonel of dragoons, a smart, distinguished-looking man, whose fair hair was slightly tinged with grey at the temples.

On the right of the tribunal, before a bureau piled with voluminous case papers, was seated Commandant Dumoulin, redder in the face than ever. The place next him was filled by Lieutenant Servin, who showed himself the very pink of correctness and meticulous elegance. Seated near the lieutenant was a white-haired officer acting as clerk of court.

The government commissioners had their backs to the court windows which looked on to a very large garden; facing them was the dock, guarded by two soldiers with fixed bayonets; behind the dock was the table which stood for the bar where the counsel for the defence would plead.

The centre of the room was occupied by an enormous cast-iron stove, shedding cinders on every side, whose ancient pipes were scaly with age.

Behind the line of soldiers cutting the room in two were narrow seats and still narrower desks, where the representatives of the legal press were seated as best they could.

Behind the journalists pressed a tightly packed crowd, restless, overflowing with curiosity, leaning on the press-men's shoulders, peering between their heads, for whom the authorities had shown but scant consideration, and for whom the poorest accommodation was provided.

All Paris had done their possible to be present, begging cards of admittance, a favour which could be granted to a very limited number.

As soon as the interest aroused by the appearance of the members of the Council of War had died down the crowd's attention was concentrated on the hero of this sensational adventure: his doings had been the one prevailing topic of conversation during the past few days.

Jerome Fandor, modest, reserved, appeared indifferent to the mute questioning of the hundreds of eyes focussed on him. Our journalist wore Corporal Vinson's uniform. He had begged the authorities to let him appear in civilian clothes: demands and entreaties had been so much breath wasted.

The counsel assigned him was a shining light of the junior bar, Maitre Durul-Berton.

The audience on the whole was favourably disposed towards this well-known contributor to La Capitale. They knew that on many occasions this well-informed journalist had rendered immense services to honest folk and to society in general by placing his intelligence and energy at the service of every good cause.

Then there was one strong indisputable point in his favour. Though he had escaped from prison with the help of an unknown person, he had returned, had given himself up, declaring he would not leave the Council of War except by the big door with head held high, his innocence established.

The president announced:

"We shall now call the names of the witnesses."

There was silence in the court-room while a sergeant who filled the office of crier to the court, read out the names from a list in his hands. The call-over lasted ten minutes. Most of the witnesses were officers and men belonging to the garrisons of Verdun and Chalons.

Among these witnesses as they defiled before the tribunal Fandor recognised some whose faces were graven on his memory during his brief sojourn in the Saint Benoit barracks.

The first call resounded through the court-room:

"Inspector Juve!"

Juve approached the tribunal, proved he was present, then, in conformity with the law, left the court-room, as did the other witnesses called.

The presence of Juve reassured and comforted Fandor. Had not Juve said to him:

"You must face your judges, little son; but I am greatly deceived if a certain incident which will occur in the course of the hearing will not alter the speech for the government from the first to the last!"

More than this Juve could not be got to say: he had put on his most enigmatic manner and closed his lips.

The president of the Council addressed Fandor:

"Accused! Stand up!"

The president stared hard at the prisoner with his pale clear eyes like porcelain expressing neither thoughts nor feelings.

Fandor stood erect, waiting.

An hour had gone by.

Juve, the first witness called, was finishing his evidence. Of all the witnesses, he alone could give precise details which would confirm or nullify Fandor's statements.

Juve had given a rapid sketch of Fandor's adventurous career, but had carefully omitted to mention that Fandor's real name was Charles Rambert.[11]

[Footnote 11: See Fantomas Series: vols. i, ii, iii.]

His defence of his friend was a eulogy.

Nevertheless, the revelations of Juve did not simplify the problem as regards the grave charges of murder and spying brought against the prisoner.

When Juve had finished his panegyric, the president spoke to the point:

"All this is very well, gentlemen, very well—but the affair grows more and more complicated, and who will come forward to elucidate it?"

From the back of the court came a sound, sharp-cut, clear:

"I!"

The sensation was immense. Members of the Council looked at one another. There was a disturbance at the back of the room: the crowd swayed, and peered, and whispered.

The colonel-president frowned. He scrutinised the close-packed swaying mass. He shot a question at it.

"Who spoke?"

Sharp, distinct, a monosyllable was shot back.

"I!"

Someone, pushing a way through the audience, was approaching the military tribunal.

A murmur rose from the crowd.

"Silence!" shouted the colonel. He swept the crowd with an angry eye: he threatened.

"I warn you! At the least manifestation, favourable or otherwise, I shall have the room cleared: we are not here to amuse ourselves. I do not authorise anyone, either by gesture or by speech, to comment on what is taking place within these walls."

Having obtained comparative quiet, the colonel looked squarely at the person who had approached the witness-stand and was facing the military tribunal.

This would-be witness was a young woman, elegantly clad. She wore black furs, and a dark veil partially concealing her features, but revealing the strange pallor of her face. The audience, who had a view of the newcomer's back, noted her masses of tawny red hair, set off by a fur toque.

The colonel put her to the question at once.

"You are the person who said 'I'?"

The young woman was greatly moved, but she answered firmly:

"Yes, Monsieur. That is so."

"Who are you, Madame?"

The witness collected her forces, pressed her hand to her heart as though to still its frantic beating: paused. In a clear strong voice she made her declaration:

"I am Mademoiselle Berthe: I am better known as Bobinette."

Exclamations from the crowd, craning necks, peering eyes, murmurs.

When the excitement was suppressed, the colonel interrogated Bobinette.

"Why have you taken upon yourself to interrupt the proceedings of the court?"

"You asked, Monsieur, who could clear up this unfortunate affair. I am ready to tell you everything. Not only is it a duty imposed on me by my conscience, it is also my most ardent wish."

The judges were in earnest consultation. Commandant Dumoulin was shaking his head. He was angrily opposed to this witness being heard, a witness who had appeared so inopportunely to trouble the majesty of the sitting.

The counsel for the defence intervened.

"Monsieur the president, I have the honour to request an immediate hearing for this witness.... It is your absolute right, Monsieur the president: you have full discretionary powers."

"And if I oppose it?" growled the commandant behind his desk, with a vicious glance at the defender of his adversary.

Maitre Durul-Burton replied with calm dignity:

"If you oppose it, Monsieur the commissaire, I shall have the honour of immediately deposing on the bureau of this tribunal conclusive evidence which will bring this sitting to a close forthwith."

An animated discussion ensued between the members of the council. It resulted in the colonel's announcement:

"We will hear this witness."

He addressed Bobinette:

"You are allowed to speak, mademoiselle. Swear then to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Raise your right hand and say: 'I swear it!'"

With a certain dignity Bobinette obeyed.

"I swear it!"

Then, in a low trembling voice, trembling from excess of emotion but not from timidity, Bobinette began her story.

A child of the people, honestly brought up, she had not always followed the straight path of virtue: there had been lapses. Intelligent, longing to learn, she had been well educated, and had intended to take a medical degree.... Again, at the hospital, she had succumbed to temptations, had led a life of idleness, and had renounced all idea of working for her doctor's diploma. Instead, she had become a hospital nurse.[12]

[Footnote 12: See Fantomas: vol. i, Fantomas Series.]

Here the colonel interrupted:

"What can these details matter to us, Mademoiselle? What we want to know is not your own history, but that of the guilty person—information pertinent to the case in hand."

In a strangely solemn voice, Bobinette replied:

"You would know the history of the guilty person?... Listen!"

The tribunal was impressed: the members, silent, attentive, let the witness have her way.

Bobinette touched on the various stages of her life up to the day when she came in contact with the Baron de Naarboveck. The care she had lavished on the youthful Wilhelmine gained the gratitude of the rich diplomat and his daughter. From that time they treated her as one of themselves: she became Mademoiselle de Naarboveck's companion.

"Ah, cursed be that day!" cried Bobinette.... "Misfortunes, tragedies, date from then. The worst is—I must confess it—I was the cause of them!"

"What do you mean by that?" interrupted Commandant Dumoulin.

"I mean to say that if Captain Brocq died by an assassin's hand, the blame is mine!... I mean to say that if a confidential document disappeared from his rooms, it is because I took it!... I was his mistress!... I am responsible for his death!"

There was a gasping silence: the sensation was intense. Juve, half hidden behind the cast-iron stove, alone remained unmoved.

Bobinette continued:

"My evil genius, gentlemen, was a bandit of the worst kind: you know him under the name of Vagualame. Vagualame, agent of the Second Bureau, and officially a counter-spy. Quite so. But, gentlemen, Vagualame was equally spying on France, a traitor in the pay of a foreign power: worse still, he it was who assassinated Captain Brocq: you know he was the murderer of the singer, Nichoune!...

"This Vagualame made of me his thing, his slave! Alas! I cannot pretend that it was under the perpetual menace from this monster I became a traitor! I have so many betrayals that must count against me: betrayal of my country, betrayal of Captain Brocq's love for me! I robbed him in every kind of way: I stole the document referring to the mobilisation scheme: I stole his money—bank-notes—with the excuse that it was to put the police on the wrong scent and make them believe it was an ordinary burglary.

"These notes, gentlemen, were found in the possession of the unfortunate Jerome Fandor. It seems they constitute an overwhelming charge against him. Know then, that after having been stolen by my hands they were given to Jerome Fandor by one of our agents, for the purpose of compromising the false Corporal Vinson.... But if I have acted thus, it was not so much through a desire for the money they gave me for my treachery, not so much for the fallacious promises of eventual riches which Vagualame was always trying to dazzle me with—it was through rancour, spite, hate, it was through love!"

Maitre Durul-Burton rose and, bending towards the half-fainting Bobinette, cried:

"Speak, speak, Mademoiselle!"

Bobinette went on slowly:

"Through love—yes. And it is an avowal which touches me nearly, wounds me in the depths of my soul, in my most intimate thoughts....

"Yes, I have given away to the vile suggestions of Vagualame, if I have let myself be drawn by him into horrible by-paths of spying and treason, it is owing to the spite and rage of an unrequited love, of an intense passion, intense beyond expression, which I have felt for a man—a man whose heart was given to another—for the betrothed of Mademoiselle de Naarboveck—for Lieutenant Henri de Lou——"

The colonel-president, with a brusque gesture, interrupted this confession.

"Enough, Mademoiselle ... enough!... You are not to mention names here!... Be good enough to continue your deposition only as it relates to facts connected with spying."

Bobinette then recounted how she had consented to hide the famous gun piece brought to her one day by Vagualame; how she had helped the bandit to concoct the daring plan by which this piece was to be handed to a foreign power; how she had disguised herself as a priest in order to take Corporal Vinson to Dieppe. She did not know, at first, that she was dealing with Jerome Fandor. Enlightenment came through Vagualame's telegram. She only then realised that the traitor Vinson and the soldier in her company were two distinct persons.

"And," cried she, "who killed the real Corporal Vinson but a few days ago in the rue du Cherche-Midi? I know. It was the murderer of Captain Brocq, the murderer of the singer, Nichoune—it was Vagualame ... Vagualame!" Bobinette was working herself up to a paroxysm of exasperation, shouting out her revelations like an apostle who means to convince, shouting his convictions as a martyr might at the worst moment of her anguish.

"Vagualame? You ask who he is, and you search among the thieves, the receivers of stolen goods and light-fingered gentry, you search among the secret agents, among that low unclean crowd which gravitates to your Staff Offices and circulates about them, forever on the watch, on the prowl to surprise some secret, to buy over some conscience, to sell and bargain over some purloined document!... Look higher than that, gentlemen—much higher! Look higher than the Staff Offices, than the leaders in the political world, than members of the Government, even—fix your attention on the accredited representatives of foreign powers."...

Bobinette was unable to continue.... Commandant Dumoulin had been too excited to remain in his seat. He rushed towards the witness, who was making what he considered to be wild and outrageous statements: he put his big hand over her mouth, effectually silencing her....

The commandant turned to the colonel, shouting:

"Colonel! Monsieur the president!... I demand that this case be now heard in camera! Such accusations must not be heard in public!... I beg you to order that the rest of this case be heard behind closed doors!"

The counsel for the defence rose in his turn, and in a calm tone, which contrasted with the violence of Commandant Dumoulin, declared:

"I am in agreement with this demand, Monsieur the President.... Will you order that the further hearing of this case be in camera?"

Here Commandant Dumoulin, to whom Lieutenant Servin had made a suggestion, intervened anew:

"Monsieur the President, gentlemen, having regard to the grave declarations made by this witness, I require her immediate arrest!"

Hardly had this demand been voiced when a loud cry rang out, electrifying the whole court. Bobinette had swallowed the contents of a small phial hidden in her muff!

Juve, guessing Bobinette's intention, had rushed to her, but, in spite of his rapid action, he reached her only in time to receive the fainting girl in his arms.

"She has poisoned herself!" shouted Juve.

The public broke bounds, knocked over chairs and benches, rolled in a surge of excited curiosity to the very feet of the Council of War, crowding round this fresh centre of interest—Bobinette!

Fandor was too stunned by the avalanche of incidents to move.

"The hearing is suspended!" shouted the colonel in an angry voice. There was nothing else to be done: the court was in an uproar!

It was nine in the evening, and a crowd as large and densely packed as before awaited the verdict.

Since Bobinette attempted suicide—she had been removed to the infirmary with the faint hope that life was not extinct and she might yet be saved—the hearing had been conducted in camera. But the revelations of the guilty girl had not only upset Dumoulin's course of procedure, but had also convinced the judges of Fandor's innocence. He had once more explained why he had concealed his identity beneath the uniform of Corporal Vinson.

The Council of War had come to the conclusion that they could not consider Fandor accountable to their tribunal.

At nine o'clock then, after a short deliberation, the Council of War delivered judgment through the mouth of its president, delivered judgment according to the solemn formula, commencing thus:

"In the name of the French People!"

Jerome Fandor was acquitted.

The news of his acquittal was received with hearty cheers.

* * * * *

Fandor was free.

Congratulations, hand-shakings, questions followed.

Mechanically he responded, though he had a smile for Lieutenant Servin when he murmured, with a touch of irony:

"The judgment made no mention, Monsieur Fandor, of the clothes—the borrowed clothes—you are wearing: but it seems to be established that they do not belong to you. Be kind enough, then, to return them to the authorities as soon as possible! Otherwise we shall be obliged to summon you afresh for appropriation of military garments!"

The lieutenant had had his little joke, and departed laughing.

The crowd melted away. Only a few of Fandor's colleagues remained. To them he talked more freely of his troubles and trials. Then Juve arrived on the scene again. He was no longer the impassive listener of the trial: he was friend Juve, beaming and joyous.

He embraced his dear Fandor effusively, murmuring:

"Now, old Fandor, this is not the moment to linger! We must be off instanter. I shall see you to your flat, where you can change into clothes of your own; for this evening we have our work cut out for us!"

"This evening?" Fandor's curiosity was aroused.

Juve, as they went off together, became mysterious.

"Ah! you will understand presently!"



XXXVI

AMBASSADOR!... ?...

"Hurry up, Fandor! We must be off!... We shall be late!"

Jerome Fandor slipped on his overcoat and took the stairs at a rush in the wake of Juve.

"Well, I like that, old Juve! Here have I been waiting for you a good quarter of an hour!... You will have to give the coachman an address, anyhow, and that will tell me where you are taking me, why you have made me get into evening clothes, and why you are in that unusual get-up yourself—it's unheard of!"

"It is true, lad! I amuse myself making mysteries!... It is stupid.... Well, Fandor, we are going to a ball."...

"A ball!"

"Yes—and I think we shall lead someone there a fine dance, or I am much mistaken."

"Who, then?"

"The master of the house!"

"You speak in riddles, Juve!"

"Not at all! Do you know where we are going, Fandor, lad?"

"I ask you that, Juve."

"Well, then—we are going to the house of—Fantomas—to arrest him!"

"Ye gods and little fishes!" cried Fandor.

Juve crossed the pavement and jumped into a carriage, making room for his dear lad beside him.

"But, Juve," remonstrated Fandor: "You declared to me the other day that it was impossible to arrest de Naarboveck—that he was inviolable—but you did not tell me why.... Isn't that true?"

"It is true."

"And it is so no longer."

"It still is so."

After all he had been through, Fandor was in a state of high tension. He caught Juve's hand and beat it with angry impatience.

"Don't quibble, Juve!... It is too deadly serious!... What do you really mean?... We know that de Naarboveck is Fantomas, but you swore to me that it is impossible to arrest Naarboveck. You still assert this: nevertheless, you now declare that we are going to arrest Fantomas! What the deuce do you mean?... I've had more than enough of your ironical mockery, old man!"

Juve took out his watch and, with finger on the dial, said:

"Look! It is half past ten. We shall reach de Naarboveck's about a quarter past eleven. It would be impossible for me to arrest him just then; but at a quarter to twelve, midnight at latest, it will be quite easy for me to put my hand on the collar of de Naarboveck—Fantomas! I shall not bungle it!"

"Juve! You and your mysteries are maddening!"

"My dear Fandor, do pardon me for not being more explicit. I told you Naarboveck was out of reach as far as arresting him goes. I also told you that we were going to arrest Fantomas. It is exact; because all that is subordinate to a will—a will I happen to have at my command for the moment, but also a will which may raise some preventing obstacle at the last moment, and so stop me from capturing the bandit straight away, enabling the monster to brazen it out in perfect safety."

"Whose will, Juve?"

"My lad, do not question me further! I cannot say more."

Fandor desisted: Juve's sincerity was obvious.

"All serene, Juve! I leave it to you. Whatever happens. I shall try not to lose sight of you. I shall stick to you like a leech—if you have need of me."

Juve held out his hands.

"Thanks, dear lad!"

With fast-beating hearts, thrilling with excitement, expectation, anxiety, the friends embraced.

"You know, dear lad," said Juve in quiet tones: "We are going to risk our skins?... I am sure of the final victory unless a stupid ball from a revolver."...

Fandor was his old teasing self once more.

"Oh, that's all right! You are not going to frighten me with that old black bogey of yours!"...

At this moment the carriage turned the corner at the end of the Alexander bridge....

* * * * *

The Baron de Naarboveck's mansion was brilliantly illuminated. The much-talked-of fete was at its height.

Below, the spacious hall had been turned into a magnificent supper-room—a veritable transformation scene—while dancers thronged the rooms above.... The end room only was deserted: it was the library. It had been made the receptacle of an overflow of furniture when the reception suite was cleared for dancing.

An orchestra, concealed by foliage plants, discoursed seductive waltzes in the principal ballroom, whilst crowds of lovely women and distinguished men listened, chatted, and looked on.

Madame Paradel, wife of the Minister for Foreign Affairs, was talking to her host. Observing Wilhelmine, all grace and smiles, she murmured:

"What a charming girl she is!"

Turning again to de Naarboveck, she remarked:

"But you must be in the depths of desolation, dear Baron! Have I not heard that the young couple are leaving for the centre of Africa?"

"Oh, that is an exaggeration," laughed the Baron. "As a matter of fact, my future son-in-law, de Loubersac, is leaving the Staff Office, and with the rank of captain. His chiefs are sending him, not, as you think, to the wilds of Central Africa, but only to Algiers! An excellent garrison!"

"Well, Baron, I like to think you will soon be paying a visit to your newly married pair."

The Baron bowed, and, as Madame Paradel moved away, he went towards the entrance of the gallery commanding a view of the hall and stairs.

The figures of two advancing guests had caught his eye.

In a tone at once enigmatic and perfectly correct, de Naarboveck accosted them:

"You are among my guests, gentlemen."

"That is obvious, is it not?" replied one of the new-comers.... "You may be assured, Baron, that neither my friend Fandor nor I would have allowed ourselves the liberty otherwise."...

"I know! I know, Monsieur Juve!... Besides—I was expecting you!" An ironic smile curved the lips of de Naarboveck.

"We should have reproached ourselves, Baron, had we not come this evening to offer you the felicitations to which you have a right."

"Really?... No doubt you refer to the marriage of Wilhelmine?"

"No, Baron. I reserve such congratulations for Monsieur de Loubersac and Mademoiselle Therese—pardon, for Mademoiselle Wilhelmine."

When making this deliberate mistake in the name, Juve looked squarely at the diplomat—but de Naarboveck made no sign.

"What, then, do you refer to, Monsieur Juve?" he asked.

"I mean, my dear Baron, that I have recently heard of your new office, heard that your credentials have just been presented, heard that they will be ratified to-morrow.... From this evening, Baron, are you not then the representative of the kingdom of Hesse-Weimar?... I fancy, Monsieur the Ambassador, that you are satisfied with this nomination?"

De Naarboveck, smiling that ironical smile, bowed.

"It carries with it some advantages, certainly."

"Among them, Baron, the privilege of inviolability—ah, that famous inviolability!"

Juve laid stress on the word inviolability.

De Naarboveck did not seem to understand the insinuation conveyed.

"It is quite true, Monsieur," he said in a matter-of-fact manner: "I do enjoy the right of inviolability; it is one of the privileges attached to my office." On a bantering note he added:

"An appreciable advantage, is it not?"

"Appreciable indeed!" was Juve's reply.

A wave of fresh arrivals surged up the grand staircase and separated the speakers. The master of the house stepped forward to greet them, whilst Fandor drew Juve by the sleeve into the corner of a window recess. Speaking low, he asked:

"Juve! what is the meaning of this comedy?"

"Alas, Fandor! it is no comedy!"

"De Naarboveck is an ambassador?"

"For the kingdom of Hesse-Weimar, yes. He has been that for over a week—since that evening we failed to arrest him in the rue Lepic."

"And he is inviolable?"

"Naturally. In conformity with international conventions, every representative accredited to a foreign power as ambassador is an untouchable, inviolable person—wherever he may be.... Therefore, Fandor, when in this mansion, situated in the heart of Paris, we are no longer legally in France, but in Hesse-Weimar. You can understand the kind of consequences which must follow from such a state of things.... But all is not over.... Ah! excuse me ... there is something I must see to immediately!"...

Leaving Fandor, Juve made his way through innumerable dress-coats and magnificent toilettes, moving with difficulty in the press.

He approached a guest stationed apart, watching all that was going on about him. This guest, who stood unobtrusively aloof, was a distinguished-looking man of about thirty-five; he wore a blonde moustache turned up German fashion.

Juve bowed low before this personage, and murmured with profound deference:

"Ah, thank you, thank you for coming, Majesty!"

"Here, Monsieur, I am incognito—the Prince Louis de Kalbach: respect my incognito and do whatever you have to do quickly. My presence in Paris is not suspected. As you are aware, I am fortunately not known personally to my—to this individual."

Juve was about to assure the king that his wishes would be respected, but someone touched him on the arm. Juve, with a respectful inclination, turned away.

"Ah, Monsieur Juve, how delighted I am to see you!... But I was forgetting.... Monsieur Lepine was looking for you just now!"...

Juve was facing beaming Lieutenant de Loubersac.

"I will go to him at once ... but let me take this opportunity of congratulating you, my dear Lieutenant."...

Juve slipped away to join the popular chief commissioner of police, who was standing apart in the gallery overlooking the hall. Despite the amiable smile he cultivated, Monsieur Lepine looked anxious.

"Juve, are you on duty here?" he asked.

"Yes and no, Monsieur."

Monsieur Lepine looked his surprise.

"I will explain this to you later, Monsieur," said Juve.... "Things are still very complicated."

Wilhelmine de Naarboveck came into view. She was one beam of happiness and radiant beauty.

"Ah, Monsieur, I perceive you are not dancing," she said, playing the good hostess to Juve. "Will you not allow me to introduce you to some charming girls?"

"This is not the time," thought Juve: "and there is my age to be considered."

Making an evasive reply, Juve beat a retreat in good order, and followed Colonel Hofferman, who was talking to de Naarboveck.

"The work of the Second Bureau," declared that officer.

Juve heard no more—Monsieur Lepine confronted him. The chief commissioner of police was plucking at his pointed beard with nervous fingers.

Drawing Juve aside, he asked:

"Juve, what is Headquarters thinking about?"

"I do not know, Monsieur."

"What! There is a visitor here, unnoticed.... Are you also ignorant of the fact that the Baron de Naarboveck receives a king here to-night?"

"Oh, as to that, I know it—Frederick Christian II."

Monsieur Lepine was incensed at the detective's calm.

"You know it! You know it!" he grumbled, "and the administration knows nothing about!... Well, since you know so much, what is he doing here your king?"

"He comes to see me."

"Juve, you are mad!"

"No, Monsieur, But."...

Juve cut short the conversation, approached the king, and said a few words to him in a low voice.

The chief commissioner of police was surprised beyond words when he saw the king listening attentively to what Juve had to say, then nod acquiescence, leave the ballroom and enter the gallery on to which several rooms opened, including the library at the far end.

Juve glanced discreetly at his watch. He was startled. His expression altered. It grew severe, determined. He glanced about him, discovered de Naarboveck not far off, and went up to him.

"Monsieur de Naarboveck," he said: "shall we have a few minutes' talk? Not here—somewhere else.... Should we say?"...

"In my library?" proposed de Naarboveck, who looked the detective up and down—a measuring glance, cold, contemptuous. Their glances crossed, hard, menacing.

"You are set on it, Monsieur?" De Naarboveck's tone was irony incarnate.... "And what may I ask is your aim in forcing this conversation, Monsieur?"

Juve's reply came, distinct, determined:

"Unmask Fantomas!"

"That shall be as you like," was the diplomat's reply.

In the library, unusually full of furniture, Juve and de Naarboveck met for their duel of words and wits.

They were by themselves. Juve had made the Baron pass into the room before him. He knew there was but one exit—the door. If in order to get clear away, de Naarboveck meant to employ force or trickery, he would first have to remove Juve from the door, before which he had stationed himself.

Juve did not budge.

Certainly there was the window at the other end of the room looking on to the Esplanade des Invalides. Curtains were drawn across the window, but Juve did not fear to see his adversary escape in that direction: he knew—and he alone knew it—that between this window and the curtains there was an obstacle—someone."...

"Do you remember, Monsieur de Naarboveck, that evening when the police came here to arrest Vagualame?"

"Yes," replied de Naarboveck with his ironic smile: "and it was you, Monsieur Juve, who got yourself arrested in that disguise!"

"That is a fact." Juve's admission was matter-of-fact. "Do you recall a certain conversation, Monsieur de Naarboveck, between detective Juve and the real Vagualame at Jerome Fandor's flat?"

"No," declared the Baron: "and for the very good reason that the conversation—you have just said so—was a dialogue between two persons: Juve and Vagualame."

"Nevertheless, this Vagualame was none other than Fantomas!"

"What then?" De Naarboveck was smiling.

Juve, after a short silence, burnt his ships.

"Naarboveck!" he cried: "It is useless to double like that! Vagualame is Fantomas: Vagualame is you, yourself: Fantomas is you, yourself.... We know it. We have identified you; and to-morrow the anthropometric test will prove in the eyes of the world what to-day is the conviction of a certain few only.

"This long time past you have known yourself pursued, tracked: you have noted that the ring has been drawn closer, tighter each day: so, playing your last trump card, attempting even the impossible, you have planned this abominable comedy, which consists in duping a noble king and getting yourself nominated as his ambassador, that you might take advantage of diplomatic inviolability—an advantage, let me tell you, you are in desperate need of!... Quite a good idea! Was it not?"

During Juve's virulent apostrophe de Naarboveck had maintained an ironic self-possession.

"You confess, then?"

"And suppose it were so?... No doubt, Monsieur Juve, you intended to denounce me, to prove that the Baron de Naarboveck is none other than Fantomas.... Well, it pleases me to admit your cleverness. I will even go as far as allow that you may quite well obtain authorisation to arrest me—in a few days' time."

"Not in a few days' time," interrupted Juve: "but now at once!"

"Pardon," objected de Naarboveck, cool, collected, while Juve had difficulty in containing himself: "Pardon, but the credentials I possess are authentic, and no one in this world can deprive me of my function, of my official position, and what pertains to it."

"Yes!" Juve flung the word at de Naarboveck as though it were a stone from a sling.

De Naarboveck's gesture might mean anything:

"Who?"...

Juve hurled another two stones in the shape of words.

"The king!"

De Naarboveck's nod was malicious.

"Frederick Christian alone can take from me my style and title of ambassador.... Let him come and do it!"

Juve lifted a finger slowly towards the far end of the library, in the direction of the window.

De Naarboveck, who had followed this movement mechanically, could not restrain a cry of stupefaction, a cry of anguish.

The window curtain had just been gradually drawn apart: slowly before the miscreant's eyes appeared the majestic form of King Frederick Christian II, King of Hesse-Weimar.

The king was livid with suppressed rage.

Juve approached him, his eyes on de Naarboveck. The king took a large envelope from an inner pocket and handed it to Juve.

"I am the victim of this monster's imposture, but I know how to recognise my mistakes and rectify them.... Monsieur Juve, here is the decree you asked me for, annulling the nomination of—Baron de Naarboveck."

During this brief scene, Naarboveck-Fantomas had gradually backed towards a corner of the room, his face was pallid and drawn: he had the look of a trapped beast of prey. But at the king's last words Naarboveck-Fantomas drew himself up to a semblance of stateliness. He also took from an inner pocket a document. He held it out to the king: his lips were curved in a smile of bitter irony.

"Sire," he said: "I, in my turn, hand you this! It is the plan stolen from Captain Brocq—the mobilisation plan for the whole French army—a plan your emperor."...

"Enough, Monsieur!" shouted the king.

The paper fell to the ground.

Juve bent quickly and picked up the document.

The king, as though to anticipate the suspicion which might be put into words, said:

"Juve, this plan belongs to your country. Never have we wished."...

The eyes of Juve met those of the king in a deep, questioning glance. A question was asked and answered then. But five seconds in time had passed. Juve's glance went back to Naarboveck-Fantomas.... The bandit had disappeared!

Juve kept his head.

"Michel!" he called: "Michel!"

Michel entered the library on the instant. He had been posted in the gallery close by. Behind him appeared several gentlemen in evening dress: they were detectives despatched on special duty from Headquarters.

"Fantomas is there, Michel," Juve cried: "concealed, but not escaped.... There may be some hiding-place in these walls—we must sound them—but no passage, no exit: I am sure of that. Let us carry out these pieces of furniture, which form a veritable barricade."

Some moments passed, tense with expectancy. At Juve's earnest request the king had left the room. He had fulfilled his promise and had best begone. Juve and Michel were guarding the door. The situation was dangerous, and well the policemen knew it! They had come to grips with a formidable criminal, to whom nothing was sacred, who would stick at nothing! Protected by some piece of furniture, he could take aim at his leisure, shoot his opponents through the heart, and could go on shooting till he had emptied his revolver.

"Start in!" cried Juve.

With six men to aid him, Juve began a systematic turn-out of the library, moving the furniture piece by piece, leaving no hole, no corner unsearched.

No Fantomas!

Yet Juve felt confident, felt sure he held the miscreant in the hollow of his policeman's hand: the library contained no trap-door, no secret door, no sliding panel covering his retreat: the floor had no opening in it: the ceiling was not movable.

"Take these pieces of furniture into the gallery," commanded Juve: "every one of them! Fantomas is not a being without weight and substance, though, for the moment, he is invisible. He cannot have left the room; therefore he must be in it!"

It was no easy task to move quickly, noiselessly, these heavy pieces of furniture into the gallery by way of the narrow library door. Soon they had carried out a comfortable leather arm-chair of unusual proportions, four other chairs, a stand, and various smaller pieces of substantial make.

And all the while, dancers whirled on in the ball-rooms, seductive strains of music were wafted on the air, mingled with the hum of joyous talk and gay laughter; yet in the background were these dark happenings with tragedy ahead!

Wilhelmine de Naarboveck appeared in the doorway, staring at the disorder organised by Juve.... Juve paused: speech failed him at sight of her.

"Monsieur Juve," said she, in quite ordinary tones: "I am so glad I have found you! The Baron de Naarboveck has sent me to you."...

"Who sent you, did you say, Mademoiselle?"

Juve started forward.

"The Baron de Naarboveck asks for me?... Where? Since when?"

"Why Monsieur Juve, I have just this moment left him at the entrance to the ball-rooms. He had just come out of here!... But why are you putting all this furniture in the gallery?"

"What of the Baron, Mademoiselle?" cried Juve, on tenterhooks.

"Ah, yes! The Baron said to me: 'Wilhelmine, I feel a little tired, and am going up to my room for a few minutes; but go to Monsieur Juve, and tell him.'"...

Not waiting to hear more, Juve rushed out to the gallery, but only to stop dead.... He had run up against a large, an unusually large, arm-chair standing apart. Thus isolated, it was remarkable. Juve paused to examine it. This arm-chair was astonishing, extraordinary! Yes—it opened in the middle—a kind of a double chair! Why—the interior could hold a man who knew how to pack himself in! It had a false bottom with a spring! One in hiding could escape that way!... Once closed on the person concealed within, the chair looked empty. A most ingenious hide-hole! Juve now knew the answer to the riddle of the bandit's disappearance. Within an ace of arrest, he had seized the chance offered by Juve's interchange of glances with the king, and with an acrobat's agility had slipped inside this chair! No sooner was the chair abandoned in the gallery than de Naarboveck-Fantomas had slipped out and away. When leaving his magnificent house forever, and all the securities and privileges of his position, he had sent Wilhelmine to announce his escape to Juve! Could cynicism—could mordant irony go further?

Juve felt crushed. It was too, too much.

"What ails you, Juve?" asked a gentle voice beside him. It was Fandor, who, knowing nothing of what had passed, but suspecting there was mischief afoot, had come in search of Juve. Had he not seen the diplomat whom he knew to be Fantomas, and Fantomas on the point of being arrested, cross the ballroom rapidly and disappear in the crowd of dancers?

Juve could not find words for speech.

Great tears rolled down his cheeks, hollowed and lined with an immense fatigue.

At last he gave low utterance to his feelings.

"Fantomas! I had got him!... And it was I who had that cursed chair taken out of the library—I did it ... I!... It is thanks to me!"

Juve could not continue. He burst into tears in the arms of his devoted friend....

Once again Juve had suffered shipwreck when coming into harbour! Once again the bandit had escaped! Ah, decidedly Vagualame, Naarboveck, Fantomas, were one!

Fantomas the evasive, the elusive, the shadowy Fantomas, genius of evil, had flitted by them, had disappeared! Whither?...

Would Juve ever have his revenge?

The future alone would decide....

THE END

* * * * *



A NEST OF SPIES

FANTOMAS DETECTIVE TALES

By Pierre Souvestre and Marcel Allain

* * * * *

I

FANTOMAS

The Adventures of Detective Juve in pursuit of a master in crime.

II

THE EXPLOITS OF JUVE

In this continuation Fantomas appears as the leader of a gang of Apaches, and as a physician of standing. Juve tracks the criminal to his secret hiding-place, but Fantomas escapes.

III

MESSENGERS OF EVIL

Filled with hair-raising incidents this tale is a fascinating recital of remarkable happenings in the life of the master-criminal of Paris.

IV

A NEST OF SPIES

In this volume Fantomas is an ambassador for a foreign power engaged in Paris in obtaining important military secrets for Germany. Detective Juve unmasks him, but the criminal again escapes.

* * * * *

12mo. Cloth. $1.35 net per volume

* * * * *

BRENTANO'S NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE END