A Nest of Spies Part 44

Majestically, with a wave of her arm signifying disdainful rejection, the pseudo-mother drew her shawl of many colours about her corpulent person and sailed out of the de Naarboveck mansion.

Meanwhile, up on the third floor, a puzzled, confused, battered Bobinette was recovering from the shocks and terrors of the evening.

She lay back in an arm-chair trying to piece things together.

Two things were clear: Vagualame was arrested; she was free, and with the famous gun piece still in her possession.... To-morrow, she would obey orders received: she would take the piece to Havre, accompanied by Corporal Vinson, who would bring the plan of the apparatus.

Bobinette had bent her head to the storm: she now raised it proudly.

XIX

THE MYSTERIOUS ABBe

Fandor half opened his eyes. Was he dreaming? This was not the barrack dormitory, with its gaunt white-washed walls and morning clamour....

Of course! He was in a bedroom of a cheap hotel in Paris. Cretonne curtains shaded the window. A ray of light was reflected in a hanging mirror of scant dimensions, decidedly the worse for wear. Below it stood a washstand. On its cracked and dirty marble top could be seen a chipped and ill-matched basin and soapdish. A lopsided table occupied the middle of the room. On a chair by his bed lay Fandor-Vinson's uniform. His valise reposed on a rickety chest of drawers. Fandor was loath to rouse himself. His bed was warm, while about the room icy draughts from ill-fitting door and window were circulating freely.

He would have to get up presently, dress, and keep his appointment.

His appointment! Ah! Wide awake now, our journalist considered the situation.

A couple of days ago the adjutant had announced:

"Corporal Vinson, you have eight days' leave: you can quit barracks at noon to-morrow."

Fandor had been given leave several times already: he merely replied:

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

He then looked out for a post card from the spies, appointing a rendezvous. A letter was handed to him by the post sergeant.

The letter commenced:

"_My dearest darling_."...

"Ah!" thought Fandor. "Now I am indeed a soldier. I receive a love letter!"

His unknown correspondent wrote:

_"It is so long since I saw you, but as you have eight days' leave I can make up for lost time! Would you not like to arrange a meeting for your first morning in Paris? You will go as usual, will you not, to the Army and Navy Hotel, boulevard Barbes? You will find me at half-past eleven to the minute, in the rue de Rivoli, at the corner of the rue Castiglione. We might breakfast together. To our early meeting, then! I send you all my kisses."_

The signature was illegible.

Fandor understood the hidden meaning. He was to hand over the design as he had promised; but he had decided to put them off with a concocted design of his own! He must hasten now to the appointed meeting place.

Fandor rose at once. Whilst dressing he decided:

"I shall go in mufti--be Jerome Fandor, undisguised. Better be on the safe side--this may be an anti-spy trap. Of course I shall miss my rendezvous; but _they_ will not be put off so easily. They will write at once, making a new appointment. Then I shall go as Corporal Vinson, if I think it the wisest thing to do."

Fandor ran down the rickety stairs. He learned from Octave, the hotel porter, that his room had been paid for three days in advance. Saying he would not be back until the evening, probably, Fandor stepped on to the boulevard Barbes, and hailed a cab.

"Take me to the foot of the Vendome column," he ordered.

Arrived at the rendezvous, Fandor sauntered along, awaiting developments. Presently he noticed in the distance a figure he seemed to know. It was moving towards him.

"My word! I was not mistaken," thought Fandor, watching the young woman. She also was sauntering under the arcades of the rue de Rivoli, glancing at the fascinating display of feminine apparel in the shop windows. Fandor drew aside, watching her every movement, and swearing softly.

The girl came nearer. Fandor's curiosity made him make himself known, that he might see what she would do. He showed himself, and saluted with an impressive wave of his hat, exclaiming:

"Why, it is Mademoiselle Berthe!"

The girl stopped.

"Why--yes--it is Monsieur Fandor!... How are you?"

"Flouris.h.i.+ng, thanks! I need not ask how you are, Mademoiselle!... You bloom!"

Bobinette smiled.

"How is it I find you here at this time of day?"

"Why, Mademoiselle, just in the same way as you happen to be here--the fancy took me to pa.s.s this way!... I often do."

"Oh!" cried Bobinette in an apologetic tone. "Now, I am going to ask you how it is you have never responded to Monsieur de Naarboveck's invitation to take a cup of tea with us now and then! We were speaking of you only the other day. Monsieur de Naarboveck said he never saw your signature in _La Capitale_ now--that most probably you were travelling."

"I have, in fact, just returned to Paris. Are all well at Monsieur de Naarboveck's? Has Mademoiselle Wilhelmine recovered from the sad shock of Captain Brocq's death?... His end was so sudden!"

"Oh, yes, Monsieur."

Fandor would have liked to find out the exact nature of Bobinette's intimacy with the ill-fated officer, also to what extent she was in love with Henri de Loubersac; but, as she showed by her manner that she did not relish this talk, either because of the turn it had taken, or because it was held in a public place, Fandor had to take his leave. Bobinette went off. Fandor noted the time as he continued his saunter. It was a quarter to twelve. Of the few pa.s.sers-by there was not one who merited a second glance or thought!... Impatiently he waited, five, ten minutes: at one o'clock he betook himself to his hotel. There he found an express message, unsigned. It ran:

"_My darling, my dear love, forgive me for not meeting you this morning in the rue de Rivoli, as arranged. It was impossible. Return to the same place at two o'clock, I will be punctual, I promise you.... Of course you will wear your uniform. I want to see how handsome you look in it!_"

"I do not like this," thought Fandor, rereading the message. "Why ask me to come in uniform?... Do they know I came in mufti this morning?... I shall go again; but I think it is high time I returned to civilian life!"

It was two by the clock on the refuge, in the rue de Rivoli.

Fandor-Vinson emerged from the Metropolitan and crossed to the corner of the rue Castiglione. He took a few steps under the arcade, saying to himself:

"Punctual to the tick and in uniform! The meeting should come off all right this time!"

A delicately gloved hand was placed on his shoulder, and a voice said: