Fandor showed an unflinching front, but a wave of positive anguish rushed over him.

"This cursed abbe has me in his net!" he thought. "Like it, or not, I must follow him now. I am regularly let in!... As a civilian, as Fandor the journalist, I might go to the first military depot I can come at, and state that I had discovered a priest who was going to hand over to a foreign power an important piece of artillery!... The pretended Vinson would have done the trick and would then vanish....

But in uniform!... They would certainly accuse me of suspicious traffic with spies.... They would confine me--cell me.... I should have the work of the world to obtain a release under six months!...

Another point.... Why had they chosen him, Corporal Vinson as they believed, for such a mission?... a.s.suredly the spies possessed a thousand other agents, capable of carrying triumphantly through this dangerous mission, this delivery of a stolen piece of ordnance to a sailor spy in the pay of a foreign power inimical to France!"

It was horrible! Abominable! This spy traffic! Only to think of it soiled one's soul! Fandor sickened at the realisation of what was involved--that this betrayal of France was not a solitary instance--that there must be a hundred betrayals going on at that very moment! That France was being bought and sold in a hundred ways for Judas money--France!

His thoughts turned shudderingly away from such h.e.l.l depths of treachery.

He brought his mind to bear on other points.

"Why, after so much mystery, such precautions, does this Judas of an abbe disclose the contents of that d.a.m.nable package before its delivery? Why this halt in the outskirts of Rouen when a quick run, a quick handing over of the package is so essential?... With such a powerful machine, why this stop in a journey of some 225 kilometres?"

Fandor felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"Suppose this abbe is playing a trick on me?... If yesterday, to-day, ...

no matter when ... I have betrayed myself? If these people have discovered my ident.i.ty? If, knowing that I am not Vinson, but Fandor, they have made me put on uniform, placed in the car with me a compromising portion of a gun, and are going to hand me over to the military authorities, either at Rouen, or elsewhere?"

The abbe, comfortably ensconced in the corner, was slumbering again.

Fandor cast stealthy glances at his companion, considering him carefully.

Now he came to examine him, surely this priest's face had a queer look?... The eyebrows were too regular ... painted?... How delicate his skin?... Not the slightest trace of a beard?... A shoe--the traditional silver-buckled shoe of the priest--was visible below the ca.s.sock.... That was all right ... but, how slender his ankle?...

Fandor pulled himself up. What would he imagine next? True, he was wise to suspect everything, everybody--test them, try them--in this terrible position he had got himself into, nevertheless, he must keep a clear head.

The car was pa.s.sing through a village. The abbe opened his eyes.

"Monsieur l'Abbe," declared Fandor, "I am frozen to death. Would you object to our stopping a minute so that I might swallow a gla.s.s of rum?"

The abbe signalled the driver. The car stopped before a little inn.

The innkeeper appeared.

"Bring the driver a cognac!" ordered the priest. "Give Monsieur a gla.s.s of rum. You may pour me out a gla.s.s of aniseed cordial."

"Aniseed cordial!" thought Fandor. "That is a liqueur for priests, youths, and women!"

"In an hour," said the abbe, "we shall be at Rouen. We shall pa.s.s through the town; a few kilometres further on, at Barentin, we shall halt for the night.... I know a very good little hotel there!"

Fandor refrained from comment. What he thought was:

"A fig for Barentin!... If I see the least sign that this little fellow is going to give me the slip, leave me for a minute--if it looks as though he were going to warn the authorities--I know someone who will take to flight ... and how!"...

XX

MAN OR WOMAN

Kilometres succeeded kilometres in endless procession. Ceaselessly the landscapes unrolled themselves like views on a cinema film. Swiftly, regularly, relentlessly, the car sped forward. Again the priest, with half-closed eyes, snuggled into his cushions.

Fandor felt strangely drowsy. This was due, he thought, to the long journey in the open air, and to a nervous fatigue induced by the tense emotions of the day.

"The nuisance is," thought he, "that no sooner shall I lay my head on the pillow to-night than I shall be snoring like the Seven Sleepers."

The car continued to advance.

After a sharp descent, the car turned to the right: the road now wound along the side of a hill, bordered by the Seine on one side, and on the other by perpendicular cliffs. High in the grey distance, dominating the countryside, rose the venerated sanctuary of Rouen--Notre Dame de Bon Secours.

"We have only six more kilometres to cover," remarked the abbe.

Soon they were moving at a slower pace through the outskirts of Rouen.

Jolted on the cobbles of the little street, thrown against each other every time the car side-slipped on the two rails running along the middle of the roadway, Fandor and the little abbe were knocked wide awake.

"We are not going to stop?" asked Fandor.

"Yes. We must recruit ourselves: besides, I have to call at a certain garage."

"Attention!" said Fandor to himself. "The doings of this little priest are likely to have a peculiar interest for me! At the least sign of danger, my Fandor, I give thee two minutes to cut and run!"

Our journalist knew Rouen well. He knew that to reach Barentin, the car, pa.s.sing out of the great square, surrounded by the new barracks, would follow the quay, traverse the town from end to end, pa.s.s near the famous transshipping bridge, and join the high road again.

"If we pull up at one of the garages along the quays, all will be well," thought Fandor.... "In case of an alarm, a run of a hundred yards or so would bring me to one of the many electric tramways.... I should board a tram--devil take them, if they dared to chase and catch me!"

The car had reached the bridge which prolongs the rue Jeanne d'Arc across the Seine. They were now in the heart of Rouen. The chauffeur turned:

"Can I stop, Monsieur? I need petrol and water."

The priest pointed to a garage.

"Stop there!"

The chauffeur began to supply the wants of his machine with the help of an apprentice. The priest jumped out and entered the garage. Fandor followed on his heels, saying:

"It does one good to stretch one's legs!"

The abbe seemed in no wise disturbed. He walked up to the owner of the place.

"Tell me, my friend, have you, by chance, received a telegram addressed to the Abbe Gendron?"

"That is so, Monsieur. It will be for you?"...

"Yes, for me. I asked that a message should be sent to me here, if necessary."

Whilst the priest tore open his telegram, Fandor lit a cigarette....