The Exploits of Juve Part 28

"I won't deny being Loupart's mistress, but as for prost.i.tution----"

The man Josephine had noticed standing in the shadow came forward and murmured a few words in the magistrate's ear.

"M. Juve," cried Josephine, moving toward the inspector with her hand out. She stopped short as the detective motioned to her that such a familiarity was not allowable, and the examination was resumed.

The magistrate, after having by some curt questions brought to light the salient points of Josephine's life, and clearly mapped out the speedy development of the honest little work girl into a ruffian's mistress, and in all probability, accomplice, began the interrogation on the main point.

At some length he narrated without losing a single change of her countenance, the various incidents of the evening begun in the railway which ended with the disaster to the Simplon Express.

Fuselier made Josephine pa.s.s again through her headlong exit from Lariboisiere, her quick pa.s.sage through Paris when she was barely convalescent, and still suffering from the effects of the fever, her departure in the Ma.r.s.eilles Express, where she picked up half a score of footpads headed by her redoubtable lover; then the waiting in the silence of the night, the affray, the threats, and lastly, after breaking the couplings to the train, the dangerous flight of the band, the headlong rush through the country.

The magistrate wound up:

"You came to town afterwards, Josephine Ramot, in company with Loupart, called 'The Square,' and his factotum, the ruffian 'Beard.'"

Josephine, embarra.s.sed by the steady glance of the magistrate, endeavoured to keep her face devoid of expression, but as in his recital the points of the adventure she had shared grew more definite, she felt she was constantly changing colour and at certain moments her eyelids quivered over her downcast eyes.

Evidently he was well posted. That young man who got into the same compartment as M. Martialle must certainly have belonged to the police.

But for that the judge would never have known precisely what took place.

Decidedly this was a bad beginning.

Josephine now dreaded to see the door open and Loupart appear, the bracelets on his wrists, followed by the Beard, similarly fettered, for beyond a doubt the two men had been nabbed.

Hunched up, her nerves tense, Josephine kept her mind fixed on one point. She was waiting anxiously for the first chance to protest. At a certain juncture the magistrate declared:

"You three, Loupart, 'The Beard' and yourself, shared between you the proceeds of the robberies committed."

As soon as she could get a word in, Josephine shouted her innocence.

Oh, as to that, no! She had not touched a cent from the business. She did not even know what was involved.

The exact truth was this. She was ill in the hospital when all of a sudden she remembered that Loupart had some days before bidden her be at all costs at the Lyons Station, on a certain Sat.u.r.day evening at exactly seven o'clock. Now that particular Sat.u.r.day was the day after the attempt on her life. As she was much better she set off in obedience to her lover. She knew no more; she had done no more; she would not have them accuse her of any more.

The young woman had gradually grown warm, her voice rose and vibrated.

The judge let her have her say, and when she had finished there was a silence.

M. Fuselier slowly dipped a pen in the ink, and in his level voice declared, casting a glance in Juve's direction:

"After all, what seems clearly established is complicity."

Josephine gave a start--she knew the terrible significance of the term.

Complicity meant joint guilt.

But Juve intervened:

"Excuse me, in place of 'complicity' perhaps we had better say 'compulsion.'"

"I don't follow you, Juve."

"We must bear in mind, your honour, that this girl is to be pardoned to a certain extent for having obeyed her lover's order, more particularly at a time when the latter had gained quite a victory over the police.

For in spite of the protection of our people, his attempt against her partially succeeded."

Taken aback, M. Fuselier looked from the detective to the young woman whom he regarded as guilty. Juve's outburst seemed to him out of place.

"Your pardon, Juve, but your reasoning seems to me somewhat specious; however, I will not press this charge against the girl; we have something better."

Turning to Loupart's mistress, the judge asked abruptly:

"What has become of Lady Beltham?"

Josephine was amazed by the question. She turned inquiring eyes toward Juve, who quickly said:

"M. Fuselier, this is not the moment----"

The magistrate, dropping this line, again tackled Josephine on her relations with Loupart.

In a flash Josephine made up her mind. She would simulate innocence at all costs. With the craft of a consummate actress, she began in a low voice, which gradually rose and became impressive, insinuating:

"How pitiful it is to think that everyone bears a grudge against a poor girl who, some day in springtime, has given herself the pleasure of a lover! Is there any harm in giving oneself to the man who loves you? Who forbids it? No one but the priests, and they have been kicked out of doors!"

The magistrate could not help smiling, and Juve showed signs of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"But I am honest, and when I understand something of what was going on, I wrote to M. Juve. And what thanks did I get? Two bullet holes in my skin!"

M. Fuselier hesitated about turning his summons into a committal.

XXI

AT THE MONTMARTRE FeTE

The fete of Montmartre was at its height. In the Place Blanche a joyous crowd was pressing round a booth of huge dimensions, splendidly lighted.

On the stage a cheap Jack, decked out in many-coloured frippery, was delivering his patter:

"Walk in, ladies and gentlemen; it's only ten cents, and you won't regret your money! The management of the theatre will present to you, without delay, the prettiest woman in the world and also the fattest, who weighs a trifle over 600 pounds and possibly more; as no scale has yet been found strong enough to weigh her without breaking into a thousand pieces.

"You will also have the rare and weird sight of a black from Abyssinia whose splendid ebony hide has been tattooed in white. Furthermore, a young girl of scarcely fourteen summers will astound you by entering the cage of the ferocious beasts, whose terrible roarings reach you here! The programme is most interesting, and after these incomparable attractions, you will applaud the cinema in colours--the last exploit of modern science--showing the recent tour of the President of the Republic, and himself in person delivering his speech to an audience as numerous as it is select. You will also see, reproduced in the most stirring and life-like manner, all the details of the mysterious murder which at this moment engages public interest and keeps the police on tenter-hooks. The crime at the Cite Frochot, with the murdered woman, the Empire clock, and the extinguished candle: all the accessories in full, including the collapse of the elevator into the sewer. The show is beginning! It has begun!"

Among the throng surrounding the mountebank three persons seemed especially amused by the peroration. They were two gentlemen, very elegant and distinguished, in evening clothes, and with them a pretty woman wearing a loose silk mantle over her low dress.

She put her lips to the ear of the older of her companions, who, with his turned-up moustache and grey hair, looked like a cavalry officer.

She murmured to him these strange words:

"Squint at the guy on the left, the one pa.s.sing before the clock-seller's booth. That's one of the gang. He was in the Simplon affair."