30 Suspense and Thriller Masterpieces. Гилберт Кит Честертон

11 ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN STATIONS

      On leaving Fandor, Juve walked up the Avenue Champs Elysées, refusing the offers of various cab drivers. He felt the need of movement as an antidote to his growing worry over the affair. On arriving at the Rue Saussaies, Juve sent up his card to M. Annion and requested an immediate interview. In a few moments he was shown into M. Annion's office.

      "Well, what's new? What's the result of your investigation, Juve?"

      "There is nothing much to report yet. The theory of suicide is possible, although a crime may have been committed. Whether the King is involved or not in this affair is still uncertain. It will take me a week at least to find out."

      "In other words, you know nothing yet. Well, I can tell you a few things you don't know. Pass me those documents."

      M. Annion looked through the papers and then continued:

      "When Vicart saw you this morning he forgot to give you some of the instructions I had charged him with… . I sent two of my men to the Royal Palace Hotel… . Do you know what they found?"

      "No, I haven't the least idea. There was nothing to learn at the Royal Palace itself."

      "On the contrary, they made an extraordinary discovery."

      "What was it?"

      "They discovered that the King is not the King. The individual who is posing as Frederick-Christian II is an impostor. Rather sensational news, isn't it?"

      "So sensational that I don't believe it."

      "And why not, if you please?"

      Juve avoided a direct reply. He asked:

      "Upon what do you place this supposed imposture?"

      M. Annion took up the papers before him.

      "I have the evidence here before me. But first I must tell you how our suspicions became aroused… . This morning, after your departure, we received a telegram from Hesse-Weimar inquiring why Frederick-Christian did not reply to the telegram sent him from his kingdom… . That gave me an inkling of what was going on… . I sent to the Royal Palace Hotel and there my two detectives learned that Frederick-Christian had gained the reputation of being extremely odd, in fact, half crazy. Furthermore, that he was acting in a manner totally different from that of former occasions. He now scarcely moves from his room, whereas previously he spent most of his time out of doors."

      M. Annion handed Juve the documents and begged him to look them over himself. After returning them Juve realized that his best chance would be to gain time.

      "This is going to cause a great deal of trouble. If an impostor is really installed in the Royal Palace Hotel we shall have to notify the Chancellor and ask for the authorization to verify … In other words, a number of tiresome formalities will have to be complied with."

      "Wait a minute, I have more surprises for you. We now have the press on our trail. All the evening papers publish articles inferring the guilt of the King… . They come out boldly accusing him of murder. Would you believe that at seven o'clock this evening there was a shouting, howling mob in front of the Royal Palace? And so, my dear Juve, you had better take two men with you, and without delay go to the hotel and arrest the man who is passing for the King, and who is, besides, the murderer of Susy d'Orsel."

      This is what Juve feared; he determined to make every effort to prevent the arrest of Fandor.

      "All this is very well, but I think you will agree with me that it is a romance, Monsieur Annion."

      "May I ask why you think that?"

      "Certainly, Monsieur Annion.

      "You intend to arrest the false King because he is accused by the public of murder… . If he were the real King, would you be willing to arrest him without further proof?"

      "No … naturally not … but then he is an impostor, so that won't worry me."

      "Very good, Monsieur Annion, and now, suppose you have guessed wrong? After all, you are basing your conclusion upon a number of minor details, upon the observation of hotel clerks. All that is not sufficient. But don't you think anyone in Paris knows the King by sight?"

      "Only two persons knew him here… . The Ambassador of Hesse-Weimar, M. de Naarboveck, who has just been changed and whose successor has not as yet arrived. The other person is one of his friends, the Marquis de Sérac, who happens to be away from Paris just now."

      Juve smiled.

      "You forget one man, Monsieur Annion, who knows the King better than either of these. I refer to the head of the Secret Service of Hesse-Weimar … one of my colleagues. He is at present staying at the Royal Palace and sees the King every day. Consequently it will be scarcely possible to deceive him."

      "What is his name?" asked M. Annion.

      "It's rather complicated; he calls himself Wulfenmimenglaschk, which we may cut to Wulf for all practical purposes. What should you think of his testimony?"

      M. Annion hesitated.

      "Of course, if this individual knows the King … "

      "He is attached to the King's person."

      "And you are sure he recognized him at the Royal Palace?"

      "I'll bring him here and let him speak for himself."

      "Well, I'll give you until eleven to-morrow morning to produce this Wulf … or whatever he calls himself; if then he cannot positively affirm that the King is really the King, you must arrest the impostor immediately. If, on the other hand, he does recognize him, we must refer the matter to the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

      "That is understood," replied Juve, and he took his leave.

      As Juve found himself again in the Rue de Saussaies his face clouded over.

      "Twenty-four hours gained anyway, but I wonder where the devil I can get hold of this Wulf? I might catch him at the Moulin-Rouge … Fandor sent him there."

      Juve drove to the music hall and, showing his card, questioned the officials.

      "I'm looking for a fat little man, probably slightly drunk, foreign accent, wears a brown coat, tight trousers, white spats, and is plastered all over with decorations."

      "I saw him," cried one of the ushers. "I checked his overcoat and noticed the decorations. He left some time ago."

      "Confound it!" muttered Juve. "You don't know why he left so early? The show is only beginning."

      The usher smiled.

      "Well, he carried a couple of girls away with him. Probably he's in some nearby café."

      Juve decided to spend the whole night, if necessary, to find Wulf, and began a systematic search through all the cafés of Montmartre.

      At length, about three in the morning, he decided to give himself a rest and take a drink. For this purpose he entered a small café at the corner of the Rue de Douai and the Rue Victor-Masse, and ordered a beer. He put the usual question:

      "You don't happen to have seen a fat little man, drunk and profusely decorated?"

      The proprietor at once grew excited.

      "I should think I have seen him. He came in here asking for some outlandish brand of cigarettes, and ended by taking the cheapest I had, then paid for them with foreign money. And when I refused to take it, he threatened me with some King or other! Aren't we still a republic, I should like to know?"

      Evidently, from the description, it could be no other than the peripatetic Wulf.

      "Was he alone?" asked Juve.

      "Oh, he brought in a little blonde with him, but when she saw his fake money, I guess she gave him the slip, for he turned to the right and she went up the street in the opposite direction."

      "The devil!" exclaimed Juve; "the trail is lost again."

      A