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Updated: June 15, 2025
On this particular evening, after the concert, they had invited some of the performers to supper in a private room, and Vinson, in the course of the entertainment, was attracted, fascinated, by a tall girl with dyed hair, emaciated cheeks, and brilliant eyes, whose flashy manners smacking of some low suburb, had subjugated him completely.
Nevertheless, whenever he gave an order to the men of his squad, he asked himself with terror, whether he had not inadvertently committed some gross blunder, whether some inferior might not call out ironically: "I say, Corporal Vinson, where the devil have you come from to be carrying on like that?"
"In that case," said Fandor, "will you look on the deed as done, and take it that you are no longer in existence?" The corporal stared at Fandor, speechless, absolutely dumbfounded. Fandor made his idea more definite. "From this moment you do not exist any more, you are nothing, you are no longer Corporal Vinson."... "And then?"... But Fandor must have a definite promise. "Is this agreed to?"...
He could not help laughing when he read the list of his facial characteristics: chin, round; nose, medium; face, oval; eyes, grey. Vague enough this to be safe! Fandor's hair was dark chestnut: Vinson's was brown. Vinson and Fandor were sufficiently alike as to height and figure: besides, soldiers' uniforms were not an exact fit. "Here you are, Corporal!" announced the orderly.
Could he, at one and the same time, trick the French Army and save it?... He had taken his precautions: he had read and reread Vinson's manual, now his manual. Mentally he had put himself in the skin of a corporal: he was letter perfect, and now he must cover himself with the mantle of Vinson for the greater glory of France!
I have to ascertain when, and at what exact moment, one Jérôme Fandor took the personality of Corporal Vinson!"... "I have already told you, Commandant!... Please read my deposition of the day before yesterday. I will recapitulate: "Sunday, November 13th, at five o'clock in the evening, at my domicile, rue Richer, I received the visit of a soldier whom I did not know.
Again the bell rang violently. Something had to be done. Drops of sweat rolled down the corporal's face. "By jingo, this business is going to end very badly!" The young soldier rapidly drew off his shoes and tiptoed to the vestibule. Through the keyhole he looked to see who was ringing for the fourth time, and more violently than ever. No sooner had Vinson looked than he swore softly.
Stretching himself, the sergeant marched to the end of the room, turned up a gas-jet, opened a book, looked through the pages slowly. His finger stopped at a name. "Orderly!" A man presented himself. "Conduct Corporal Vinson to A block, second floor." Turning to Fandor, the sergeant informed him: "You are attached to the third of the second."
It was Major Schwartz himself, the chief of the spy system there I learned that later. He said to me in very correct French, with hardly a trace of accent to betray his origin: "'Corporal Vinson, we have paid you lavishly for information of no value, but you will have to serve us better than that, and we shall continue to treat you well.
Think, Monsieur: it is the vilest of vile things I have done I, a soldier of France of France, Monsieur!... You spoke of my mother! It is because of her I wish to kill myself! You must know that she is an Alsatian!... She would go mad mad, Monsieur, if she learned that her son has betrayed France!... This evening Corporal Vinson will no longer exist it will be well finished with him!"
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