"And that is — Fandor?"
"Juve, this officer belonged to the Second Bureau of the Staff Officer's Headquarters."...
"Yes, and?"...
"Juve, when an officer of the Second Bureau disappears in such tragic conditions, do you know what one presumes to be the reason of that disappearance?"
"What?"
"Juve, I assert that if Captain Brocq is dead it is because there is a spy in the pay of a foreign power, who, being under supervision, perhaps on the point of being arrested, has resolved that the captain must die in order to save himself.... A document has been stolen, and it is precisely this fact which makes me disbelieve in the intervention of Fantômas."...
"You do not believe me, Juve?"
The detective shrugged his shoulders.
"No, I do not think you are right.... In the first place, Fantômas is capable of everything — capable of the theft of a document for which a foreign power would pay him very highly, just as there is no other kind of theft he is not capable of.... And then, dear boy, a spy, a traitor in the pay of a foreign power would not dare to attempt the crime to which we are giving all our attention — not in that particular way at any rate. There is only one person who would risk that — Fantômas."
Fandor's laugh had a note of mockery in it. He let Juve see that he thought his ideas on this subject were very simple indeed.
"It is your hobby which always inspires you," he repeated.... "Beyond question I am the first to believe in the audacity of Fantômas ... and if I do not know all the secrets of terror hidden in this word 'spying,' I am ready enough to be convinced.... But, look here, Juve, I know the world of spies, I have studied them, I know what they are capable of attempting, ... and I do not speak lightly when I tell you that the assassination of Brocq is a political crime."
Juve continued to shake his head, quite unconvinced.
Fandor continued:
"Juve, believe me! Who says 'spy,' says 'capable of anything.' The officers of the Second Bureau are, in short, the true directors of the police spy system; they know all the shameful mysteries whereby some individual reputed honest, honourable in appearance, is in the pay of the foreigner. They know the traitors. They know who sells France and who buys France. Every day they are in relation with the agents belonging to all classes of society, lawyers, commercial men, small shopkeepers, commercial travellers, railway servants, women of the world, women of the pavement, thousands of individuals who continually travel about the country, holding it in a network of observations, notes, remarks, the result of all of which might be that some one power would have immediately the advantage over some other, because it knew the weak points where it could launch its attack.... You know, Juve, that they are people who do not shrink from anything when their interest is at stake. You know that the man who betrays, who spies, who is an informer, is always disavowed by the country who employs him.... You know that those who are taken in the act are punished to the utmost, consequently they will stick at nothing to save themselves from being caught. Do you not think that in this spy-world there might be found a man who, driven into a corner by circumstances, would be daring enough to commit the crime which is occupying our attention now? You say: 'It is a crime worthy of Fantômas!' Agreed. But I reply to you: 'There must be spies worthy of being compared to Fantômas!'"...
Fandor stopped short. Suddenly Juve threw himself back in his chair: the detective laughed aloud, a burst of ironic laughter. "My dear boy," said he, "do not be angry with me."
"What nonsense, Juve — You know very well that I would not be that!"
"Well, my dear Fandor, you see in the assassination of Captain Brocq an affair of spying because you have had your hobby for some time past — the hobby of spying."
Fandor smiled. Juve continued:
"Come! Is it not true that six months ago — it was just after the Dollon assassination — you published in La Capitale a whole series of papers relating to affairs of treason?"
"True, but."...
"Is it correct that you learned just then that one could define the Second Bureau as the world of spies, and that you were extremely struck by this, extremely surprised?"
"That is so, Juve. It is precisely because I had this information, and was able to get a fair knowledge of the terrible secrets existing in this dark Government department, that I am in a position now to ascribe the Brocq affair to the action of some group of spies."
"Your hobby again, Fandor! The assassination of the captain has occurred under such circumstances that it can only be imputed to Fantômas. Let us look the truth in the face! We are going to enter into a fresh struggle with Fantômas! That is a certainty!"
"It's your hobby now, Juve! There's no Fantômas in this affair. No! We are face to face with a very serious business, there I agree with you; but it is wholly a spy job — nothing else!"
Getting up, the journalist added:
"This very evening I shall publish in La Capitale an article in which I shall explain exactly what spies are, the real part they play in the body politic, their terrible power; that it is a mistake to consider them only cowards; that owing to the exigencies of their sinister profession, they very often give proof of an exceptional courage — bravery — and in which I shall."...
With a shrug, Juve interrupted:
"In which you will write nonsense, old boy.... Anyhow, you are free!"
"That's true! Free to spend a fortnight in the Sunny South, where I shall be in a few hours' time! Anyhow, read my article in La Capitale; I tell you I am going to take a lot of trouble over it!"...
"A fortnight hence, then, Juve!" He added in a bantering tone:
"Don't dream too much of Fantômas.... What!"
2 See The Exploits of Juve, vol. ii, Fantômas Series.
VI
CORPORAL VINSON
With one knee resting on his portmanteau, Jérôme Fandor was pulling with all the force of his powerful arms at the straps in order to buckle them up.
It was Sunday, November the thirteenth, and five o'clock in the afternoon. The flat was brilliantly illuminated, and the greatest disorder reigned throughout.
At last Fandor was off for his holiday! Not to risk losing his train, our journalist meant to dine at the Lyons railway station.
"Ouf!" cried he, when he had succeeded in cramming his mass of garments sufficiently tight, and had then closed the portmanteau.
Fandor uttered a sigh of satisfaction. This time there could be no doubt about his departure — the thing was certain. He was casting a final glance round when he stopped short in the middle of the passage.
The door-bell had been rung: evidently someone was at the entrance door. Who was it? What was it? Had something arisen which was going to prevent his departure? He went quickly to the door. He opened it to find a soldier on the landing.
"Monsieur Fandor?" he enquired in a gentle, rather husky voice.
"Yes. What is it you want?" replied the journalist crossly.
The soldier came forward a step: then, as if making an effort, he articulated painfully:
"Will you permit me to enter? I am most anxious to speak to you."
Fandor, with a movement of the hand, signified that the importunate stranger might come inside. He observed the man closely. He was quite young, and wore