CHAPTER VIII. THE DEVIL'S POST-OFFICE
Of all these events the public knew only of the attempted suicide of Mme. Fauville, the capture and escape of Gaston Sauverand, the murder of Chief Inspector Ancenis, and the discovery of a letter written by Hippolyte Fauville. This was enough, however, to reawaken their curiosity, as they were already singularly puzzled by the Mornington case and took the greatest interest in all the movements, however slight, of the mysterious Don Luis Perenna, whom they insisted on confusing with Arsène Lupin.
He was, of course, credited with the brief capture of the man with the
ebony walking-stick. It was also known that he had saved the life of the
Prefect of Police, and that, finally, having at his own request spent the
night in the house on the Boulevard Suchet, he had become the recipient
of Hippolyte Fauville's famous letter. And all this added immensely to
the excitement of the aforesaid public.
But how much more complicated and disconcerting were the problems set to
Don Luis Perenna himself! Not to mention the denunciation in the
anonymous article, there had been, in the short space of forty-eight
hours, no fewer than four separate attempts to kill him: by the iron
curtain, by poison, by the shooting on the Boulevard Suchet, and by the
deliberately prepared motor accident.
Florence's share in this series of attempts was not to be denied. And, now, behold her relations with the Fauvilles' murderers duly established by the little note found in the eighth volume of Shakespeare's plays, while two more deaths were added to the melancholy list: the deaths of Chief Inspector Ancenis and of the chauffeur. How to describe and how to explain the part played, in the midst of all these catastrophes, by that enigmatical girl?
Strangely enough, life went on as usual at the house in the Place du
Palais-Bourbon, as though nothing out of the way had happened there. Every morning Florence Levasseur sorted Don Luis's post in his presence and read out the newspaper articles referring to himself or bearing upon the Mornington case.
Not a single allusion was made to the fierce fight that had been waged
against him for two days. It was as though a truce had been proclaimed
between them; and the enemy appeared to have ceased his attacks for the
moment. Don Luis felt easy, out of the reach of danger; and he talked to
the girl with an indifferent air, as he might have talked to anybody.
But with what a feverish interest he studied her unobserved! He
watched the expression of her face, at once calm and eager, and a
painful sensitiveness which showed under the placid mask and which, difficult to control, revealed itself in the frequent quivering of the lips and nostrils.
"Who are you? Who are you?" he felt inclined to exclaim. "Will nothing
content you, you she-devil, but to deal out murder all round? And do you
want my death also, in order to attain your object? Where do you come
from and where are you making for?"
On reflection, he was convinced of a certainty that solved a problem
which had preoccupied him for a long time--namely, the mysterious
connection between his own presence in the mansion in the Place du
Palais-Bourbon and the presence of a woman who was manifestly wreaking
her hatred on him.
He now understood that he had not bought the house by accident. In making
the purchase he had been persuaded by an anonymous offer that reached him
in the form of a typewritten prospectus. Whence did this offer come, if
not from Florence, who wished to have him near her in order to spy upon
him and wage war upon him?
"Yes," he thought, "that is where the truth lies. As the possible heir
of Cosmo Mornington and a prominent figure in the case, I am the enemy, and they are trying to do away with me as they did with the others. And it is Florence who is acting against me. And it is she who has committed murder.
"Everything tells against her; nothing speaks in her defence. Her
innocent eyes? The accent of sincerity in her voice? Her serene dignity? And then? Yes, what then? Have I never seen women with that frank look who have committed murder for no reason, almost for pleasure's sake?"
