A Royal Prisoner: Fantômas Saga. Marcel Allain
my legs."
"Why not show us your legs!" cried Frederick-Christian, and turning to the journalist added:
"She's built like a statue ... a little marvel."
Susy returned.
"I knew it! The hall door was open. I hope nobody has got in."
The King laughed at the idea.
"If anyone did, let him come and join us, the more the merrier."
"I thought I heard a noise," continued Susy, but the King made her sit down again beside him and the supper went on.
As she drank glass after glass of wine, she became more and more amiable toward Fandor. And since the King paid little attention to her caresses, she began a flirtation with the journalist in order to pique him.
This brought a frown from the royal lover, and Susy amused herself between the two men until supper ended and they all adjourned to her boudoir.
Fandor, who had now become more sober, decided it was time to take his leave.
"Suppose you both come and lunch with me to-morrow, will you?" he asked. To this they agreed and it was finally arranged that Fandor should call and pick them up at one o'clock the following day.
The journalist felt his way downstairs in the semi-darkness and was just about to ask the concièrge to let him out when he was startled by seeing a heavy form fall with a thud onto the ground of the inner court.
With a gasp of alarm the young man rushed forward and quickly realized that he was in the presence of a terrible tragedy.
Lying on the ground, inert, was the body of Susy d'Orsel.
The unfortunate girl had fallen from the third floor.
Without hesitating, he lifted the body and finding no sign of life, cried loudly for help.
But the entire house was asleep.
What was to be done?
Immediate action was necessary. After a moment's pause, he decided to take the unfortunate girl back to her own apartment. Arrived at the door, he found it locked on the inside. After ringing for some time, it was opened finally by the King. At the sight of Susy apparently lifeless, her head hanging backward, the King staggered to the wall.
He wanted to ask a question, but the words stuck in his throat.
Fandor entered the bedroom and laying Susy down attempted to undo her corset.
"Vinegar and some water," he ordered.
The King between his drunkenness and his alarm was quite useless, and the journalist, after applying a mirror to the girl's nostrils and lips, with a gesture of despair exclaimed:
"Good God, she is dead!"
However, being unwilling to risk his own judgment, he started to the door to seek aid.
At this moment a violent knocking began and a voice from the hall cried out:
"What's the matter? Is anyone hurt? I'm the concièrge."
"The concièrge! Then, for Heaven's sake, Madame, get a doctor. Mademoiselle d'Orsel has killed herself, or at least she is very badly injured."
The words were scarcely out of Fandor's mouth when the rapidly disappearing footsteps of the concièrge were heard clattering downstairs. Frederick-Christian, in a dazed condition, stood in the dining-room, mechanically drinking a liqueur.
"Look here, what does this mean?" cried Fandor.
The King looked at him with intense stupefaction, trying, it seemed, to co-ordinate his faculties. Then, with a greater calmness than in his condition seemed possible, he replied:
"Why, I haven't the least idea."
"But ... what have you done since I left you? You were both seated side by side on the sofa. How did Susy d'Orsel come to fall out of the window? What have you done?"
"I don't know. I didn't budge from the sofa until you rang the bell."
"But ... Susy!"
"She left me for a moment. I thought she had gone to see you out."
"That's impossible ... she didn't leave you ... it's you who ... for God's sake, explain!... It's too serious a business."
The King seemed unable to take in the situation. Fandor determined to try a shock. Going close to him he spoke in a low voice:
"I beg your Majesty to tell me."
This had an immediate effect. The King staggered back and stared, wide-eyed.
"I ... I don't understand."
"Yes," insisted Fandor, "your Majesty does understand. You know that I am aware in whose presence I am standing. You are Frederick-Christian II, King of Hesse-Weimar... and I, your Majesty, am Jerome Fandor, reporter on La Capitale ... a journalist."
The King did not appear to attach much importance to Fandor's words. Peaceably, without haste, he put on his overcoat and hat. Then, picking up his cane, he moved toward the door.
"Here! what are you doing?"
"I'm going."
"You can't."
"Yes, I can; it's all right, don't worry, I'll arrange matters."
The King appeared so calmly confident that Fandor stood dumbfounded.
Here certainly was an individual out of the common! The journalist had seen many strange happenings in his adventurous career, but never had he come across such an amazing situation. For now he had no doubt of the guilt of the King. What, however, could have been the motive of such odious savagery? Was it possible he had taken seriously the innocent flirtation between Susy and himself? Had the King taken vengeance upon his mistress in a moment of jealous insanity?
No, that was out of the question.
In spite of his intoxication, Frederick-Christian seemed to be a man of normal temperament, and of a kindly disposition. His face betrayed none of the characteristics of the drink-maddened.
The young man was about to question Frederick-Christian further when the hall door bell rang sharply.
Fandor quickly opened the door and let in two policemen.
"Is it here the tragedy took place?"
"What! You know already?"
"The concièrge notified us, Monsieur."
Then turning to his companion:
"See that no one gets out."
"But I've sent for a doctor.... I must go and find one," cried Fandor.
"That has already been attended to. We are here to ascertain the facts, to make arrests. Where is the victim of the crime?"
As Fandor took the officer into the bedroom he expected at every moment to hear some exclamation at the discovery of the King. But the latter had mysteriously disappeared.
The officer surveyed the body of the young woman and seemed in doubt how to begin his interrogatory. Suddenly his attention was diverted to the vestibule, where whispering was going on.
Both men quickly returned to the hall door and Fandor overheard the final words of a third person who had entered the room, evidently the concièrge. She was saying:
"It must be 'him' ... only treat him politely ... he isn't like an ordinary ..."
Upon seeing the journalist the old woman stopped abruptly and made him a deep bow.
"Ah, it's you, Madame," cried Fandor, "well, have you brought a doctor?"
"We're looking for one, Monsieur," replied the old woman, "but to-night they seem to be all out enjoying themselves."
One of the officers turned to Fandor and spoke with evident embarrassment.
"It