Читать книгу The Exploits of Juve: Fantômas Saga - Marcel Allain - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Loupart was taking a fruit cure. It was about ten in the morning, and along the Rues Charbonnière, Chartres and Goutte d'Or the women hawkers, driven from central Paris by the police, were making for the high ground of the populous quarters.

Loupart strolled along the pavement, making grabs at the barrows, picking a handful of strawberries or cherries as he went by. If by chance the dealer complained, she was quickly silenced by a chaffing speech or a stern glance.

The hooligan stopped at the "Comrades' Tryst," in front of which Mother Toulouche had set out a table with a large basket of winkles.

"Want to try them?" suggested the old woman on catching sight of Josephine's lover.

"Hand me a pin," he answered harshly, and in a few moments had emptied half a dozen shells.

"Friend Square, I've something to say to you."

"Out with it, then."

But before the old woman could reply, a noise of roller skates coming down the pavement made her turn.

Loupart looked round with a smile.

"Why here comes the auto-bus," he cried.

A cripple moving at a great pace came plump into the basket of shell-fish. The speed with which he travelled had earned him the nickname of the Motor. He was said to be an old railway mechanic, who had lost both legs in an accident.

"Motor," cried Mother Toulouche, "I have to be away for ten minutes or so; look after my basket, will you?"

Following the old dame to her den Loupart entered with difficulty, on account of the great quantity of heterogeneous objects with which it was crowded. The product of innumerable thefts lay heaped up pell-mell in this illicit bazaar.

Dame Toulouche, having shut the door, plunged into her subject.

"Big Ernestine is furious with you, Loupart."

"If she's threatening me," the hooligan replied, "I'll soon fix her."

"No, big Ernestine didn't want to fight, but she was annoyed at the public affront put upon her by Josephine's lover when he drove her from 'The Good Comrades' the evening before last without any reason."

"Without any reason!" growled Loupart. "Then what was her business with those spies, the Sapper and Nonet?"

"That can't be! Not the Sapper!"

"Spies, I tell you; they belong to headquarters."

The old receiver of stolen goods cast up her eyes. "And they looked such decent people, too! Who can one trust?"

Loupart, for reply, suddenly picked up a scarf pin set with a diamond, and, tossing the old Woman a five-dollar piece, said as he left the room: "You can tell Ernestine that I bear her no malice."

Loupart had hardly gone a few steps along the Rue Charbonnière, when, at the corner of the Rue de Chartres, he bumped into a passer-by who was coming down the street.

Loupart burst out laughing: "What! Can this be you, Beard? What's happened to you?"

It certainly needed a practised eye to recognise the famous leader of the Cypher gang. For the Beard, who owed his name to an abnormal hairy development, was clean shaved; in addition, he wore a soft, greenish hat and was clad in a suit with huge checks.

"You told me to make up as an American."

"I did, and you've made yourself look like a hayseed juggins. For Heaven's sake, take it off. By the way, what about young Mimile?"

"He's with us."

"Well, get him the togs of a collegian for the job at the docks. What night do we bring it off?"

"Saturday night, unless the Cooper changes the time."

Loupart bent close to the ear of his lieutenant.

"Is he — easy to recognise?"

"No chance of making an error. Lean, togged in dark clothes and with one goggle eye."

Loupart touched the "Beard's" arm.

"First-class tickets for everybody."

"How many will there be?"

"Five or six."

"Women, too?"

"No, only my girl. But you can bet we shan't be bored!" With these words, Loupart walked away. He stopped a little later at the second house in the Rue Goutte d'Or, a decent-looking house with carpet on the stairs.

On reaching the fifth floor, he knocked several times on the door facing him, but without reply. This annoyed him; he didn't like Josephine to sleep late, and he expected her to be always ready when he condescended to come and fetch her.

Josephine was a pretty burnisher from Belleville, and Loupart, who had met her at a ball in that quarter six months ago had made her his favourite mistress.

Among the bullies and drabs that frequented the place, Josephine had appeared to him seductive, charming, almost virginal, and the popular hooligan had promptly chosen her from her sisters of the underworld.

Certainly Josephine had no reason to complain of her lover's conduct, and if at times he demanded of her a blind submission, he never treated her with that fierce brutality which characterised most of his fellows. But if Josephine had felt any leaning toward a good life, or any scruples of conscience, she must necessarily have thrown them overboard as soon as her connection with Loupart began. With a different start in life she might have become an honest little woman, but circumstances made her the mistress of a hooligan ring-leader, and, everything considered, she had a certain pride in being so, without imitating the vulgar and brutal behaviour of her companions.

At the third summons, Loupart, none too patient, drove the door in with a vigorous shove of his shoulders.

Josephine's apartment, a comfortable and spacious room, with a fine bird's-eye view of Paris, was empty.

Fancying his mistress was at some neighbour's gossiping, he bawled: "Josephine! Come here!"

Heads appeared, looking anxiously out of rooms on the same floor.

"Where is Josephine?" Loupart cried.

Mme. Guinon came forward.

"I don't know," she replied, stammering. "She complained of pains in her stomach last evening, and I was told she's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?" stormed Loupart.

"Why, I don't know; it was Julie who told me."

A freckled face, half hidden by a matted shock of hair, appeared. Julie was not reticent like her mother. She explained in a hoarse, alcoholic voice:

"It's quite simple. When I came in last night about four I heard groans in Josephine's room. I went to see and found Josephine writhing in pain as if she had been — poisoned."

"What did you do then?"

"Oh, nothing," declared Julie. "I just trotted away again; it wasn't my business, but the Flirt came and meddled in it."

"The Flirt! Where is she?"

The Flirt, a faded, wrinkled woman of fifty, appeared from a doorway where she had been listening.

"Where is Josephine?" demanded Loupart.

"At Lâriboisière hospital, ward 22, since you want to know."

After a moment's amazement, Loupart broke out furiously:

"You sent off Josephine in the middle of the night! You took her to a hospital for a little indigestion! Without asking my consent! Why she's no more ill than I am!"

"Have to believe she is," replied the Flirt, "since the 'probes' have kept her."

Loupart turned and tramped downstairs swearing.

"She'll come out of that a damned sight quicker than she went in!"

A few moments later Loupart entered Father Korn's saloon. Having set forth his plans to that worthy, the latter proceeded to demolish them.

"You can't do anything to-day, so there's no use trying. You'll have to wait till to-morrow at midday, the proper visiting hour."

Loupart recognised the truth of the publican's assertion and, calling for writing paper, sat down and scrawled a letter to his mistress.

"Motor," he cried to the cripple who was still at Mother Toulouche's basket, "tumble along with this note to Lâriboisière; look sharp, and when you get back I'll stand you a glass."

As the cripple hurried away he was all but knocked down by a newsboy, running and shouting:

"Extra! Extra! Get The Capital. Extraordinary and mysterious crime of the Cité Frochot. Murder of a woman."

"Shall I get a copy?" asked the publican.

Loupart stalked out of the saloon without turning.

"Oh, I know all about that," he cried.

Father Korn stood rooted to the spot at Loupart's answer.

"What! He knows already!"