“That’s it,” he muttered; “the police have forgotten to remove the rope, or more likely they have left it there as a piece of evidence in view of the further inquiries they mean to institute, no doubt. Good! Where Fantômas found a way, I shall know how to follow his lead. But quick! quick! there’s not a moment to lose.”
No sooner said than done. Following Fantômas’ example he climbed over the sill, seized the rope and let himself slide down into the void below. The night had turned dark, and the moon was hidden. As the journalist descended, he could barely make out, some yards below him, the dim outline of the roof of a tall building, and beyond again an endless succession of other roofs, broken by a forest of chimneys rising like spectres into the night sky.
CHAPTER VII
FANTÔMAS’ ULTIMATUM
“Long live the Minister of Justice! Bravo, Ferrand! bravo! bravo!” These and the like cordial acclamations were still echoing in Désiré Ferrand’s ears as the Minister, in his elegant livery brougham, returned calmly and peaceably to the Place Vendôme about one o’clock in the morning, accompanied only by his Parliamentary Secretary, the Conseiller Navarret. Ferrand was on his way back from the grand amphitheatre of the Sorbonne, where he had presided over an associated meeting of the students in law.
Désiré Ferrand was a man of boundless ambition. A General Practitioner in the provinces, and in no way interested in the science he practised, he had found himself from earliest manhood attracted, fascinated by the allurements and difficulties of politics. His profession as a doctor, a profession he exercised with a calculated generosity, provided admirable opportunities for winning the suffrages of his fellow citizens. At thirty-four he had been elected Deputy.
Eighteen months later, having attracted the favourable notice of the Chamber by his wise common sense, and the maturity of his views, he was invited by Monnier to join his Cabinet in the position of an Under Secretary of State; then, in course of time, as resignations or deaths opened the way, Ferrand secured the portfolio of the Minister of Justice, the highest functionary after the President of the Council!
From that moment, his career was one series of triumphs. So far from throwing him back, the extraordinary adventure of a few days before had actually added to his popularity. Henceforth he felt persuaded he had only to steer his bark adroitly to arrive at the very highest honours the country could bestow.
On reaching his rooms, the young Minister cast a weary, worried look at the heap of documents, whose contents he must master. Smiling to himself: “All that stuff,” he said, “is marked ‘urgent,’ and for several days now a whole pile of these documents has been lying here that I’ve not even looked at. I wonder what really happens in a Ministry to matters that are not ‘urgent’?”
Thereupon the Minister set feverishly to work at the task of sorting the voluminous correspondence heaped up in front of him. Two or three times his brow contracted, he made a gesture of exasperation:
“Again!” he groaned, “again! it is really abominable!”