Zemba

CHAPTER III DEATH REACHES PARIS

IT was shortly before five o’clock when a uniformed officer entered the office of Monsieur Clandine, the Paris prefect of police. Monsieur Clandine, a keen-eyed man with a wax-tipped mustache and a pointed beard, looked up in expectation of an announcement.

“Monsieur Delka has arrived,” announced the officer. “Shall I usher him here, Monsieur le Prefet?”

“At once!”

Delka entered to receive the prefect’s handclasp. Monsieur Clandine motioned his visitor to a chair; then tapped a stack of papers that were upon the desk.

“I am pleased at your arrival,” stated Clandine. “It was wise for you to come by plane from Calais.”

“We traveled faster than the Golden Arrow,” returned Delka, with a smile. “I mean your train — the Fleche d’Or — as you call it on this side of the Channel. It is not due in Paris for more than forty minutes.”

“Quite a while to wait,” observed Clandine, calmly. “We have completed our preparations long ago. All was ready within half an hour after we received the telegraph report from Calais.”

“And the fast plane brought me here in time to witness the capture,” chuckled Delka. “Well, monsieur, I feel quite sure that I shall be able to identify the man with the red beard.”

“That will not be necessary. We know him already.”

Delka stared.

“And what is more” — the prefect smiled — “we have all the necessary information concerning his victim, Rene Levaux.”

“Who is the bearded man?” queried Delka.

“One of whom you have heard,” replied Clandine. “He is Boris Danyar, the notorious head of the spy clique in Helsingfors.”

This news left Delka gaping. Pleased, Clandine delivered further facts.

“And Rene Levaux,” he informed, “was the chief lieutenant of Gaspard Zemba, the mystery man of Paris.”

Sudden understanding dawned upon Delka. While the prefect sat smiling, the C.I.D. man verbally pieced together the puzzle.

“Levaux was posted to kill Blythe in case of an emergency!” he exclaimed. “Blythe had blundered — as Zemba believed he might — so Zemba had delegated Levaux to cover him from London to Paris!”

The prefect nodded.

“And Danyar has been seeking a trail to Zemba!” added Delka. “Danyar must have recognized Levaux. When they talked, Levaux must have let something slip. That is why Danyar killed him.”

Monsieur Clandine shook his head.

“I have a different theory,” he stated. “I believe that Danyar already had a trail to Zemba. Seeing Levaux and noting you as an observer, he decided to eliminate Levaux and thus keep the trail for himself.”

“But Danyar never saw me before!”

“So you may believe. Danyar is very clever. He has photographs of every important police officer in Europe.”

“Is he cleverer than Zemba?”

“That is a question,” returned the prefect, rising. “One that could only be decided by a meeting between the two. But Boris Danyar will never meet Gaspard Zemba. For Boris Danyar will no longer be at large after his arrival at the Gare du Nord. Come, monsieur. It is time for us to go to the terminus.”

WHEN the prefect and Delka arrived upon the street, they found a limousine awaiting them. A police officer was acting as chauffeur. Beside the car was a man of slender build, who stood with shoulders back, in the erect exaggeration of a martinet. This bantam was attired in street clothes, like the prefect; but he seemed accustomed to pose in military fashion.

Monsieur Clandine introduced him as Sergeant Rusanne, then when they had stepped aboard the car and Rusanne had taken a place in front, the prefect made mention of Rusanne’s duties.

“Sergeant Rusanne is my personal aid,” Clandine told Delka. “He serves also as chief secretary in my office. All orders are checked by Rusanne; then there can be no mistake. He is a useful fellow, Rusanne; for if any of my instructions are ignored, I can hold him to account.”

The prefect chuckled, as though he considered his statement a clever jest. Then he added:

“It is a system that never fails, for Rusanne has only to check all orders to subordinates. I have no time to follow up such matters; but Rusanne has. At present, as an instance, we are going to find extensive preparations at the Gare du Nord. I know exactly how everything should be. Sergeant Rusanne has made sure that all has been done as expected.”

Lights were glimmering along the boulevards when the limousine neared the Northern Railway Station. A clouded sky was bringing early dusk to Paris, but daylight still held some sway. Delka’s watch showed five-thirty when they alighted at the Gare du Nord.

“The express is scheduled to arrive at seventeen-forty,” remarked the prefect, using the continental form of time reference. “It will not, however, arrive until seventeen forty-five. The train was purposely slowed at Amiens, then again at Creil.

“This was arranged through our emergency signal system, after your word came from Calais. Messages were dropped and picked up on each occasion. Thus our final arrangements are known aboard the train as well as here in Paris.”

A pair of agents had become a bodyguard while Clandine and Delka were walking through the depot. They arrived at a platform. There, Delka saw other agents in readiness, with railway guards and plain-clothes men.

Sergeant Rusanne hurried briskly ahead; then stopped beside a row of cars that were standing empty on one side of the platform. When Delka and Clandine arrived, Rusanne opened the door of an empty compartment.

The prefect invited Delka to step aboard. They entered the gloomy interior of the antiquated third-class coach. Rusanne joined them and closed the door. Peering through the windows, none of the three could be observed by those upon the platform. Monsieur Clandine pointed toward the vacant track beyond.

“When the Fleche d’Or arrives,” explained the prefect, “the car containing Boris Danyar will stop at a spot directly opposite us. He is traveling in the fifth Pullman coach, in the ninth seat from the front, on this side of the car.

“The interior of the car will be illuminated. Hence, Monsieur Delka, we shall be able to observe your bearded friend from the moment that he reaches Paris. Since several minutes remain to us, I shall explain exactly how we intend to effect Danyar’s capture.

“His car is the last of the Golden Arrow Pullmans. The blue cars at the rear of the train are detached and taken from this station by a tank locomotive, for transfer to the Gare de Lyons, a usual procedure. Since the train is late in arriving, that removal will be performed immediately. Meanwhile, passengers will be delayed in leaving the Pullmans, on a pretext of customs formality. Those in the forward cars will be allowed first departure.

“Hence, Danyar will be one of the last to leave. He will be drawn to the rear of the Pullman, after the blue cars are gone. That move will protect the other passengers. All this will be done politely, by guards aboard the train. Danyar will suspect nothing until the final moment.”

THE prefect lowered a window of the darkened compartment so that they could hear as well as see. Slow minutes followed; then came the slackening clatter of a railway train. Delka, staring eagerly, saw the French Golden Arrow roll inward on the track beyond the platform. He recognized the huge locomotive, then the curious bogie chassis, loaded with the luggage boxes from the Steamship Canterbury. After that, the brown and cream Pullmans that he had observed in Calais.

The last of the Golden Arrow Pullmans stopped at its designated place. Delka gripped the window ledge and stared with unrestrained eagerness. There, in the very seat that the prefect had mentioned, was the bearded man from the Channel boat, Boris Danyar, slayer of Rene Levaux.

It was not the fact that the bearded man was a murderer that made Delka so eager for his capture. The clue that Danyar held — some trail to Gaspard Zemba, supercrook of Paris — was the reason why the bearded killer must be taken.

Danyar was rising with the other passengers. Railway guards, entering the car, were making a polite announcement. The passengers settled back impatiently. Delka saw Danyar look from the window; but the rogue’s face showed no suspicion. No one was in sight beside that last car in the line of Pullmans.

Yet the car was covered at both ends. There was a guard at each exit, watching the interior of the car. There were police detectives close by the steps at each platform. Peering from the darkness of the hiding place, Delka noted activities at the rear of the last Pullman.

The blue cars were being promptly detached. At the far end, the tank locomotive had already shifted into position, to draw those through sleepers out into the yards.

Passengers were stepping from the front Pullmans, in regular procession. Looking in that direction, Delka saw the platform clearing. Again, he looked for Danyar. He saw the bearded man rising, along with the others. Two guards had entered and were urging the passengers forward toward the front door of the car.

Danyar shifted in with the others, half pushed by one of the guards. He was among the last few of the thronging passengers. For a moment, he was obscured from Delka’s view. One guard walked back to the rear of the car; then the other followed. Delka saw them step off and nod to the detectives.

A chug from the tank engine at the rear of the train. The blue cars started out into the yards. One guard clambered aboard; then another. The sleepers rolled smoothly from view, clearing the rear of the last Pullman. All was set for the trapping. A guard stepped aboard the rear platform of that car, then two detectives. Delka saw them gripping revolvers in their pockets.

MEANWHILE, the moving passengers had again been delayed within the Pullman. Those at the back of the throng had become impatient and had resumed seats. Boris Danyar had hunched into a luxurious armchair and was bent forward upon both elbows, studying the surface of the table in front of him.

The guard, entering from the rear, watched while forward passengers suddenly found exit. Then, quickly, the guard stepped up to Danyar. The guard was speaking, pointing to the rear of the car, inviting the bearded man to leave by that exit. Danyar gave no response. The guard stood puzzled.

Other passengers were out. The field had been cleared perfectly for Danyar’s capture. Delka saw the two detectives dash in from the rear of the car, to jab their revolvers against Danyar’s ribs. Still, the bearded man was motionless.

Delka heard a sharp exclamation from Monsieur Clandine; then, wildly, the prefect hurled open the door of their car.

With Delka at his heels, Clandine bounded across the platform. Together, they dashed into the Pullman. They arrived to find the two detectives shaking Danyar’s shoulders. A shove sent the bearded man backward in his armchair. Lifeless eyes were staring from above the bearded face.

Danyar’s arms sprawled outward. There, projecting from his breast, was the handle of a knife. A detective wrenched the weapon from Danyar’s chest. There was no flow of blood; nothing more than a tiny crimson blob upon the dead man’s shirt front.

The death knife was a stiletto, long and thin-bladed. It had been jabbed straight into Danyar’s heart by some one in the clustered throng of passengers, during that first rise and shuffle toward the door. Unnoticed, Danyar had slumped into the nearest armchair. The huddle of his arms had concealed the assassin’s weapon.

Death had again blocked the trail to Gaspard Zemba. Death, delivered under the very eyes of the police, with no clue left to the identity of the vanished slayer!