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The pair, not sorry to breathe a little more easily than they had done for the past few hours, went upstairs, reached the ground floor and made their way into the drawing-room, where during the night Doctor Chaleck and Lady Beltham had had their memorable interview.
Juve, without a word, paced up and down the room, poking in all the corners, then gave a cry:
"Here is the famous mouth of the heater which that brute Chaleck tried to shut, and I persisted in opening so as not to lose a word of his instructive conversation. No matter, if he felt cold, what did I feel like?"
"The fact is," added Fandor, whose hoa.r.s.e voice bore witness to the difficulties he had just pa.s.sed through, "these stove pipes have very little comfort about them."
"What can you expect?" cried Juve. "The architect did not think of us when he built the house. And now, Fandor, we have a hard task before us and we need all the luck we can get. For certainly it is Fantomas we have unearthed: Fantomas, the lover of Lady Beltham, the slayer of her husband, the murderer of Valgrand, the master that got rid of Mme.
Raymond! Gurn, Chaleck, Loupart. The one being who can be all those and himself too--Fantomas."
As the two friends left Lady Beltham's house without attracting notice, the detective drew from his pocket a species of little scale which he showed Fandor.
"What do you make of that?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"Well, I have, and it may put us in the way of a great discovery. Did you notice that Chaleck did not say definitely who the 'executioner' of Mme. Raymond was?"
"To be sure."
"Well, I believe that I have a morsel of this 'executioner' in my pocket."
x.x.xII
THE SILENT EXECUTIONER
Juve was in his study smoking a cigarette. It was nine in the evening.
The door leading to the lobby opened and Fandor walked in.
"All right, this evening?"
"All right. What brings you here, Fandor?"
The journalist smiled and pointed to a calendar on the wall: "The fact that--it's this evening, Juve."
"The date fixed by Chaleck or Fantomas for my demise. To-morrow morning I am to be found in my bed, strangled, crushed, or something of the sort. I suppose you've come to get a farewell interview for _La Capitale_. To gather the minutest details of the frightful crime so that you can publish a special edition. '_The tragedy in Rue Bonaparte! Juve overcome by Fantomas!_'"
Fandor listened, amused at the detective's outburst.
"You'd be angry with me, Juve," he declared, in the same jocular strain, "for pa.s.sing by such a sensational piece of news, wouldn't you?"
"That is so. And then I own I expected my last evening to be a lonely one, there was a feeling of sadness at the bottom of my heart. I thought that before dying I should have liked to say farewell to young Fandor, whose life I am continually putting in peril by my crazy ventures, but whom I love as the surest of companions, the sagest of advisers, the most discreet of confidants."
Fandor was touched. With a spontaneous movement he sprang to the armchair in which Juve sat, seized and wrung the detective's hands.
"What?"
"I shall stay here. You don't suppose I'm going to leave you to pa.s.s this night alone?"
Juve, touched beyond measure by Fandor's words, seemed uncertain what he ought to decide.
"I can't pretend, Fandor, that your presence is not agreeable, and I'm grateful to you for your sympathy; I knew I could count on you: but after all, lad, we must look ahead and consider all contingencies.
Fantomas may succeed! Now you know what I have set out to do; if I should fail, I should like to think that you would carry on the work as my successor and put an end to Fantomas."
"But, Juve, you are threatened by Fantomas; that is why I am here to help you."
"Well, I have no bed to put you in."
Fandor, taken aback, stared at the detective. The latter rose and began walking about the room, then turned sharply and gazed at the young man:
"You are quite determined to stay with me?"
"Yes."
"And if I bade you go?"
"I should disobey you."
"Very well, then," concluded Juve, shrugging his shoulders, "come along and light me."
The detective pa.s.sed out of the apartment and made for the stairs.
"Where are we bound for?" asked Fandor.
"The garret," Juve replied.
A quarter of an hour later Juve and Fandor dragged into the bedroom a huge open-work wicker-basket.
"Whew!" cried Juve, mopping his forehead, "no one would believe it was so heavy."
Fandor smiled.
"It's full of rubbish. Really, Juve, you are not a tidy man!"
Juve, without reply, proceeded to empty the basket, pulling out books, linen, pieces of wood, carpet, rolls of paper; in fact, the acc.u.mulated refuse of fifteen years.
"What is your height?" he asked.
"If I remember right, five feet ten."
Juve got out his pocket measure and took the length of the crate.
"That's all right," he murmured. "You'll be quite snug and comfortable in it."