THE DARK ROAD

Further Adventures of Chéri-Bibi

BY

GASTON LEROUX

AUTHOR OF "THE SECRET OF THE NIGHT," "MISSING MEN,"
"WOLVES OF THE SEA"

CLEVELAND

THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO.

CONTENTS

[CHAPTER I]
[CHAPTER II]
[CHAPTER III]
[CHAPTER IV]
[CHAPTER V]
[CHAPTER VI]
[CHAPTER VII]
[CHAPTER VIII]
[CHAPTER IX]
[CHAPTER X]
[CHAPTER XI]
[CHAPTER XII]
[CHAPTER XIII]
[CHAPTER XIV]
[CHAPTER XV]
[CHAPTER XVI]
[CHAPTER XVII]
[CHAPTER XVIII]
[CHAPTER XIX]
[CHAPTER XX]
[CHAPTER XXI]
[CHAPTER XXII]
[CHAPTER XXIII]
[CHAPTER XXIV]

[CHAPTER I]

THE NUT

The Nut lay on the scorching beach facing the terrible sea in which the hungry sharks, the warders of his prison, were disporting. The convict was like a weary animal at rest. In truth, he had availed himself of the "relaxation" at ten o'clock to seek out a little fresh air and seclusion between two precipitous crags which cut him off from the rest of the convict settlement. If only he could live alone! No longer to hear anything. No longer to see anything! No longer to think of anything. But how could he help thinking of what he had seen, of what he had been compelled to see, that morning?

A double execution had taken place that very morning as an awful but necessary example. It was a smart piece of work by Pernambouc, the prison executioner, and his assistant, "Monsieur Désiré." . . . Oh the horror of it!

The Nut was still shuddering from the sight of it. He was a young man in the fullness of his supple strength. He lay resting on his elbows, holding his chin in the cup of his hands, apparently indulging in an impossible dream. His broad-brimmed straw hat cast its shadow over the gloom of his penetrating gaze which stole to the distant skyline. The outline of his clean-shaven face as far as could be seen indicated strength of character and shrewdness. Notwithstanding the ineffaceable marks of prison life which soon transforms the youngest convict into an old man, the Nut seemed to be scarcely more than forty years of age.

It was this combination of strength and refinement which had brought down on him the nickname of The Nut. It is a word which in the language of the Pré, or convict settlement, denotes a man whom nature has endowed with a fine bearing usually appreciated by women. "He acted as if he were the master." But the Nut's real name, Raoul de Saint-Dalmas, had been in famous criminal records some ten years before when the jury of the Seine Assize Court condemned him to death. He was a young man of good family who, after squandering his substance, had been charged with murdering his employer in order to rob him.

He owed his reprieve to his youth, to his mother, who in her despair died of grief, and to the persistence with which he proclaimed his innocence in spite of proofs which were seemingly overwhelming. And now he was in the convict settlement undergoing a sentence of penal servitude for life.

"Why do you sigh, Nut?"

He gave a start and turned round.

Bursts of coarse laughter rang out, and his eyes encountered seated round him the Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker. His dreams had carried him so far away that he had failed to hear their approach.

The four men were his worst enemies. They never relented, and as a result he had not hesitated latterly to get himself imprisoned for months together in the île St. Joseph, the island of silence, which was near, and reserved for those who committed offenses in the convict settlement or whose feelings rebelled against the convict gang.

In order to avoid those four monsters who tormented him with their infernal mischief-making and their abominable jokes, he tried to fasten a quarrel on one of the convict guards by seriously threatening him, for which he suffered the terrible punishment of internment on the adjoining island, where the overseers themselves were not permitted to communicate with the prisoners by word of mouth, but only by signs and in writing.

He left his solitary confinement with a feeling of regret, especially as Chéri-Bibi, the astonishing bandit who had terrorized the world for so many years—Chéri-Bibi had made a friend of him—was no longer there to silence by a frown the loathsome Burglar or the Parisian himself.

Not that Chéri-Bibi was very far away. He was for the time being behind bars in the principal building, and the Nut peeping through them one morning when he was on fatigue duty, sweeping the courtyards, caught sight of him and exchanged a few secret signs of friendship. It was done in a flash, for the sergeant of the guard had entered the courtyard, and, straightway, such volleys of insults were poured forth from the rows of cells fronted with iron bars, that the hapless sergeant sounded the call for the fatigue party, and ordered the cooks' mates who were bringing along the soup to clear the courtyard, declaring in his wrath that he would leave the "lifers" to starve and rot for three days.

Above the shouting of threats and the hideous tumult the Nut could hear Chéri-Bibi's strident and vociferous laugh.

Neither the Parisian nor the Burglar nor the Caid nor the Joker would have run the risk in this way of being sent to solitary confinement. They managed to have a good time, standing in some favor with the authorities, to whom they secretly related what they wanted to know about the state of mind or the plans of escape of their fellow-convicts, reaping no little reward for their treachery.

And even when their natural disposition to fight or plunder got the better of them, they merely "copped," as a punishment, the job of "taking a stroll with the wood," which meant that they had to move heavy planks from one place to another for several hours a day, merely to take them back again to the spot whence they came.

Just then, as they began to annoy the Nut, they were working in leisurely fashion at certain odds and ends intended to be exchanged, when a chance visitor appeared, for packets of tobacco or small change. Arigonde, otherwise the Parisian, had just finished engraving with a knife on a shark's jawbone the fateful words: The Convict's Tomb.

Arigonde bore a deadly hatred against the Nut for having deposed him from his position as the "man of fashion" in the Îles du Salut. Until the Nut came upon the scene it was Arigonde who wielded the scepter of elegance, if such a term may be allowed. Needless to say, this reputation for elegance depended less upon the cut of his clothes or the way in which he tied his tie than upon his manners, which were not met with in the usual run of convicts, and bore witness to his superior education. In spite of the Parisian's bragging—he was never at a loss in telling the story of his successes with the fair sex in high circles and crying up his relations in society—he seemed, compared with the Nut, none the less to be what he was to begin with—a shopman in a small firm bowing and scraping to the customers.

The Nut resumed his original posture on the beach, and it was as though he did not hear the Joker, who squeaked:

"He lacks most who sighs most."

The others grinned.

"M'sieu Nut does not condescend to enter into conversation with humble 'jail-birds' like us," went on the Joker, who had once been a clerk to a sheriff's officer and had assisted a client to murder his master. "M'sieu Nut puts on airs and graces and fancies himself a bit."

"M'sieu Nut is grieving over the misfortunes of France," interjected the rascally Burglar, a short man with disjointed limbs, who walked sideways like a crab, and was wont to enter other people's houses by way of the roof.

"The Caid, too, would like to make bang, bang on the Boches. The Caid good soldier."

The Nut bit his fingers to prevent a groan slipping from him when he heard the awful Ben Aïssa, the Mohammedan "jail-bird," a robber and procurer of girls, ask to take part in the world struggle.

Alas, did he not himself long to play a part in it? And was it not because they heard him on the evening when they learned of the declaration of war proclaim once again his innocence and his despair, and demand to be allowed to shoulder a rifle, that the wretched men in their spite made game of him?

"I've just seen the postman on his way from the town," declared the Parisian, "and he brings some very great news. It seems that Joffre wants the Nut as his Chief of Staff!"

The Nut leaped to his feet, and the four men fell back, for he was a match for them. Only they knew he shrank from the task of "pitching into jail-birds," and indeed he contented himself with shouting a few threats against them, which roused their laughter, though they kept their distance.

"Do you think you can bounce us with the things you say," sneered the Burglar. "Hold your jaw."

"All my eye and tommy rot," said the Burglar, prudently retiring into the background. "All brag."

"When you've done talking I may have something to get off my chest," said the Parisian, who did not venture to try conclusions with the Nut, but whose hatred of him was so intense that he would have liked to kill him.

He made a step towards the Nut, who clenched his fists and began to see red, when the arrival of another person put the four miscreants to flight as if by magic. There was no need for the newcomer to open his mouth. He had but to show his face.

It was Chéri-Bibi!

[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.

[CHAPTER 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.

[CHAPTER IV]

IN THE NIGHT

Chéri-Bibi, as we have seen, left the dormitory and slipped into his opening under the floor.

The underground passage, which he had dug out with a patience and cunning which is only to be found in a convict settlement, was a tremendous piece of work, given the extreme simplicity of the tools at his command, which consisted of a knife, a piece of sharp-pointed iron, and a few sardine tins. Nevertheless he achieved his purpose with them single-handed, for he refused to allow anyone else to have a finger in the pie. The passage was over three hundred feet long, running forward as far as possible through the loamy earth, but keeping clear of the sand and emerging between two precipitous rocks, at a spot which was almost entirely deserted, especially at night. Moreover, this outlet was on the beach along which Chéri-Bibi had to make his way in order to reach the jetty where the motor launch lay moored.

When he appeared at the opening of the cavity it was about nine o'clock in the evening. The night was cloudless with the brightness peculiar to tropical countries. Thus he had to take the greatest precaution to avoid being observed by the guards on duty or those going their rounds.

But apart from these patrols which covered the same ground, at fixed hours, the guards' duty was reduced to the simplest proportions. It was the dinner hour for the officials, and of rest for the convicts locked up in their dormitories.

A warder, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, was usually seated on a bench placed against a hut at the far end of the jetty, acting in a vague sort of way as sentry, and smoking and yawning and waiting for the moment when his relief would come. That evening, as Chéri-Bibi crept along the jetty on all fours, he perceived that the warder was not in his place. Where was he? Had he fallen asleep in the hut? Was he dodging his sentry duty and having a tot of rum with some of his mates?

"A good thing for him," muttered Chéri-Bibi, as he dropped into the launch. And he added, still to himself, "And all the better for me!" He shrank, as a rule, from acts of violence. He could only make up his mind to them when circumstances were too strong for him, and he had had sufficient occasion in the past in this respect to upbraid fate; and thus he could be grateful to Providence, which for once in a way had spared him from taking the life of a man!

* * * * *

Half an hour after Chéri-Bibi's departure a curious silence fell in the dormitory. Every game was stopped and every eye turned in one direction. The cavity made by Chéri-Bibi was almost directly under the Nut's hammock, and his legs had just reached the floor when he stopped short, taken aback by the sudden hush.

The convicts rushed up to him.

"Where are you going?"

The Nut saw by their threatening attitude that they would stick at nothing to prevent him from leaving the dormitory.

He sought to argue with them.

"I'm going to meet Chéri-Bibi. He has asked me to lend him a hand. What is there in that to annoy you?"

The Nut never used prison slang. That also had helped to excite their animosity against him, and they could not forgive him for holding aloof from them now as he did in the first days.

"Rot, humbug, swanker . . . liar! It's not true. Chéri-Bibi won't let anyone help him in the job. There's no need for you to work for him."

"He asked me to join him."

"You lie. You've got to stay here. Take my advice. It'll be all the better for you if you put your feet up and do a snore."

It was the Parisian who did the talking. For that matter he kept a safe distance from the Nut. The Burglar, for his part, was leading his confederates somewhat craftily, pushing as near the Nut as possible, thinking to himself that there could not be too many of them, and there would be a row.

The fight was begun by a violent movement from the Caid, who seized the Nut by the legs and threw him into the hammock. The Nut sprang out after the Caid, who managed to slip away. A score of men made for the Nut and the thud of heads striking the flagstones was heard.

The dormitory in which these wild beasts were tearing each other to pieces was rent with hollow groans and hoarse cries. Feeling that his fellow-prisoners' hatred of him was such that they would never allow him to get away, the Nut, whose last hope was in death, determined to sell his life dearly. But before he died he would recompense himself for all his sufferings, all that he had undergone from those hideous jailers who were more odious than the warders, and fiercer than the sharks themselves who lay in wait for their prey behind the rocks in the Île Royale.

He fought like a lion. Many of the men who came up against him were to bear for some time the marks of the desperate encounter. Nevertheless he was soon felled to the ground, in the narrow space, by weight of numbers.

Almost smothered, reduced to helplessness, twenty convicts lay heavily on his limbs and he was tightly and strongly bound with a rope which appeared as if by magic. Then he was flung into his corner, gasping for breath, worsted. He closed his eyes so that they should not behold his distress.

Thus at the moment when he was thinking of making good his escape, the purgatory was to begin all over again. Continue to live this life! He would rather die! Why had they not killed him a few minutes before? Why had not the iron grip of those murderous fingers round his throat set him free from his terrible existence? He had suffered torment for ten years; ten long years during which he had never ceased to hope for his deliverance by flight and for the miracle which would establish his innocence. Now he no longer hoped for anything. He thought only of how to end his life. . . .

And in the meantime Chéri-Bibi was waiting for him . . . Chéri-Bibi who had prepared everything, who had done wonders. . . . To what end?

Among the hideous faces bending over the Nut, he would have looked in vain now for the Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker. The four men, during the fight, had slipped into the underground passage dug out by the most terrible man among the "lifers."

Suddenly a shot rang out in the stillness. They all gave a start. And "Monsieur Désiré" who for a tin of sardines and a packet of cigarettes usually acted as assistant to Pernambouc, the prison executioner, whispered to the Nut:

"Did you hear that? They're playing with the shooters not far from the coast. Chéri-Bibi may have been hit. He won't get you away to-night. Mind the Inspector doesn't find out that you are chums with him. It'll be a bad look out for the convicts. Take it from me, the finish of it will be that I shall have your noddle." And he added with a hideous laugh, "You know I shan't say no to that, because I'm out of tobacco. I've given it all away to pals. 'Monsieur Désiré' has a good heart."

They heard the gallop of the patrols, and a voice in the distance shouted:

"Chéri-Bibi's done for."

The Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker, after getting away through the underground passage, reached the outlet without hindrance.

"Congratulations to Chéri-Bibi," said the Joker as he inhaled the cool night air. "He ought to have been born a mole!"

"Shut up and let's get on with it," interjected the Burglar. "It won't be long before Chéri-Bibi comes back for news of the Nut. . . . Look out how we go."

They followed the high rocks which skirted the sea, and at times the waves buried them up to the knees.

"Halt!" cried the Parisian.

"Thanks for the foot-bath," grunted the Joker.

"Me always satisfied, never ill, never die," babbled the Caid.

"If we go a step farther Chéri-Bibi will see us," exclaimed the Parisian.

The four men stood stock still. They had caught sight of Chéri-Bibi's head rising cautiously above the gunwale with the purpose, obviously, of scrutinizing the immediate precincts. What the four bandits anticipated did in fact happen. Failing to understand why the Nut kept him waiting so long, Chéri-Bibi, in a state of some uneasiness, made up his mind to go back the way he had come and see for himself the reason of the delay.

The Parisian and his confederates saw him get out of the launch and crawl along the jetty, moving with the greatest precaution, and stopping to listen for any suspicious sounds that might disturb the silence of the night. Thus he reached the beach. As had been already stated, it was easy to keep out of sight because of the great mass of high rocks which overhung the sea shore. It was entirely different from the beach at Kourou and the mainland. That part of the island is flat and devoid of vegetation.

Thus Chéri-Bibi, who was well screened by the rocks, continued his way without obstacle; but, on the other hand, he could not see the four runaways, who were less than thirty feet away from him, because of those very rocks.

After he had disappeared in the semi-darkness, the four men, in their turn, crawled on to the jetty and thence dropped into the launch. It did not take them long, but they were no sooner settled in her than the Burglar gave the alarm. Chéri-Bibi was coming back.

They concealed themselves in the deck-house, hardly daring to breathe, waiting for what would come next. Why had Chéri-Bibi returned so quickly? Had his suspicions been aroused? The Nut's redoubtable friend filled them with such terror that they were afraid of his shadow like children who, passing through the forest at night, fear the were-wolf.

They were unarmed. Chéri-Bibi must have weapons, and even if it were not so, they would make very little, the four of them, in his huge paws. Moreover, they knew that certain persons who had a fancy to thwart his plans paid for it with their lives. They had abundant reasons for keeping quiet.

But what was Chéri-Bibi doing? They no longer had him in view. He had disappeared behind the engine. Soon, however, they saw him stand up and make off once more with the same degree of caution as before. When he had vanished from sight the Burglar, who had been an engine driver in his time, whispered:

"Hurry up, you fellows. Break the padlocks of the mooring chains."

The three men were applying themselves to the work when a frightful oath uttered by the Burglar made them turn round:

"Chéri-Bibi has taken away his part of the engine," he cried.

"Nothing more can be done. It's all up with us," groaned the Joker, flung into consternation, and he stopped the Caid, who with an iron grip, was continuing to pull at the padlocks.

"That's why he came back, the traitor," growled the Parisian. "Listen to me. We've got to make up our minds to it, and go to bed in the deck-house. There's just a chance that he won't see us when he comes back with the Nut. They'll make tracks for the mainland. When they've landed we'll hop out after them. If they twig us on the way, I don't think they'll waste time taking us back to the settlement. It's a good idea—let's lie low."

In the meantime Chéri-Bibi continued his way to the opening of the underground passage. He glided over the ground with the suppleness of a great stag. Suddenly he pulled himself up. He heard voices. And almost at once he caught a glimpse of the silhouettes of the Inspecting Officer and the Commandant of the Penitentiary Administration. They were taking a stroll after dinner, smoking their cigars and talking strategy. The startling events of the war engrossed them to such an extent that, having stopped to discuss Joffre's retreat, the position of Sarrail at Verdun and Castelnau at Nancy, they remained stationary for a quarter of an hour; thus preventing Chéri-Bibi from making a step. Fatalitas! His guns were spiked!

Greatly perturbed at first by the Nut's failure to arrive, Chéri-Bibi now dreaded to see him emerge from the underground passage, for he would be bound to attract the attention of the two officers.

Time went on. And an accident might happen to destroy, in its entirety, the plan which he had so laboriously constructed.

At that moment a tremor passed through him from head to foot. It was seldom that he shuddered, but he saw before him a terrible sight. Coming towards him was a huge dog, a veritable sleuth-hound, whose business it was, also to keep guard, and the dog was charging straight at him.

"Hullo!" said the Commandant. "Here's Tarasque going his rounds. Here! Tarasque! Come here!"

But the huge brute instead of answering the officer's call continued to make for Chéri-Bibi, who, with a feeling of unutterable anguish, saw him rushing up to him.

Strange to say Tarasque did not give tongue. Thus the two officers continued to discuss their ideas of strategy without paying any further attention to the dog. They entertained no suspicion that ten paces away from them a fierce drama was being enacted.

Tarasque was friends with Chéri-Bibi. How had this thing arisen between man and dog? They had taken to each other at their first meeting. Had this monster of a dog scented a brother in this monster of a man?

Their two jaws had more than a passing resemblance, and their instincts for destruction were such that they were bound to understand each other. One thing was certain—Tarasque, who had for the wastrels of the penal settlement but his canine teeth, had a tongue with which to lick Chéri-Bibi's hands whenever he met him.

The reader who is familiar with the early adventures of Chéri-Bibi, and knows what a peculiar wealth of affection lay hidden in the heart of the great criminal—the victim of fate—will comprehend the attachment which he felt for the huge brute who was then making so much of him.

But coming at that moment, that exhibition of friendship would destroy him no less utterly than the most infuriated attack, and at the same time, be the undoing of the Nut.

Chéri-Bibi loved the dog, but he had promised the Nut his liberty. If those friendly demonstrations continued for a few seconds longer, the two officers, put on their guard, would come upon the dog and Chéri-Bibi.

He held the dog's head under his arm, and feeling in his pocket with his other hand, took out a knife, the blade of which was open. It was a question of killing the brute in such a way that it would drop dead at his feet.

Chéri-Bibi felt a clutch at his heart. He had killed many persons in the course of his life, as the result, as it seemed to him, of inexorable circumstances, and he had suffered for it, but never before had he been filled with such horror.

He patted the dog and the dog licked his face. And during this dire caress the sharp and unerring point of his knife penetrated Tarasque's throat and cut it at a single blow, "without working back in the cut," as butchers say in their particular jargon.

Chéri-Bibi had been a journeyman butcher in the days of his youth. He knew his business. Alas, he had proved it many a time since. He knew how to kill effectively. The dog gave a prolonged and terrible gasp and fell dead, deluging Chéri-Bibi with blood.

"Fatalitas!" he groaned under his breath. And that ghastly moment was set down in his memory as among the most frightful in his frightful career.

"It's very strange," said the Commandant. "What's the matter with Tarasque, gasping like that? Tarasque, here! Come here!"

As Tarasque did not answer the call, the two officers started up greatly perplexed. They went to the rock behind which they had seen him disappear and found him lying on the ground.

"What's the matter with him? Is he ill? Tarasque! . . . Tarasque!"

They leaned forward. The dog was still warm. Suddenly the Lieutenant rose from his stooping posture with an oath and shook his hand, which was covered with blood. He had thrust it into the dog's throat.

Someone had cut the dog's throat!

The Commandant uttered an oath in his turn. The thing was past all belief. They had seen nothing, heard nothing. It must have been the work of a "lifer" who had escaped. He at once raised the alarm by firing his revolver in the air; and a patrol which was passing along the beach came hurrying up.

In order that the reader may understand what is about to happen, it may be as well to give an approximate idea of the general formation and aspect of this part of the world.

The Îles du Salut are divided one from the other by channels of some hundreds of yards in width. There is a sheltered roadstead in which the largest ships may ride at anchor. The mail boat belonging to the Compagnie Transatlantique which sails in the ordinary way between Martinique and Guiana, touches the islands both on her inward and outward journeys. The full strength of the Penitentiary is very considerable. The islands, in fact, are used as a depot, and convicts condemned to transportation remain there some time before they are classified, registered, and distributed.

The Commandant and the various administrative services are lodged on the Île Royale, as also are the victualling departments and a large hospital to which sick convicts from the Penitentiaries and Wood-cutting establishments at Cayenne and St Laurent are removed. In this island also are workshops for the manufacture of clothing, boots, and caps required for the use of the convicts.

The difficulty of escape, together with the possibility of maintaining a most rigorous discipline, caused Île Royale to be selected as the Penitentiary for hardened criminals and notorious outlaws.

There is a brick manufactory, and near the hospital, at the western end, stands a lighthouse with a fixed light which is visible at a distance of nearly twenty miles.

The islands can be observed and recognized from afar, for they are of some height. Île Royale is the highest, and rises to about two hundred feet above the sea level. From the mainland it has the appearance, in shape, of an irregular sugar-loaf.

But to return to Chéri-Bibi, whose position was extremely precarious. He had been able to retreat without being observed, but in order to reach his tunnel he would have to cross an open space in which it would be impossible for him to conceal himself. On the other hand, he could not remain where he was, twenty paces from the dog's body, hiding behind a great overhanging rock where the convict guards were bound to discover him.

He heard one of the men who answered the Commandant's call for assistance say:

"There's been a great stir among the convicts since yesterday. The rumor goes that the Parisian Intends to skedaddle."

Now a "deputy-warder" filled the night with his resounding imprecations. . . . Someone had killed his dog, his Tarasque. . . . It must have been Chéri-Bibi who did the deed. Tarasque never allowed anyone to come near him but Chéri-Bibi. . . .

When they heard that he had escaped, or at any rate was attempting to escape, and was at large in the island, the warders began to lose their heads. His escapes were so sensational, and were accompanied by such amazing incidents, that the very thought of it was enough to rob them of their self-control.

They must warn the guard; put the whole garrison on the alert.

The Commandant and the Lieutenant pulled them up. Chéri-Bibi could not be far away.

He had killed the dog a few spaces from the spot where they were standing. That spot was open ground. The scoundrel could not cross it without being detected. And as a logical consequence the Commandant took a step towards the rock which hid Chéri-Bibi from view.

The latter was thinking things out.

"Shall I let them lay hold of me, give myself up now, content to begin the whole thing over again?"

He was in a quandary because of the formidable and unforeseen difficulties which loomed up before him. . . . And then the very agglomeration of difficulties was a temptation to that demoniacal mind. He thought, too, that he would never be able to renew a scheme which had once miscarried. He would have to devise something else; start another plan, which would take him endless time. He would be sent to solitary confinement for months; his tunnel would be discovered; and perhaps his "fake" for the motor launch would no longer be possible. Finally, he had given his word of honor to the Nut.

When Chéri-Bibi had given his word of honor there was no instance in which he had not kept it to the uttermost, whether for good or evil, though he had wandered so long between the two, knife in hand, that he had not always very clearly distinguished the difference between them. Well, once again he would conquer or lose his reputation together with his life.

The Commandant was approaching the rock.

He was about to discover him. It was a crucial moment for the convict. He could only save the situation by a surprise and some marvelous effort.

The rock projected over a sort of sloping bank, and a number of guards had just reached the foot of it. Chéri-Bibi, during the last minute, had propped himself up against the rock, and was quietly exercising his tremendous strength.

Suddenly the rock, forced from its bed of clay, swung over and fell on to the warders. They set up a terrible outcry. Some of them were seriously injured.

The Commandant and his brother officer barely had time to fling themselves on one side. Availing himself of the confusion which ensued, Chéri-Bibi rushed into the darkness. He fled in the direction of the forest. The guards who were unhurt followed closely upon his heels.

At the moment when he was about to elude them by jumping over a bank lined with tall bamboo-canes, his eyes encountered above him a warder who was leveling his rifle at him. He had no time even to duck his head. The shot rang out, and Chéri-Bibi fell in a mass, crushing the branches with his enormous weight like a giant utterly overwhelmed.

An immense shout of joy greeted the well-directed shot: "Chéri-Bibi is dead!"

[CHAPTER V]

HOW CHÉRI-BIBI DIED

The Nut in the dormitory attempted by a supreme effort to shake off his bonds. He could not believe in Chéri-Bibi's death. For that matter his opinion was shared by the convicts in general: "Do you think that Chéri-Bibi would allow himself to peg out like that?"

The commotion outside the building drew still nearer. The convicts paid no farther heed to the Nut. They were absorbed in the drama which was being played in the darkness of the night, endeavoring to understand or imagine its successive phases.

The horror of the position inspired the Nut with renewed energy. The longing to have done with it either by escape or by some violent measure which would involve the end of all, increased tenfold his energy which for a moment had been flagging. Yes, death even at the hands of Pernambouc or "Monsieur Désiré" would be better than to continue to live like this.

His persistent and vigorous efforts at length loosened his bonds. Slowly, with infinite precaution, and without anyone being able to notice the least movement, he succeeded in ridding himself of the rope.

He lay in wait for the moment when he could spring from his hammock and slip into the cavity, at the other end of which he hoped to meet Chéri-Bibi.

He quickly dropped on to his feet. But just then the report of more firing burst upon them from the outside, accompanied by a great hubbub.

The Nut hesitated for a second, which was long enough to bring all the "lifers" round him.

"The deputy warders are firing on Chéri-Bibi. He's nabbed. Look out! They're calling up the guard. Before five minutes are over we shall have them here blaming the whole lot of us," exclaimed one of them.

They put away the rope and carefully adjusted the flagstone, the seams of which they cemented with moistened bread-crumbs coated with dust. Outside, the galloping of patrols, shouts, curses, calls for help and the blowing of whistles could still be heard. Finally the commotion approached the building and the door of the dormitory was opened.

A dozen warders, armed to the teeth, crowded in among the convicts, and the Lieutenant's voice could be heard ordering the "fall-in." The convicts lined up beside their hammocks.

The Lieutenant saw for himself that five men were missing: Chéri-Bibi, the Burglar, the Parisian, the Caid and the Joker, for these men failed to respond when their numbers were called. The Nut answered when his turn came: Number 3213.

The Lieutenant left the dormitory in a towering rage. He gave orders for two men to remain on guard inside, and the others to be stationed round the building.

"This time I'm really cornered," said the Nut to himself.

Worn out by his struggles and the anxiety through which he had passed, and overcome by the ruin of his last hope, he dropped on to his convict's kitbag; and meantime the two warders left on guard in the dormitory endeavored to discover the means by which the five men had managed to get away.

The convicts laughed in their sleeves at the fruitlessness of these investigations. One of them said loud enough to be heard:

"They won't catch Chéri-Bibi in a hurry. He'll make short work of anyone standing in his way, you bet."

"Well, I tell you that he's lost the number of his mess," roared one of the warders told off to keep watch on them. "I know what I'm talking about, I suppose? I've seen his corpse."

"Did you hear what that warder said?" whispered "Monsieur Désiré" to the Nut. "He said it's true that Chéri-Bibi has been done in. He's seen his corpse."

A shudder passed through the Nut. He had a great liking for Chéri-Bibi. This affection of a young man like the Nut for a convict built on the lines of Chéri-Bibi—a man who seemed the embodiment of crime in this world—was extraordinary. And yet it was not entirely incomprehensible. The monster had shown him a compassion for his misfortunes which he had sought in vain from anyone else in jail or out of jail. Beneath his frightful exterior Chéri-Bibi proved that he was possessed of feelings of an unsuspected degree of refinement. He treated and protected the Nut like a younger brother.

The Nut had often thought that there was something beyond mere defiance of fate in the use of the word Fatalitas that the convict so frequently hurled at the heavens. Chéri-Bibi's life was a secret whose depths no one had ever plumbed but himself. What did anyone know of him? . . . An arm that was upraised and struck home. But between the two gleams of the knife which left behind it two pools of blood all was darkness; as mysterious as the abyss of his soul. . . . Why was his path stained with blood?

He explained to the Nut in a few words, with what terrible irony fate had compelled him to strike down the man whose life he was trying to save. That was the beginning of it all.

The beginning of it all? The Nut sometimes felt an inclination to fathom the mystery of that word all.

"Don't look into it," Chéri-Bibi answered. "It would be hell let loose."

And then he stood up and with a fierce cynicism said:

"You can't want me to account for all my murders. There are too many of them." And he added with a boisterous laugh: "Take it from me that I am past all forgiveness."

* * * * *

"Spot the Nut blubbing because he thinks Chéri-Bibi is dead," went on "Monsieur Désiré" bent on making mischief.

The Nut wished only to remember Chéri-Bibi as the man who liked him and often saved him from an act of desperation; as the man who by a memorable action had saved himself from the guillotine. It seems that after certain adventures of which one of the most sensational was the capture of the vessel which was commissioned to take convicts to the penal settlement in Guiana, he was rearrested in France, brought to trial, and this time sentenced to death.