30 Suspense and Thriller Masterpieces. Гилберт Кит Честертон
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two men had reached the parapet overlooking the Seine.
"You are to stand here, Wulf, and look down at the water. You are not to take your eyes off it."
"Why? What does your Majesty mean?"
"Because I have a surprise in store for you, and also I wish to bring about the meeting in a natural manner—to spare the lady's feelings. Now I shall go to meet her and take her to the Singing Fountains. When I whistle you are to join us. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Your Majesty is most kind."
Fandor moved away and after glancing back to make sure Wulf was obeying orders, he quickly drew his revolver and approached the works.
"I must remember Juve's precept," he muttered, "never fire first, and then only when you're sure to hit."
The journalist now examined the palisade which surrounded a ditch of some depth dug in the angle made by the Orangery walls.
"Can't see anything from the outside," he thought, "so I'll go in."
With a running jump he succeeded in catching hold of the palisade top and in a moment was sitting astride of it.
Nobody was in sight. Fandor was a little surprised. He expected to be confronted by some sinister individual.
"All right," he growled, "if you don't mind I'll come in."
Letting go of the top he slid down to the ground. There he found a large hole in which was placed a ladder. This led to the bottom of the ditch where a series of pipes protruded from the soil. Fandor lit his pocket lamp and carefully examined the surroundings.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "it looks as though some perfectly natural repair work was going on."
He then went down listening at each pipe mouth. One of them gave out a peculiar sound, steady and cadenced, in fact, a snore, a real snore.
"Can he be asleep," he muttered.
Climbing quickly out of the ditch, Fandor reached the street again and ran toward the Singing Fountains.
"Either the 'Curiosities of Paris' which I read yesterday in the library is a collection of bad jokes, or the body of the third statue … "
He did not complete his thought.
After once more making sure that nobody was about, and that the excellent Wulf was still absorbed in contemplation of the Seine, he climbed into the basin at the foot of one of the bronze naiads and waded through mud and water to the base of the statue.
"Now, then, let's see, what must I do next? Seize the statue by the neck, place the left hand in the middle of the body and sway it."
Suiting the action to the word, the journalist applied all his force and in a moment the statue parted in two and swung toward him. The hollow interior appeared like a black hole. Bending forward, Fandor cried:
"Sire, Sire, can you hear me?"
His voice came echoing back to him, but there was no reply from the depths.
"Ah, I can't be mistaken!" he cried, desperately. "Wulf heard this fountain singing the national anthem of Hesse-Weimar, the statue is hollow, therefore the King should be hidden in it."
Again he stood, listening. After a pause an exclamation of surprise escaped him.
"Why, it's the same noise I heard in the pipe … it's a snore … the unfortunate man is somewhere asleep!"
To call louder would have been dangerous, and besides, quick action was necessary.
"Nothing venture, nothing gain," he whispered, as, revolver in hand, he stepped inside the statue. He slid rapidly down for a distance of six or eight feet and then landed on earth. There he lay for a minute or two, reasoning that if he should be met by a fusillade, he would be safer in that position.
However, complete silence reigned about him, broken only by the steady and distant snoring.
Then, lighting his electric lamp, Fandor began a survey of the premises into which he had so daringly intruded.
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After a brief inspection, a cry of surprise rose to his lips.
"Good Lord!… there he is! Frederick-Christian."
It was indeed the King—a prisoner in the hollow foundations of the Singing Fountains.
"Sire, Sire!"
The King slept on. But his sleep seemed troubled; he breathed in gasps.
"Sire! Sire! Wake up! I have come to save you! Upon my word, that is what might be called a royal sleep."
The journalist's words made no impression on the sleeping monarch, so, ignoring all formality, he laid hands upon the King and gave him a violent shaking.
"For Heaven's sake, try to recognize me … speak to me … I am Jerome Fandor … I've come to save you."
In leaning over the sleeping man, Fandor suddenly got a whiff of his breath and then drew back, amazed.
"Why, he's drunk! As drunk as a lord! Where the deuce did he get it?… Ah, these empty bottles!… Wine!… and ham … no wonder! What on earth shall I do with him now? How can I get him out of here? I can't leave him in the hands of the cutthroats who have imprisoned him… . But if I do take him away, how the devil will Juve and I be able to catch the accomplices of Fantômas, if he has any?"
"Juve!"
The very name of the detective gave him an inspiration.
"Yes, that's the only way out of it … first of all, I must save the King, get him out of danger, and then arrange a trap to catch my gang." Fandor deliberated a moment.
"There's no doubt I shall run the risk of being killed in his place, but that's a risk I shall have to take."
And then a smile spread over the journalist's features.
"What an idiot I am! After all, there's no danger … it was a happy thought of mine leaving that note for Juve … he'll come to-morrow at the latest … that gives me the rest of the night."
Fandor's ruse, its daring and its almost unheard of devotion, appeared to him quite natural. It was simply to set the King at liberty and remain himself in his place.
While he undoubtedly ran the risk of a bullet in his body, yet the carefully drawn plan he had left in Juve's rooms would enable the detective to find his prison without difficulty.
The first problem that presented itself was to get the drunken King away.
Frederick-Christian lay, an inert mass, quite incapable of rendering any assistance. Fandor began by drawing himself up to the opening and taking a look around. The Place de la Concorde was deserted.
"Well, to work!" he cried. "There is nothing for me to do but to haul him out, then put the body of the statue back in place… . If in three days nothing happens, why I shall be free to leave. The ham will keep me going, and as for the wine … Ah! an idea!"
The journalist seized half a dozen of the empty bottles, climbed out and filled them with water; returning, he drew from his pocket a thin silk cord he had taken from Juve's room. By its aid and with a strength of which his slender figure gave no evidence, he succeeded in hauling the King up to the open air.
"And now for another foot bath," exclaimed Fandor; "saving Kings is a sorry business."
Having waded again through the icy water of the basin, Fandor carried the unconscious monarch upon his shoulders and deposited his burden on the sidewalk. He was about to regain his dungeon when he suddenly paused:
"The deuce! I was forgetting! When he becomes sober again, he'll have forgotten all about his adventure … he'll kick up a row at the Royal Palace… . I must warn him."
Fandor took out his notebook,