During Juve's virulent apostrophe de Naarboveck had maintained an ironic self-possession.

"You confess, then?"

"And suppose it were so?... No doubt, Monsieur Juve, you intended to denounce me, to prove that the Baron de Naarboveck is none other than Fantomas.... Well, it pleases me to admit your cleverness. I will even go as far as allow that you may quite well obtain authorisation to arrest me--in a few days' time."

"Not in a few days' time," interrupted Juve: "but now at once!"

"Pardon," objected de Naarboveck, cool, collected, while Juve had difficulty in containing himself: "Pardon, but the credentials I possess are authentic, and no one in this world can deprive me of my function, of my official position, and what pertains to it."

"Yes!" Juve flung the word at de Naarboveck as though it were a stone from a sling.

De Naarboveck's gesture might mean anything:

"Who?"...

Juve hurled another two stones in the shape of words.

"The king!"

De Naarboveck's nod was malicious.

"Frederick Christian alone can take from me my style and t.i.tle of amba.s.sador.... Let him come and do it!"

Juve lifted a finger slowly towards the far end of the library, in the direction of the window.

De Naarboveck, who had followed this movement mechanically, could not restrain a cry of stupefaction, a cry of anguish.

The window curtain had just been gradually drawn apart: slowly before the miscreant's eyes appeared the majestic form of King Frederick Christian II, King of Hesse-Weimar.

The king was livid with suppressed rage.

Juve approached him, his eyes on de Naarboveck. The king took a large envelope from an inner pocket and handed it to Juve.

"I am the victim of this monster's imposture, but I know how to recognise my mistakes and rectify them.... Monsieur Juve, here is the decree you asked me for, annulling the nomination of--Baron de Naarboveck."

During this brief scene, Naarboveck-Fantomas had gradually backed towards a corner of the room, his face was pallid and drawn: he had the look of a trapped beast of prey. But at the king's last words Naarboveck-Fantomas drew himself up to a semblance of stateliness. He also took from an inner pocket a doc.u.ment. He held it out to the king: his lips were curved in a smile of bitter irony.

"Sire," he said: "I, in my turn, hand you this! It is the plan stolen from Captain Brocq--the mobilisation plan for the whole French army--a plan your emperor."...

"Enough, Monsieur!" shouted the king.

The paper fell to the ground.

Juve bent quickly and picked up the doc.u.ment.

The king, as though to antic.i.p.ate the suspicion which might be put into words, said:

"Juve, this plan belongs to your country. Never have we wished."...

The eyes of Juve met those of the king in a deep, questioning glance.

A question was asked and answered then. But five seconds in time had pa.s.sed. Juve's glance went back to Naarboveck-Fantomas.... The bandit had disappeared!

Juve kept his head.

"Michel!" he called: "Michel!"

Michel entered the library on the instant. He had been posted in the gallery close by. Behind him appeared several gentlemen in evening dress: they were detectives despatched on special duty from Headquarters.

"Fantomas is there, Michel," Juve cried: "concealed, but not escaped.... There may be some hiding-place in these walls--we must sound them--but no pa.s.sage, no exit: I am sure of that. Let us carry out these pieces of furniture, which form a veritable barricade."

Some moments pa.s.sed, tense with expectancy. At Juve's earnest request the king had left the room. He had fulfilled his promise and had best begone. Juve and Michel were guarding the door. The situation was dangerous, and well the policemen knew it! They had come to grips with a formidable criminal, to whom nothing was sacred, who would stick at nothing! Protected by some piece of furniture, he could take aim at his leisure, shoot his opponents through the heart, and could go on shooting till he had emptied his revolver.

"Start in!" cried Juve.

With six men to aid him, Juve began a systematic turn-out of the library, moving the furniture piece by piece, leaving no hole, no corner unsearched.

No Fantomas!

Yet Juve felt confident, felt sure he held the miscreant in the hollow of his policeman's hand: the library contained no trap-door, no secret door, no sliding panel covering his retreat: the floor had no opening in it: the ceiling was not movable.

"Take these pieces of furniture into the gallery," commanded Juve: "every one of them! Fantomas is not a being without weight and substance, though, for the moment, he is invisible. He cannot have left the room; therefore he must be in it!"

It was no easy task to move quickly, noiselessly, these heavy pieces of furniture into the gallery by way of the narrow library door. Soon they had carried out a comfortable leather arm-chair of unusual proportions, four other chairs, a stand, and various smaller pieces of substantial make.

And all the while, dancers whirled on in the ball-rooms, seductive strains of music were wafted on the air, mingled with the hum of joyous talk and gay laughter; yet in the background were these dark happenings with tragedy ahead!

Wilhelmine de Naarboveck appeared in the doorway, staring at the disorder organised by Juve.... Juve paused: speech failed him at sight of her.

"Monsieur Juve," said she, in quite ordinary tones: "I am so glad I have found you! The Baron de Naarboveck has sent me to you."...

"Who sent you, did you say, Mademoiselle?"

Juve started forward.

"The Baron de Naarboveck asks for me?... Where? Since when?"

"Why Monsieur Juve, I have just this moment left him at the entrance to the ball-rooms. He had just come out of here!... But why are you putting all this furniture in the gallery?"

"What of the Baron, Mademoiselle?" cried Juve, on tenterhooks.

"Ah, yes! The Baron said to me: 'Wilhelmine, I feel a little tired, and am going up to my room for a few minutes; but go to Monsieur Juve, and tell him.'"...

Not waiting to hear more, Juve rushed out to the gallery, but only to stop dead.... He had run up against a large, an unusually large, arm-chair standing apart. Thus isolated, it was remarkable. Juve paused to examine it. This arm-chair was astonishing, extraordinary!

Yes--it opened in the middle--a kind of a double chair! Why--the interior could hold a man who knew how to pack himself in! It had a false bottom with a spring! One in hiding could escape that way!...

Once closed on the person concealed within, the chair looked empty. A most ingenious hide-hole! Juve now knew the answer to the riddle of the bandit's disappearance. Within an ace of arrest, he had seized the chance offered by Juve's interchange of glances with the king, and with an acrobat's agility had slipped inside this chair! No sooner was the chair abandoned in the gallery than de Naarboveck-Fantomas had slipped out and away. When leaving his magnificent house forever, and all the securities and privileges of his position, he had sent Wilhelmine to announce his escape to Juve! Could cynicism--could mordant irony go further?

Juve felt crushed. It was too, too much.