“Then what is to become of me?”
“What do you think of doing yourself?”
“Going to see my father.”
“No, no,” Juve protested once more. “I tell you not to go. It would be stupid and utterly useless. Wait a few days, a few weeks if need be. When I have put my hand on Fantômas’ shoulder, I will be the very first to take you to your father, and proclaim your innocence.”
“Why wait until Fantômas is arrested?” Charles Rambert asked, the mere sound of the name seeming to wake all his former enthusiasm on the subject of that famous criminal.
“Because if you are innocent of the charge brought against you, it is extremely likely that Fantômas is the guilty party. When he is laid by the heels you will be able to protest your innocence without any fear.”
Charles Rambert sat silent for some minutes, musing on the odd chance of destiny which required him to make his own return to normal life contingent on the arrest of a mysterious criminal, who was merely suspected, and had never been seen nor discovered.
“What do you advise me to do?” he asked presently.
The detective got up and began to pace the room.
“Well,” he began, “the first fact is that I am interested in you, and the next is, that while I was having that rough-and-tumble last night with that scoundrel in the supper-room, I thought for a minute or two that it was all up with me: your chipping in saved my life. On the other hand I may be said to have saved your life now by ascertaining your innocence and preventing your arrest. So we are quits in a way. But you began the delicate attentions, and I have only paid you back, so it’s up to me to start a new series and not turn you out into the street where you would inevitably get into fresh trouble. So this is what I propose: change your name and go and take a room somewhere; get into proper clothes and then come back to me, and I’ll give you a letter to a friend of mine who is on one of the big evening papers. You are well educated, and I know you are energetic. You are keen on everything connected with the police, and you’ll get on splendidly as a reporter. You will be able to earn an honest and respectable name that way. Would you like to try that idea?”
“It’s awfully good of you,” Charles Rambert said gratefully. “I should love to be able to earn my living by work so much to my taste.”
Juve cut his thanks short, and held out some banknotes.
“There’s some money; now clear out; it’s high time we both got a little sleep. Get busy settling into rooms, and in a fortnight I shall expect you to be editor of La Capitale.”
“Under what name shall you introduce me to your friend?” Charles Rambert asked, after a little nervous pause.
“H’m!” said Juve with a smile: “it will have to be an alias of course.”
“Yes; and as it will be the name I shall write under it ought to be an easy one to remember.”
“Something arresting, like Fantômas!” said Juve chaffingly, amused by the curious childishness of this lad, who could take keen interest in such a trifle when he was in so critical a situation. “Choose something not too common for the first name; and something short for the other. Why not keep the first syllable of Fantômas? Oh, I’ve got it—Fandor; what about Jérôme Fandor?”
Charles Rambert murmured it over.
“Jérôme Fandor! Yes, you are right, it sounds well.”
Juve pushed him out of the door.
“Well, Jérôme Fandor, leave me to my slumbers, and go and rig yourself out, and get ready for the new life that I’m going to open up for you!”
Bewildered by the amazing adventures of which he had just been the central figure, Charles Rambert, or Jérôme Fandor, walked down Juve’s staircase wondering. “Why should he take so much trouble about me? What interest or what motive can he have? And how on earth does he find out such a wonderful lot of things?”
XX
A Cup of Tea
After the tragic death of her husband, Lady Beltham—whose previous life had inclined to the austere—withdrew into almost complete retirement. The world of gaiety and fashion knew her no more. But in the world where poverty and suffering reign, in hospital wards and squalid streets, a tall and beautiful woman might often be seen, robed all in black, with distinguished bearing and eyes serene and grave, distributing alms and consolation as she moved. It was Lady Beltham, kind, good and very pitiful, bent on the work of charity to which she had vowed her days.
Yet she had not allowed herself to be crushed by sorrow; after the tragedy which left her a widow, she had assumed the effective control of her husband’s property, and, helped by faithful friends, had carried on his interests and administered his estates, spreading a halo of kindness all around her.
To help her in the heavy correspondence entailed by all these affairs, she found three secretaries none too many. On M. Etienne Rambert’s recommendation, Thérèse Auvernois was now one of these, and the young girl was perfectly happy in her new surroundings; time was helping her to forget the tragedy which had taken her grandmother
