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The Dark Road: Further Adventures of Chéri-Bibi

<h4>CHAPTER XVI</h4> <h4>CHÉRI-BIBI'S SIMPLE PROGRAMME</h4> The same evening, a few minutes before the arrival of the train from Paris, a man in livery was walking up and down the platform of the railway station at Nice. He wore a cap with a glazed leather peak, which hid from sight one eye, while the other was covered with a large black band wound round his head. Not only could very little be caught of the man's face, but people might, with good reason, ask themselves whether he was able to distinguish anything himself. Nevertheless his heavy but confident tread bore witness, in spite of the manner in which he was muffled up, to the fact that he retained a clear perception of what was passing round him. He avoided groups of passengers, the porters, the station-master, and even the commissary of police! When the train entered the station, he posted himself near the way out and imperturbably watched travelers march past him carrying their luggage. Now and again, for he had chosen a somewhat dark corner, he was jostled by the crowd, but he stood stock still as firm as a rock. Suddenly he stepped forward, thrust out his arm, and laid hold of a remarkably tall, lean man who was wearing an immense, loose overcoat. The man gave a start and murmured: "Oh, it's you, Monsieur le Marq——" The other gave him a dig in the ribs which checked his flow of words and manifestations of pleasure. "Did you have a pleasant journey, Monsieur Hilaire?" asked the servant, seizing the bag from the hands of the traveler in the flowing overcoat. "Very pleasant indeed, Monsieur le——" "Call me Casimir, you ass!" "Yes, Monsieur Casimir. But I don't want you to carry my bag. I am not at all tired. One can travel very comfortably in these first-class carriages. I never want to travel again in anything but a first-class carriage." "Dry up!" growled Monsieur Casimir. Hilaire did not speak again. When they reached the Avenue de la Gare, and were abreast of Notre Dame, the servant said to the new-comer: "Now you can talk." "Well, that's a good thing," sighed Hilaire, "because I have several things to tell you, Monsieur le Marq——Casimir! First of all, let me thank you for enabling me to realize the greatest dream of my life: a trip to the blue waters of the Mediterranean." "Did your wife offer any objection to your leaving her. Monsieur Hilaire?" "She did everything that she could think of to prevent me from getting away. But she had to bow to the inevitable when I told her that I was entrusted by the Government with a secret mission to supply the Mediterranean seaboard with macaroni! . . . But even that didn't pass without some unpleasant remarks, and she foretold a number of dire disasters, such as the train running off the lines, an earthquake, and a few epidemics. But I don't want to think of those disagreeable moments. I am at Nice. I see before me the land of the sun." "You will see it to-morrow morning," corrected Chéri-Bibi. "Meantime, we will go and have a bit of dinner together. I have nothing to do. My master has given me the evening off!" "Your master! So you have a master now. I imagined that your uniform was only for show. I know, Monsieur le Marquis, that you always had a fancy for assuming a disguise, and even in the time of——" "Are you sober, Dodger?" "I beg your pardon. I couldn't help it. I thought I was back again to those days when you, Monsieur le Marquis, disguised yourself before proceeding on certain expeditions. And then, it's quite true, this country, this air intoxicates me. I don't know myself. I am twenty years younger. I beg your pardon. . . ." "Listen to me. I am employed as hall-porter by Dr. Herbert Ross, 95 A, Avenue Victor Hugo. He is a fashionable surgeon-dentist, and has a large number of smart patients. Remember that, I beg of you. And you, do you know what you are?" "Know what I am! I should think I did. I am M. Hilaire, grocer, spending a holiday on the Riviera, and my one idea is to amuse myself and take things easy." They had reached a dingy street which turned into the Place Masséna. Chéri-Bibi came to a stand before an hotel. "I've taken a room here in your name. Off with you! I'll wait for you." Five minutes later Hilaire came out again. "I've only had time to wash my hands and dip my face in a basin of water," he said. "Where are we going to dine? I'll stand treat." Chéri-Bibi took the Dodger to a restaurant, in the old town, famous for its tripe and light white wines. Hilaire was in the highest spirits. After dinner he lit a cigar which Chéri-Bibi gave him and he puffed away at it with great gusto as he threw himself back in his chair. "You've told me your program," said Chéri-Bibi, putting his elbows on the table, while the coffee was being served, "and I'm now going to speak of mine, if you don't mind. I promise you that it will make another man of you, my dear old Dodger, and you'll fancy we're back again to the best days of our youth." "I'm listening, Monsieur Casimir," returned Hilaire, blowing smoke towards the ceiling and seemingly greatly interested in the rings which were forming above him. "I know nothing more likely to make one forget the worries of family life and the anxieties of business," began Chéri-Bibi by way of prologue, "than to take a hand in certain schemes in which you have to bring into play some degree of cunning, presence of mind, coolness, and a great amount of pluck; in fact, all the qualities which enabled us in the old days to overcome very considerable difficulties. You cannot have forgotten them." "Bless me, Monsieur Casimir, if I understand you aright, your program, while it offers us some amount of amusement, is not particularly one to go to sleep on." "If you want to remain idle while I'm working, you can watch me on the job," returned Chéri-Bibi in a gruff voice. "I should have some feeling of remorse, Monsieur Casimir——" "If you have too much feeling of remorse, you can take the next train back——" "Don't be upset, Monsieur Casimir. You know as well as I do that my life belongs to you. I gave it to you once for all. I owe everything to you. I am not ungrateful. Tell me what you intend to do," said Hilaire with a deep sigh. "Is there someone who still stands in your way?" "Yes, there is someone who still stands in my way, Monsieur Hilaire. You've hit it in one." "It's his own lookout," said the grocer with another deep and mournful sigh. "Yes, it will serve him right. As long as he is in your way, he is in my way, too! And, look here, I had better tell you right now," added the Dodger, who realized that it was not the moment for jesting, "that I shan't be easy in my mind until that someone no longer inconveniences you. Then we shall be able to enjoy in peace the good things of this delightful country. Upon my word, I really believe that between us we shall know how to manage the affair so that he doesn't worry us much longer." "I didn't expect anything else from you, my dear Dodger. You must know then that the person who annoys me is a certain gentleman whose service you will enter to-morrow as chauffeur." "Is it possible!" sighed the Dodger. "You've already found me a job as chauffeur—to start to-morrow morning? What is this particular gentleman's business?" "He is a gentleman very comfortably off. He has no business, and his name is M. de Saynthine." "I'm much obliged to you, Monsieur, for finding me such a smart post. Since Monsieur Casimir is hall-porter to a surgeon-dentist, I see no reason why Monsieur Hilaire shouldn't be chauffeur to an independent gentleman. What have I got to do?" "Well, you look after the car as you used to do at my house." "And then?" "And then you will keep a watchful eye on everything that's happening round you." "And what else?" "Listen to everything that's said." "Come, I say, that doesn't sound very difficult." "Your future governor, M. de Saynthine, is particularly interested in someone whom you know, my dear Dodger." "Whom do you mean? I've met so many people since I went into business." "You remember the man who came and knocked at your door one evening and mentioned me?" "Oh, yes, but I don't even know his name." "His name is Didier d'Haumont He is one of the heroes of the Great War. Besides, he made a very fine marriage, which was reported in all the newspapers. When I send you customers. Monsieur Hilaire, I send you the very best." "Oh, really! . . . I am very thankful to you. What has my governor, M. de Saynthine, to do with M. d'Haumont?" "He has this much to do with him: that he hates him like poison and has sworn to ruin him, and M. d'Haumont has no suspicion of it, the poor, dear man." "Indeed! Well, let him lay hands on anyone who comes to me from you and says 'Fatalitas!'" Chéri-Bibi put his mouth to the Dodger's ear. "As long as M. de Saynthine lives, your customer, Dodger, won't be safe for a moment." M. Hilaire scratched his ear. "That being so, my governor's number is up," he sighed. "There's another man who won't make old bones!" "Yes," growled Chéri-Bibi, "accidents will happen. Oh, by the way, your governor has a friend, a bit of a braggart, who acts as his factotum and whose name is Onésime Belon. De Saynthine picked this man, who is an old pal of his, out of the gutter, and he calls him in private the Joker, though no one has ever known why." "Must I keep an eye on him, too?" "Keep an eye on him! I should think you must keep an eye on him. He is as dangerous to our friend, the Captain, as your governor is. Our friend will never have a quiet life so long as this Onésime Belon . . ." Chéri-Bibi did not finish the sentence, but brought his two hands together and gave a twist which left no doubt as to the necessity for disposing of this fellow also. "Ah, yes, that man too," sighed Hilaire. "I might as well let you know also that Onésime Belon is mixed up with a certain second-hand clothes dealer in the old town—that accounts, perhaps, for his being so shabbily dressed—a man nicknamed the Burglar, who is easily recognized because he walks sideways like a crab, and can't hide the fact that one of his shoulders is higher than the other. This man, the Burglar, calls himself in the old town Monsieur Toulouse. . . ." "Does he, too, bear a grudge against Captain d'Haumont?" asked poor Hilaire with growing anxiety, while the sweat broke over his forehead in great drops. "Bear him a grudge! I should think he did bear him a grudge! He has sworn to ruin him or to cook his goose for him. Listen carefully. All those fellows are in possession of a certain secret, and they have determined to blackmail the Captain to the death." "Blackmail him to the death! Yes, I can understand the whole thing. It's not very complicated, this blackmail business. . . . So this man the Burglar . . .?" "This man the Burglar as well," said Chéri-Bibi simply. "As well?" "As well." "That makes three of 'em," Hilaire ventured to observe. "You know how to count in the grocery business!" The tone in which this fearsome sentence was flung in Hilaire's face sent a shudder through him from head to foot. Chéri-Bibi rose from the table, paid the bill and whistled to the Dodger like a master calling his dog. Hilaire gave a start and followed him like a puppy who has received a drubbing. "I've known you when you had more go in you, Dodger," said Chéri-Bibi when they were in the street. "Well, curse me, three! You know, Monsieur le Marquis, that I've got out of the habit of doing these things. I've got a bit rusty in the Rue Saint Roch. Give me a little time to get used to the idea that we've got a little job under way." "Look here, Dodger, I'm very fond of you, but don't go on pulling such a long face at the thought of doing a service to a brave soldier—a thought which ought to move you to enthusiasm. Bear in mind that without our assistance he'll fall a victim to those villains." "Villains! You're right, Monsieur le Marq . . . I feel my enthusiasm beginning to rise." "They're the cleverest of blackmailers." "The mere thought of blackmailers always disgusted me," declared Hilaire, with a gesture of repugnance. "Well done! That's more like your old self. Don't forget that we have to do our good deeds in the dark." "Yes, yes; I shan't forget. We must work in the dark as far as possible. Certainly we shan't receive a medal for striking this particular blow." "No, but you will satisfy your own conscience." "That's good enough for me, Monsieur le Marquis. You have helped me to make up my mind to act," declared Hilaire in a voice which was not entirely cheerful. "Well, now that you've come round to a sensible view of things, I'll finish telling you the program." "What's that? Isn't that the end of it?" "Nearly the end." "Nearly!" exclaimed Hilaire with a profound sigh. "Well, what about it? What's the matter now?" "It's this 'nearly.' You said 'nearly,' Monsieur Casimir. Now I confess that this 'nearly' scares me. In the old days when you, Monsieur le Marquis . . . had 'nearly' finished a job we had enough in hand to last a week!" "What a pity. And all this fuss over a peddler of rugs," growled Chéri-Bibi. "A peddler of rugs?" "Yes, a man from Tunis whom they call the Caid, and who lugs about on his shoulder all day a bundle of rugs—a nigger of no importance." "Oh, if that's all it is!" exclaimed Hilaire. "I fancy I see him now—one of those 'me never ill and never die' sort." "Let him say it," snorted Chéri-Bibi fiercely. "What do you mean, 'let him say it?'" "Hang it all, if he says 'me never ill, never die,' he's making a mistake, that's all." "Oh, very good indeed. You, Monsieur le Marq . . . always had a pretty wit. And afterwards? Aren't there any more?" "No, I don't think I've forgotten anybody. Besides, once for all, call me Monsieur Casimir." "Of course . . . of course, Monsieur Casimir." Hilaire did not utter another word. Monsieur Casimir respected his silence; and thus they came to within a few steps of the hotel. "Can I leave you and go to bed?" asked Hilaire in a voice that failed him somewhat. "We're not going to begin to-night?" "No. Go and have a good night's rest, and, above all, no bad dreams." "Good night, Monsieur Casimir." "Good night, Monsieur Hilaire." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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