“To the middle of the island!” he shouted; “come this way,”—and he led all his companions to the centre of the little island. Once there, he proceeded to calm their apprehensions.
“Keep cool!” he said, “keep cool! If the lake is on fire, there can be only one explanation, that they’ve emptied over the surface barrels of naphtha or petroleum. Egad! Fantômas can’t be far; it’s a miracle we have escaped, Monsieur Havard; I imagine he was only waiting for both of us to be in the boat between the bank and the island to put a light to his naphtha and roast us to death.”
“Yes, indeed,” M. Havard agreed, “a minute more and we were dead men.”
Tom Bob shook his head gravely. “If only there are no fatalities,” he said. “Look, it strikes me the flames are not so fierce now? Evidently the layer of naphtha cannot have been very thick. Yes, the flames are dropping, but ... but ...”—as he spoke, fearful screams broke out coming from a little further away. M. Havard and the detective looked at each other in consternation. The cries grew louder and louder, and with one impulse the two men dashed to the rescue. They had distinctly heard the words:
“Help! help!... Fantômas! Fantômas! Fantômas is here!”
While M. Havard and the unlucky Tom Bob were in such imminent peril from the monstrous audacity of the ever elusive brigand, while the lake was taking fire with alarming rapidity, a tragedy had been enacting on its banks.
It was the day after the Grand Duchess Alexandra’s ball, and that very evening Lady Beltham, in fulfilment of her promise to Fandor, was to go and see Elisabeth Dollon to assure her of the journalist’s innocence. Fandor never doubted that the great lady would keep her engagement and find some way of meeting the girl. After the furious dagger thrust, against which his coat of mail had so fortunately protected him, after his flight from the grand duchess’s, a flight that lady had in fact facilitated, the journalist could no longer doubt that Fantômas had been really present at that festivity. And from that moment the death of the unfortunate police-officer was no riddle to him—Joffre had fallen by the hand of Fantômas. This fresh murder in no way surprised him.
Accordingly Jérôme Fandor, anxious above all things to meet Elisabeth Dollon and secure a renewal of the girl’s favour, had all the afternoon been watching for Lady Beltham’s arrival at the lake in the Bois. But it was only at nine in the evening that she arrived, and Fandor had of course taken care not to reveal his presence just then. When Lady Beltham should be returning and re-crossing the lake, then he would go to her and thank her and ask her if he might now go to Elisabeth to find her convinced of his innocence; for the moment it was very necessary to keep concealed.
But just as the boat reached the landing place of the Restaurant Azaïs, Fandor, who was still prowling on the road beside the lake, caught sight of M. Havard’s figure, and Tom Bob with him, both evidently intending to take the ferry on their way back to Paris.
Then in an instant came a flash, a blaze, an impassable wall of fire separating the journalist from the island and the restaurant. Like a madman, the unhappy man ran along the bank, wringing his hands in despair. But what could he do? what could he do? In an agony he pictured the terrible position, perhaps the fatal position ... in which the wretches now on the island might find themselves.