The Double Life

On looking at the plan one would at once think that the presence of this branch line was an explanation of the train disaster. But this was not so, as subsequent events will prove. In fact, so simple a solution of the problem would soon have been discovered by the station men.

Wandering along the road which followed the track, Théophraste had noticed the little side track, and he had seen that the switch had been left unlocked. This would have had no significance to him before he had the interview with Mme. Petito, but now he saw an excellent opportunity of getting at Signor Petito, who was on the train. He of course could not get on the train while it was in motion. He would open the switch and wait for the train to come up. The engineer would be sure to see it and stop his train. Here was his opportunity.

This was simple enough, and he did as he intended. He turned the switch, and, going along the track, hid behind the bushes to await the express. He waited and waited for a long time, but no express came. He became impatient, and looked up and down the track, hoping to hear it, or see its smoke.

However, after half an hour, he rose, and, although tired of waiting, went down the track to see what had happened. He had gone about half the distance to the station, when he met a train-fitter who was going along the track to look for the train. Asking him what had become of the train, he turned back up the line, and arriving at the point where he had been hiding, he discovered the baggage car and carriage which were to be found a few minutes later by the trainmen from the station.

In his astonishment he asked how they could have got there without passing him. He had not left the track, so it could not have passed him.

Suddenly he saw the head of a man at the carriage door; the head had no ears, and so he quickly recognized it as that of Signor Petito. He climbed up into the carriage, all excitement, and searching the carriage, suddenly had an idea. He would disguise himself in Signor Petito’s clothes! He quickly undressed, and stripping the dead body of all its clothes put them on, and tied his own up in a bundle. He then descended from the carriage, and fumbling in the pockets of the dead man’s clothes, drew out an old pocketbook. He became feverishly excited as he searched through the papers, seeking some trace of his treasures. But he found nothing, and he found it difficult to hide his disappointment, for Signor Petito had carried the secret of the treasure to the grave.

Mme. Petito was unable to give him any information, for soon after hearing of her husband’s death she became insane, and remained so to the end of her days.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Not To Be Explained!

AS Théophraste was searching through the pocketbook of Signor Petito, he had wandered unconsciously away from the track into the fields. Upon returning, he was astonished to find the carriage had disappeared. He looked up and down the track, but could find no trace of it. Which was the most astonishing, the disappearance or the apparition of the train? He could not make it out, and the events had thrown him into a state bordering on prostration.

He went down the track, examined the switch, and put it back in its original position and locked it, taking the key with him.

He walked on to the upper station, but with the exception of the signalman everybody had gone out in search of the train. He interrogated him, but could only learn that the train had been reported but never came.

Théophraste insisted. “They certainly did report the express to you from the preceding station?”

“Yes, sir. I am certain. Look at my signal. It is still put to allow the train to pass. The station master and all the men of the station preceding saw the express pass and telegraphed to us. In short, monsieur, you see my little yellow arm. A catastrophe between the preceding station and this one is not possible; there is not a single bridge or viaduct. I was mounted on the ladder that you see leaning against that great vat. From there one can see the whole line, as far as the other station. I saw our people gesticulating on the line, but did not see the train.”

“Strange, very strange!”

“Yes, indeed. You must trust my little yellow arm.”

“Inexplicable.”

“There is nothing more inexplicable.”

“There are things more inexplicable still than that which have happened.”

“What, then?”

“A carriage without a locomotive appeared and disappeared, and no one could tell from whence it came. It disappeared, as it appeared.... Did you not see a carriage with a man at the door pass by here?”

“Monsieur,” said the signalman angrily, “you mock me! You are exaggerating because you do not believe the story of the express which did not come. But look, monsieur, at my signal; that is proof enough. It cannot make a mistake.”

M. Longuet replied to the signalman: “If you did not see the express, neither did I.”

In that “neither did I” commenced the inward thoughts of M. Longuet, who went away in Signor Petito’s clothes. M. Longuet had an idea. His misfortune was so extreme and so incurable that he resolved to die for the others. With a little cunning this was possible, since he had reclothed himself in Signor Petito’s clothes. Nothing would hinder him from leaving his on the bank of the first river he came to.

This would constitute a suicidal act, according to the law.

M. Longuet was moved to the thought of addressing a letter to Marceline and Adolphe. On the banks of what river would he put his clothes? How could he re-enter Paris? However, these thoughts passed through his head momentarily, for there was only one thing which was really of importance to him, and that was the explanation of the disappearance of the train.

This explanation was given to Théophraste by M. Mifroid, under the circumstances which we shall now report.

CHAPTER XXIX

M. Milford Recognizes Cartouche

AT midnight an artisan was singing in a square in Paris, at the side of the ancient Quarter d’Enfer, the hymn which several months later became so popular, the “International.” That artisan was working with several companions repairing the track, which had sustained certain damages, following the construction of a new drain. The track was bent in certain places, and even a house in that situation, a heavy new house of seven stories, was leaning. The city engineers were much concerned by this state of affairs. They knew that in this quarter the catacombs projected their innumerable tunnels, their thousands of drains, and that certain buildings were in a very precarious state.

There are ancient Gallic-Roman quarries under those tottering walls, and so they determined on some work to make these houses secure.

The day which interests us saw the end of this work. The artisan who sang the “International” had, with his companions, completed the stopping of a hole in the subterranean vault that they had previously strengthened with very heavy pillars, several meters high.

It was just about twilight when they relinquished their work, and the workman who sang the “International” had almost finished stopping up the hole at that hour.

At the same hour, not far away on the square, in front of an electrical lamp store, a few people stood about on the pavement, and M. Mifroid was buying a few lamps for his men. He had paid for them and was just leaving the store with his package, when he saw in front of the store a young man with white hair. He was so taken aback that he slipped into his pockets, without having paid for them, several electrical lamps. Always courageous, M. Mifroid bounded toward the man, crying: “It is Cartouche!” He had recognized him, for since the revenge of the calf, all the commissioners of police had the portrait of Cartouche in their pockets. We should add that Mme. Longuet herself, and M. Lecamus, immediately after the reading relative to the calf, had shut M. Longuet up, with the design of sending an urgent communication to the nearest Commissariat.

Then M. Mifroid, who had known our hero as Théophraste, when he had dined with him, and who recognized him as Cartouche, cried out in bounding toward him: “It is Cartouche!”

Théophraste had known for days what the police wanted with him, and when he saw Mifroid and heard the words “It is Cartouche!” he said to himself: “It is time for me to get out of this.” And he ran down the street.

The commissioner ran on behind him, and was just grabbing him by the collar, when they both fell down the hole which the workman was filling.

The man had left for a few minutes to drink with his companions at the saloon near by, and on his return he completed his work, not knowing that the two men had fallen, and so they were imprisoned.

CHAPTER XXX

M. Mifroid’s Theory

WHEN M. Mifroid recovered sufficiently from the shock of his fall, the first thing that worried him was that he would be “out of the game.” Even at the moment of his fall his presence of mind did not fail him, and he knew that he was falling into one of the thousand-year-old quarries, which crossed under Paris in their intricate meanderings. He experienced that feeling accompanied by a light, painful torpor which follows a swoon caused by shock.

He was in the catacombs!

His first thought was to try and find the lights which he had just bought, and so find out how the passage lay. He felt sure that they must have fallen through the hole with him. The darkness seemed to weigh heavily on his eyelids, and a great feeling of depression came over him. Without getting up, for by an imprudent movement he would lose the knowledge of the exact place where he had fallen, he spread his hands about him and was relieved to find his package again. He feared at first that the lamps would be broken, but soon felt that it was not so; and breaking open the package, he pressed the button on one of the lamps. The cavern was lighted with a fairy brightness, and he could not keep from smiling as he thought of the unfortunates who, shut up in some cavern, generally drag themselves along, holding their breath, behind a paltry snuff of a candle, which at any moment might flicker out.

He got up then and examined the vault. He knew of the work of repairing the track, and knew that they neared the end, but when he saw that the hole through which he had fallen was closed, a feeling akin to fear came over him.

Now some meters of earth separated him from the outside world, unless it was possible for him to get up to this place which they had filled in. He, however, flashed his light around, and after surveying the walls and the vaults, he came across a prostrate body. The sight at first gave him a shock, but on examination he found it to be the body of M. Longuet-the body of the new Cartouche. He examined it and noticed that it did not bear a single trace of serious wounds. The man was stunned, as he had been himself, and without doubt he would not be slow in coming out of that swoon. He recalled that M. Lecamus had presented him to his friend in the Champs Elysées, and behold, he was now mixed up with him like the worst kind of assassins.

Just then M. Longuet breathed a sigh, stretched his arm, and complained of some pains. He arose, and, saluting M. Mifroid, asked him where they were. M. Mifroid told him. He did not seem at all distressed, but drawing forth his portfolio, he traced some lines which resembled a plan, and showed them to M. Mifroid, saying:

“M. le Commissioner, we are at the bottom of the catacombs. It is an extraordinary event. How we are going to get out I do not know, but that which is distressing me most at the present moment is what has happened to the express train.” M. Mifroid demanded some explanation, and M. Longuet related to him, with the closest detail, the disappearance and re-appearance of the carriage and the train. For the better understanding of the track he drew a plan out as follows:

A H D C B

This he showed to M. Mifroid.

He explained how the train had disappeared between A and B. How he had turned the switch at H and waited at D for the train to pass on to the side track. He described how the train had never come, and how the carriage had appeared and disappeared.

M. Mifroid became greatly interested, and begged him to repeat the story. “And when did this happen?” asked he. “It has not yet been reported to me.”

“It happened several hours ago,” said Théophraste, “and it should have been reported by now.”

M. Mifroid examined the plan for about five minutes, and after reflecting for a while, asked Théophraste a few questions. Suddenly he burst out laughing and said: “Why, what a difficult problem. I have solved it in five minutes.

“You said there were five men at A and five men at B. It passes through B, but not A. You were at D, and because you did not see, it did not pass? Consequently, your train vanished. Well, I say the train exists between A and B, and must be somewhere between B and I, that is sure; the train is in the sandhill.”

“I swear not!” said Théophraste. “I was at D expecting the train, and I did not leave the track.”

“It can be nowhere else, for five men saw it pass B and the five men at A are equally certain it didn’t pass them. Therefore I say that as only you were at D it passed that point, and undoubtedly switched off on I, since it could not be otherwise. By a necessary chance, while the first cars of the train were engulfed in the sand hillock, which covered it up (imagine that the line H is too short for the engineer to have had time to avoid the accident), the yoke chain of the last car was broken, and so the last carriage was forced by the baggage car to descend as far as D, on the track, which was slightly up-grade, since it wrent into a sand hillock. Then after going down to H and back to D, you saw the carriage and Signor Petito in the doorway. Your Signor Petito opened the carriage door, perhaps to throw himself out, as soon as he was aware of the imminent catastrophe, and as the latter caused a shock, it closed the door on the head of your Signor Petito.

“Now, having despoiled Signor Petito of his clothing, you walk into the fields to read his papers. When you return the carriage is no longer there. Now, then. Since there was a declivity, and since there was a wind, the carriage, after having rolled as far as H, is found on the line A-B, where the trainmen certainly have found it by this time. Do you understand now? Do you understand all except that you did not see the train pass D? You are deaf sometimes, M. Longuet?”

“I have already had the honor of telling you so.”

“Imagine that you were deaf while you were waiting for the train at D. You did not hear then?”

“No, but I should have seen it.”

“Already you did not hear it. That is much. Possibly you turned your head for three seconds. Three seconds, that is to say, one second and thirty hundredths longer than is necessary to see an express train of four carriages pass before you, which, being late, made 120 to the hour. M. Longuet, the train disappeared, or, rather, seemed to disappear, because you were deaf and turned your head for a brief space of time.”

M. Longuet raised his arms to the limit toward the vaults of the catacombs.

CHAPTER XXXI

Lost in the Catacombs

WHEN M. Longuet had recovered from the emotion that M. Mifroid’s explanation of the train had caused him, he went through his pockets and handed over to M. Mifroid a revolver and a large knife that he had found in Signor Petito’s pocket.

He was now perfectly rational and felt free from the influences of Cartouche. He, however, dreaded the return of these fancies, and asked M. Mifroid to accept these articles in order to defend himself should he again be possessed with this evil spirit.

Continuing the search through his pockets, he produced seven lamps like those of M. Mifroid, and so between them they had thirteen of these lights, which would give them 520 hours of continuous light. They, however, worked out that they could do ten hours a day without light on account of sleep, and their calculations gave them fourteen hours of light per day.

“M. Longuet,” said M. Mifroid, “you are wonderful. Cartouche himself could not have done better; but what is the good of carrying them around with us? They will only be a nuisance. Are you hungry, M. Longuet? How long do you think you could remain without food?”

“I am sure,” he declared, “that I could remain this way forty-eight hours.”

“Well, you will have to remain like this for seven days, perhaps. I will throw these ten lamps away, as after the third one I am afraid we shall not have much need of the rest.”

“Where are you going?” asked M. Longuet. “No matter where,” answered his companion; “but we must go anywhere rather than stay here, for there is not a ray of hope here. We will reflect while walking. Walking is our only salvation, but by walking seven days we will risk all chance of arriving anywhere, unless we make a plan.” “Why not make an exact plan?” asked M. Longuet.

“Because I have observed in all the stories of the catacombs there were always marked plans which the unfortunate wanderers have lost. They were confused by the marked places, and not understanding anything about it, they became overwhelmed with despair. In our situation it is necessary to shun all causes for despair. You are not without hope, M. Longuet?”

“Oh, by no means, M. Mifroid. I will add, even, that were I not so hungry, your pleasant society aiding, I should not at all regret the roofs of the Rue Gerondo. You must tell me some stories of the catacombs, M. Mifroid, to let me forget my hunger.”

“Why, certainly, my friend. There is the story of the ‘Jailer,’ and the story of the ‘Four Soldiers.’”

“With which will you begin?”

“I am first going to tell you of the catacombs in general; this will make you understand why it is necessary to walk a long time to get out of them.”

Here M. Longuet interrupted him, asking why in ending his sentences he always made a gesture with the thumb of his right hand.

“That means, M. le Commissioner, that the gesture has become a habit with you-putting on thumb-screws?”

M. Mifroid declared that that was not the reason. He often gave himself up to sculpture, and he explained to him that it was the habit of a modeler. He buried his hand in his discoveries, just as he did in his clay.”

M. Longuet expressed astonishment that a police commissioner should interest himself in sculpture. However, it afterward transpired that M. Mifroid’s knowledge of this art was the means of their final escape from the catacombs.

M. Mifroid, in reporting, the events of the catacombs, wrote as follows:

“The way that we were following was a vast passage of four or five meters high. The walls were very dry, and the electric light which lit our way allowed us to see a hard stone, devoid of all vegetation, even of moisture. That proof was not one to rejoice M. Longuet’s heart, for he was beginning to be very thirsty. I knew that in the catacombs there were some threads of running water. I thanked heaven for not putting us on one of these threadlike streams, for we should only have lost time in imbibing there, and, moreover, as we could not carry away any water, it would only have made us more thirsty.

“M. Longuet objected to the idea that we were walking without caring where. I resolved to make him understand the necessity of walking on anywhere, in relating to him that which was the truth, that the engineers, when repairing the track, had descended into the catacombs, and had sought in vain to discover their limits, and to find an outlet they were obliged to give it up, and they built those pillars as supports, and built the arch with masons’ materials; they descended directly into the hole, before closing it finally over our heads. Not to discourage M. Longuet, I informed him that, to my knowledge, we could count on at least 520 kilometers of catacombs, but there was not a single reason why they should not have had more. Evidently, if I had not warned him immediately of the difficulty of getting out of there, he would have manifested his despair the second day of the walk.

“‘I think, then,’ I said to him, ‘that they have dug this soil from the third to the seventeenth century. For during 1400 years, man had removed from under the soil the materials that were necessary to construct above. If at any time there was not enough above, there was always more below. That above returns below, and goes out thence,’ and as we still found ourselves under the ancient Quarter d’Enfer, I recalled to him that in 1777 a house in the Rue d’Enfer was swallowed up by the earth below. It was precipitated to 28 meters below the soil in its court. Some months later, in 1778, seven persons met death in a similar caving in. I cited still several more recent examples, dwelling upon the accident to persons. He understood, and said to me: ‘In short, it is often more dangerous to walk above than below.’

“I kept on, seeing that he was impressed, and he spoke no more of his hunger, and forgot his thirst. I profited by it to make him lengthen his step, and I burst into the most entrancing song which came into my mind. He took it up, and we sang in chorus:

“‘Au pas, comerade, au pas,La route est belle!J’aura du frictiti la bas,Dans la gamelle!’

“It was this which made him keep step.

“One gets tired of singing very quickly in the catacombs, because the voice does not carry; so when we had got tired M. Longuet asked a hundred more questions. He asked me how many meters there were over our heads. I told him that that could vary, from the latest reports, from 5m.82 and 79 meters. Sometimes, I told him, the crust of earth was so thin that it was necessary to extend the foundations of the tombs as far as the bottom of the catacombs. So that we might, in the course of our peregrinations, encounter the pillars of Saint Sulpice de St. Etienne du Mont, of the Pantheon of the Val de Grace, of the Odeon. These monuments are erected in some way on the subterranean pilings.

“‘Really, in the course of our peregrinations we risk encountering some of these subterranean pilings.’ But he had his own fixed idea.

“‘And in the course of our peregrinations, is there any chance of our coming upon an exit? Are there many ways out of the catacombs?’

“‘There are not,’ I replied; ‘there is need of them. First of all, there are egresses into the quarter.’

“‘So much the better,’ he interrupted.

“‘And other ways out that some know of, but by which none are ever admitted, but which exist, nevertheless, in the caves of the Pantheon, in those of the College of Henry IV, of the Hospital of the Undi, of some houses in the Rue d’Enfer, of Vangirard, of the Tombe Issoire at Passy, at Chaillot, at Saint Maur, at Clarenton, at Gentilly-more than sixty. In order to safeguard building construction, an ordinance was made which closed all the openings to the catacombs.

It is that ordinance, my dear M. Longuet, which has almost walled us in.’

“At that moment we struck an enormous pillar. I examined its construction, and said without stopping: ‘Here is a pillar which was used by the architects of Louis XVI in 1778, then of the Consolidation.’

“‘Poor Louis XVI!’ said M. Longuet. ‘He had better have consolidated royalty.’

“M. Longuet had taken the electric lamp from my hands, and did not cease to throw the rays to the right and left, as if he was looking for something. I asked him the reason of this, which would fatigue the eyes.

“‘I am looking for some corpses,’ he said.

“‘Some corpses!’

“‘Skeletons. I have heard that the walls of the catacombs are hung with skeletons.’

“‘Oh, my friend’-I already called him friend, his serenity in such a serious emergency delighting me so much-’that ghastly tapestry is only a little longer than a kilometer. That kilometer justly called an ossuary, on account of the skulls, the radius, the cubitus, tibias, shin-bones, phalanges, the thorax, and other small bones which were made into unique ornaments. But what ornaments! Ornaments of three million skeletons, that were brought from the cemeteries and acropolis of Saint Midard Clucy, Saint Lamdry of the Carmelites, the Benedictines, and of the Innocents.

“‘All bones, the little bones well sorted, arranged, co-ordinated, classified, labeled, which made on the walls and in the cross passages, roses, parallelopipides, triangles, rectangles, volutes, crevices, and many other figures of marvelous regularity.