A Nest of Spies: Fantômas Saga. Marcel Allain. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Marcel Allain
Издательство: Bookwire
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9788027246311
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Monsieur. But he gave me his card."

      The policeman drew from the pocket of his tunic a dirty note-book. He took a card from it and handed it to his chief. "There, Monsieur!"

      The magistrate looked at the name. Professor Barrell, of the School of Medicine. Turning the card, he read aloud a few words in pencil:

      "Sudden death, which seems due to a phenomenon of inhibition."...

      "This professor did not explain what he meant by 'death due to inhibition'?"

      "No, Monsieur."

      "Annoying!... I do not know what that means."

      The superintendent was about to continue his enquiry when there was a knock at his office door.

      A policeman informed him respectfully: "There is an inspector, Monsieur, from Headquarters detective department who asks to see you on urgent business — he declares you have sent for him."

      "Tell him to come in."

      No sooner had this personage from "Headquarters detective department" appeared in the doorway, than the superintendent rose, and advanced with outstretched hands.

      "You, Juve! I am delighted to see you! How are you?"

      It was, in truth, the celebrated detective, Juve.

      Juve had altered but little. He was always the same man; rather thick-set, vigorous, astonishingly alive, agile, as youthful as ever, in spite of his moustache turning grey, in spite of his rounded shoulders which, at moments, seemed to bend under the weight of the toils and fatigues of the past.

      This magic name evoked memories of terrible stories, stories of dangers encountered, endured, overcome; of brave deeds; of desperate struggles with the worst criminals.

      Juve! He was the man who, for ten years, had represented to all, ability, audacity, limitless daring! He was the man who best knew how to employ wiles and stratagems to secure the triumph of society in the incessant combat it had to sustain against the innumerable soldiers of the army of crime.

      When the terrible Dollon affair had come to an end, Juve had been blamed officially, and the detective could not help feeling angry and exasperated, for, after all, if he had failed, he ought not to have been treated as a culprit. Not a soul had had the slightest suspicion of how the affair had ended. Not one of them knew the incredible truth — how the marvellous, the redoubtable, the incredible Fantômas had elected to make his escape at the very moment when Juve was preparing to put the handcuffs on him.

      And the detective, disheartened, but determined not to give up the fight against this deep-dyed criminal whom he had been pursuing for years, had asked for a few weeks' holiday, had lain snug, then had returned to his post at Headquarters, had made a point of keeping in the background, only awaiting the moment when he could resume his hunt for the ruffian whom he looked on as a personal enemy.

      Since then, nothing had happened to put him on the track of Fantômas. No crime had been committed in circumstances which could leave him to think that this elusive murderer was involved in it.

      Our detective had begun to ask himself if, not having been fortunate enough to arrest this king of assassins, he had not at any rate succeeded in unmasking him, in compelling him to fly for his life, in putting him out of power to do harm.

      Rapidly the superintendent put Juve in possession of the incidents which had led him to telephone to Headquarters.

      "You have done well," said Juve. "Have you the portfolio of this dead man?"

      "Here it is, my friend."

      Juve opened it.

      "If you will allow it, Monsieur, I am going to make a complete list of the contents. This list I shall leave with you. I shall take a copy: that I shall deposit at the office of the Chief of Staff, obtaining a receipt for it. This will relieve both you and myself of all further responsibility on this head."

      For some moments Juve and the superintendent occupied themselves in going over the papers of the dead man. Suddenly the detective got up, and, holding a paper in his hand, began walking up and down the room.

      "You have read that?" he asked, turning to the superintendent.

      "What is it? No."

      "Read it!"

      The superintendent read:

      "Inventory of the documents which were submitted to me by the Second Bureau of the Staff Headquarters, for which I have signed a receipt, and I have undertaken to return and deliver them up to the Second Bureau of the Staff Headquarters, Monday, November 7th, when given a receipt to that effect."

      "Well, what of it?"

      "Well," replied Juve. "Compare the documents given on this list with those we have found in this portfolio ... they tally."...

      "Of course. That only proves, I imagine, that this officer died at the very moment when he was on the way to his office to return the papers entrusted to him. What do you see surprising in that?"

      Juve shook his head. "I see, Monsieur, that what I feared is true: yes, this is certainly the list of documents contained in this portfolio, but."...

      "But, one is missing!"

      The two men checked the papers of Captain Brocq. Juve was right. There was a document missing — Number Six.

      "Whew!" murmured the superintendent. "How are we to know whether this document has been dropped in the taxi, or has already been returned by the captain, or whether."...

      "Or whether it has been stolen from him," finished Juve.

      The supposition which the detective had put into words was so grave, so terrible, so weighty in its consequence that the superintendent cried, in a shaking voice:

      "Robbed! Robbed! But by whom? Where? How? On the way from the Place de l'Étoile here? While the body was being brought to the police station?... Juve, it's incredible!"

      Juve was walking up and down, up and down. "I don't like affairs of this sort, in which officers are involved, and most particularly officers connected with the Second Bureau of the Military Staff: they require the most careful handling.... You never know where they will lead. These officers are, owing to their functions, the masters of all the military defences of France.... Confound it!"

      Juve stopped short. "You had better let me see the body of this poor fellow."

      "Certainly!"...

      The superintendent led Juve towards one of the rooms, where the corpse of Captain Brocq was: it had been laid down on the floor. Pious hands had lighted a mortuary candle, and, in view of the position held by the dead man, two of the police staff were keeping watch and ward until someone came to claim the body of the deceased.

      Juve examined the corpse. "A fine fellow!" he said quietly.

      He turned to the superintendent.

      "You told me just now that Prof. Barrell chanced to be present at the moment of death?"

      "That is so."

      "What did he suppose was the cause of death?"

      The superintendent smiled. "Now you have it! Possibly you can throw light on it, my dear Juve, for I could hardly make head or tail of his diagnostic. The professor claims that death is due to a phenomenon of inhibition. What does that mean exactly?"

      Juve shrugged his shoulders.

      "Inhibition!... Peuh!... It is a learned word — very learned!"...

      "Which means to say?"... pressed the superintendent.

      "It does not mean anything."

      Juve's tone was a mixture of contempt and anger. The superintendent was staggered. Juve's anger increased.

      "It does not mean anything," he repeated. "Inhibition! Inhibition! It is the term reserved for deaths that are unexplained and inexplicable: it