Kitabı oku: «The White Lie», sayfa 5
CHAPTER IX.
IN THE NIGHT
Not until several hours afterwards did Jean regain consciousness.
When slowly she opened her eyes and gazed wonderingly about the silent room, she found herself lying in a heap upon the floor, a terrible throbbing across her brow and a lump in her throat.
Gradually she recollected the horror of that half-hour before she had fainted, and slowly she raised herself and tottered to a chair.
Upon the table stood the empty bottle from which Ralph and Adolphe had drunk glass after glass of red wine, before going forth to commit the crime. There were the three empty plates, too; while on the top of the cupboard the cheap, evil-smelling lamp which Jean had lit on Ralph’s arrival, was burning low, shedding a small zone of dim, yellow light.
“Gone!” she gasped aloud. “Oh, I can’t believe it! Ralph – my own Ralph – a common thief! Impossible! impossible!” Then she sobbed, burying her pale face in both her hands in blank despair.
The horrible, bitter truth had been forced upon her, and she saw it in all its hideousness.
“He raised his hand to strike me down!” she murmured to herself. “He would have struck me, had it not been for Adolphe. Ah! yes,” she sighed. “Adolphe knows – he knows the truth – of all I have suffered. Ralph is a thief, and – and the police will one day arrest him. He will be tried and punished, and I shall be left alone – alone!”
For a long time the despairing girl sat in her lonely room, bent and utterly crushed. Her thoughts were of the man she loved, and who, in return, had now revealed his contempt, even hatred. He had told her that she was but an encumbrance. He had not minced matters, but spoken openly and frankly, like the brute he was.
She was unaware that “The American” was well known in the Montmartre as a keen, unscrupulous man, against whom were so many charges. Next to Bonnemain himself, he had been the most daring and expert of all that dangerous gang.
How cleverly he had deceived her, however, she now knew. Her senses seemed benumbed, for the blow had rendered her, for the time, insensible.
A full hour went by.
The room was silent, save that from the courtyard below rose the drunken voice of a workman who lived in the ground-floor flat – the husband of the slatternly concierge– who had just returned.
The broken clock still pointed to the hour of four, therefore she had no idea of the time, but sat staring in front of her, like one in a dream.
Once or twice her breast slowly heaved and fell beneath her neat, black gown. Then at last she rose and, crossing to the cupboard with firm resolve, took out a small, ten-centime bottle of ink and an envelope.
Seating herself at the table, she took the pen in her trembling fingers, and with tears falling upon the paper, traced uneven words in French, as follows:
“In spite of my love for you, Ralph, I cannot suffer longer. Certain hidden things in your life frighten me. Farewell. Forget me. – Jean.”
Slowly she folded it, took off her wedding-ring, and placed it in the envelope, together with the letter. Afterwards she addressed it to her husband, and left it upon the table. Then slowly she rose with a hard, fixed look, and passed into the adjoining room, which was a bedroom.
She took a sad farewell of the few little treasures which she had brought from her own room in Oxford Street – knick-knacks, photographs, and the like – and, putting on her hat, passed back across the living-room, and then crept down the stairs and out – undiscovered and unheard by the ever-watchful old woman in the black, knitted shawl.
Without a glance back, she gained the broad, well-lit thoroughfare, and, turning to the left, went blindly and broken-hearted along in the direction of the Bois, out into the world, sad, despairing, and alone, heedless of where her steps led her, out into the unknown.
Meanwhile “The American” and “The Eel” were busy with their adventure.
To the left of the broad, main avenue, which, running through Neuilly-on-Seine, crosses the river to Courbevoie, lived the wealthy Baron de Rycker.
The house stood alone in a secluded spot, surrounded by its own spacious grounds, and hidden from the road by a high wall. In this was a big gate of ornamental iron, the top of which was gilded – a gate which the concierge, who lived in the lodge beside it, always kept locked.
But, through the gate, the house itself could not be seen, because plates of iron had been fixed half-way up, shutting out the view of house and well-kept grounds from the public view.
As Ralph was aware, the concierge was more than a mere lodge-keeper. He knew who were the Baron’s friends, and admitted them without question, in whatever garb they might chance to be. But any inquisitive person, or stranger, never got within that gate, or if they attempted, they met with a warm reception from the fierce dog which constantly prowled about the grounds.
The two men arrived in Neuilly soon after eleven o’clock and, entering a café near the river, remained there smoking and drinking coffee, till midnight, when they went forth, treading lightly, for at “The Eel’s” lodgings in the Rue Lapage, off the Boulevard de Clichy, they had both put on boots with india-rubber soles.
Passing the wall of the Baron’s garden, they found all quiet and in darkness.
Then “The American” went back as far as the gate and threw a stone against the ironwork, with the result that the dog, which prowled there at night, barked furiously.
That was what Ralph Ansell desired.
Taking from his pocket a stone, to which was tied by cotton a piece of poisoned liver, he threw it over the gate and listened to it drop upon the gravel.
In a moment the dog, with natural curiosity, pounced upon it, and finding it to be a toothsome delicacy, could not resist it.
For another five minutes Ralph waited without making a sound.
Then he threw another stone against the iron sheeting of the gate.
The noise was loud. But there was no answering bark.
Then he crept back to where Adolphe lurked in the shadow.
A quarter of an hour later, both men were crouching before a long window which led out upon a well-kept lawn. They had scaled the wall, and crept across the grass without a sound.
The weather favoured them, for there was a slight west wind which, while catching the foliage of the trees, caused it to rustle and so conceal any slight noise they might make.
Ralph pressed the button of his electric lamp, and a small spot of light shone upon the glass. Then, with expert hand, he quickly smeared it with treacle, and afterwards, with a glazier’s diamond, cut out a piece sufficient to allow him to insert his hand and turn the latch within.
A moment later, both men were inside the large, well-furnished salle-à-manger, treading noiselessly upon the thick Turkey carpet, though “The Eel,” in entering, unfortunately stumbled, and in grabbing the door to prevent himself falling, cut his hand badly, even through the india-rubber gloves they both wore.
The pair lost no time in clearing the fine, carved sideboard of the quantity of valuable plate it contained. Then, led by Ralph, to whom the interior of the big house was well known, “The Eel” entered the cosy, luxuriously-furnished library, which was the private den of the chief secret agent of the German Empire.
It was not a large room. Its size was revealed to Adolphe by the flashing of his companion’s lamp. Lined with books, and with a big, business-like writing-table placed in the window, it was a cosy place – a place with which many a spy of Germany was familiar and in which many a man had received a bundle of hundred-franc notes in return for information, or plans of France’s armaments or defences.
From it a door led straight into the grounds, so that a visitor was not compelled to pass through the house in order to have a confidential chat with its owner, while in a farther corner of the garden was a door in the wall by which a side road might be gained.
Neither man spoke as they made a noiseless tour of the room. “The Eel” carried a capacious sack of black material, and into it thrust what knick-knacks seemed to be of value – several miniatures, a couple of gold snuff-boxes, a small box of Limoges enamel, and the like, while “The American” was busy with his skeleton keys at the drawers of the big writing-table.
Suddenly he beckoned to Adolphe, and the latter, as he approached, saw that he had succeeded in opening one of the small drawers. Within was a secret cavity known to the thief, for he had twice watched the German spy take money from it.
There was a spring at the back of the drawer, and as “The Eel” directed the rays of light inside, his companion fingered it, with the result that of a sudden a portion of the wood fell back and from within the other drew out a large bundle of French thousand-franc notes secured by an elastic band.
With a low whistle Ansell, with gloating eyes, slipped them into his breast pocket.
Then, diving his hand in again, he drew out several handsome bracelets set with diamonds and emeralds, two strings of matched pearls, a diamond and platinum pendant, a muff-chain set with diamonds, and a child’s coral necklace – the jewellery belonging to the Baron’s dead wife and his little daughter – which he kept concealed there – a relic of a long-past domestic happiness.
With scarce a glance at the valuables, the thief thrust them into his pocket.
Eagerly they cleared the secret space behind the back of the drawer. There were three other bank-notes lying loose, about twenty golden louis, two ruby rings, and lastly a safe-key, which Ralph held up in triumph, whispering:
“What about the Baron’s secret correspondence – eh?”
“Where’s the safe?” asked his companion.
“Upstairs – in his room, I expect. It is not here.”
Then, leaving the drawer open, Ralph Ansell crossed the room and, opening his big clasp-knife, the blade of which was as sharp as a razor, he commenced to slash vigorously at the pale green silk upholstery of the couch and easy chairs. He was angry and vicious in his attacks upon the furniture, cutting and slashing everywhere in his triumph over the man who had refused to further assist him.
“The Eel” watched without uttering a remark. He had seen such explosions of anger before on the part of his companion when they were doing other “jobs.” It is, indeed, well known to criminologists and to all police officials that the average burglar is never satisfied with mere theft, however great may be his coup, but that some force impels him to spend time in committing wanton damage to the furniture.
It was so with Ralph Ansell. He hated the Baron, therefore he slashed his furniture. In many other homes he had acted in a similar way, just as, indeed, Bonnemain always acted, carrying a keen knife for the purpose.
“Shall we risk going to his room?” whispered Adolphe, who approached him.
“Of course, my friend. A few of those papers will be worth thousands of francs to us,” he replied in a low breath. “This is the job of our lives, mon vieux. I daresay there are papers there which the German Government would buy back at any price we chose to put on them.”
“All right, then,” was “The Eel’s” reply. “If there’s no great risk, then let us have a try.”
“You’ve got your revolver – eh?”
“No. I never carry one now,” was Adolphe’s response.
“Never mind, I’ve got one; and I shall shoot – if necessary,” Ralph replied. “I mean to have those papers at all costs. So don’t lose your head.”
“I never do.”
“Bien! Then to work.”
And the pair crept from the room without a sound, and along the dark, thickly-carpeted corridor.
CHAPTER X.
HONOUR AMONG THIEVES
They ascended the broad, dark staircase noiselessly and crept along to a door which Fil-en-Quatre opened cautiously, when they found themselves in the big salon, a spacious, luxuriantly-furnished room, where many of the notables of Paris, both social and political, were wont to assemble.
Society was in ignorance of the true métier of this wealthy Belgian, and as he entertained lavishly upon the money secretly supplied to him from Berlin, he was accepted at his own valuation, and was highly popular in the embassy set.
The little ray of light from Ralph’s lamp travelled slowly around, revealing quantities of bric-à-brac; but so much booty had they already obtained that the pair only selected two gold spoons from a glass-topped specimen-table, with a little box, also of chased gold.
As Ralph looked around, he again became seized by that uncontrollable desire to commit damage for the mere sake of wanton destruction; therefore drawing his knife, he slashed quickly at a big ottoman covered with old rose silk damask, cutting it across and across. Afterwards he treated a down cushion in the same fierce fashion, causing the feathers to fly about the room.
“Come – enough!” whispered “The Eel” at his elbow. “Where is the Baron’s room?”
“We’ve got to find it,” was the reply. “And, by Heaven! if the spy moves, I’ll put some lead into him!”
And together the pair stole forth on their tour of discovery.
The silent house was weird and full of distorted shadows. Through the long windows of stained glass which lit the great staircase the moon shone, its rays striking straight across the upper landing. Several of the doors were closed. They were bedrooms, evidently.
At one of them Ralph paused, raising his finger to command a halt. With the light touch of the expert he placed his fingers upon the door-handle, and, turning it, without raising the slightest click, he stole inside and stood in silence, listening attentively. All was dark, and there was no noise.
For a few moments he waited in patience. Then, hearing no sound of any sleeper, he switched on his little electric lamp, finding the apartment to be a small, well-furnished bedroom, but empty.
Both men examined it critically by the light of the torch, arriving at the conclusion that it contained nothing of worth.
Therefore, after Ralph had made a vicious slash at the satin-covered down quilt upon the bed, and also drawn his sharp knife across the carpet, severing it clearly, they went out to the next room, and to the next, with similar result.
Apparently the Baron did not sleep on that floor at all.
At last, however, they came to a locked door at the end of the corridor. A rapid examination showed that it had been locked from the inside, and the key was missing. Therefore, without further ado, Ralph knelt down at the lock, and with “The Eel” holding the little lamp, he commenced to attack the fastening with his skeleton keys. At such work he was an expert, for in three minutes the door stood open, and they found themselves standing in a small place, almost a box-room, for it only contained a plain little leather-covered table, set against the wall, and a chair; while in the opposite corner, upon a strong, wooden stand, stood a big, green-painted fireproof safe, about six feet in height.
Both men uttered ejaculations of surprise when their eyes fell upon it.
“The papers – the secrets of Germany – are in here!” Ralph exclaimed, in a whisper. “Come! There’s no time to lose. Let’s get at them. I hope this is the key. I suppose he preferred to keep it in hiding in the secret place in his writing-table than to carry it about with him.”
Taking the bright little key from his pocket, he examined it critically by the light of the lamp. Then he examined the maker’s name upon the brass plate on the safe.
“Yes,” he said, “I think I’m right. And if so, we shall each be richer by a couple of hundred thousand francs.”
“You don’t seem to like the Baron, Ralph!” whispered his friend, with a smile.
“Like him! Why, I hate him! I’ve been here before – as his visitor.”
“Is he really what you alleged – a German spy?”
“Yes. And I can prove it. Why, in doing what we are now we are acting as patriots, not as common burglars. We are acting for the honour of France.”
“And for our pockets, my dear fellow,” laughed his companion, as he bent beside him and watched him draw aside the brass cover of the lock and insert the key.
Gripping the big brass handle – for he knew the mechanism of that much-advertised make of safe – Ralph first turned it to the right. Then he turned the key, which worked evenly and easily, afterwards twisting the handle in an opposite direction.
Next moment, the bolts being shot back, the heavy, steel door came slowly open; but suddenly, at the same instant, a huge electric alarm bell in the main hall was set ringing.
At first so startled were they both that they did not move. But next second the truth dawned upon them.
“Diable! Let’s fly!” cried Ansell. “It’s all up! Across the garden and over the wall by the gate in the corner. Quick!”
Out of the room and down the stairs dashed the men like lightning. Along the corridor through the room by which they had entered, and out into the moonlight in the garden.
They heard loud shouts of alarm from the windows. Electric lights were being switched on everywhere, and loud cries were being raised of “Thieves! Assassins! Thieves!” while somebody fired three shots at them from a window as they crossed the grounds and sought concealment in the shadows.
As fast as their legs could carry them they made for the corner of the wall wherein was the Baron’s secret exit, and, scaling the wall with quick agility, were soon on the other side – and clear away.
As they ran back in the direction of the Bois de Boulogne they could hear shouts and cries of the Baron and his servants. Twice were revolvers emptied to attract the police, and then the hubbub grew fainter, and at last, beneath the deep shadow of a wall, they halted to regain breath.
“Never mind, Adolphe!” laughed Ralph; “we’ve got a nice haul, and it was an easy job, after all. I never expected the spy to have an alarm attached to the door of his safe. He’s a wary bird, after all!”
“Let’s get back to your place at once,” urged “The Eel.” “It will be growing light soon, and we ought to be in before anyone gets about.”
“You’re right. Jean will be wondering where we are – poor, innocent little thing,” he laughed, jeeringly. “I suppose she’s been fretting – but fretting always does a woman good.”
“Don’t speak like that, old chap,” said the other. “I don’t like to hear it.”
“Ah! You always take her part. You’re too chicken-hearted where women are concerned. A woman will be your ruin one day, mark me,” was Ralph’s reply. “But come along.”
And they hurried forward, in the direction of Ansell’s house.
Half an hour later, just before the first flush of dawn, the two men entered the weedy courtyard, and Ansell let himself in with his key. Their movements were stealthy; but, nevertheless, Mother Brouet, in suspicion of the truth, for she had known Fil-en-Quatre for several years, put her head out of her door, asking:
“Halloa, my boys! Something on – eh?”
“Yes, mother,” laughed Ralph lightly. “Something quite good. Keep your eyes open, and if anybody calls, we’re not receiving visitors – you understand! And there’s a couple of louis for you,” he added with a grin.
The old woman grasped the coins with her claw-like hand, saying:
“Tres bien, m’sieur,” and the head, adorned by curlers, disappeared.
The two men then mounted the stairs on tip-toe, and Ansell noiselessly unlocked the door of his apartment, believing Jean to be asleep.
But they found the lamp still burning as they had left it, the dirty plates still upon the table, and the atmosphere filled by the nauseous perfumes of petroleum.
Ralph’s quick eye caught the letter lying upon the table.
“Halloa! What’s this?” he cried, taking it up, glancing at the superscription, and tearing open the envelope.
He read through the brief, farewell message; then, crushing the paper in his hand fiercely, he stood for a few seconds without uttering a word.
“She’s gone!” he exclaimed at last; “and a good job, too. I’m freer without her; but, by Heaven! I’ll make her pay for deserting me like this! That I will!”
“Madame gone?” cried Carlier, starting in blank surprise.
“Yes.”
“Well, and I don’t wonder, after what you said to her last night. It was shameful.”
“That’s my own affair,” the other said. “It don’t concern you, so we need not discuss it.”
“Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know, and, moreover, I don’t care. You, however, seem to take a particular interest in her.”
“I hate to see a woman maltreated,” replied Adolphe frankly.
“I tell you it is no concern of yours,” replied the other, crushing Jean’s letter into his jacket pocket and tossing away his cap, while Adolphe re-bound his cut hand with the handkerchief which was already saturated with blood.
“Sit down and let’s have a drink,” said Ansell, lighting a candle, for the lamp was now very dim, and producing another bottle of red wine from the cupboard.
The pair seated themselves, and drank merrily to their own success, after which Ralph Ansell produced from his pockets the jewellery and the bundle of bank-notes, which he proceeded to examine.
Beneath the light of the single candle stuck in the tin candlestick the fine stones sparkled – diamonds, emeralds, and rubies – as “The American” produced them in a mass from his pocket and laid them upon the table.
“Quite a decent lot,” he remarked. “Old Levy will give us twenty thousand francs for them, if we pretend we’re not hard up. He went back to Amsterdam on Friday, but I’ll wire him later on, and get him over.”
“But we’re not hard up,” laughed “The Eel” with a grin of satisfaction.
“No – not quite,” answered his companion, taking off the india-rubber band from the bundle of notes and carefully counting them, one by one. There were seventy-five blue and pink notes of the Bank of France for one thousand francs each – or three thousand pounds, as well as the loose cash.
Ralph Ansell swallowed another glass of wine.
“I’m sorry we had such horribly bad luck with that safe,” he remarked. “But we were fortunate in getting away as we did. We were not a moment too soon, either.”
“They saw us cross the garden,” Adolphe said. “I don’t like being fired at.”
“By Jove! If I had met anyone he’d have gone down, I assure you,” declared Ralph. “I had my revolver ready.”
“A good job that we got out as we did. It is always a risky thing to try and get political papers. Remember the affair at the Austrian Ambassador’s, when a stranger offered poor Bonnemain twenty thousand francs to get certain documents? I kept watch outside the Embassy that night, and we were nearly caught – all of us.”
“Well – this is enough to keep the flag flying for a bit,” said Ansell, as he proceeded to divide the bank-notes, placing fifty in his own pocket and giving Adolphe twenty-five.
The men had some sharp words, as thieves always have when it comes to a division of the spoils, but Ansell claimed a double share because he had been the instigator of the affair.
Adolphe Carlier protested vehemently, gesticulating wildly; but at last, finding argument of no avail, he shrugged his shoulders and accepted the inevitable. He had had previous experience of Ralph’s overbearing American manners.
“Then you agree – eh?” asked Ansell, at last.
“I suppose I must,” was the response, as “The Eel” thrust a thousand pounds into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“Must! Why, it is only fair!” declared Ansell. “Without my guidance you would never have brought off such a coup. Now this stuff,” he added, indicating the jewellery. “I’ll keep it till I get the money from old Levy – eh?”
“Very well,” replied his companion. “But half shares of that, you know.”
“Of course. That’s agreed,” responded the other, and both lifted the tumblers of wine in celebration of their success and safety.
“Phew! How warm I feel,” exclaimed “The Eel.”
“Take off your coat, old fellow, and wait here till the morning, Then we’ll go out and wire to that old scoundrel, Levy,” urged Ansell. “We can both do with an hour’s rest after to-night’s work.”
“Right. But I’ll bathe my hand first. It is very painful.”
“Yes. Go into my room,” said the other, indicating the door.
Therefore Adolphe threw off his coat, hung it upon a nail, and, unwrapping his injured hand, entered the adjoining room, closing the door after him.
“You’ll find water in there,” shouted his host, whose face, at the moment, relaxed into a hard, sinister smile.
He placed his hand in his jacket pocket, and it came into contact with Jean’s letter.
The recollection of it maddened him. He remembered that the man in the room beyond had stood her champion, and had taken her part.
“Curse you!” he muttered, beneath his breath. “What business is it of yours – you soft-hearted fool?”
But scarce had the words fallen from his lips when the door opened suddenly, and the old woman from below, who acted as concierge, terrified and panting, entered, and with a loud whisper, cried:
“Ah, M’sieur Ansell. Quick! quick! The police are here! The commissary is asking for you. Quick! Get away, or you’ll be caught like a rat in a trap. You know the way. Leave the rest to me!”
And without another word she disappeared, closing the door after her, while the wanted man stood staggered, pale, and dumb.
