Pierre Souvestre & Marcel Allain
A Royal Prisoner: Fantômas Saga
Published by
Books
- Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -
2018 OK Publishing
ISBN 978-80-272-4632-8
Table of Contents
CHAPTER II MOTHER CITRON'S TENANTS
CHAPTER III THE TRAGEDY OF THE RUE DE MONCEAU
CHAPTER IV WHO DO THEY THINK I AM?
CHAPTER V BY THE SINGING FOUNTAINS
CHAPTER VI THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS
CHAPTER XI ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN STATIONS
CHAPTER XIII THE KINGDOM OF HESSE-WEIMAR
CHAPTER XIV QUEEN HEDWIGE RECEIVES
CHAPTER XV THE MYSTERIOUS PRISON
CHAPTER XVI THE THEFT OF THE DIAMOND
CHAPTER XVII ON THE RIGHT TRAIL
CHAPTER XX FREDERICK-CHRISTIAN
CHAPTER XXI HORRIBLE CERTAINTY
CHAPTER XXII BETWEEN US THREE — FANTÔMAS!
CHAPTER XXIII OFFICIAL OPINIONS
CHAPTER XXVI THE ACCUSING WAISTCOAT
CHAPTER XXVII THE EXPLOSION OF THE NORD-SUD
CHAPTER XXVIII INNOCENT OR GUILTY?
CHAPTER XXIX COMPROMISING DISCOVERIES
CHAPTER XXXII THE ARREST OF FANTÔMAS
CHAPTER I
A ROYAL JAG
"After all, why not celebrate? It's the last day of the year and it won't come again for twelve months."
It was close upon midnight.
Jerome Fandor, reporter on the popular newspaper, La Capitale, was strolling along the boulevard; he had just come from a banquet, one of those official and deadly affairs at which the guests are obliged to listen to interminable speeches. He had drowsed through the evening and at the first opportunity had managed to slip away quickly.
The theatres were just out and the boulevard was crowded with people intent on making a night of it. Numberless automobiles containing the fashionable and rich of Paris blocked the streets. The restaurants were brilliantly illuminated, and as carriages discharged their occupants before the doors, one glimpsed the neat feet and ankles of daintily clad women as they crossed the sidewalk and disappeared inside, following their silk-hatted escorts, conscious of their own importance.
Many years of active service in Paris as chief reporter of La Capitale had brought Jerome Fandor in touch with a good third of those who constitute Parisian society, and rarely did he fail to exchange a nod, a smile, or half a dozen words of friendly greeting whenever he set foot out of doors.
But in spite of his popularity he led a lonely life — many acquaintances, but few close friends. The great exception was Juve, the celebrated detective.
In fact, Fandor's complex and adventurous life was very much bound up with that of the police officer, for they had worked together in solving the mystery of many tragic crimes.
On this particular evening, the reporter became gradually imbued with the general spirit of gaiety and abandon which surrounded him.
"Hang it," he muttered, "I might go and hunt up Juve and drag him off to supper, but I'm afraid I should get a cool reception if I did. He is probably sleeping the sleep of the just and would strongly object to being disturbed. Anyway, sooner or later, I'll probably run into some one I know."
On reaching Drouet Square, he espied an inviting-looking restaurant, brilliantly lit. He was about to make his way to a table when the head waiter stopped him.
"Your name, please!"
"What's that?" replied Fandor.
The waiter answered with ironical politeness:
"I take it for