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It was you, of course, famous journalist that you are, who, some time ago, was in constant pursuit of a mysterious ruffian whom they called Fantômas?" Fandor, a little embarrassed, smiled. It seemed to him something quite abnormal to hear Fantômas mentioned in this gathering, so simple, so natural, so commonplace.
He turned to the concièrge: "Madame Ceiron, I realize our search here will be without result, so I will leave you now and probably return about ten to-night with my friend Juve." "Very good, Monsieur. You found nothing, I suppose?" "Nothing at all," declared Fandor. While Fandor was going downstairs the pseudo Mme. Ceiron made a grimace. "He's found nothing, hasn't he?
"Does he take me for the King too? That can't be possible. The head of the Secret Service! They must be carrying this joke out to the bitter end. I'm hanged if I can understand it." "What do you want?" The man who since his entrance had not taken his eyes off Fandor, now appeared to be considering him with the greatest admiration. "Ah!
He had seen this enigmatic and formidable being under circumstances so tragic, on occasions so phenomenal, that this being's outline was graven on his memory for ever! There was the cloak of many folds, dense black; the hooded mask, the large soft hat shading the eyes; the strange inimitable outline!... Fandor was facing Fantômas! Fantômas!
This evening I am going to make off, whatever happens!" For two hours, interminable hours they seemed, Fandor had waited for M. Dupont in the Hall des Perdus of the Palais-Bourbon. The deputy was at a sitting of the Chamber. If the ushers were to be believed, the discussion was likely to go on interminably.
Marie Pascal was about to slip away embarrassed, hardly capable of leaving in so much happiness, when Fandor recalled her. "Mademoiselle!" "Sire!" "What you told me just now about the torn lace you had better repeat at police headquarters." Then in a lower tone he continued his instructions. When he had finished she nodded her head.
Are you aware that you are uncommonly lucky to have been selected, at your extremely youthful age, to represent your paper at this lugubrious function?" Jérôme Fandor made an odd grimace.
And then this questionable person, neither servant, nor lady accustomed to good society, who has to me all the appearance of playing not merely a double rôle, but at the least a triple, perhaps a quadruple!... Good old Fandor, there's nothing for it, if you want to go South, but to see friend Juve and get some light on it all." Having come to this conclusion, Fandor went to bed.
"Achates isn't a real name," cried Susy, still suspicious. "Achates," explained Fandor, "is an individual belonging to antiquity who became famous in his faithful friendship for his companion and friend, the well-known globe-trotter, Æneas." "Come and sit down," shouted the King, as he rapped on the table with a bottle of champagne.
He recognised under the barrister's gown someone whose features were deeply graven on his memory, though he had not met him but once. "Naarbo."... escaped his lips. A brusque warning movement of the new-comer cut Fandor short. At the same time he closed the door with a lightning quick movement. The pseudo advocate then approached Fandor, saying in a low tone: "Do not seem to recognise me.
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