CHAPTER II

CHÉRI-BIBI

"Have you left the black hole?" asked the Nut.

"Yes," returned Chéri-Bibi, who held in his hand a peculiarly shaped piece of hard wood which he was carving with the point of his knife.

It was an appalling face, was Chéri-Bibi's. His amazing adventures, the long years passed in the convict settlement, broken by innumerable escapes, his fierce passions and the martyrdom of the flesh even to the corrosive marks of vitriol, had ravaged that terrible face so that no one could look upon it without a shudder.

Nevertheless ever and anon—when his gaze rested upon the Nut for instance—a curious gleam of kindliness would flicker across that death's head.

His figure in its entirety, moreover, was extraordinary. His huge fists, his square build, his shoulders which seemed to have been designed for lifting enormous weights, all combined to convey the impression of irresistible strength.

When he made an effort the muscles under his convict's jumper stood out in startling prominence. He invariably wore this jumper. No one had ever seen him, as they had seen his fellow-convicts, at work or walking about stripped to the waist. It was said that upon his chest was tattooed the mystery of his life and that these marks expressed the secret of his heart. Chéri-Bibi was a man of great reserve in love affairs. This man, whose crimes were beyond computation, had always possessed, as the phrase goes, irreproachable morals.

Chéri-Bibi and the Nut imagined that they were alone. They did not observe the Burglar warily retrace his steps and hide behind a rock in order to keep an eye on them and overhear their conversation. Chéri-Bibi sat down beside the Nut and proceeded with the carving of his piece of wood.

"What's that?" asked the Nut.

"That's the key to freedom," returned Chéri-Bibi.

"What do you say?" exclaimed the Nut, turning pale.

Chéri-Bibi heaved a sigh that might have softened the hardest heart.

"I like you, old chum, and should have been glad of your company," he said in a voice that failed him somewhat, "but I see clearly enough that you are worrying yourself to death here. Cheer up. You will soon be free. You will be able to go back to France, old man."

The Nut knew that when Chéri-Bibi spoke he spoke to some purpose. He believed in him; and he was buoyed up by an immense hope.

"Back to France," he gasped.

"Twenty-two!" whispered Chéri-Bibi.

Twenty-two signified in convict language: "Look out!"

The Nut turned his head slightly and caught sight of the figure of a convict guard passing not far away from them, his rifle slung over his shoulder. The man cast a glance in their direction and disappeared, strolling along the sea-front. The Burglar still occupied his post of observation.

"I may tell you that I shall provide you with the papers of an honest man. You shall have everything necessary to start afresh and be happy."

"Heavens above!" moaned the Nut.

He took a long look at Chéri-Bibi. Chéri-Bibi was weeping. The Nut felt a thrill pass through him. Tears in the eyes of Chéri-Bibi! It was a sight to which he was unaccustomed. Chéri-Bibi stuck his fists into his eyes, as a punishment, doubtless, for that moment of weakness, and uttered a frightful oath.

"Why don't you get away with me?" asked the Nut.

"Because I should be in your way, old man. You'll soon forget all about Chéri-Bibi, I assure you."

"Never!" exclaimed the Nut. "You are the only man here who has been decent to me. You have always stood up for me."

"Stood up for you! You don't need anyone to stand up for you. Under your somewhat ladylike ways you are as strong as I am. If you had given those fellows who are always jawing at you a sound thrashing they would have soon stopped humbugging you. But you are too much of the gentleman to fight them. For that matter, that's what attracted me to you. I like people who have been well brought up; and then I like an honest man, and you are an honest man. I believe you when you tell me that you are innocent. I remember the time when I hadn't yet used the knife. Oh, it remains impressed on my memory, does that first blow. I always carried a knife in my belt. I was a journeyman butcher in Le Pollet. Do you know Le Pollet? It's near Dieppe. No doubt you've been to the races there in the summer. You were always a smart chap. . . . Why are you so pale again?"

"Because I'm thinking of the races at Dieppe," returned the Nut, closing his eyes.

"Yes, those were jolly days. Believe me, that was the place for smartly dressed people. The pink of fashion, swagger officials in full fig, and English swells. And the chorus girls, what brazen hussies! . . . But to come back to my first affair with a knife, which happened on the cliff at Dieppe. Some blackguard was about to do in a decent fellow. I arrived on the scene. I tried to get at the blackguard with my knife, but killed the honest man instead. And I was sentenced.
Fatalitas!
That was the beginning of all my troubles. But I don't want to think about them, nor about France nor anything else. I have perpetrated more murders than there are fingers on my hands. But always with the best intentions! You know what I mean; it was hard luck.
Fatalitas!
So it's better for me to remain here forever, don't you think? A penal settlement, you see, was made for me; it's my hearth and home. You, you are young, and that's quite another pair of shoes. You can build up a new life. Marry an honest woman and make her happy. Take my advice, and keep away from the other sort of women. You've had your lesson in that particular, I dare say."

"You bet!" returned the Nut smiling, greatly astonished to hear such moral sentiments from Chéri-Bibi's mouth. "But you haven't yet told me what you are making."

Chéri-Bibi did not answer immediately, but raising his eyes to the jetty, the head of which sheltering the small natural harbor, could be seen, said:

"Take a squint yonder."

The Nut turned his gaze to the harbor. A large motor launch, evidently from the wood-cutting establishments at St. Laurent-du-Maroni, drew alongside. An officer landed and was received on the jetty by a number of officials.

"See what's taking place," went on Chéri-Bibi. "What do you make of it?"

"Well," returned the Nut, "it's the officer who has just finished his tour of inspection. They must be asking him for news of the war. It doesn't seem to be good news. They don't look a bit pleased with themselves."

"What then?"

"The lieutenant is stooping towards the launch."

"Ah, there you are," said Chéri-Bibi. "Well, what else?"

"The engineer is standing on the deck-house and has handed him something which he is putting in his pocket."

"Stop! You've seen enough and now have a look at this."

Chéri-Bibi pointed to the piece of wood upon which he was no longer working.

"This is an exact copy of the thing that the inspecting officer put in his pocket. Do you know what that thing is? It is an indispensable part of the motor, and without it the engine won't go. When he has it in his pocket he is easy in his mind. There's no hope of the convicts making use of the launch. When I went on fatigue duty to St. Laurent I had the opportunity of examining that part. I assure you that this one is the fellow to it, and if anything is missing, I'll make it this evening."

"This evening!" exclaimed the Nut.

"Yes, old man, you shall be free this evening, I give you my word. I've finished digging a hole in my hut. We shall see some fun this evening. Look out! . . . Warders coming. They're sounding the fall in."

The two men sprang up. The Nut was behind Chéri-Bibi, quivering with a new hope. They went off to line up with the other men of their section in a sunk road which was dominated by a government office. It was here that they were employed in laying out a new road across the island.

During the whole of that day every movement by the Nut and Chéri-Bibi was spied upon by the Burglar, and not a word was exchanged by them which was not either overheard or guessed by him.

The Burglar said, between times, to the Parisian, the Caid and the Joker:

"Hold yourself in readiness. Something's going to happen to-night when we're having a game of dice."

After the last muster at six o'clock the convicts turned their steps towards their prison almost with an air of cheerfulness. The day's work was done. The men were then locked up in their prison, which consisted of one large dormitory, and were left to do as they pleased, sleep or drink or play games, free from the presence of the guards. Chéri-Bibi, the Nut, the Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker shared the same dormitory with some twenty other men. That evening the officer made a tour of inspection.

Standing in line in front of a double row of hammocks, they listened to his remarks. He told them that he would not allow any noise in the prison. They might consider themselves in their own homes, with doors closed, but they were there for sleeping purposes, and if any complaint was made against them, he would send the entire section to the cages in the main building.

Before leaving he asked:

"Has any man anything to bring to my notice?"

The Nut stepped forward.

"There's a rumor, monsieur, that bad news has been received from France."

"What interest can that be to you?" returned the officer harshly. "Men like you have nothing more to do with France."

The Nut grew pale. A threatening murmur swept through the ranks. The guards enforced silence by drawing their revolvers. Nevertheless one of the men could not refrain from shouting:

"Give us a rifle and you'd soon see that we know how to die like other men."

"You are not fit to shoulder a rifle," retorted the officer, and he walked away.

The door closed after him. The convicts raised their clenched fists in the air. A tumult of oaths filled the dormitory. The Nut flung himself into his hammock and covered his face with his hands.

For men like the Nut, who had been laid low by the hand of fate, the hours spent in the dormitory, however popular they might be with other men because of the absence of all restraint, were undoubtedly the most merciless which human justice could inflict. The herding together of these men was an abominable sight. Every passion and vice, kept alive by drink and gambling, had full rein. It was a veritable inferno. Fortunately for the Nut fate, which was so cruel in other respects, had vouchsafed Chéri-Bibi to him as his comrade. His presence and the terror which he inspired forced the men to leave the Nut comparatively undisturbed. As he lay in his hammock, he closed his eyes to shut out the vision of those hideous faces, but he could not stop his ears. And it was too awful. Bottles of rum, playing cards, money, appeared from no one knew where, and the nightly revel began.

Chéri-Bibi lifted one of the slabs with which the floor of the prison was paved without troubling about what was taking place around him. A gaping cavity stood revealed before him, and he descended it. For the last two months he had been digging at that outlet. Once he broke off his work to get himself sent to solitary confinement for a week in order quietly to finish carving the piece of wood which would enable him to make use of the motor launch.

When he was digging at his hole his fellow-convicts helped him in the morning to remove the earth which had collected during the night, so that the warders might not perceive anything unusual. He promised them that when his plan was completed there would be an opportunity for any of them to escape if they had a mind for it. He did not enter into any further explanation, and they let him go his own way, wondering what it was that he was about to attempt.

The Parisian and his gang did not betray him for many reasons, not the least of which was that Chéri-Bibi had declared that if they gave him away he would know who did the deed, and, in any case, even if the Parisian and the Burglar were innocent, he would cook their goose for them. Another reason was that the Parisian and his friends were themselves cherishing the idea of flight.

They retained the hope that Cheri-Bibi's scheme, when they knew it in its entirety, would be useful to them. That evening, seated on their kit-bags, in a corner, the Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker watched Chéri-Bibi as he slipped into his underground passage.

"Will your hole be ready soon?" asked the Joker.

"Give me another week," returned Chéri-Bibi, as he disappeared from view.

The four convicts fished out their dice and began to play in the dismal light of the lanterns hanging from the prison roof. Darkness had fallen, for night comes quickly in tropical countries. In every part of the dormitory men began to play games. Some of them were at cards. Bottles were opened and the pungent odor of rum permeated the air.

The Nut was seemingly asleep in his hammock.

"Chéri-Bibi is lying to you," whispered the Burglar to his three confederates. "Chéri-Bibi is tricking us. He's going to do the job to-night. He'll get out through his underground passage, and put off in the motor launch. He has found some dodge of making the engine go. The Nut is to follow him in half an hour when he's ready to start the engine. But our pals will prevent the Nut from getting away, and it's we who'll do a guy. When Chéri-Bibi finds that the Nut doesn't turn up he'll come back to fetch him, and we'll take the opportunity of jumping into the launch, and off we'll go!"

The plot was cleverly contrived. The other "jail-birds" were furious when they learned that Chéri-Bibi was putting them off, and held themselves in readiness to act on a signal from the Burglar.

The Nut pretended to be asleep. Nevertheless he was consumed by a feeling of intense excitement. At that terrible and decisive moment his thoughts turned to his mother, who had died of grief, and he prayed to her—his mother! He thought of the golden days of his youth. He lived the past over again. He beheld the radiant picture of himself when life smiled at him and he had but to stoop to pluck its most fragrant flowers.

mCHAPTER III

THE SHADOW OF THE PAST

Raoul had not known in that enchanted garden how to cull the flowers. It needs very little to transform paradise into a garden of suffering. At the dawn of life, as at the dawn of the world, it is enough for the gesture of a woman to bring about the catastrophe.

What acts of folly he had committed for Nina Noha, the capricious dancing-girl who scoffed at him and ruined him, tormented and drove him mad with jealousy, and forced him into the worst excesses of gambling!

Thus he had weakly allowed himself to find an excuse for his early excesses. Though the dancer was his first passion, she was not his first love. It was in her society that he strove to forget a woman, a young friend of his mother's, unhappily married to a man who loved her but whom she did not love. She soon came to her senses. . . . But for Raoul and this woman it had been a bitter experience, the secret of which now filled him, when he thought of it, with a feeling of pain and sorrow.

But he quickly forgot the first incident in his life when he was in the dressing-room at the theater, where Nina Noha every night made up her voluptuous beauty anew after she had finished her dances which, frenzied and languorous by turns, drew all Paris. He wanted to be the sole master of this public favorite. . . . Stupid pride! . . . Madness! . . . At the price of his inheritance he had purchased a few hours of pleasure, every one of which he had to fight for.

The pity of it! He called to mind a first performance one evening in a fashionable theater on the boulevard, in which Nina had made a huge hit. She promised to go to supper with him. To enter a smart restaurant at one o'clock in the morning with this woman, covered with jewels, on his arm, was for Raoul a dazzling joy for which, like a child, he was ready to give up everything that he possessed.

She was very amiable that evening and permitted him to make a parade of her. Raoul de Saint Dalmas in the eyes of everyone present was the fortunate friend of Nina Noha. What an unforgettable moment! He saw in imagination the warm room, resplendent with light and gaily bedecked women. He heard the Hungarian band and its wild music. He could have repeated the remarks of his friends who did homage to Nina. But Nina that evening gave no ear to them. Her smiles were reserved for him who had promised to give her next day his last twenty thousand francs.

Twenty thousand francs for a smile from Nina was a trifle. But to pay for it in a penal settlement was somewhat dear. . . . Open your eyes, Raoul, and look round you, and see the party which is present at your feast to-night. Here are faces which are somewhat different from the faces that you saw at those festal occasions on the boulevard.

With what looks of deadly hatred the convicts bend over their unhappy victim. The Nut does not say a word. He remains silent, this dog of a Parisian who was as strong as a Turk and for over ten years had not once condescended to come to blows with them. What were his thoughts under his closed eyes? Oh, they were capable of tearing open those eyes to discover what his dreams were about.

Poor, unfortunate Raoul, who in the gloom of prison could bring to life again the glitter of those Parisian feasts and the glowing memory of Nina Noha. . . . She was more cruel than his present taskmasters, was that beautiful dancer who gave him short shrift when he was ruined. Then his thoughts harked back to his sole refuge, his mother, who had received the prodigal son with joy.

"Now you must work," she said. He promised sincerely to atone for his sins. Mme. de Saint Dalmas took her son to an old friend of the family, Charles Raynaud, a banker in Paris, who agreed to find an opening for him in his business.

Raynaud was a very decent fellow whose own youthful days had not been without blemish, but that did not prevent him from settling down later on to work, and acquiring a considerable fortune. He himself determined to train Raoul in memory of his father who had been a loyal friend. He made him his private secretary and placed him in his own office. After a few months, Raoul, who had shown a great will to work and an uncommon intelligence, became Charles Raynaud's confidential man.

The unfortunate part was that Raoul had not ceased to think of Nina. He endeavored to renew his relations with her. She declined even to see him in her dressing-room at the theater. He greatly felt her contemptuous treatment of him. That was the origin of the tragedy that followed.

On the Saturday before the races at Dieppe, Raynaud came into his office with a friend at the moment when considerable sums of money were passing through Raoul's hands and he was preparing to hand them over. While he was counting bundles of ten thousand francs, Raynaud said to his friend:

"It's a certain tip. Volubilis is a twenty to one chance . . . a walk over."

Just then the banker was called away to the next room. His friend did not wait for him. Raoul's brain was on fire. He had arranged to go to Dieppe the following day, less to see his mother who was on a visit there, than because he knew that Nina would be at the races . . . Nina . . . Volubilis. . . . A twenty to one chance and he had but two louis in his pocket! His hands feverishly crumpled the bank-notes, one of which would suffice to bring him a small fortune.

Charles Raynaud was an intimate friend of the owner of Volubilis, and Raoul had no misgivings as to the value of the tip. He thought that he would be in a position to refund the money next day after the race. Nevertheless, to borrow money in that way, no matter what the amount might be, or the hope of returning it, was known and called by a definite name.

Raoul was about to unpin a bundle of ten thousand francs in order to borrow one of a thousand francs, one only, when Raynaud came into the office, and he scarcely had time to thrust the entire bundle into the inside pocket of his jacket. The banker hastily threw the various amounts which lay on the table into his safe, confident of Raoul's accuracy and honesty. And he departed. . . . Behind him stood a young man of a deathly pallor who made a gesture as if to detain him, but Raynaud did not turn round. Raoul de Saint-Dalmas had five hundred louis to put on Volubilis and was a thief.

* * * * *

The moment through which he lived next day when the bell in the reserved enclosure announced that the horses were off, remained impressed forever on his memory. What mingled feelings of torment and hope dwelled in his heart! In a few moments, by his watch, he would either be ruined forever or rich once more, and no one would suspect his shameful act of weakness and Nina Noha would smile on him again.

It was for her sake that he had lived through that frightful moment. He had spent the night wandering up and down, like a madman, under her window. But some compensation was perhaps in store for him. A minute would put an end to his doubts. Either it would be Nina or the Assize Court.

He had no wish to see the race. He paced up and down behind the grand stand. A cold sweat broke over his forehead. Had anyone met him, that person would have had some difficulty in recognizing him, so greatly had the madness of the moment distorted his features. His gloves were torn to shreds.

An immense silence hung over the race-course as often happens in critical moments when the fate of a great struggle hangs in suspense. . . . And then suddenly the air was rent with a thousand shouts: "Volubilis . . . Volubilis . . . Volubilis wins in a canter."

Raoul rushed to the grand stand, thrust aside the betters who loudly protested, and arrived in time to see Volubilis, who at one time looked like a winner, come in fourth. He descended the steps tottering like an old man. He wanted straightway to leave the race-course. The thought of committing suicide entered his mind. He met Nina surrounded by her friends: "Well, my little man, your tip has cost me fifty louis." He made no answer. He threw her a look of despair. He no longer loved her. The moral disaster which had overtaken him was so complete that nothing remained to him but a terrible contempt for her and himself.

"Forgive me, mother," he groaned. And it was for his mother's sake that he abandoned the idea of suicide.

He asked himself, on her account, if there was not something better and braver for him to do than to put a bullet in his brain. The instinct for good which still existed deep down within him, and which the disorders of his reckless youth could not wholly stifle, inspired him with a sense of duty. Next morning he went to the office as usual. He had made up his mind to confess everything to Raynaud.

The banker did not come in during the morning. Considerable sums of money were still passing through Raoul's hands. Not for a moment was he tempted to win back the stolen ten thousand francs by borrowing a further sum. The thought did not even occur to him. His first offense in this respect filled him with an unspeakable horror. He felt himself capable of starvation with millions in front of him.

He was the first to return to the office after lunch. Raynaud had not yet put in an appearance. Raoul's sufferings reached their culminating point. A senior clerk in the firm who had occasion to speak to him was struck by his pallor and air of abstraction. He did not seem to listen to what was said to him.

"Are you not feeling well?" he inquired.

Raoul made no answer to the question but asked:

"Is Monsieur Raynaud coming to-day?"

"Yes, but he will be late. He is attending the sale of the Queen of Carynthia's jewels."

Raynaud arrived at the office about six o'clock. He was not alone. Several friends accompanied him and were congratulating him on the purchase of a magnificent pearl necklace. Without noticing Raoul's agitation he showed him the necklace in its case. Raoul had already seen it, for Raynaud had been anxious to buy it and had taken him with him to examine it the valuer's office. He bent over the pearls, unable to utter a word. Raynaud imagined that he was purposely taking his time to inspect it because one of the pearls had a flaw in it.

"I don't understand why they left that pearl in a necklace like this," said Raynard. "I shall have it taken out. As it is, the necklace is dirt cheap at the price—a hundred and fifty thousand francs."

Raoul continued to gaze at the necklace so that Raynaud should not observe his agitation. He would remember that scene for the rest of his life.

"It's a clouded pearl but it may be possible to get it back to its former luster."

An argument ensued on the subject and lasted some time among the gentlemen who had come in with Raynaud. Then they took their departure and Raoul and Raynaud were left to themselves. Raoul confessed everything. While he was speaking the banker looked at him at first with an air of amazement and afterwards with threatening severity. In a trembling voice Raoul finished his story.

"It's not for myself. Monsieur, that I am pleading. It is that my mother should not be told anything. I hold myself at your disposal and you can do with me as you please. I am your property. I am willing to accept the lowest kind of work, and if I have to earn the money a penny at a time, I will pay back the ten thousand francs."

He ceased speaking. The banker maintained a silence, a dreadful and prolonged silence. Raoul thought that all was over with him. He took his revolver from his pocket.

Raynaud saw the movement and realized that Raoul was about to shoot himself. He clutched him by the arm, snatched the weapon away, and threw it on the desk.

"Wretched boy, what are you doing?"

Raoul sank to his knees and broke into a fit of sobbing. Raynaud helped him to rise.

"Calm yourself, your mother shall not be told anything."

The banker turned the key in the door which separated his office from the general offices of his company and came back to Raoul.

"You understand that the worst part of this terrible business is that you, who received an exceptionally good education, and whom I wish to regard in spite of all as an honest man at heart—your confession and your repentance show me that—were unable to resist so sordid a temptation. You are more to blame than anyone else would be in your place. . . . I will tell you what I have decided upon. You must leave Paris and France and all these Nina Nohas who have brought you to such a pass. You must go and build up a new career in America. You must sail by the mail boat which leaves Havre for New York to-morrow morning. I will tell your mother that I have sent you to America on urgent business of importance. You must catch the express train at eight o'clock to-night. You have no time to lose."

So saying, he opened his safe and took out two bundles of bank-notes, each of which contained ten thousand francs.

"Do the best you can for yourself with this money and become an honest man again. I don't want your thanks. I am doing this in remembrance of your father who rendered me many great services."

Distraught and overcome with gratitude, Raoul left the room with the twenty thousand francs. The banker himself opened the door of his private entrance which led direct through the courtyard into the street.

The safe remained open.

Scarcely a minute had elapsed after Raynaud's return to his office when the staff in the other part of the building heard the sounds of a great commotion—shouting, struggles and a revolver shot. They rushed to the private office. They had to break in the door. When they entered the room they found Raynaud lying dead on the floor in front of the safe with a bullet in his head.

The necklace, as well as the securities and bank-notes—everything of negotiable value was gone.

They looked about for Raoul. He was nowhere to be found. They called to mind his singular demeanor during the day. The police investigation, which was held that evening, showed that the revolver, which was still hot when it was discovered in the office, was bought by Raoul that very morning. They felt convinced that it was he who did the deed, nor did they doubt that he had escaped through the window, which was left open and looked out on to the roof of a small room, arranged corbel-wise, whence it was easy to reach, through another window, the staircase of the adjoining building.

Next morning Raoul was arrested at Havre at the moment when he was about to embark on the mail boat for New York.

It was in vain that he protested his innocence. His own counsel did not believe him. The evidence was too overwhelming. The sequel is known.